With one hand the rider grabbed the startled target’s hands and cell phone and pushed upward, taking the final step in and plunging the tanto deep into the target’s abdomen just above his belt line, over his left front pants pocket. A vicious sideways slice opened a foot-long wound in the belly.
The short dagger was so sharp it produced almost no pain. Stunned, the target looked down to see his internal organs begin to bulge through the cut. Eyes glazing with shock, he looked at the rider and managed to croak, “Why?”
The rider stared back, pushing down on the target’s hands, forcing him to his knees before releasing them.
“Anata no chinmoku,” the rider hissed. Your silence.
His cell phone was forgotten as the target desperately used both hands to try and keep his viscera from spilling onto the concrete.
The rider replaced the tanto and stepped quickly behind the target, reaching up with one hand to draw the katana from the scabbard sewn inside the back of the jacket.
In one quick motion, so as not to lose the moment and dishonor the target, the rider turned the drawing motion into a vicious, two-handed slice too fast for the eye to follow.
The corpse toppled forward as the head rolled to one side.
The rider quickly wiped the sword’s blade on the dead man’s jacket and returned it to its scabbard before grabbing the duffel bag. The target’s wallet was taken from the inside suit coat pocket and the Rolex stripped from his wrist. The cell phone went into the duffel bag with those items.
The rider then grabbed the target’s head by the hair and held it up for a moment until the blood loss slowed to a trickle. A black plastic bag, the sort suburban homeowners use to hold their lawn clippings, was pulled from the duffel and the head was lowered into it. The bundle was then zipped into the duffel bag.
Whistling now with the satisfaction of a job well done, the rider walked back to the Hayabusa and used a bungee cord to strap the duffel to the bike’s pillion.
The rider swung over, pulled the bike up, made sure the transmission was in neutral and pushed out from behind the pillar into the traffic lane. From there, gravity took over and the bike slowly gained speed as it silently descended toward the street level exit.
Once off the final ramp the exit gate came into view. The rider pulled in the clutch and flicked the starter switch. The booth was unattended at this hour on a Saturday, the entrance gate down and the exit gate up.
But the rider drifted to the far left and hopped the bike onto the sidewalk separated from the two inbound traffic lanes by a six-foot pedestrian safety zone. Seconds later, now outside the garage, the engine revved and the Hayabusa disappeared into the evening traffic.
DAY 7
Sunday Week 1
Kaye woke very early on Sunday, feeling discomfited but unable to put a finger on exactly why.
He rose and checked the house, even padding barefoot across the patio to the garage to make sure everything was secure.
Nothing seemed amiss.
The wind was uncharacteristically onshore for the early hour and he decided he must have heard an errant traffic noise from Pacific Coast Highway.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get back to sleep, finally giving up and deciding to practice. A strenuous hour later he showered, then breakfasted on the patio as he an Amy had habitually done on weekends.
His thoughts drifted back to the last time he’d dined on the patio with a woman. He’d finally let go of Amy after meeting Bebe Shahnaz on the Birnbaum case. They had hit it off, but her military career was her priority and it took her all over the globe. They both recognized there was limited potential for developing a strong relationship with someone who was almost never on the same continent.
Kaye did not long for companionship. Being alone had never bothered him. In fact, he more often wished for solitude and silence than for company and conviviality. Still, the memories tugged at him.
***
Later that morning Kaye rolled the ’41 Flight Red Knucklehead through the gates of Kyokoku-Dera monastery. He wanted to ask Roshi more about shikantaza and the note he’d received on Friday.
In the saddlebags was a fresh cantaloupe, his traditional gift of respect for the old monk.
He stopped, as was his habit, at the crest of the graveled drive to drink in the beauty of the immaculate, beautifully landscaped grounds and the structure that looked like it had rooted and grown in this spot for a thousand years.
Roshi must have heard the distinctive sound of the ‘41’s exhaust as it idled down the hill because he already stood on the top step when Kaye rolled up.
The flat stone for the bike’s stand was in its usual spot.
Kaye fetched the cantaloupe and the two men exchanged formal greetings before Kaye mounted the steps and handed it to Roshi.
“I am in need of a walk, Benkei-bo,” Roshi said. “Would you accompany me?”
“Of course, Roshi-sama.”
“You come with questions,” Roshi said after they had walked for a short distance.
“I do,” Kaye acknowledged.
“Ask them.”
Kaye explained his attempts at shikantaza zazen, asking for clarifications and advice. He expected Roshi, in his usual way, to simply reflect the questions back onto him as a way of guiding him to find his own answers. Instead, Roshi gave direct, succinct answers and suggestions.
“My last question is going to sound odd,” Kaye said after a half-hour walking tour of the grounds.
“Only questions left unasked are odd, Benkei, because they never find the evenness of an answer.”
Kaye reached into his pocket and withdrew the note. “Can you translate this?”
Roshi took the note and scanned it, then looked at Kaye with an expression Kaye had never seen before.
“Where did you get this?” Roshi said, barely whispering.
“It was delivered to me at work.”
