A Fractured Peace

by Elia Seely

  “Rabten,” I said, acutely aware that we were alone on this floor, and likely the whole building. “I need to ask you some more questions. It’s important, if we could…?” I stepped back and gestured to the sitting area. No way was I going to set foot into his room.

  “It’s not the best time, Deputy,” he replied. “Could it wait? I’m—”

  “No, it can’t, actually. But I can take you down to the sheriff’s office, speak to you there, if that would communicate the importance to you.” I wouldn’t let him stare me down. We stood there, eye to eye, for what seemed like a long time. He shrugged, broke my gaze, and stepped out, closing the door behind him. I was just able to see the inside of the room: at least one of the tall windows visible from outside, a cluttered, round table, a low, ornate sort of chair.

  We went into the sitting area. “I have a few questions about the Unfolding Lotus sutras, but before I go there, can you tell me where you were Friday afternoon—Friday last?” Notebook out, sitting on the edge of the cream-colored sofa. He sat in an armchair opposite, leaning back, fingers steepled, all at his ease now. But his look remained wary, calculating. Or I was getting paranoid. But his magnetism seemed dangerous to me now, like ungrounded power lines.

  “You have changed your idea of the time of the crime?” He asked. When I didn’t answer, he thought a moment and continued. “The afternoon … I don’t teach classes on Friday afternoon, so I take that time to work on personal projects and study. I believe I brought lunch up here to my room, around one, and did some work before the afternoon meditation at four.”

  “You were here, in your room, all afternoon?”

  “Here and there,” he said smiling. “I believe I took a walk at some point.”

  “Did you or didn’t you?” His teasing generalities irritated me. I could tell he didn’t take me seriously. Contempt for women generally, I wondered, or just me? I pushed it down.

  “Yes. I did walk. I like to exercise.”

  It didn’t matter; he had been seen by Tenzin at 2 p.m. and by then the Subaru was gone with Choden and the killer on their way to Choden’s death.

  “Did you see anyone leave in the Subaru at any point?”

  “Ah—the Rinpoche mentioned that you had impounded it. You believe it was involved with where—or how—Choden was killed?”

  “Yes. Did you see anyone leaving in it, Friday afternoon?”

  “I did not see anyone,” he said precisely.

  “And did you see Choden Friday afternoon?”

  “I did.”

  What? I stared. “So—you told me a few days ago that the last time you saw Choden alive was Thursday night. Are you changing this story now?” Fury rose inside of me; I could smell it, hot and acrid. This guy had been playing with me, with us, the entire time. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I drew blood. Rabten had lied, omitted, misdirected us all week. If he was protecting someone, or himself, he wouldn’t bother to change from lie to truth. Rabten was intelligent. He had to have a reason to speak honestly now.

  “Did I say that? I was mistaken. I am so sorry. I saw him briefly Friday; he mentioned that he was going to go and look at some petroglyphs somewhere. He was quite excited. It was a momentary interaction; I had completely forgotten about it.” Rabten’s smile was crystalline. He knew that I knew this whole conversation was a fabrication. But I’d found Choden’s body exactly where he would have been to view the petroglyphs. And he had to have gone up there with someone who knew they were there, as they were unmarked on any map and not easy to find casually.

  “Rabten, this is serious obstruction. You’ve been omitting information all along, and I have to wonder why.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think if this was a good strategy.

  “I assure you it has not been purposeful. You must understand, Deputy, that we civilians have no idea when something might be important or not. Memory is fallible; facts are fluid. We swim in a world of illusion. I have tried only to answer directly and exactly what I am asked.” He shrugged. Waited.

  He was smarter than me, and he was well aware of that. I wondered again at Eli and my theory that the monks were in this killing together to preserve the sutras. Rabten must be protecting someone, dancing at the edge of seriously obstructing an investigation so that we couldn’t be clear. I could see that he felt impervious, sensed his awareness of his own power. I could arrest him for obstruction, of course, but that would be a waste of time and he was enjoying gambling with that fact. He wanted me to see how smart he was, how cool and in control.

