The Weeping Buddha

by Heather Dune Macadam

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The Coming from within the Real: Within nothingness there is a path leading away from the dusts of the world.

  —PORTION OF A ZEN KOAN

  Frank and Devon pulled up the driveway of the Montebello estate and waited for the guard to wave them in. There was a private guard now, but they had free reign of the place once they showed him their badges. They went through the house again but found nothing new or remarkable. In the barn up the hill everything looked in place, the Tyvek suits were still hanging and it felt like an art studio, nothing else. Devon looked out the window at the pond. It was frozen but not solid. Aileen had always said that the fresh spring that fed Trout Pond, down the road, also fed Daniels’ Hole on Gabe’s property, and neither completely froze over in the wintertime.

  “Devon, what’s this room here?” Frank held open a door that led to a smaller room where the models could dress or undress and sometimes warm up. The barn could get fairly cold in the winter months, and while Gabe always used kerosene heaters, this room was small enough that it heated quickly and held the warmth.

  “I guess you could call it a dressing room.” It was typical, no windows or other exits. The door was remarkably solid and had a dead bolt on the outside. There were pegs for clothes. She looked at the doorknob again. It did not lock from the inside.

  “Why are there meat hooks in the ceiling?”

  “This was a working farm at one time, Frank. Maybe this was the slaughter room.”

  They looked at each other and simultaneously pulled out their spray bottles of Luminol from their waist pouches. She took one wall and he took the other and in moments the room was glowing with the residue of blood. They stood back and looked at their work—cow or human? Could Gabe have killed his victims in this very room? It had been cleaned remarkably well, but whoever had wiped down the walls had not used bleach to get rid of the protein residue. “How long does residue last, Frank?”

  “Ten years max, and that’s being generous.”

  “He bought this place the year Todd disappeared.”

  They called Lochwood and waited for him to arrive with Jo the M.E. in tow; a few hours later Devon walked past Tom Hurley without the slightest nod or indication that she knew the reporter. He was going to have to get his information from someone else; no one she knew would speak with him. Still, when Houck arrived on the scene his first statement to the press was as callous as they come: “We believe that Gabriel Montebello and his wife Beka Imamura may have worked as a team baiting and killing young men. However, the evidence as of yet is still inconclusive. Suffolk County detectives are working around the clock with New York City detectives to get to the bottom of this, but I think it is safe to say that the public is not in danger. We have been certain since the beginning that Beka Imamura killed her husband, what we did not know was why—I think that is obvious now.”

  “Obvious to whom?” Devon hissed under her breath.

  She went up to her superior and said, “I need the night off to attend a funeral.” Houck simply nodded and shook his head as she signed herself off the crime scene and walked away.

  Loch had already parked in the back of the garage and was heading to the kitchen when the dog ambushed him with a series of critical barks and growls.

  “Barney! Barney! Come on, boy,” Hans called the beast off. “He only barks if he doesn’t know you.”

  “Good watchdog,” Loch grumbled, a bit too much like Barney.

  “Not really. He never bites.” Hans held the door open to the kitchen. “I’ve set up a break room in the foyer—coffee, tea, biscuits. Would you like some coffee?” Loch accepted the mug from the monk.

  Devon and Aileen arrived together, walked through the privet past Barney and his wagging tail, then walked down the path toward the weeping buddha the kitchen. Devon wasn’t sure why she had come. She was still looking for answers, though, even if Beka was a murderer. Like Houck said, she had to know why. Maybe that’s why she had chosen to sit through the night, wrestling with demons, or angels, or memories, until one of them gave her what she was seeking.

  She stepped into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  Loch put his hands on her shoulders. “Did you really think I was going to let you come here alone tonight?”

  Devon pulled the walkie-talkies out of her purse. “Here, I guess I must have known you’d show up, despite Houck solving the case.” She took the robe that Hans was holding out for her to wear. It would help conceal her accoutrements—gun, radio, notepad, a pack of gum.

  Loch took his walkie-talkie. “You going to meditate, Aileen?”

