A Fractured Peace

by Elia Seely

  “Look—what’s this about? You think I had something to do with Choden’s death? I thought you wanted to know about him, but you’ve pretty much just been asking about me.”

  “Just answer the question, if you would please.”

  He sighed again impatiently. “If you asked me who was or wasn’t at a particular meditation or meal or whatever, I wouldn’t be able to say for sure. There’s a lot of us here and one day pretty much runs into another, you know? So that’s why I said that. But I also said that your colleague should ask around ‘cause maybe somebody would remember. I know that I was the only one in the dorm on Friday night, ‘cause there was a film in the main building about the Dalai Lama that the guys in my room went to see. I wasn’t feeling that great so I just stayed in, went to bed early.”

  “And do you remember seeing Choden on Friday?”

  “I just told you—look, I didn’t know the guy. I talked to him a couple of times at meals. He was kind of a nerd, you know, really into his sutra thing. I mean, it was interesting and all that, but I didn’t buddy up with him. I don’t know if he was here Friday or not. I maybe wouldn’t see him at meals; I couldn’t tell you a specific day anyway.”

  “Do you know a guy, goes by ‘Horse’, who hitched up here last week?”

  “I knew him to say hi. He’s been around awhile. Yeah, he was here last week sometime. I think it was Wednesday though.” Steven thought, furrowing eyebrows that were going to be unruly when he was an old man. “Yeah, would’ve been because we were castrating the male kids and he helped me with that. He’s done some cowboying around Wyoming and knows how to work with animals.”

  “Wednesday? You’re sure?” Horse’s two friends had been vague about the day he’d been at the monastery, but Rabten had been quite clear it was Thursday night that he brought him up. And it was important to know who Lobsang had seen with Rabten in the truck. If not Horse, then who? Choden after all? Someone else?

  “Yeah, because I know we did the castration on Wednesday. It was a long day and it was nice to have somebody else to help. It’s not my favorite job.”

  “Thank you, Steven. You’ve been very helpful.” My mind was already moving back to Rabten.

  He frowned at me and started back to work. “Whatever.”

  I left, mind racing. Steven seemed quite sure of Horse’s timing, which meant that Rabten had been lying. Why? Why lie if Choden had been with him? What would be the point, unless Rabten had killed him and wanted to throw us off about what day Choden had actually disappeared? But Rabten had his own solid alibi for Friday night, with his illness and strange ER visit. Unless he had killed Choden after the end of evening meditation, chopped him up, driven down to Gold Creek County Park, hiked up the trail, scattered Choden, then driven back up and knocked on Jampa’s door at midnight. It didn’t work; there wasn’t enough time and, in any case, Rabten didn’t have a motive that I could discern. I knew that I needed to speak to him again, and I didn’t relish it.

  I returned to the main building and saw the state crime lab van in the drive. Good; Jim was here to Luminol test the knives. Not that it would get us much further to have a weapon, as everyone would have access to the kitchen. But it would help to just have another solid fact about the murder.

  I met Jim as he was coming out with the box of knives. We chatted a moment, but he was on a tight schedule and I wanted to get back down to check on Margo and Dan and make them lunch after Margo got home at one. My watch said it was a little past noon.

  Pema told me that Rabten would be just finishing a morning lesson in the classroom. I went upstairs and waited outside the same room I’d spoken to him in before. My plan was to challenge his Thursday story outright rather than dance around the subject. In a few minutes the door opened and several young men in robes with shaved heads came out, rowdy and razzing each other, which did not fit my ideas of what monks ‘should’ be like. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the monk thing. I took a deep breath and entered Rabten’s classroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Deputy,” Rabten said. “How nice to see you again.”

  If he was surprised at my appearance in his classroom, he didn’t show it. His face wore the same expression of both calm and a sort of sly amusement that I found unnerving. I nodded. We’d see how nice he thought it was when he heard what I had to say.