  And I knew it, then, in my gut, that Rabten had killed Choden.

  Done it cold and clean. Even if he hadn’t done the deed himself, he had convinced someone else to do it for him. The magnetism, his power … if he had someone in his thrall, a student, a younger monk, how hard would it be? He’d just have to have a convincing argument. And now, was he protecting someone or preparing to throw his puppet under the bus?

  We looked at each other across the clean white light of the sitting room. Deep wood glowing, ornate versions of the Buddha and his cronies staring down from the walls. I had no idea what to do; knew that Rabten could see me thinking and whatever thought I had he would have gotten there first. I had to dodge, but not too obviously, because that is what he’d be expecting me to do. Every muscle of my body hummed tight as a wire.

  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, so pleasant and warm. “How is your daughter doing? I heard that she’d been feeling unwell. It must be challenging to be a single mother, your children alone so much of the time.”

  I literally felt the blood drain out of my face. Terror and fury wound around my gut. What did he know? How did he know? It was a small place; Pema had probably said something, after Dan had called. But it was Dan’s accident that had interrupted Rabten’s interview with me Monday; why was he asking about Margo? And how could he know I was a single parent? I realized that he was playing, trying to distract me, frighten me off, send me spinning. I took a deep breath, counted to ten. We just looked at each other: opponents. Both aware of the stakes. He knew that I knew he’d killed Choden, because he had let me understand, guided me to how brilliant he was. He knew that I could do nothing about it.

  “I hope I haven’t touched on a distressing subject,” he said at last, hand to heart.

  “She’s fine,” I gritted out. “Thank you for asking.”

  I would just keep pressing on, dumb cop, too slow to outwit the master criminal. I’d get the information I came for. Rabten was expecting me to succumb to my anger and discomfort and leave.

  “Let’s move on to the sutras,” I began again, notebook at the ready. “Let’s talk about what they mean to the monastery, and what would happen if they disappeared.”

  Rabten folded his hands in his lap, content for now that he had gotten his little point across, sure that I would scamper down the hill after our chat and go away forever, now that he’d threatened me so cleverly.

  “Whatever you need, Deputy. I’m completely at your service.”

  “Why are these sutras so important to you? Why were they so important to Choden? What would happen to this monastery, or to the Rinpoche’s power, for example, if they were compromised in some way?” My pulse throbbed in my throat and I was sure that Rabten wouldn’t miss that. Part of me wondered if it were any use talking with him further, but I knew that he liked to show off his knowledge. Maybe he would let something slip, something that would point me toward who he’d gotten to kill Choden. But I was aware of time passing, of Steven probably getting restless, Choden’s mother, waiting, far away, for his remains.

  Rabten considered before answering. “The Unfolding Lotus sutras are special because they are rare, and because they bestow great power on those who understand them. This is why there is a taboo against copying them.”

  “What kind of power—like, political clout, or special seats in the front row of Nirvana?”

  Rabten conferred a smile on me. “Spiritual power.”
>
  “Choden was after spiritual power? Which would have given him exactly what?”

  “So, for someone such as yourself,” smile, claws out, “the concept of enlightenment, or of being able to understand high levels of spiritual truth, are perhaps not important. But for those of us that are devoted to the release from the wheel of samsara, well, it is the ultimate achievement. Choden thought that he could apprehend that power—and he was quite intelligent—but he misunderstood the intention of the sutras in the first place. They are special, reserved for the few who can even begin to decipher them. Making a copy into Mandarin was out of the question, as well as making knowledge of their connection to the thangkas available to all. The whole point of advanced spiritual study is that the student be ardent, devoted, able to find his way to the teachings as all have done throughout the centuries. There are no short cuts,” Rabten said this last with almost a snarl.

  “But you are translating them into Sanskrit, aren’t you? What’s the difference?”

  “A point upon which we finally agree, Deputy. There is no difference. But the Rinpoche has asked me to do so, and in deference to his authority I am undertaking it. But of course, it will be a version without some of the essential elements. Certainly, without the thangkas, they are not fully potent.”