  “Are you kidding! I been hearin’ about you guys runnin’ around arresting folks for too long—now I’m finally in on it.” Aileen punched Loch’s arm, her eyes glimmering with excitement. She picked up his walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “I always liked these gadgets. Calling all cars! Calling all cars! A bunch of unruly Buddhists are sitting in the woods—we need assistance here. We can’t budge them!”

  “It’s not a game, Aileen. It could be dangerous.”

  “That’s what makes it so cool! Hans, did you know these two are a regular, I don’t know, Starsky and Hutch!”

  “He’s Starsky,” Devon said.

  “Hutch was the cute one,” Aileen told Loch.

  Loch rolled his eyes. “Are you responsible for her?”

  “She’s leaving early,” Devon assured him, and tossed an arm around Aileen. “She hates to miss Law Order.”

  “I’ll come back here around five. I’m always up by five.”

  “You should be the Buddhist,” Hans teased. “Devon could never get up early enough for the morning sit.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to sit anywhere at seven a.m. without a cup of coffee by my side.” Devon kissed Loch on the cheek.

  Aileen stood on tiptoe to peck his other cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Loch laughed. “Just make sure she stays awake.”

  “Hans uses a stick for that.” Aileen winked at him as they headed out the door.

  The lights in the kitchen were off, and Hans had left the overhead light on outside as well as the motion-sensor light at the corner of the zendo so Loch could watch people going to and from the house for bathroom and coffee breaks. He approved of the set-up and hoped the night would prove to be at least spiritually, if not criminally, enlightening.

  He had a picture of Maddie Fong and Godwyn, the only two loftmates he and Gary had not yet located, and someone was moving in the shadows. One quick glance at Maddie’s photo told him she had just entered the courtyard and bowed to the Buddha under the privet. How had she known the Buddha was there? It wasn’t easy to see, unless one knew where to look. Maybe she was familiar with the surroundings, he mused. Barney came out, took one look at her, and turned his back. The dog knew her—Maddie Fong had been here before.

  Alex came through the gate, again Barney did not bark. She and Maddie embraced and whispered, then slipped through the barn door and into the zendo. Loch noted their actions inside the garden and scribbled down the time; it was 8:55 p.m.

  Next, Josh came stomping through the underbrush; he was oblivious to the Buddha and his surroundings and seemed angry to be there, and yet there he was. Loch wondered if Katiti had put him up to it. Barney ran out of the doghouse growling and carrying on at him. Josh kicked him and kept walking. Interesting. Loch wondered if this was why Aileen was having such trouble training their dog.

  Sam came through the fence just after Josh had gone inside, but elicited no response from the so-called watchdog. As far as Loch was aware, Sam was not a zendo regular. Wasn’t he Protestant? Todd had been planning to be a minister, right? He made a note to ask Hans how well he knew Sam, and then began to wonder if he could count on Barney for an accurate read. It seemed as if the dog might ignore some people simply because they arrived after he’d made a big to-do over somebody else.

  The only person still a no-sho
w was Godwyn. Loch looked at his photographs and wondered where the Ghanese-Englishman had disappeared to. Gary was in the city staking out his apartment, but so far there had been no sign of Godwyn Kamani anywhere.

  He kept his eyes peeled to the dark. It was almost time for the Soka shindig to begin. The next arrival, Jenny O’Doherty, burst through the hedge looking out of breath and flushed. She glanced nervously around, made a quick dip to the Buddha, and dashed inside. There were a few others who came through the gates, but Loch didn’t recognize any of them. They were probably friends of Beka and zendo regulars. The first gong, warning those inside and out to hurry to their zafus and zabutons, resonated through the night air. It was time for zazen to begin and each of them to take their places.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Even if you observe the taboo … you will surpass that eloquent one of yore who silenced every tongue.

  —PORTION OF A ZEN KOAN

  Inside the zendo, Devon watched Maddie hug Hans warmly. She hadn’t known that they knew each other and felt her skin prickling with suspicion. As soon as Maddie and Alex moved into the inner chamber, she cornered Hans to ask him how long he had known Maddie.