  “I need to ask you again about Thursday night,” I said. “You are sure that is the night that you picked up the hitchhiker, ‘Horse?’”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because Steven Jackson is quite sure that Horse helped him castrate goats on Wednesday. And Horse’s friend Lyle thought it was probably Wednesday he was up here too.”

  “Well, he may have been here Wednesday also. I brought him here on Thursday night, like I told you. But it’s entirely possible he hitched or rode the bus up Wednesday. He’s been in and out. There’s no formal arrangement for him, as he’s not living in. Guests are technically supposed to check in, but they often don’t. What difference can it make, anyway? Surely you don’t suspect Horse of harming Choden?”

  “No, but it was a discrepancy that I wanted to be clear about.” I felt silly—of course, I should have thought about the fact that Horse could have been at the monastery two days in a row; that would account for some of the confusion in his friends as to the actual day he was there. But still, it niggled me.

  “Steven told me he grew up in Nepal. Did you happen to cross paths there?” It was as unlikely as Steven having known Choden, but it would be interesting if they had actually known each other. Rabten had to be about fifteen years older than Steven, but it was possible.

  “Yes, quite a coincidence really. I studied and took my vows at the monastery in Kathmandu where Steven went to school and was resident for a while. I also knew Steven’s mother. Although we were segregated from the nuns there, of course. It was quite unusual at the time, as she was the only white woman to take vows and to live there. Later I went to Tibet. I recognized Steven when he came here a few months ago.”

  “Did he remember you?”

  “Not right away. But he did after I jogged his memory. There after all were not so many Anglos in the Nepali Buddhist community in the 1970s. Steven also met Choden in India. A small world, you might say.” Cue the wolfish grin.

  “He did? He told me he didn’t.”

  “Interesting. Because he distinctly told me that he had met Choden at the Dharma Gate University in Dharmsala. Where Choden was teaching and studying.”

  Rabten didn’t sound at all surprised that Steven had kept this little fact from me.

  “And how did he know him? Did he make a point of re-connecting when Choden arrived here?”

  “My impression was that it was because of Steven, partially, that Choden decided to come out when he did. Steven’s mother is now at a Buddhist community in Boulder; Steven was already planning to come to Colorado when he was traveling through Dharmsala. He met Choden somehow or other and helped Choden make the connection between the location of the Unfolding Lotus sutras and our monastery here. And since Choden knew Steven would be here—or in Boulder—he decided to make a trip out. You know how these things go.” Rabten shrugged. “One thing leads to another. But I don’t think they spent particular time together once Choden arrived. Everybody’s pretty busy, and Choden stayed down in this building, as you know.”

  My mind whirled. I had come to the classroom convinced I would catch Rabten out in a lie, and instead found that Steven had not been forthcoming with the truth.

  “Perhaps he does not wish to be associated with a murder victim,” Rabten suggested, voice irritatingly helpful. “He’s young. The fact that he knew Choden can’t be relevant to the crime, could it?”

  “Of course, it’s relevant! People are rarely killed by strangers.”

  “Yes, all right, but Steven—”

  I didn’t want to stand there speculating with Rabten about the crime. His tone infuriated me. We now had three men who had m
ade connections, however tenuous, thousands of miles away, who all spoke Mandarin, who had their maddening religion in common, and who were supposedly zealous about the Dharma or whatever they chose to call it. If Steven had put Choden onto these precious sutras, that meant he had known about them before he came to Shining Mountain, as presumably, Rabten had too.

  “Did you know about the Unfolding Lotus sutras, when you were in Asia?”

  “Yes and no,” he replied. “I knew about the existence of certain mythic sutras that were rare and magnificent. But as to the specifics of the Unfolding Lotus, and where they were, no. I came here to study with the Rinpoche, who is well respected within the lineage of teachers in our particular stream of Buddhism. I found out about the sutras once I arrived here.”