  My brain struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “So—you have to have the thangkas to—to—what? Unlock the special powers? “

  Again the smile. “In essence. It’s more complicated, of course. But—” he shrugged.

  “Does the Rinpoche know about the special powers bit? He must, right? What did he think of Choden’s work? Does Lobsang understand all this too? Is that why he’s so against the copying?”

  “The Rinpoche is very learned, very wise, very powerful in his own right. But he is not … in the modern world. He does not understand that there are those that would expose sacred knowledge just to have the fame of doing so. The academic accolades. Choden was this sort of person, and your friend Jerome.”

  Blue eyes, boring into mine. How did he know? How did he know all about my life?

  “In other words, the Rinpoche is a naive rube under his tree and you are the protector? The Vajrapani?” I could not keep the furious sarcasm from my voice. I recalled what Jerome had said about the Rinpoche being the leader of a modern community—a man willing to change with the times and necessity.

  He chuckled tolerantly. “I’m not saying that, but it is an apt sort of metaphor. The Rinpoche has many things to attend to. To be his devoted student is to serve where he is weak, to go where he cannot go. To be his devoted student is to be devoted to the Buddha, to the Dharma.”

  “So, you had to get rid of Choden, didn’t you? As he was going to steal your special book? Make it into a dime store copy that anyone—even someone like myself—could read and benefit from.” The words slid past, tumbling on the river of anger that I could not control. I knew that I needed to stop, that anything he told me now, with no witness and with him not under caution would be inadmissible in court. That I was showing my hand and that could be dangerous.

  But I shouldn’t have worried. Rabten shut down his magnetic energy like switching off a light. He leaned forward, but his eyes had lost their sheen.

  “You couldn’t possibly understand, Deputy. This is miles out of your league, fathoms.” He stood. “If you are going to trouble me again, I’d suggest you make it more official. But if that isn’t within your power, then perhaps just don’t bother?”

  He strode away before I could get to my feet. The door of his room slammed. The hair at the back of my neck was wet and clammy. My hands shook as I put my notebook back in my bag. Though I’m not the sort of person to believe in evil as a force, Rabten’s presence blew cold right underneath my skin, down into my vital organs.

  I made myself walk down the stairs at a normal pace, though every part of me wanted to run. I walked back down to the Bronco. Only an hour had elapsed since Eli had left with Steven. I considered speaking with Lobsang, see if I could get another opinion about the sutras, but it didn’t seem worthwhile. Did he, did any of them have any idea of who Rabten truly was? Did he have them all hypnotized? I thought again about the horrible, charming, intelligent nature of Ted Bundy. How he had so many people fooled. Rabten wasn’t—please God—a serial killer, but was he a psychopath?

  I needed to talk to Steven now. Understand how Rabten had convinced him to murder his good friend, lie to us, and keep up the illusion that he was just some dumb kid. Steven was steeped in the monastery life, the whole dog and pony show. Maybe there would even be some half-assed psychological blah blah involving his mom and her abandonment of him for the Buddha. Whatever it was, I felt sure that Rabten would have found Steven’s weak spot and exploited it. I shuddered, remembering Rabten’s face when he had asked about Margo, hinted about my ‘friend’ Jerome. There were explainable ways that he knew things, I understood that, but from my immediate perspective I couldn’t quite figure out what they were.

  I climbed into the Bronco, started it, and turned out of the parking lot. My mind buzzing. A dozen different emotions competed for my attention. My mouth was dry and I was hungry in the empty sort of way you get after flu or a night puking your guts empty of alcohol. I wanted to call my kids, I wanted to shut the door on the monastery and never look back; I longed simply to crawl into bed and have someone rub my back until I fell asleep. But none of that was going to happen. I had a job to do, and as someone like myself, I would just keep pressing forward, no special powers, trying to do what was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  No one but Fran was in the office when I returned. The small interview room lay down a hall behind the dispatch desk, near the one cell we rarely used. Eli must have decided to start without me. I greeted Fran and went to my desk. I succumbed to the desire to call my kids, speak with Margo, especially, but no one answered at Naomi’s. I had to shrug off my unease and just get on with things. The air smelled stale: coffee and a hint of Fran’s old-fashioned perfume.

