A Fractured Peace

by Elia Seely

  Bill had, thank God, agreed to fill in for our vacant day dispatch position while the investigation was ongoing. We had a good swing shift dispatcher—Fran—and the graveyard shift calls, which were infrequent, came through the hospital dispatch center. The incident room, such as it was, we set up in Butch’s office, since the deputies’ area was open to whatever public might wander in. Butch spent more time in the county’s Chevy Blazer—one of two official patrol cars—than his office anyway, driving to hell and gone on call-outs and doing his share of the longer patrol shifts. We’d brought in a couple of chairs and pinned up the details we had so far on the hideous carpeted wall. Whether or not the genius who had decorated the office—back in 1960, maybe—had intended the wall to be used for such a purpose it was hard to tell.

  I began to type out my notes from the morning and Bill and Joe settled down to talk about fishing. Elijah was working on paperwork at his desk when Butch finally arrived.

  “Okay team,” he said, “let’s git ‘er done.” He stepped into his office. “I see,” he smiled, “well, good thinking, I guess. Come on guys, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

  We crowded into Butch’s office. He stood by our makeshift bulletin board, Joe and Bill took the chairs, and Elijah and I sat on the edge of Butch’s desk. Close in I could smell everybody; Joe’s stale Budweiser breath, Elijah’s musky sweat, and the tang of Bill’s old-fashioned aftershave. It was like being in a locker room, and once again I was the only girl on a crew with a bunch of guys. It had been the same all those years ago working mountain rescue in Telluride and ski patrol in Steamboat.

  “Let’s start with Shannon. How’d you make out at the monastery?”

  “Good, actually. They’ve ID’d the victim as Choden Khedrup, a visiting doctoral student from India, though he is Chinese by nationality. They confirmed the photo and then one of the monks, Lobsang, will get down to the morgue by tomorrow morning to make the official ID. I alerted the morgue that he’ll be coming in. And he knows what he’ll be looking at.”

  “Good. Now we can get somewhere,” Butch said, rubbing his stubbly jaw. “What else?”

  “Well, of course none of them could imagine why he’d been killed, let alone dismembered, though they definitely had a reaction when I mentioned that. I felt I needed to warn whoever was going down to do the ID. I mean, you know.”

  “Did they seem surprised or what?” Elijah asked.

  “They are an unreadable bunch. I mean, they didn’t seem surprised that he’d been killed, just a little taken aback when I mentioned he’d been dismembered. Otherwise, they played it pretty close to the vest. I didn’t tell the girl in the office—Pema—we had a dead body. Thought we might want to see everyone’s reactions first-hand, when we formally interview them.”

  “Good thinking,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, I asked the two monks I did speak to—that would be Lobsang, who is the librarian, and Chodak Rinpoche, who is the head guy—to keep that under wraps. I think they will. But there’s about thirty-five people up there we’re going to have to interview.”

  A collective groan underscored my own feeling about the task.

  “I didn’t realize it was such a big place. Never been up there myself,” Butch said. “See ‘em around town often enough, but they must be pretty self-contained.”

  “It’s huge. A goat dairy and a temple, the main building, plus dorms, a kitchen and dining hall, and a maintenance shop. Maybe they’ve got ten to fifteen acres? Pema wasn’t sure.”

  “Means there’s a lot of area to search for the kill site, if it happened up there,” Elijah mused.

  “And about a million potential murder weapons. So,” I said, wanting to get my piece over with, “I went and checked out his room. There’s a bunch of books and notebooks and papers—all in what I guess is Chinese and at least one other language. Few personal effects. I didn’t find a wallet or passport. According to the librarian, who didn’t know him well, he was studying these rare sutras—holy book things—and he also seemed to be researching their religious art, called thangka paintings.” The flaming blue man appeared in my mind’s eye. “That’s about it. I sealed the room. We’ll want the crime lab guy to get in there, bag it all, dust for prints, and see what turns up. And we’re going to need a translator too, unless one of you guys reads Chinese.”

  “Good job, Shannon. Elijah? Anything from the house-to-house?”