  “Beka brought her here after you stopped coming. Alex, too,” he told her. The first gong sounded. He squeezed her elbow and steered her like a child to the door. “Now go take your place, we’ll begin as scheduled whether our Jikido arrives on time or not.”

  Devon walked to her cushion, pondering how close Maddie and Alex might be to Hans and the zendo, and saw Josh now sitting there resolutely. He must have sneaked past her. Sam came in behind her and looked a little lost as he found a place to sit. It was a good turnout; the meditation room was almost full. They were all in their places when Jenny O’Doherty bustled into the room and took her seat facing them, while everyone else turned his or her back toward her. The hair on Devon’s neck bristled, but her position was already set and the room was now full. Jenny O’Doherty had a clear path to Devon, and Devon had no other choice but to sit with her back to the woman.

  The other Buddhists arranged their clothing and their legs in preparation for a half-hour of sitting stationary. The small heater rattled like a bag of bones, sending dry heat through the room and a faint odor of gas, masked only by a slightly stronger scent of sandalwood incense. To moisten the air, two shallow clay pots filled with water, with three perfectly round black stones in each, rested on the grill. The lights were on low and cast a golden glow throughout the room. It was just going to be a simple ceremony, no chanting or ritual bells. It would be quiet through the depth of night and they would come out on the other side of darkness cleansed and free of illusion. Personally, her goal was to grieve in silence and clear her mind of the fog that had descended when she awoke that morning. Devon had not meditated all night since she and Beka had come to Soka Gattai in 1990 to celebrate Buddha’s birthday.

  It was one of those magical memories. Hans, sitting like a slab of black marble in his robes, rarely got up for kinhin—the man could sit for hours without the slightest movement. Through the quiet of the night they had meditated, until dawn—the symbol of Buddha’s enlightenment shared with all sentient beings—crested the horizon. After twelve hours of silence, their voices had been rusty as they chanted in unison: “All Buddhas throughout space and time. All Bodhisattvas-Mahasattvas, Maha Prajna Paramita.” It was one of the most poignant and beautiful moments of her life. Perhaps that’s what she was doing here now, searching for that kind of hope again. Maybe after a night of mindfulness she would see clearly, and either Beka’s killer or why Beka had not told her Gabe was a killer would be made plain.

  A monk takes a vow of silence to remain in a tree … Devon pondered Beka’s last koan. What would a monk be doing in a tree?

  At regular half-hour intervals the gong interrupted the quiet and the acolytes bowed to the wall, stood up, brushed off their cushions, and faced each other while the monks remained sitting, passionless and placid, staring into space. Devon envied their serenity. She stood with the others, waiting for O’Doherty to smack the wooden blocks together, indicating that she would take a short break to let the blood flow back to her limbs while the others walked single-file around the room like thoughtful zombies. Devon counted breaths as she walked and thought about the chant Hans had once whispered to her:

  I don’t know

  But I’ve been told

  Tibetan pussy sure is cold.

  After five turns around the room, O’Doherty clapped the blocks together again and they returned to their zafus. They repeated the ritual of manipulating their legs into the lotus, semi-lotus, or kneeling positions, and waited for the gong.

  The group was orderly and organized. There were four people she did not recognize, but she appreciated their presence and silent support. Hans was seated by the altar and around him sat Catri and Dorothy, the senior monks. Next to Catri’s seat was Peter, then Alex, and across the aisle from her, Maddie and Josh. Devon sat between Aileen and the door, and Sam was at the end of the room. Maybe it was just her cop training, but she felt more at ease with her eye on the only exit. It also kept her in constant awareness of who was sitting and who was leaving the zendo for a break. This was more than mindfulness—this was a stakeout.

