A Fractured Peace

by Elia Seely

“But Steven, what I don’t understand is, why would knowing about this ‘code’ make someone want to kill Choden?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, for the millionth time. “But, like, why else would someone kill him? I mean, he’s totally poor, and a stranger and—” his voice broke and he looked toward the wall. A tide of voices and cafeteria sounds ebbed around us.

  “Was Choden a homosexual?”

  Steven blushed deeply. “I’m not— “

  “Okay, yeah, but was he?”

  He shrugged again.

  “Do you know if he was having a thing with anybody here?”

  Deeper blush. “We didn’t talk about stuff like that. Anyway, it’s discouraged here. Not that you have to be celibate if you’re not a monk, but, like, it’s understood you aren’t going to be having sex all over the place. Especially … you know.”

  Yeah. And humans being humans, it was going to happen, rules or no rules, vows or no vows. I pushed my cold soup away. More confused than ever, I needed to sort out everything I’d just heard. I looked at Steven critically. He was left-handed, I noticed, as he forked in more food. Kyle had said that he thought Choden’s head wound had been made by a right handed person. But Steven was strong enough to have killed Choden and fit enough to have scattered the body parts. But his fear seemed very real, and I felt the story of their friendship rang true. I thought again about Tenzin and glanced toward the buffet line. There he was, watching Steven and I intently. The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

  “Okay, Steven. I’m not sure your story is relevant, but I’m going to type up a statement from these notes for you to sign. Get yourself down to town and come in to sign it. Later today or tomorrow. I know there’s a bus, and I’m sure that whoever’s in charge of you will let you go. And if you do feel threatened in any way, you call us.” I fished out a business card from my bag. “But don’t leave town, got it? Not ‘til we get this thing figured out.”

  Steven nodded miserably and looked away. I rose. A quarter past one. I thought there must be a pay phone in the dorm buildings. I’d go over, call Dan, make sure that Margo had gotten home from her camp all right. Then see if Jim was finished. Back to town to write up Steven’s statement and figure out what was true in the tangle of information I’d learned today.

  I returned my dish to an overflowing bus tub. Steven stayed seated, staring toward the wall. Tenzin had disappeared. I hoped that Steven’s fears were unfounded. Surely, Choden’s death had been particular to him, and that kind of brutality wouldn’t be repeated. But if I was a murderer, I’d be scared out of my mind to be caught. And once you’d killed one person, how easy would it be to kill another? I half hoped the kid would blow me off and run to his mom down in Boulder, not that it sounded like she was worth much as a maternal figure. But I really didn’t want another victim in this already incomprehensible crime.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I pulled into the The Placer Inn, a funky quasi-Bavarian restaurant with mediocre German and Mexican food, popular mainly because of a beer garden housed behind the historic saloon turned restaurant. Naomi and I were meeting for a quick bite, as I’d eaten little of my bowl of soup at the monastery and she happened to be in town. After phoning Dan, who had assured me that he and Margo were fine and didn’t need me to come and check on them, I’d called her on a whim. Naomi had just been leaving her place and we’d be getting to town about the same time. I wanted to see if she could take Margo for Thursday night, as I had to be on call, and just spend my now very late lunch hour with a friend. Give my brain space from the tangle of connections that had to mean something, I just wasn’t sure what. I chose a round table under a big cottonwood, ordered a Coors light for Naomi and a lemonade for myself, and two plates of the lunch special: Beef Stroganoff.

  I saw Naomi when she came through the saloon’s back door, pausing to scan the tables. A long black braid hung as usual over her right shoulder, her skin shone brown, her smile wide. I stood up and waved and gave her a big hug when she got to the table. Naomi kissed my cheek as she always does. I breathed in the faint odor of horse and straw and Dove soap and felt something like pure happiness.

  “I ordered you a Coors light and the lunch special— okay?”

  “Perfect. Day like today, I’ll need more than one beer.” Naomi sat with a grateful sigh and rubbed her face. She closed her eyes a moment as she relaxed back, then turned her head to face me. “I saw Elijah outside the post office just now. He looked beat. As do you,” she said with a smile. “How you holding up? He said you guys were cramming in the overtime on a big case. Still no dispatcher?”

