Julie’s gaze was fixed on Lobsang’s hand as he completed his task. A tear rolled down her cheek. She must have felt me looking at her, for she raised her eyes to meet mine.
We shared an intimate moment, a bittersweet recognition of mortality. I don’t know when I’ve loved her more.
The mandala was no more. The Power of Ten symbol proved as temporary as anything else.
Sonam pinched up a few grains from one of the mounds, removed his yellow hat, and placed the sand on his scalp. The sand was an offering, the gesture a tradition that honored the passing of the recent dead. Sonam met my eyes as he replaced his curved hat. I knew what he was doing. He was inviting me to join him in sending ease and compassion to my father’s restless spirit.
I couldn’t do it.
The chants faded into silence.
The scattered clapping was tentative. Nobody knew the protocol for this kind of thing.
“Tank you,” Lobsang said, and the applause grew. TJ and Wangdue started sweeping the four mounds into a central pile. I lost sight of them in the jostling crowd.
“Can I have your attention, please?”
Adina stood in front, skin glowing. I’d missed her opening remarks today, but was sure she’d held everyone spellbound as she voiced her thanks and promoted the Dorje Yidam cause.
“Please, form a line,” she now called out. “There’s plenty of sand, enough for everybody!”
An assembly line of monks divided the pile into individual portions. I was desperate to reach Sonam, but there was only one pathway and it started at the end of the long queue.
I inched forward. Finally, I stood before him. His smile faded at my grim expression.
“Geshe, didn’t you see? The namchuwangdan . . .”
He leaned close, touching my forehead to his. “Not now,” he said, his voice low. “Later.”
He pulled away. Yeshe passed him something, which he handed over to me. My fingers closed around a small cylinder of glass.
I opened my palm. The black-capped vial was half-filled with multicolored mandala sand. But it was otherwise identical to the one I’d put in my pocket this morning, sealed in an evidence bag. The one filled with blood.
I pushed through the crowd to Bill. He stood with one arm slung across Sasha’s shoulder.
“Ten! Guess who came first in marksmanship?” Bill said. “Chip off the old block.”
“I need to speak with you.” I caught myself. “Sorry. That’s great news, Sasha.”
Sasha peered at me. “Talk to him, Dad,” he said to Bill. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
He’d read the situation perfectly, and this—more than his capacity to hit a paper target—told me Sasha would make a great detective someday.
Bill followed me into the crowded courtyard. I pulled him to the far side of the fishpond and handed him a sealed bag holding the glass vial of blood. This morning I’d filled out the chain-of-evidence form as best I could, considering the case was closed and I was no longer a cop.
“What the hell is this?”
“It was in my mailbox yesterday. Anything about it look familiar?”
I held up the other, sand-filled vial.
“Right,” he said, comparing the two. “Just like the party favors.”
“Think you can get forensics to check it out?”
Bill sighed. “Ten, I don’t know what to say, except someone has a sick sense of humor.”
“What are you talking about? It’s more evidence.”
“Evidence of what? Look. The dead kid is a suicide. The missing kid is missing on purpose. No one, including you, my friend, can find anyone who knows jack shit. And I’ve got a triple homicide and two gang-related drive-bys that just landed on my desk. Which means I get to work on Sunday again. Woo-fucking-hoo.”
“So you’re saying no.”
“I’m saying, stand in line. But it’s basement priority, kiddo, so you know what that means.”
“Fine.” I grabbed the pouch back.
“Sorry.”
“No. I get it. It’s like everything else. Nothing happens, until something really bad happens.”
Bill glared at me. “Give me the damn bag,” he said.
CHAPTER 47
The courtyard had emptied. I ran to the parking lot just in time to see Eric drive off with Sonam in the Leonards’ Lexus. Homer’s snout was pressed against the rear window. I walked up to Julie.
“Sonam’s not overseeing the disbursement?” I was surprised. The final step of mandala deconstruction was critical. It required pouring a portion of the sand into a body of water, to further spread the benevolence.
