The Weeping Buddha

by Heather Dune Macadam

  “Looked like a fox,” the duty officer informed him.

  “There’s fox out here?”

  “There’s lots of wildlife out here; course, not for much longer the way the developers are taking over the land. You boys find what you’re looking for?” He pointed at the bag.

  “We found something.”

  Gary joined them and shook his head as Loch looked up at him. “O’Doherty didn’t know anything about a separation.”

  Loch pointed across the pond. “Is that Scuttlehole Road?”

  “Yep.” The duty officer stuck the clipboard under his arm.

  “And the pond is … ?”

  “Daniels’ Hole. It’s actually more of a scuttlehole than a pond. That means it disappears and reappears depending on the rain and snowfall each season.”

  “Daniels?”

  “It’s a family name round these parts.”

  “Looks like a pond to me,” Gary observed.

  “It’s been getting bigger for years. Mr. Montebello tried to fill it in; had to go to the town board to get permission, but it was a fool’s dream. You can’t go changing what’s natural. I think there’s an underwater spring feeding it,” the officer explained. “They can’t stop it from growing. Between the ocean and the marshes, in a few hundred years this whole area will be underwater.”

  “I bet the property values will drop then!” Lochwood said ruefully. They turned away from the scuttlehole and headed back toward their car.

  Maybe it was an unconscious New Year’s resolution to be on time that had caused Devon to arrive in Chinatown so early; she wasn’t sure. Normally, she was never on time for social functions. She placed the white placard—Police Business—in the front window of her car and left it parked outside of One Police Plaza, along with a number of the others who had Police Business cards in their windows. She stared up at the row of windows on the third floor of Police Plaza.

  It had not occurred to her earlier, but perhaps she should stop inside. In 1984, the Missing Persons Bureau had been stationed up there. She wondered if they had moved the unit. The building wasn’t open to the public on Sundays, but Devon stopped in the employee entrance and showed her badge to the guard.

  “What can I do for you, detective?”

  “I’m doing some follow-up on a Missing Person’s case in Manhattan that may have impact on a case I’m working out on the Island.” It wasn’t the absolute truth but it sounded reasonable. “Is there anyone upstairs today?”

  “Step over there and I’ll call up.” She allowed the guard to make the call and waited until he signaled for her to come over to the metal detector. “You armed?”

  “Two guns, officer.” She showed him her arm holster and the gun she kept secured to her waist against her back.

  “Sign here.”

  He pointed to the elevator.

  “Is it still on the third floor?” she asked. He nodded.

  It was surprising how quickly it all came back to her as she stepped onto the elevator—the same smelly old lift she had ridden up in 1984. The hallway did not look as if any time had passed, and the same rows of fluorescent lights lined the ceiling and reflected into the hard wax shine of beige linoleum floors. She felt as if she’d opened up a time capsule, and walked toward the Missing Persons Bureau door feeling the same trepidation she’d felt all those years ago when they’d brought her here for questioning.

  Joey Zambini had been the male detective’s name; the female—some flower-type name—had interviewed her with him. It had been Zambini who showed her down to the conference room, an informal feeling for an interview, and she knew now it was where you put people who you want to relax, not suspects you want to intimidate. Zambini had brought her a cup of coffee, and a reverend from Todd’s church had joined them. They had chatted, almost amiably, about New Year’s Eve. She could not remember what she had said now, she’d been too nervous for that, but she remembered watching the female detective and wondering how long it took her to make the grade.

  She saw the same woman through the glass of the Missing Persons Bureau door. Her hair was grayer and her face more faded, but it was the same detective Devon had met before. She opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m Detective Halsey from Suffolk.” The woman stared at her but didn’t say a word. “I’m interested in reacquisitioning a copy of an old case, from 1984.” Still no response. “The Todd Daniels file?”

  “You what?”

  Devon waited for the Missing Person’s detective to shut her mouth and quit staring at her in shock. “I’m interested in seeing the case file on a missing college kid back in 1984,” she repeated slowly. “Todd Daniels.”