  “Have you read them?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “They are not something that you would understand if you aren’t a scholar of ancient Buddhist texts. Sutras in general are meant to guide and teach, to inform the student of the right alignment to life, you could say. Meaningless to someone such as yourself.” He smiled. “No disrespect, of course.”

  Someone such as myself. It stung, though I would have liked to have believed I didn’t care what Rabten thought of me. This smug assurance of the moral high ground turned me off religion completely and made me avoid any kind of religious person like the plague.

  My thoughts whirred. Now I would have to re-confront Steven about his lie. It could be a lead, however, because there must be some reason to lie, especially if Steven had nothing to hide. But obviously, he did have something he did not want to reveal about his prior connection to Choden. Or he had killed him, and made a ham-fisted attempt to give him the Sky Burial as what? A way to make the crime less heinous? Or a way, as Margo had said, to try and keep his ghost from wandering?

  “Do you believe in ghosts? As a matter of, of … religion? I mean, is it part of why someone would perform the Sky Burial?”

  For the first time I thought I saw a flicker of discomfort in Rabten’s eyes. He turned away and busied himself at his desk.

  “There are many superstitions in the Chinese and Tibetan culture, like in any other,” he said. “Some believe that without a proper burial, a spirit will be unable to ascend and reincarnate, and instead be bound to the earth to wander as a ghost. I believe all spiritual traditions have some sort of myths along these lines, created long ago for practical reasons. And Sky Burial is exactly that; a practical approach to dealing with remains when cremation or burial isn’t appropriate or available.”

  “Would Steven have known about Sky Burial?”

  “I’m not comfortable with where this conversation is leading, Deputy. You should ask him yourself. But it’s a common practice in Asia, although practically outlawed by the Chinese in China and Tibet.”

  So, in other words, yes, but you didn’t hear it from me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I may need to speak to you again. You aren’t planning to leave the monastery?”

  He smiled a tight little smile. “Nowhere to go. This is my home.”

  I turned and headed for the door.

  “Have you spoken to Jerome Taschen?” he called after me.

  I stopped and turned again to face him. “Why do you ask?”

  “Only that he may have some … insights to offer you. He spoke with Choden fairly often. They had a similar interest in disseminating the sutras. And a similar lack of belief in the superstitions around making copies of it.”

  “We’re looking into all the aspects of the case.” I didn’t trust Rabten, though I found him magnetic, almost mesmerizing. I was struck by a similarity to the snake in the Jungle Book, Margo’s second favorite Disney movie.

  I glanced at my watch as I left the classroom: half past noon. I hustled down the stairs, feeling my own stomach rumble. I was sleepy too and needed more coffee. I’d hoped to be headed down the hill by now, but I had to find Steven again and I should check in with Jim. I had no idea how long the Luminol testing would take. I sighed and silently apologized to Dan. He’d look after Margo, again, even though he wasn’t at his best.

  I strode through the hallway and out into the gravel drive. Maybe they’d give me a meal in the cafeteria. Steven would likely be there; perhaps he and I could have a little lunch and sort out his faulty memory of knowing Choden.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tenzin stood monitoring the buffet meal and nodded curtly when I smiled at him. I asked if I could have a bite of food and he gestured for me to help myself. I chose a bowl of soup and bread and scanned the tables looking for Steven. He sat at a table by himself, lucky for me. The cafeteria rang with noise but wasn’t full; I figured people just drifted in between a certain time period as their work allowed. I approached Steven and sat down.

  His face visibly fell, much to my satisfaction. Yet, he was a young, probably scared, kid. I had told a few lies to cops too, in my time. But never about anything as serious as knowing a murder victim.

  “Hey Steven,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “I had a little chat with Rabten after you and I talked, and he said that you actually knew both himself and Choden out in India and Nepal. A slightly different story than the one you told me. Care to explain?”

  He paled under his tan and blinked rapidly at me before dropping his gaze to his plate. “I don’t have to say anything to you without a lawyer.”