“Change of plan,” Julie said. “The Arroyo Seco is too seco. We’re going a little farther away, to some waterfall Adina knows about. Sonam took a pass. He needs to rest.”
I would have to rely on Yeshe and Lobsang for answers.
With Lobsang supervising, TJ and Wangdue stacked the last box of mandala supplies in the back of the van.
Adina was loading a backpack with bottles of water. “It’s going to be hot there.”
“Where?” I said.
Nobody bothered to answer me.
“Okay,” Adina continued. “Cooler? Check. Water? Check.” Adina’s eyes were vibrating with energy. She seemed even more intense than usual, almost frantic. Maybe it was spillover from the success of the event. The glass donation jar had been stuffed with bills.
“Adventure pass?” Adina fished a big salmon-pink ticket out of her purse and handed it to Julie. “Check!”
Adina hefted the backpack and slipped it over my shoulders. It must have weighed 20 pounds.
“Not too heavy?”
“Depends on where we’re going,” I said.
“It’s a piece of cake,” Adina said. She stuck out her palm. I slapped her five. She gave me a look.
“Nice try. Keys.”
“What?”
“You’re going in the van. The pass is only good for one vehicle. TJ and I are taking your car back to our place. Keys, please.”
There went my plan to drive Yeshe and Lobsang separately.
“We go fast in Mustang!” TJ was wearing new aviator sunglasses. “Like James Bond!”
“Uh.”
“Relax, Ten,” Adina said. “I was raised on a stick shift. Ask anyone. I’m hell on wheels.”
Was that supposed to reassure me?
Adina patted the backpack. “Precious cargo, don’t forget.”
“The water?”
“The sand, sweetheart. Pure sattva.”
Of course. The sand. That explained the weight.
“Okay, guys.” Adina’s eyes glittered. “Stay hydrated. And remember, the planetarium show starts at eight forty-five. If you’re late, they lock you out.”
I’d totally forgotten about our field trip to the Griffith Observatory. Yeshe and Lobsang were going to go nuts.
I shrugged off the pack and stuck it in the back of the van with the boxes. Julie was waiting for me up front.
“Looks like I’m going with you,” I told Julie.
“Do you want to drive?” she asked.
I moved close, careful to keep my voice low.
“Jules, I need to sit in the back with Yeshe and Lobsang, okay? Just Yeshe and Lobsang.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Wangdue!” she called. “You’re up front with me today!”
I slid open the side door. Yeshe was already buckled in, smiling under the brim of his Dodgers cap. I climbed next to him and Lobsang followed.
Julie steered the van up Los Robles onto Corson and merged onto the 210, heading east. Up front, Wangdue gazed out the window, silent as usual. His hands fingered through his prayer beads. The kid never stopped.
“How long is the drive?” I asked Julie.
“Half an hour, max.” She turned on the radio and punched a few buttons. Classical music, something with a lot of violins, filled the van.
Half an hour. I’d better get started. Where to begin?
&nbs
p; Lobsang beat me to it. “You see mistake?” he said. “You see namchuwangdan?”
“I did.”
He twisted to face me. “I notice first thing when we come in this morning. Too late to fix. Who does this thing?”
Yeshe leaned across me. “Why it matter? Is finished now.”
“No, Lobsang’s right. It does matter,” I said. “It matters a lot.”
My voice quiet, I gave them a truncated account of my talk with Sonam. I pulled up the namchuwangdan images on my phone.
“This is part of a pattern. And it’s aimed at me, although I don’t know why.” I turned to Lobsang. “Who had access to the sand mandala? Besides the museum officials, I mean.”
“We have key,” Lobsang said. “Just to gallery. After they come so late the first morning, they give to us. We keep in our place.” He corrected himself. “Eric and Adina’s place.”
“Was it there last night?”
Lobsang nodded. “And this morning. Always on small table next to door. We give it back already.”
“Okay.”
Yeshe looked concerned.
Up ahead, a solid bank of brake lights announced a major slowdown. Julie made an immediate exit off the freeway. She continued east on Sierra Madre Boulevard, and we entered what must have been a supermagnetic zone for Christians. I counted at least five churches in a four-block range.