  “Where’s everybody?” I asked Fran.

  “Butch is still out at the landfill, far as I know. Eli’s down the hall with your suspect.” Her eyes widened in gossipy horror. “That young man didn’t chop up our victim, did he?”

  “No speculation,” I tried to smile. “But I’m afraid he was involved, yes. We’ll find out now, I hope.” I went down the short hall into the holding area. The cell dominated most of the space; an unused desk sat opposite it, for the days when there had been a custody officer, and the interview room and our small bathroom were located to the left of the cell area. Now Eli sat at the desk, playing solitaire with a grubby pack of cards, and Steven lay snoring softly in the cell.

  I stopped short. “What—?” I whispered. “Did he confess?”

  Eli looked up, smile rueful. “Nah. Poor guy was exhausted from sitting up all night. What harm letting him sleep? I told him I’d have to lock him in, but he seemed fine with that. He’s terrified. I don’t think it’s an act.”

  “Okay—since he’s asleep, come back into the office with me. We need to talk.”

  Eli rose and we went back down the hall. I took him into Butch’s office and shut the door. He sat against the edge of the desk while I paced around the room.

  “I think Rabten convinced Steven to kill Choden. He’s behind the whole thing. I’m sure of it. I think he’s some kind of—of—I don’t know. Psychopath or something.”

  “Whoa, Shannon, what happened up there?”

  I told him about my conversation with Rabten. How he now claimed to have seen Choden on Friday. How he thought Choden had been going up to see the petroglyphs. His frightening intensity when he spoke about spiritual power, protecting the dharma. I left out his comments about Margo and Jerome.

  “Man,” Eli said, when I’d finished. “If you’re right … we’ve got to do this interview really carefully.” Eli ran a hand through his hair. “What I don’t understand is why Steven is so scared for his l
ife—from someone up there, I mean, rather than us. Going to jail. If he did kill Choden, he’s been a good boy, right? Done what the killer asked him to do. So—why the terror?”

  “Because. He knows Rabten is unpredictable and dangerous. And he thinks Rabten will throw him under the bus now, which he probably will. Maybe Rabten asked him to kill someone else, or hinted at it. And Steven said no. So now he’s scared. And we’ve caught him out in some lies: lies we discovered because of Rabten. I’m telling you, Eli, the guy is like a cat with a mouse. He was that way with me, no doubt he has been with Steven as well. He likes playing with people. Wielding his power. For whatever reason, he feels safe. He thinks that Steven won’t spill his guts and even if he does, how can we prove anything against him?”

  “Do you want to interview Steven now, or wait for Butch?”

  I stopped pacing and stared at our meagre wall of evidence. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this, you know, interviewed a murder suspect. I don’t have any fancy techniques. I doubt Butch does either. But we can’t wait for a CBI agent. No legal ability to hold Steven over the weekend unless we arrest him. We have to question him. Get him to trust us. Even if he was acting out of some kind of misplaced devotion or loyalty or fear, he still killed a guy and chopped him up. He has to answer for that.”

  “If he did it. We don’t know for sure.”

  “Yeah. If. Come on. Let’s get him up. Let’s do this. If Butch is scavenging the entire landfill, he’ll be ages.”

  The interview room was cramped and airless. I had to bring in the ancient wooden swivel chair from behind the custody desk, which Eli took while Steven and I sat in the discolored black plastic chairs that rocked on uneven metal legs. We left the door ajar for airflow; Eli pretty much blocked the door in his chair anyway, and we both had our weapons. Not that I expected Steven to run.

  I put a Sony cassette in the dusty tape recorder, pressed the big red ‘record’ button. We’d gotten him settled with a Coke and ourselves coffee.