  At eleven o’clock Josh made a scene by stretching and grunting as he took a break. Alex had taken a break fifteen minutes earlier and Aileen took her break about the time that Josh returned. Maddie and even O’Doherty excused herself around eleven-thirty, handing the clappers to one of the zendo members before she ducked out of the room. Sometimes people came back in the middle of the half-hour sit, others returned during the next formal kinhin break. The way people kept coming and going was almost lax. It reminded Devon of a math problem as she mentally made notes of their entrances and exits without the luxury of being able to write anything down. It was driving her nuts. Alex came back in with Aileen. Josh came back before Maddie, but after O’Doherty. It was siesta time. Devon could almost hear the toilet flushing in Hans’s house and felt her toes fidgeting as she wondered what Loch was up to, then decided he was probably incurably bored.

  Ennui. Monotonous. Dreary. Blah … The room was cold; the floor was cold; the coffee was cold but Loch did not want any more anyway. He fidgeted quietly. People dressed in black flowed in and out of the house like a zendo merry-go-round. He wondered what they thought about while they stared at walls and if more than a few took a nap while sitting upright. What did staring at a blank wall have to do with enlightenment anyway?

  He could hear the toilet flushing down the hall and kept tabs on every person’s entrance and exit to and from the zendo to the house and back again. There was only one section of the walkway where his vision was blocked by the front porch, but that was because of the overhang and he didn’t figure that much could happen in those ten feet to the front door. Every once in a while he saw Barney exit the house through his dog door, lift his leg on a tree or fence post as if he were making a sweep of the grounds, and then return through his own entrance. Occasionally, Loch could hear him barking at someone coming into the house or out on the street—which he seemed to think also belonged to him—but Loch had a feeling Barney spent more time chatting up the neighborhood foxes than being a watchdog. As the hours progressed, fewer and fewer people remained, and keeping track of who was meditating and who had left became easier. Loch relaxed and hoped that Devon was enjoying herself, if enjoyment was what one was supposed to achieve. He felt like he was actively meditating himself, that’s how bored he was: ennui; monotonous; dreary; blah … What he wouldn’t have done for a little action, even a fox in the henhouse.

  It was well after midnight when the acolytes finally settled into the rhythm of their breathing. All of the earlier activity subsided, and for the next two and a half hours no one exited the zendo—no one even coughed. The night dragged on. Around two-thirty some of the zendo regulars, including Catri and Peter, left, and sometime between three and three-thirty in the morning, Hans, Ma
ddie, Josh, and Sam left during kinhin, so Devon was alone with Jenny O’Doherty in the room. Devon followed O’Doherty around the room in a grown-up version of “Follow the Leader,” but as soon as she sat, her skin began to crawl. O’Doherty was positioned directly behind Devon and would be staring at her exposed back for the next half-hour. It went against her every natural and professional inclination to sit quietly, openly susceptible to a potential suspect. Devon could not concentrate on her breathing, nor did she want to. She wanted to be ready to pounce should O’Doherty move even a muscle.

  Devon was suddenly very relieved that Loch was on the other end of her walkie-talkie, but that didn’t help her concentration. There was a scratching sound at her feet. Her body jerked to one side, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, ready to yell for help. The scratches were the minute movements of a field mouse under the barn, making its bed after foraging for seeds all night. Something rustled behind her and Devon whirled around.

  O’Doherty was sitting very still, her half-lidded eyes not divulging whether she was staring at Devon or not. Devon put her hand to her back and pretended it was a cramp, not suspicion, that had caused her to move, then turned back to face the wall.

  She hated it. Hated the flat, white expressionless wall without a flaw or detail to hang her thoughts on—hated the way the blankness was slowly driving her crazy. What was she doing? There were no answers here. The answers to Beka’s murder were in action, not inaction. No amount of praying was going to help her figure out who had killed her friend. Her hands were clenched in fists as her breathing got more and more shallow. Time crept by.

  There was another scrape at her feet, but this time her nerves were steady-steel; she was not about to flinch. She was too pissed to be scared. She did not want to waste any more time sitting, but her training and knowledge of Zen etiquette kept her from standing up and walking out. She heard the rustle of cloth. O’Doherty was definitely moving. Good, Devon thought, if she attacks me I can cuff the bitch and go home. She clenched her hand around the gun nestled in her robes.