  “There’s about sixteen houses on the highway that leads up to the park. Struck lucky as its Sunday and found someone home at each place, but nobody saw anything strange, or anybody speeding, driving erratically. Nothing to note in the trash—either the park dumpsters or home trash bins. I didn’t learn anything worthwhile.”

  “Good work, anyway.” Butch nodded at Elijah. “That’s a tedious job and even the more so when you don’t get anything worth your trouble.” He sighed. “Okay, Joe, what did you come up with?”

  “I made a list of the usual suspects. Like Jim Fagan, Casey Snipes, and those two Robinson boys. Gave them all a call, checked to see what they’d been up to the last two nights. Jim and Casey holding up the bar at the Round Up, as you’d figure, with witnesses to corroborate as far as we trust that. Nat Robinson is at work out on the Highline Ranch for the summer, just left Friday. His brother Ted has been at home keepin’ his mama supplied with vodka and cigarettes. She says.”

  “Good job, Joe. I know it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. What are we even looking for? Who? I think we’ll find it had nothing to do with anyone local and we’ll need to focus our efforts on the folks at the monastery.” He shifted on his feet and rubbed his jaw again. “I met with Jim Willis from the CBI crime lab in Fort Collins. He wasn’t too pleased we’d moved the body but I told him there was no use leaving it lie. We went up to the park first, and I took him around everyplace we found a piece of that poor guy. Told him we’d checked the ground and area for anything out of the way. Too dry for footprints, wasn’t going to be anything for him to find, and he didn’t. I left him down at the morgue going over the body. He’ll make a report by tomorrow, and then we’ll ask him to get up to this—what’s the vic’s name, again, Shan?”

  “Choden.”

  “To get up to this Choden’s room and have a look through there; I hope he can get a team to go over the grounds. Otherwise, that’ll be on us to do. Okay, let’s get our duty assignments for the rest of the day and tomorrow.”

  Butch made a list. Elijah and I were to head up to the monastery first thing in the morning with Jim Willis to begin interviewing the residents. I would call after our meeting to set that up. Elijah was still on his regular weekend shift and would stay to work dispatch, while I, thank God, got to go home to have some of my actual weekend off, after, of course, I finished typing up my notes. For Monday, Bill would work the day dispatch shift until Fran came on at three. Butch would be covering any other calls that came in and attending to his regular administrative duties. He also had to appear in court for a robbery trial that began on Monday. We were definitely overstretched.

  “Elijah—I’ll bring you by some dinner, okay?” I offered. He was going to be on overtime covering the dispatch until midnight. “Nothing fancy—I think I’m going to make tacos.”

  “Awesome,” he grinned. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  I left feeling a little guilty, but itched to get home. I had left Margo home alone, which I hate to do. She had strict instructions not to leave the house or cook or do anything with matches or take a bath. And she knew the sheriff’s office number off by heart. It was only a couple hours, so I’d just done it. As I left the office and slid into my Bronco, my mind was already scanning and planning for the week ahead.

  Dan would be gone early each day. He’d told me he’d ride his bike out to the MC—it was only six or seven miles out on the highway, and another mile in on a dirt road, but I doubted that would stand for the entire summer. Knowing my luck, I’d end up driving him half the time. But still, I wanted him to have the
job even if it would mean more exposure to his dad and transportation hassles for me. He needed to learn some grown up skills and I had to admit that Chenno had a lot he could teach Dan, if he wanted to.

  Margo had an art camp that started Monday at the elementary school and she could walk the couple of blocks from our house. I’d have to arrange pick-up, as it was only a half day. Ten to one and they got a little snack. I made a mental note to call Norma. I needed to figure out some kind of regular childcare though. This piecing it together wasn’t going to cut it. I figured that Margo was fine on her own for a couple hours after school—that’s how we’d played it this past year. And Dan was actually often home by four, so she wasn’t alone too long. But she was only eight and just couldn’t stay alone all day.