  “I don’t understand why nobody wants the job. It’s pretty easy, regular hours, decent pay.” I shrugged. “I liked it well enough when I did it—sometimes think I should back off on this police work and just be a dispatcher again. Bill’s been helping out, but he’s technically retired and spent half the morning in the ER for heart pains. So, yeah, we’re short staffed.”

  The waitress brought our drinks and Naomi took a long pull of her beer, holding the moisture-beaded bottle to her forehead for a moment.

  “How’s the kids?” She asked.

  “Oh, God—I haven’t told you, have I? Dan stole a bunch of pot brownies from Ginna’s kitchen Monday when he was at the MC, and he and Margo ate some of them yesterday morning. She ended up in the hospital.” Naomi’s eyes widened. “She’s okay,” I added, “but it knocked her out and Dan was really high … I haven’t talked to Chenno about it yet—or Ginna—but I’m going to. Yeah, really looking forward to that.”

  “But everything turned out okay? Jesus. Did Dan know—?”

  “No, he says he didn’t. And he would never have let Margo eat one if he did. I mean, it was scary until I knew what she’d eaten, then they both just had to sleep it off. I thought she’d gotten one of his pain pills—”

  “Wait, what? Pain pills?”

  “Yeah, on Monday Dan was hit by a car on his way back from the MC on his bike. Just a broken collarbone, but Doc Ellis gave him a painkiller prescription. That was his day in the hospital. The brownies were in his backpack, and I didn’t see them. Then yesterday, he got them out and then it was Margo’s turn to go to ER. It’s been a crazy week and with this case … I guess I can tell you; Saturday I found a dead body at the Gold Creek County Park.”

  “Jesus, Shan. So that’s the big case Eli was talking about? Who was it? Can you say?”

  I gave her a brief summary; more than I should’ve but I trust her.

  Naomi shook her head. “You need this beer more than I do. But the kids—no problem when the high wore off?”

  “They seem fine. It was probably a good lesson for Dan, but I was worried about Margo. Listen—I did want to ask you about her. You know how she’s always talking about her imaginary friends? Well, she’s been seeing this … this … I don’t even know what to call it. This being, I guess, that is one of the gods from the Buddhist world. A blue guy who is surrounded by fire and protects the Buddha. She’s never actually seen a picture of him—there’s a bunch of those religious paintings up at the monastery that depict him—but she ‘saw’ him when Dan was in the hospital and then again during her pot episode. Plus, she’s been ‘talking’ to the murder victim, and Naomi, she knows things about him that no one told her. It’s freaking me out.”

  “Wow. Like what kinds of things?”

  I filled her in on how Margo had told me about the ‘cutting up.’ Once I got started it felt really good to just talk about the frustration of the case, of Margo’s sensitivities, my guilt over making Dan be her caretaker. Naomi just listened and drank her beer.

  “So,” I finished. “I just don’t really know what to do. Maybe you could talk to her about it a little more. You know you two have a special relationship. I was wondering if I could bring her up tomorrow, after her art camp finishes … I have to be on call for the night shift, and I thought since she loves staying with you … it would give me peace of mind. Would that work for you? I’d
like to have her come up tonight, because my hours are so erratic and I don’t feel good about having Dan watch her all the time. But she’s really into the camp. And I’ve paid for it.”

  “Well, I’m going to a water rights meeting at the BLM tonight anyway. But tomorrow, yes, I’d be happy to have her. And she could stay Friday, too, if that helps. She’s no trouble.”

  “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver, really. I owe you. If you’re ever in trouble with the law, just call me.” We exchanged smiles.

  “It’s interesting,” she said again, after taking another drink of her beer. “Margo’s really got some gifts, I think. We need to be serious about how we deal with this, you know. Don’t want to shut her down. But—it can be overwhelming.”

  This wasn’t the response I expected. “Well—I mean, what is there to deal with? I don’t know anything about being psychic or whatever. If that’s what it is. Do you?”