  “I’m sorry to appear so stupid,” Detective Carol Freesia explained. “It’s really not in my nature, but you’re the second person this week to ask to see that file.”

  Now it was Devon’s turn to look and feel stupid; her mouth dropped open. “Somebody else has been here? You mind?” Devon pointed to a chair.

  Freesia motioned for her to sit down.

  She pulled the chair out and sat by the detective’s desk. “Was the first person Detective Lochwood Brennen?”

  Detective Freesia shook her head. “Nope. Why are people in Suffolk County all of a sudden so interested in this case?” Devon knew Freesia was avoiding her question. “It’s stone cold, believe me. That kid isn’t going to float up out of the East River any day soon. He’s just bones now.”

  “Who asked to see the file?”

  Detective Freesia raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge. “They didn’t get to see it, so why should you?”

  “Let’s just say it’d be a personal favor.”

  “Cop to cop?”

  “Something like that.”

  Detective Freesia looked at Devon’s badge. “It’s still an open case, I don’t have to let you see it, and unless you have information to help close it, I can’t see much reason to help.” Devon knew the pissing game and waited for Freesia to finish marking her territory—they’d worked around men for too long not to act like them sometimes. “Halsey. Why’s that ring a bell?”

  “I just made C.S.U. in Suffolk.” She used the abbreviated term for the Crime Scene Unit.

  “That’s right! They finally let a girl into the boy’s club. Congratulations, but that’s not it and you’re too young for much else.” Devon did not feel that young but it was all part of the game; she waited until Freesia was done. “You know, I worked the Daniels case.”

  Devon’s eyes burned but neither of them blinked. It was like having a staring match with a cat—one of the big cats in the Bronx Zoo, not your standard house pet. “I know,” Devon finally said, holding her gaze steady. “You interviewed me.”

  They both blinked.

  “Good one.” Freesia chuckled, then shook her head. “Poor Todd. He must have been a nice kid for so many people to care after so long. All I knew was his name, his face, and that he was big news. Good Long Island family. Honors student. Every parent’s dream. And I couldn’t tell them what we really thought because his brother was a part of that crowd.” She looked at Devon hard, her eyes narrowing. “Hell, so were you. What were you doing mixed up in the downtown drug scene?”

  “I was a kid.”

  “Is that a real excuse?”

  “Did you interview Beka Imamura?” Devon asked.

  “And to make up for your ways you became a cop who likes to solve things, but can’t let go of the one you couldn’t?” She gave the younger detective a discerning look. “Zambini and I did.”

  Devon had liked Freesia’s partner and looked over at his desk. “Zambini, where is he?”

  “Cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. He was one of those rare Brooklyn boys who could work with a woman like she was an equal.” She smiled fondly, then jerked her chin up into the air. “You know, I was the first female Missing Persons detective, big hoopla in 1983. Is everyone at Suffolk’s ivory tower watching you like a black kid walking throu
gh Bensonhurst?”

  Devon nodded. “Every piss and shit I take. Every man I talk to.”

  “Some things just never change, even in a new millenium. Gene Roddenberry would have been disappointed. Tell you what, you can look at the file in this office but I can’t let you walk out of here with a copy of it.”

  “I fill out the forms, how long will it take for records to pull it and get it up here?”

  Freesia smiled strangely, as if enjoying some secret joke with herself. “Not long.”

  “Next week?”

  “How about today or tomorrow?”

  “Records is open today?” Devon asked, stunned.

  “I have ways of getting what I want.” There was that smirk again.

  “Well, if it’s possible, I’d like to take a glance at Imamura’s interview, and if it proves informative I might come back tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “Why her?” Freesia was noncommittal about tomorrow’s date.

  “She’s dead and so is her husband, Gabriel Montebello.”

  “What happened?”

  “We’re not sure yet. She called and left me a message about Todd.”