“Who brought it?”
“I don’t know. The desk officer said it was a courier. What’s wrong Roshi-sama? What does it say?”
Roshi looked at Kaye, then at the paper and said, “It says, ‘Benkei, I have waited long for this time. Beware the power of the onna-musha. This time you will fall’.”
“It’s a threat?”
Roshi stared at Kaye and nodded.
“What’s an onna-musha?” Kaye asked.
“Onna-musha,” Roshi said, “were female samurai.”
“I had no idea there was such a thing,” Kaye said.
“Oh, yes, Benkei. Some onna-musha are legendary, defeating their male opponents with ease.”
Kaye considered what Roshi was telling him. It seemed far-fetched. But the note was real.
“What do you think ‘this time you will fall’ means?” Kaye asked. “I mean, besides I’ll lose?”
Roshi considered the questions for a moment before answering.
“There is a legend surrounding Benkei that is called The Standing Death,” the old monk said. “Benkei was slain at the end of the Genpei Wars while defending the bridge leading to the castle where his Lord, Minamoto no Yoshitune, was committing seppuku after his final defeat. The legend is that Benkei single-handedly killed three hundred swordsmen before his adversaries rained arrows down upon him, striking him many, many times. Still, though, Benkei did not fall. It was hours before his conquerors approached and found him dead, but still standing.”
“I’m not going to worry about this. Somebody’s obviously just messing with me.”
“Then how did they know you are Benkei?” Roshi asked. “Am I not the only one to ever call you that?”
“Yes, but you’re certainly not the only one who knows about Benkei, and my name is Ben Kaye.”
Roshi studied him carefully.
“I have a strange question for you, Benkei,” he said at last.
“Ask, Roshi-sama.”
“Have you heard voices during shikantaza zazen?”
“No. Should I be hearing voices?” Kaye was skeptica
l, but didn’t want to insult his teacher.
“In theory, as your consciousness, your Self, processes the environment around you, it is not the environment that shrinks. It is your Self that expands. Legend says that Keizan Jokin could expand his consciousness to include the entire Universe. Using simple logic we may conclude that if your consciousness is everywhere, it may interact with the consciousness of others that are also present. Think of it as a collection of overlapping circles.”
Kaye smiled. “Roshi, I hardly have a large circle. More like a dot at this point.”
“That does not matter, Benkei. A larger circle might still overlap your growing one, and someone accomplished at shikantaza would sense your presence even if you do not sense theirs. You must be aware, and you must be careful. Onna-musha are fierce warriors.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Kaye said, trying hard to suppress a skeptical smile. “If anybody talks to me while I’m meditating, I’ll write it down for you.”
Roshi frowned and said, “Do not take this lightly, Benkei. That this note is written in Kanji means there may be danger here. Have you any other questions today?”
“No, Roshi-sama.”
“Good, then I will walk back with you. I very much like your old, red motorcycle. It reminds me of my uncle’s motorcycle when I was a boy, before we were sent to the camps.”
Kaye was astonished. In all the time he’d known Roshi this was the first detail of the old man’s life he had ever shared, and Kaye thought it might signal a watershed moment in their relationship.
After Kaye had laced his boots and swung over the ’41, which Roshi gazed upon with open longing, the old monk put his hand on Kaye’s shoulder.
“Be very cautious, Benkei, and write down what you hear if someone speaks to you. Even I have never experienced this, and am most curious.”
“I’ll do my best.”
***
Kaye rode Mulholland on the way home. Kyokoku-Dera was west of where Leigh Howell had crashed his new Ferrari, but his route took him past the Fire Station, reminding him he needed to dig into Howell’s life, too.
Welcome back to police work, he told himself. I’m going to need a bigger shovel.
DAY 8
Monday Week 2
Kaye got to the squad room early on Monday. He had a long list of due diligence tasks to work through on the Geller case, even though he doubted much of anything would come of them.
At 8:05 a.m. he called the security company Megan Sullivan had told him was responsible for the listing in Paloma Canyon.
The woman who answered the phone identified herself as Marella.
“Marella, my name is Ben Kaye. I’m a detective with the LAPD.” Per policy, he gave her his badge number and call back number.
“How can I help you, Detective?”
Kaye gave her the address of Sullivan’s listing and asked if there had been any problems or alarms at the house over the past two weeks.
“Give me a sec,” she said, and Kaye could hear the muted sound of a keyboard. “No, Detective, I don’t show any recent alarms at that location.”
“Nothing at all?” asked Kaye.
“Nothing, sorry.”
“Was there a system downtime, a power outage, anything like that?”
“Uh, no,” Marella said. “I’m not seeing any irregularities at all.”
“Can you go back, say, a month?”
“Sure.”
Kaye again heard the sound of the keyboard.
“I still show nothing, Detective.”
Okay,” Kaye said. “Thanks for checking.”
His next call was to the landscaping and pool maintenance company.
“Gallegos Landscaping. This is Hernan. How may I help you?”
Kaye went through the identification process again and gave Hernan the address.