  Naomi reached a long arm up to pluck at the leaves of the overhanging cottonwood. The waitress brought out our food, complete with a tiny bowl of strange pickles on the side. Naomi ordered another beer.

  “When I was a kid,” she said, “I mean, a little kid, I used to have these experiences, I guess you’d call them. I saw all kinds of things. Animals, angels. Saints.” She smiled. “I was pretty steeped in the Catholic iconography, you’ll remember. Super Catholic on both sides of my family. My abuelita encouraged me, thought it was like some kind of religious miracle that I could talk to the saints and angels. She used to ask me for advice. I was six or seven—around Margo’s age—when all this was happening. But my father was dead against it and convinced that it was the devil. He scared it out of me, and I just shut those abilities down. When I was really into my drug years, in the late 60s, I loved it, because acid made all that real again. But I’ve never regained that sort of visual ability outside of drugs, and you know I’m not into that lifestyle anymore. So—I miss it and just accept that it was a gift I let go. But if Margo could be encouraged to keep her abilities, learn how to use them … I don’t know. I think it’s pretty special. But, I get how it would be freaky too, because she’s seeing dead people. A murder victim.” She took a few bites of food. “God, Shan, have you asked her about who the killer is? I mean, did you think about that?”

  “I did think about it, and I did ask her. She just kind of brushed that off—she didn’t know. And I felt really terrible asking her, like she was some crime-solving psychic instead of my little kid that I was exploiting. I guess I don’t disagree with what you say, but I never thought psychic stuff was real, you know? I had no idea you’d had that kind of experience.”

  She nodded. “I don’t talk about it that much. Because you are made to feel weird about it. But think—in most indigenous cultures, there’s special people who are the medicine bringers for their tribe or village. Like the Native Americans, with their medicine men and shamans. All the different tribes have rich spiritual traditions, like the Navajo and Pueblo Indians, for example. I’ve studied them some. It’s really fascinating. So maybe Margo has some special gifts to use. And if you helped foster it, instead of shut it down …” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just projecting my own thing onto the situation. But I wished that’s what could have happened for me. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to reclaim now, starting this equine therapy thing.”

  We ate in silence a moment. Naomi is different than anyone I know, always learning something and trying to be a good person. The equine therapy, as I understood it, was a new way to work with both abused horses and traumatized people that a woman back east was pioneering. Of course, it was right up Naomi’s alley, as a spiritually-minded horsewoman. We had been friends since I’d moved to Gold Creek and I utterly trusted her with my kids and most of my secrets. But I wasn’t so sure being psychic was a good thing for Margo. I did want to shut it down. Like all the way down. What about evil spirits, or dark energies, or whatever kind of strange stuff roamed around out there? I didn’t want to have to deal with learning about a whole unseen world. It was bad enough dealing with actual murders and the spiritual intricacies of the monks and their layers of vows and myths and superstitions. What would opening the door to the world of psychic ability force me to reckon with?

  “Look, I’m not sure how I feel about any of this. I mean, if anyone was going to help Margo, it’d be you. And I trust you, Naomi, you know I do. I just—I just don’t even know if I believe that’s what it is. Even though it seems like it.”

  Naomi squeezed my hand. “I’ll talk with her a little about it, if I can, while she’s up at my place tomorrow night. Just see how she feels about it. You’ve got enough on your plate. But when this case is over and you’ve got some head space, maybe we can talk about it again. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I squeezed her hand in return. “You’re the best. A lifesaver, actually.”

  We made plans for meeting up at her place by six the following evening. I’d bring Dan, too, we could have dinner with Naomi, all together. Maybe he’d want to stay with her as well. At any rate, I’d have childcare through the rest of the work week, Margo would be safe, and hopefully we’d hand this case off to the CBI Monday.

  A young couple walked by us as we made our way back to the parking lot. Intertwined and in love, their obvious passion for each other made me yearn for some kind of romance in my own life. I thought about Jerome and his generosity, quietly working away at the office. Let myself feel excited about our attraction for a moment, then shut it down. I had no room in my life for a man, I had to admit, though I wanted one.