Yeshe glanced at Wangdue. He turned back to me, his voice troubled. “Tenzing, last night, I wake up for some reason. And I notice something.” His distress was evident. “TJ and Wangdue, they sleep at other end of room, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Last night I see two mattress. But only one body under blanket. I smile, because it remind me of you, when we are boys. How you like to go outside.”
Lobsang made an impatient sound.
“What? I am thinking only someone still have jet leg. Probably out taking a walk!”
“Lag.” Lobsang said. “Not leg.”
I steered the conversation back. I was grateful for the swelling strings on the radio. “Could you tell who was missing? Or how long he was gone?”
Yeshe shook his head. “No. I just go back to sleep.”
So either TJ or Wangdue had the means and opportunity to deface the mandala, although that made no sense either. What did they do, hitchhike to Pasadena and back?
Up ahead, Wangdue remained a silent witness to the world streaming past.
We’d turned toward Angeles National Forest and were winding up a steep series of switchbacks leading into the Angeles Crest. A hawk spiraled up into the blue void.
Lobsang spoke, his voice grim. “Nawang,” he said. “Nawang do this.”
For a moment, the air darkened. I closed my eyes. This was not the time to succumb to another panic attack. When my lungs finally cooperated, I opened my eyes again.
“What happened that summer?” I said. “The summer Nawang disappeared?” I turned to Lobsang. “Please.”
Lobsang offered a short nod, as if making a decision. “A local Indian boy, he die in Dharamshala, hanh? A shepherd boy. A Gaddi.”
“His name Bhim,” Yeshe added.
“Bhim,” I repeated, nodding.
Yes. I remember.
“Someone kill him,” Lobsang said. “Another boy. A Tibetan, they say.”
“Bhim was murdered?” The clamp on my recollections loosened.
“Stabbed,” Lobsang said. He glanced at me, then away. “With phurba.”
Nawang lurches close. A blade flashes. One! Two! Three! The boy falls.
Can’t breathe.
I reached across Yeshe to open the window, but it wasn’t that kind of window. I was sealed in tight.
“They say you are there. They think maybe you do this!” Yeshe broke in. “But Tenzing, we know it cannot be true. We know you cannot kill boy.”
Can’t breathe.
I choked out the words. “But Nawang could,” I said. “And Nawang did.”
The van pulled into a parking area.
“We’re here,” Julie said, an echo of my first clue that something was wrong.
CHAPTER 48
A carved wooden sign listed several destination points. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on us, baking hot.
“Sturtevant Falls, two point eight miles,” I read. Not exactly a piece of cake, at least not in this heat.
Julie frowned. “Adina said it was super short. I should have double-checked.” She eyed her phone. “Okay, well, it’s almost two o’clock. What do you guys think?”
Like me, Julie was wearing running shoes. Wangdue’s Tevas would probably work. I studied Lobsang and Yeshe’s worn leather sandals dubiously.
“How difficult is the hike?” I asked Julie, who was reading the Yelp description on her phone.
“It says here kids can do it. Dogs, too.”
Lobsang took charge. “We eat. And then we walk to falling water.”
We wolfed down Julie’s ciabatta creations—fresh mozzarella and pesto for me, prosciutto and swiss for everyone else. Only Wangdue abstained. He was still keeping to his Saka Dawa, one-meal-a-day fast.
And I was still resenting him for it.
Julie had put some beer in the cooler, but Wangdue’s willpower was chastening. We stuck with bottled water.
The public restroom was a simple wooden structure, dull brown and buzzing with flies. As I waited my turn, I scanned the adjacent bulletin board. A bright orange sign carried a stark warning, printed over the image of charred tree trunks: ONE CARELESS MOMENT.
There were several cars in the lot. I checked them out, a cop’s reflex. And was glad I did. One black Toyota Highlander with tinted windows was suspiciously tricked out. My limbic lobe—the primitive lizard part that’s prewired to sense danger—lit up like a neon sign.
And my guns were in the Mustang, heading for Los Feliz.
“Oh no,” I muttered, but Julie heard.