  I sighed as I turned the corner to my house. I saw Margo as I pulled into the driveway, twisting and untwisting on the old rope swing that hung from the ancient willow in our front yard. I had chosen the house for the willow; it was massive and wept all the way to the ground, creating a cool green space underneath. We all loved that tree, and it was Margo’s special spot to sit in. I stopped and watched her for a minute, love for this small being overwhelming my irritation that she’d left the house against instructions.

  “Mama! Come push me,” she called.

  I smiled and got out of the car.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday morning came early as I super-mommed it and got up to make Dan breakfast before his first day of work. He was sleepy and surly and drank two cups of coffee, which told me he’d been up late playing the Atari on silent. That’s certainly where I’d left him the night before at ten when I went to bed. My suggestion for an early night met with the usual ‘okay mom, whatever.’ Now he was paying but like the saint I am I didn’t rub it in.

  “Wear your helmet,” I said. “I mean it. You’re riding on the highway.”

  “Okay, okay,” Dan replied and went to the front closet to dig it out. He finally got out the door and I hoped that he’d be fine and feel like riding home. God knew where I was going to be, so he was basically on his own.

  I enjoyed a few minutes of silence with my own coffee before getting Margo up and ready for her camp. I watched her pick the marshmallows out of her Lucky Charms—she saves them for last—and hoped she would be all right walking there on her own. She seemed fine with it, of course. And the school literally was two blocks away, with sidewalks the whole way on our quiet street. Norma had recovered some from her cold and would take her for the afternoon. Covered for today. I went over the instructions again. At a quarter to ten, she should leave and shut the door behind her and walk straight to school. No talking to strangers, no getting in cars, no being late. Norma would meet her at the school at 1 p.m. I made her repeat it until she got pissy and flounced off to get dressed saying she wasn’t a dummy.

  I reluctantly left Margo after checking the coffee pot was off about fifty times. Once in the Bronco, I started thinking about the day ahead and feeling like we needed a strategy. Maybe Elijah and I could figure it out on the way up.

  I swung out onto the main street and headed toward the bowling alley and the Motel 6 where Jim was staying. Only the best for state employees on expenses. I saw him in the lobby as I pulled in, a dapper little guy looking more like an accountant than a forensic crime scene investigator. He saw me, waved, and came out as I turned around in the parking lot. He had his crime scene bag and a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the lobby.

  “Morning, Deputy,” he said.

  “Hi Jim,” I smiled back. “It’s Shannon.”

  “Right. Sorry. I’m terrible with names.”

  We’d only met once before and not very recently, so I gave him a pass. We exchanged small talk on the way to the other end of town to grab Elijah from the trailer park where he lives. Then we were headed up Two Dog Canyon. Elijah had bags under his eyes and didn’t talk much; we were all thoughtful, watching the green-gold trees flash by. Two Dog Creek threaded in and out of boulder-strewn banks off to the right of the road.

  “We should plan our approach a little, don’t you think?” I finally asked.

  “Yeah,” Elijah agreed, adjusting himself in the seat to look at me. “You said Choden was a grad student studying some old books? Seems pretty harmless. He must’ve known someone out here, or really pissed someone off.”

  “It’s bizarre,” I agreed. “I mean, what would an academic studying old religious books do to make someone that angry?” I said. “He’s surrounded by Buddhists. Aren’t they all non-violent? The monks I talked to didn’t have much response to the whole thing, that’s for sure.” But I remembered the exchange of glances at my revelation of the dismembering. I saw the burning, blue face of the wrathful deity in my mind.

  “The Rinpoche said he’d get a room set up for us and tell the community that we’re investigating a crime. Jim—” I looked in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with him in the back, “I sealed the room but I’m guessing that’s where you’ll want to start?”

  “Yes. And I’ll take a preliminary look around the grounds. It’s all going to be hopelessly contaminated at this point though,” Jim said.

  I nodded, looked back to Eli. “We’ll get a roster of everyone on site and just start on that. Someone will know something.”

  “Okay,” Elijah agreed. “Sounds good.”

  Not much of a strategy, but it would have to do.