  Naomi and I parted with a hug. I got into my Bronco and headed back to the sheriff’s office. Details of my visit to the monastery started whirling in my mind again. There was a lot to sort through. I hoped that Eli or Butch would be available to go through it with me, and that Jim had called down with a hit on the murder weapon. Please come soon, I prayed to our as-yet unseen CBI agent. We need you.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I got back to the sheriff’s office at three. I said hello to Fran, who was watering the two sad office plants, and stepped through the swinging gate into the deputies’ area. Elijah greeted me from his desk. He was filling out an incident report from an altercation he’d been to earlier that day in the trailer park where he lived. He’d been off duty, but there was no one else to deal with the call, so he’d responded.

  “Was Bill here? He should have radioed me.” I said, guilt seeping in, as though I’d been playing hooky all day rather than taking just forty-five minutes for lunch.

  “Bill didn’t end up coming in. His wife put her foot down. I guess they’re going to order some more tests for him down in Fort Collins, at the VA, and she said retired didn’t mean ‘on call.’ As for the park, well, I was right there; someone else had called it in already by the time Butch called me at home. Don’t worry about it. We’re all on overtime.” He shrugged. “Just how it is right now.”

  “Where’s Butch? And was Jerome, the reporter, here when you got in?”

  “Butch is back in court. Jerome was not here when I came in at one. But he might have left you a note. I can see that the stuff has all been sorted. And Joe’s clear over at Ten Mile still. So it’s just you and me, baby.” He smiled.

  I went over to my desk, dropped my bag, and saw a folded sheet of yellow paper torn from a legal pad with my name on it. I opened it, hoping for two things: a fantastic revelation about Choden’s work that would provide us with motive and a truly viable suspect, and an invitation to meet him for a drink. Silly and aggravating, because of course I knew better. It was only a scrawl of notes and a quick signature, no killer’s name circled in red, no ‘call me.’

  “There is a summary of what he found with a first pass. Here, let me make some fresh coffee and we can go over things.”

  While the coffee brewed, I took out my notebook and our unimpressive file we had on the case so far and went into our makeshift incident room in Butch’s office. The wall held meager information. A horrible
photograph of Choden’s body, laid out on the autopsy table in pieces; a more recent passport size photo taken at the monastery as part of his visitor’s paperwork; and the names of possible suspects: Tenzin, Rabten, Lobsang. Jerome’s name was moved off to one side, where we’d placed it once his alibi had been checked and cleared to the extent that it was possible to do so. There was really no reason that any of these men would have killed Choden. I thought about Steven’s fear and his shaky alibi. Truly anyone could come and go from the monastery with no one noticing. The sameness of the days, the shifting mass of people, just as Steven himself had said. One day running into another, all the same. I could barely remember myself what I’d done last week. All of our evidence was pretty weak. And the brutality of the murder just didn’t match any of the personalities we’d encountered so far, or potential motives.

  I stood, staring at Butch’s ugly carpeted wall. What if the cutting up of Choden’s body hadn’t been a part of the crime, other than an expedient way to get rid of the body, as Rabten had suggested? What if the killer had counted on wild animals to dispose of and further disperse the body parts quicker than they had? What if it had nothing to do with Sky Burial and superstitions? Would that change anything?

  “Hey—coffee’s done. Want to go over stuff?” Eli’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s do it.”

  We settled in Butch’s office with our mugs and some vanilla crème cookies that Fran had bought and filled our cookie tin with. I wrote a 3x5 card with Steven’s name on it and pinned it up alongside Jerome’s card—the ‘known associates of victim’ category. I filled Eli in on what Steven and Rabten had told me earlier.

  “Damn. Good call on talking to him again,” Eli said. “That was pretty good intuition.”

  “Desperation, more like,” I countered. “But thanks.”

  “Wonder why he lied to us about it—the guy was his friend. That kinda sucks; you’d think he’d want to find out who killed him, especially if he’s afraid.”