“What?”
“My guns. They’re in my car.”
“With TJ?” Her eyes widened with alarm.
“Don’t worry. I locked the case,” I said. But I shared her unease, if for a different reason. That SUV sure looked like the kind of wild bull gangbangers loved to ride.
The hike began in reverse, with a steep descent down a narrow asphalt fire road. Tiny gnats dive-bombed our faces. The air remained hot and still, though overhanging foliage provided occasional shade.
The sound of leather slapping against concrete followed me down the hill. I slowed my pace until Yeshe and Lobsang drew parallel.
“Sonam said some troubling things about Apa, yesterday. Didn’t he, Yeshe?”
“Look!” Yeshe pointed to another wooden sign. “Wisdom everywhere!”
I read the carved yellow lettering: Take care of the land . . . Someday you’ll be part of it. “Yes. Very wise.” And hopefully not prophetic—at least not today.
I aimed my next question at Lobsang. “You referred to my father’s unskilled actions. What did you mean?”
“Tenzing, your father . . .” Lobsang waved at the air to disperse a sudden swarm of gnats. “The Buddha says, intention of the doer is important when examining certain choices, hanh?”
Yeshe nodded eagerly. “Yes! Karma not always so clear.”
I came to an abrupt stop. “Okay. There’s a term for what you’re both doing. It’s called ‘beating around the bush.’ Just stop, okay?”
Julie and Wangdue were several yards ahead. Wangdue’s robe flashed red in the dappled light as they rounded a curve.
“Before your father die, he ask to meet with us,” Lobsang said. “In private.”
“Also Geshe Sonam, he is there,” Yeshe added.
“Your father says he want to . . .” Lobsang muttered a word at Yeshe.
“Admit,” Yeshe said.
“Hanh. Admit something. He says he feels bad about certain things, and he wants to explain. So we will understand.”
“He feel sorry about how he is with you,” Yeshe said.
; “Hard to imagine, but okay,” I said. “Go on.”
The road flattened out. We crossed a slatted wooden bridge with metal railings. Beneath it was a bed of sticky mud. In wetter times the bridge might be necessary, but not today.
Asphalt gave way to cracked soil. Yellow honeysuckle vines crowded both sides of the trail.
“Yesterday, we talk about Kalachakra. Wheel of Time initiations, hanh?” Lobsang’s sandals scuffed, hemming his robe with dust.
“Yes,” I said.
“Some say, Kalachakra tantra the root and crown of the teaching.”
We passed a land-lease cabin balanced on a rocky pile of river stone and surrounded by dying pine trees, their needles red-brown. A limp American flag hung from a pole out front, its borders barely riffling.
“With Kalachakra initiations, many stages,” Lobsang continued. “First ones are for everyone, for public, but after that, initiations more secret, for higher levels.”
“Okay.”
“To reach final stage of perfection, some think it necessary for woman to be present.”
“Special woman,” Yeshe said. “Like empty vessel. Willing to surrender. Karma mudra.”
“Right,” I said. “Sonam and I talked about this.”
More cabins appeared alongside a trickle of stream. Here and there, stagnant water collected in shallow pools, oily black and alive with insects. An uneven row of cement steps branched upward to the left, ending at a lone, lopsided shack.
A slash of red caught my eye. I looked closer. A gang tag marred the final riser. The jagged letters were incongruous in the middle of this forest glen. Not JMM, thankfully. A coincidence of that magnitude might have sent me out of the forest screaming.
PLK. Pasadena Latin Kings.
Lobsang picked up the thread of our conversation. “Tradition says karma mudra should be woman with pale skin, white like moon and without blemish. Beautiful. And young. No more than twenty years.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
My mother, Valerie, was 19 when she and my father met.
Now Lobsang was almost pleading. “Tenzing, your father, he wanting very much to progress. To achieve final stage of perfection, so he can remove karmic stains of others. He wish to master his body. He make commitment to this.”
Yeshe said, “He is thinking, if attainment of goal is meant to be, right woman will appear.”
The Fifth Rule of Ten Page 24