  “Now, that is interesting.” Freesia was finally engaged, and Devon had a bargaining tool. “I always thought she had something to do with Todd’s disappearance. Something just didn’t add up. We couldn’t find a trace of that kid anywhere.”

  “But this is New York City. He could have fallen into an elevator shaft or been murdered and dumped in the sewer.”

  “I know, I know. It still galls me, though. We dragged both rivers.” She reached over to a metal-wire vertical file and pulled out a folder. She placed the file on her desk and Devon found herself staring at Todd’s name.

  It had been written in red indelible ink that had barely faded with the years, the edges were worn and slightly tattered, there was a coffee stain at one corner—it was all that remained of Todd Daniels.

  “You interviewed all of us.”

  “That we did.” Freesia tapped her pencil on the manila folder.

  “So what are you doing with this at your fingertips?”

  “You want to see it or ask questions?”

  Devon held out her hand to take the folder.

  “You can use that desk over there.” Freesia pointed to an empty desk across the room where the nameplate Zambini was still sitting in its place. He must have died very recently, and Devon suddenly felt sorry she’d never gotten to speak to him again. “You know, I’ve had a lot of disappointments on this job, but Todd was my first,” Freesia said a little sadly.

  Devon took the file out of the senior detective’s hands. “We always remember our first.”

  She skimmed through the initial documents and quickly assessed that much footwork had been done on Todd’s disappearance but there was no evidence to indicate what had happened to him. No evidence anywhere to even hint at a reason for his disappearance. “Freesia?” Devon asked. “How many missing persons do you get a year?”

  “Over a thousand.” Freesia’s eyebrows arched, as if amazed at the number herself.

  “And how many get solved?”

  Freesia shrugged. “Hard to say. Reports and what we end up investigating vary. You know, some call if their teenager’s an hour late for dinner and others don’t notice for a week that their kid’s a goner.”

  “I remember telling Sam to report Todd’s disappearance right away, but we couldn’t make a formal notification for forty-eight hours. It took a while for anyone to take us seriously.”

  “He was a college kid. We don’t want to tie up officers on a bogus report. What if he’d slipped off with some girl?”

  “Beka was the girl he would have run off with,” she reminded the detective, then turned her attention to the transcription.

  Case: Daniels, Todd

  Number: 84101-1001

  Relationship: Friend

  Date/Time: 1/6/84, 12:05

  Interviewed: BEKA IMAMURA

  Transcribed: 1/7/84

  The first page was more like an introduction of the basic information—nothing vital—and Devon skimmed through the text until she found the meat of the interview.

  Det. Freesia: Where were you when Todd Daniels disappeared?

  Imamura: Well, we aren’t sure exactly when he disappeared.

  I was probably dancing. I danced all night.

  Det. Freesia: Can you tell us what else was going on at the party at the time of Todd’s disappearance?

  Imamura: Besides dancing? Drinking, popping off firecrackers.Is that what you mean?

  Det. Zambini: Actually, Ms. Imamura, we’re looking for something a little more definitive. For instance, did you see anyone dealing cocaine or passing vials at your party?

  Imamura: There may have been some pot on the roof but I really wouldn’t know. I’m very careful about what goes in my body and don’t smoke at all.

  Det. Freesia: So what can you tell us about the evening or about Todd that might help us find him?

  Imamura: Nothing much, I was dancing with him when he ran downstairs. The next thing I knew Sam and Josh were asking us to help look for him.

  Det. Zambini: Were you having an affair with Todd?

  Imamura: No. (laughter) He was too young for me.

  Det. Freesia: That’s not what his brother says.

  Imamura: Sam was jealous. He has a crush on me, but he told me to leave Todd alone so I did.

  Det. Freesia: Miss Imamura, please don’t lie to us. We know enough about the party that night to know that you were involved with Todd Daniels.

  Imamura: Involved, but an affair? That’s what you have with a married man, not a college student.