  “Steven,” I had to laugh. “You don’t need a lawyer. This is just a clarifying conversation. I’m not accusing you of anything. But of course, if you want, you can ride down to the sheriff’s office with me and we can interview you formally in the presence of legal counsel. Do you have a lawyer?”

  “Um, no.”

  “We’re just going to chat some more, and then, if what you say is relevant to our investigation, you will need to come down to the sheriff’s office to sign a statement. Once we get your story straight. Understand?”

  “I don’t go down to town.”

  “Well you’ll have to figure that out. Bus, catch a ride down. I’m sure you can manage. I can speak to whoever supervises you, if you like.”

  “Whatever,” he sighed. “Okay.”

  “Now, why don’t you tell me about your connections to Rabten and Choden out in Asia?”

  He fumbled his way through an embarrassed tangle of ‘you knows’ and ‘likes’ which reminded me painfully of Dan. Only this young man was a well-traveled twenty-year old who as far as I could tell had led a strange but rather privileged life. I tried to be patient—never my strong suit—as I coaxed the story out. And there wasn’t much in it after all: Steven and Rabten had been in the same monastery but had only known each other tangentially. Rabten had helped Steven get the hang of a few quirks of monastery life, but Steven was raised in the culture of India and Nepal, and had a harder time adjusting to life in America than he had to being a young white boy in a monastery school. Rabten had left well before Steven quit school at fifteen. Steven’s mother, apparently content with his decision, stayed in Kathmandu while he traveled to Tibet and then Dharmsala, following his own devotional treasure map, ‘X’ marking the spot of the exiled Dalai Lama and Tibetan Buddhist community. He had obtained some kind of work as a translator at the Dharma Gate University, despite his young age of sixteen at that time. Choden was already there and about to start his master’s level program. The two met, as the university was not large, and became friends, sharing a burning interest in the more esoteric streams of Buddhism. I admit I was confused by some of his tale, as the whole spiritual angle seemed convoluted and, as ‘someone like myself,’ pretty incomprehensible.

  Steven’s mom had departed for Boulder and a community there when he was eighteen, and he had decided to follow her out. He learned that the Unfolding Lotus sutras were at the Shining Mountain monastery from Choden, rather than the other way around, as Rabten had suggested. And, it sounded like Choden had encouraged Steven to come here, again, rather than the opposite as Ra
bten had said. Fair enough; the point was that, like two schoolboys looking for adventure, they had decided to check out the sutras and see how they could advance their study and practice. It all seemed very innocent, and I couldn’t figure out why Steven would lie about it and claim to not know Choden, when clearly they were, in their own minds, some kind of spiritual brother warriors. I said as much.

  “So why lie? You must be really affected by his death, right? You were good friends.”

  “I just, I don’t know, I’m afraid. I don’t want someone to come after me.”

  “Why do you think Choden was killed?”

  “I don’t know! Because he wanted to copy the sutras? There’s a big taboo against it, but he said that was all superstition and was an outdated way to keep the sutras safe. He said more people—serious students—should have access to the benefits of them. You can’t just read them, you know. You have to be advanced in your understanding. It won’t make any sense otherwise. And they are written in a pretty obscure dialect. And there’s some other piece to fully understanding them that Choden was trying to figure out.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, you know, they’re in some kind of code. But if you have this other component—and I don’t know what it is—then you can break the code. Or whatever. And then understand the teachings. The ancient scribes made it like, really hard for just anybody to understand them on the deepest level.”

  “Have you read them? Rabten has, Lobsang, probably the Rinpoche, right? Do they have the ‘secret code?’”

  “I can’t read it; I don’t know the dialect. And I don’t know who can. Look, the thing is, there’s an inner circle when you get advanced. Maybe those guys don’t need the code. I don’t know. You should ask Lobsang about it. But I swear, I don’t know anything about who killed Choden or why he died. And I’m really scared whoever it was will think that I know something and take me out too.”