“Yes, we take care of that property for Ms. Sullivan at Classic Realty. Is there a problem?”
“Not really, just doing some background checking,” Kaye said. “When was the last time you were there?”
“Let me check,” Hernan said, then went silent. A moment later he came back on and said, “We’ll have a crew there later this morning, and we’re due to be there again next Monday.”
“Is it always a Monday for that location?”
“Yes, unless the weather is too bad, then we bump everybody back one day and work Saturday to catch up for the next week.”
“But that hasn’t happened in the last couple of weeks, right?” Kaye asked
“No,” Hernan confirmed. “We’ve been on schedule for a while.”
“Did anybody on the crew mention an open gate?”
“Did one of my guys leave the gate open?” Hernan asked, and Kaye could hear the alarm in his voice. “Did something happen? Was something stolen?”
“You have the access codes, right?” Kaye asked, ignoring the questions.
“Of course,” Hernan said. “We can’t get in without it. My company is bonded and insured, so if there was a problem…”
“Any chance one of your guys would cut the back gate padlock to get in, say, if they forgot the front gate code or it didn’t work?”
“They’d better not!” Hernan exploded. “Jesus Christ! Classic Realty is one of my best clients.”
“I don’t think it was your people,” Kaye said. “But it was cut, so I have to ask.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“There was an incident on the golf course, down below the house. I’m just touching all the bases.”
“That producer’s murder? I heard about that,” Hernan said. “No way my guys had anything to do with that.”
“I don’t think they did,” Kaye said. “Like I said, I’m just touching all the bases.”
Hernan was quiet, and Kaye could almost hear the landscaper’s mind turning while he tried to put the pieces together.
“If you want to talk to the crew,” Hernan said, “I can make that happen.”
“That won’t be necessary right now. But there is one thing you could do.”
“Name it.”
“Check with Ms. Sullivan. If the security company hasn’t put a new lock on the back gate, she might want your guys to do it when they’re out there today.”
“I’ll do that,” Hernan said. “Hey, I know it won’t make any difference in your case, but my son is LAPD. Rampart. I’ll help any way I can, Detective Kaye. Just let me know.”
“Thanks, Hernan. Appreciate it.”
Kaye turned back to his computer and searched up the name of the cleaning company Sullivan had given him. He linked to their website, but couldn’t find an address or phone number. There was a contact form. He filled it out and submitted it, asking for a call.
Kaye’s next call was to the first number on the list of names of the foursome behind Geller that Hensley had given him at the scene. Because she’d called them ‘movie guys’ he didn’t expect any of them to actually answer.
He was right. It was a law firm.
After identifying himself to the woman that answered, and answering her questions about why he was calling, she transferred him.
He was on hold for so long he considered hanging up and calling back.
“James Calvin,” a voice finally come on the line. “How may I help you, Detective?”
Kaye repeated what he’d told the woman who first answered the phone. He didn’t figure it was the first time Calvin had heard the story.
“Ah, yes,” Calvin said. “I’ve been expecting a call. I do represent Mr. Jesse and I was shocked to hear about Avi Geller. A real tragedy.”
“I’d like to set up a time to interview your client,” Kaye said. “Of course, you’re welcome to be present.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Calvin said. “At least not for the next eight to ten weeks. He left the country yesterday for location.”
“That’s a convenient coincidence.”
“Look, Detective,” Calvin said, “Don’t read an
ything into it. It’s been planned for months, and a couple hundred people can confirm that. I can tell you that I met with Mr. Jesse before he left, we talked about what happened, and I have a notarized written statement for you. Although I must tell you, it doesn’t say much.”
“What does that mean?”
“It just means my client really didn’t see or hear anything. He and his friends found the bodies, and that’s about it. Given the layout at Paloma Canyon, that’s understandable.”
“Can I get a copy of the statement?”
“I’ll give you the original. If you still need to talk to Mr. Jesse when he returns, he will certainly make himself available.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you called anyone else about this? I mean, the other members of the foursome?”
“Not yet. You had honors.”
Calvin laughed, then said, “I’ve spoken with counsel for the other individuals, and they’ve all obtained notarized written statements from their clients. I can get those for you, too, if you like. If nothing else, I can save you some time and legwork.”
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Calvin.” He gave the lawyer the station’s address.
“I’ll have them couriered over as soon as possible,” Calvin said. “Please know that if you ever need my client’s testimony in court, he will be there. Avi Geller was well-liked and respected by everyone in the business. We’ll miss him.”
“Thank you for your time, Counselor.”
Kaye leaned back in his chair and weighed the morning’s progress thus far.
Not much.
One thing bothered him. If the shooter had cut the lock on the back gate to get down the hill and then climbed back up and used the gate as an escape route – which was supported by the lack of tracks below where Kaye thought the shots had come from – it meant that whoever it was had started from inside the yard.
So how’d they get into the property in the first place, and out again, without setting off the alarms?
And how did the vandalism fit into all this? Was it even connected?
Kaye reached for the phone and dialed the security company again.
Cruel Vintage Page 12