  We passed under the entrance gate to the monastery. I felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere, yesterday’s peace replaced by something deeper, more secretive. I glanced at Elijah; he fiddled with his sheriff’s office ball cap and yawned. He was a cutie, tanned from skiing all winter, his beard bleached strawberry blond. I was amazed that every twenty-something girl in Gold Creek wasn’t after him. I looked back at the road and slowed as the building came into view.

  “Quiet, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “A bit—eerie, maybe?”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. I blinked against the strong summer light, images kaleidoscoping in my mind: Margo lying on the ground in the monastery garden, the wrathful deity, the unreadable faces of the monks, the terrible remains of Choden.

  I parked in the gravel outside the magnificent doors. Elijah put his cap on. Jim cleared his throat. We all sat a moment.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” Elijah replied. “Let’s go.” We piled out and walked toward the entrance. Magpies flew up from a tree as we passed. As we approached the doors, I felt goosebumps despite the heat. I had a feeling like honest to God there were spirits around, watching. Damn that kid for putting ideas into my head. I took off my sunglasses as we reached the entrance. For the minute that it took my eyes to adjust, I was dazzled, and the elaborate carvings seemed to disappear into blackness, making the door more like the entrance to a cave. I stumbled a little and Jim, walking beside me, took my arm.

  “Sorry,” I said, reddening. “It’s bright.”

  “Not at all,” he said, removing his hand from my arm after a moment.

  The touch, though incidental, had been nice. Comforting too; Jim’s warm, impersonal hand. This place messed with me; I had noticed it yesterday. Please let today be normal, I thought. But with a body in pieces in the county morgue, we just weren’t in normal anymore.

  The first person we encountered once inside was the radiant Pema, and I had to smile watching Elijah’s response to the young woman’s flawless, doe-eyed beauty. We stood in the hall; I noted the faint smell of smoky incense and a coolness that contrasted to the growing heat of the day outside.

  “We’re here for the interviews. I assume that you managed to get us a place to work?” I asked her.

  “There’s a classroom upstairs for you to use. Follow me.”

  Pema and Elijah walked close together; possibly she was explaining the paperwork she held in her hand, but it seemed like they were just enjoying each other’s pheromones. Jim and I didn’t speak. He observed everything, sharp green eyes taking in every aspect of our
surroundings.

  The room was on the same floor as the library and had a chalkboard along the front of the room, a wall of windows, and bookcases covering the back of the room. Three long tables with chairs plus an instructor’s desk made the furnishings. We could have been in Margo’s school, but for the two thangka paintings that decorated the inside wall. Plenty of space for both Elijah and I to interview the monks and residents. Pema had given Elijah a roster of everyone staying at the monastery.

  “I’ll bring you some water,” she said, “after I take your colleague to Choden’s room.” Pema and Jim left and Elijah sat in the silence to look through the papers she had given him. I wandered over to the thankgas.

  “This list here is for all the monks,” Elijah said, separating a typed sheet from the rest. “It’s just their names and their role within the community. Enough to start, yeah?”

  “Probably,” I agreed, moving over to look out of the windows at a small area of flowers and lawn.

  “This second list is for the guests and lay students. Here’s Choden,” he said, “or rather, Chung Zhou. Choden was his ‘spiritual’ name. Choden means ‘one who is devout,’ Pema said.”

  “And what does Pema mean? ‘She who is unfairly lovely?’” I couldn’t resist. Elijah blushed to a gratifying hue, and I chuckled. But my humor vanished as I walked over and took up the lists. So many names! It would take forever, and with every hour the trail of Choden’s murder got even colder.

  Pema returned with a pitcher of ice water and two glasses. I decided to tackle her about Choden’s background.

  “Thanks,” I said, as she put the tray down. “Listen, can you tell me anything more about Choden? Just some additional background before we get started?”

  “I did think about him yesterday, after you left. I know he was Chinese, as I think I told you, but he lived in Dharmsala, in India, where there is a large Tibetan Buddhist community and where the exiled Dalai Lama lives. He was quite sympathetic to the Tibetans, I think. He studied at a Buddhist university there, specializing in the study of the religious sutras.”