  Det. Freesia: So you slept with Todd?

  Imamura: Just once.

  Det. Zambini: Was that on Saturday night?

  Imamura: No, Friday. I’m not known for my discretion and Todd was going to be a minister. So, Saturday I was into somebody else.

  Det. Freesia: You were protecting his reputation?

  Imamura: Well, I certainly don’t have to protect mine!

  Det. Freesia: You said was.

  Imamura: I said what?

  Det. Freesia: You said, “ was going to be a minister.” Do you know why you said was?

  Imamura: I wasn’t aware that I said was. I guess I mean is.

  I mean, what’s the right tense for someone who’s missing and may or may not be dead? He might be, right? And if he is dead then was would be correct, wouldn’t it? If he’s just blown us all off and disappeared or dropped out of school … would it be was or is?

  Det. Zambini: We didn’t mean to make you so upset.

  Det. Freesia: I was just curious why you used the past tense in referring to Todd.

  Imamura: I don’t know. He’s gone isn’t he? I mean, where is he, if something horrible didn’t happen to him? Why would he leave me on the dance floor like that and never come back? Why wouldn’t he call and let Sam or his parents know where he is?

  Det. Freesia: We were hoping you might tell us.

  Imamura: I was hoping you might tell me!

  Det. Zambini: Is there anything else you can tell us that might be of assistance?

  Imamura: I performed at Yale two years ago, Todd started catching my performances whenever he could. He was some kind of dance groupie. I’d never met him before last weekend but he said he was in love with me and had been in love with me for like two years. He got really drunk and kept telling me he was going to drop out and move to the city for me. I told him to go screw Katiti.

  Det. Zambini: Who’s Katiti?

  Imamura: A diva. She slept with Josh the night Todd disappeared, really bad taste I thought.

  Det. Freesia: You don’t like her.

  Imamura: What’s to like?

  Det. Zambini: Tell us more about that, the party.

  Imamura: What about it? It’s 1984; we were so blown by that.

  The world’s supposed to change big-time this year. All the psychics say it. Things
are going to be different, and they are.

  See? Everything has changed. It sucks now more than ever.

  Det. Freesia: He said he was going to drop out? Any idea where he might have gone if he did that?

  Imamura: His girlfriend’s? Yeah, he has a girlfriend! Don’t I feel like a fool. Listen, is there anything else? I have to get to rehearsal.

  Det. Freesia: You’ll call us if anything comes up that might help in the case? And we’ll call you if we have more questions.

  Det. Zambini: I’m a big fan of your work.

  Det. Freesia: You might call him a dance groupie, too.

  Det. Zambini: Where are you performing next?

  Imamura: The People’s Republic of China.

  Det. Zambini: Amazing.

  Imamura: Yeah, we’re the first modern dance company to go into a communist country in like twenty years or something.

  They’ve commissioned me to choreograph a piece for the concert. The pressure’s on.

  Det. Zambini: You should be proud.

  Imamura: Yeah, proud.

  Det. Freesia: Joey, this is being taped.

  Det. Zambini: What are you choreographing about?

  Imamura: Todd.

  End of Tape.

  End of Transcription.

  Devon dabbed the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She could see Beka’s crestfallen face—and remembered the first time she had seen the dance Beka had choreographed about the disappearance of Todd Daniels. She had called it “The Weeping Buddha.” They had all just wanted to have fun, all of the time. There was nothing sinister about the loft; it was just a party place like so many others back in the ’80s. Wasn’t it? They weren’t innocent, but they weren’t world-wise; they actually thought that cocaine was not addictive, or fatal, or any of the things they knew about it now. Back then it was called a “designer” drug, like ecstacy in the ’90s—safe, until you died.

  Devon flipped through the pages of transcription until she found her own interview. A quick glance up at Freesia told her the detective wasn’t bothered by her presence. It would only take a few seconds to read what she had said back then. It was strange, but it was beginning to feel like yesterday.