“Why do you know these things?”
“I told you. I grew up on martial arts movies. In ritual suicide, the samurai kneels and makes the first cut across the abdomen then pulls the blade up toward the sternum, literally spilling his guts. Then a chosen swordsman whacks the guy’s head off with a single slice.”
“What about the boy bits?” Mascherino asked. “Is castration part of the ritual?”
Taylor shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
“That’s an angry crazy woman,” Kovac said. “That’s what that is.”
“You really think Diana Chamberlain is capable of doing this?” the lieutenant asked, sounding dubious.
“Taylor thinks she beat the hell out of Charlie yesterday,” Kovac said. “And she would certainly know how all this was done. She’s a graduate student in East Asian history. She grew up in a houseful of the weapons the samurai used. And if Gordon Krauss is to be believed, she solicited him to murder her parents. And if he didn’t take her up on it, then who did? I don’t think this kind of violence is beyond her.”
“Have you contacted the other professor?” Mascherino asked. “Her lover?”
“Calls go straight to voice mail,” Taylor said. “Could be they’re in this together. They both benefit. Sato gets the big job at the U. If Charlie’s out of the picture, they share the spoils: the collection, the inheritance, the house—everything.”
“And they’re free to be lovers without Charlie’s disapproval,” Kovac said.
“If this is Charlie,” the lieutenant said.
“If this is Charlie. This could be the mailman, for all we know.”
“Then where does Krauss fit in?”
“Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he didn’t take the job. Maybe he’s a liar and an opportunist. I suggested to him that Diana might have asked him for a favor. Maybe he just took the ball and ran with it. Or maybe Diana was setting him up as a scapegoat. We know Sato knows how to use a sword.”
Mascherino nodded. “Put out an APB on all three of them: Ken Sato, and Charles and Diana Chamberlain. Armed and dangerous.”
42
“I had to kill him. It had to happen that way to close the circle.”
There was comfort in inevitability, once one accepted that truth and let go the need to control. As it turned out, surrender of control led to freedom. Control wasn’t freedom at all. Control was a burden. Acceptance was freedom. In acceptance, chaos fell into silence, and the Way became crystal clear.
So beautifully simple. So very Bushido . . .
Lucien Chamberlain claimed to have appreciated that philosophy. Bushido: the way of the samurai. The essence of life is found in death. If he truly believed that, he would have died happy.
Of course, he didn’t truly believe that. The things Lucien coveted from the way of the warrior were the obvious and wrong things: power, control, force, superiority, and violence for the sake of all those other things. And because of that, death was the necessary end to the cycle of abuse.
I love you—I hate you. I give—I take. On a whim. For a laugh. To punish you. To belittle you. To give false hope for no other reason than to take it away again just to prove a point. I’m stronger than you. I’m more powerful than you. I’m more ruthless than you. I will control you. I will hurt you because I can—to keep you down, to make you crawl, to make you beg . . . for love.
You don’t belong here anyway; we just keep you because we can . . .
Around and around, and around and around.
It was time to close the circle.
“I know, deep down, you understand. We’re supposed to be together, you and I. Our fates are intertwined. We were put together for a reason. We have to accept that. In acceptance we find freedom.”
They drove south on surface streets. They didn’t have far to go. It was a small world, after all.
One more stop. That was all. One more stop, and the circle would be complete. In order for the circle to be complete, one had to find the beginning. The very beginning.
The search had taken time and patience, starting and ending long before the killings, but with no end purpose in mind. Just the need to know, to have a name, to imagine a face, to ponder the why. But the pieces had fallen magically into place. The universe had a plan. It wasn’t always clear, and it wasn’t always kind, but in the end a pattern emerged. The circle of life: birth, conflict, growth, enlightenment, death. And in death one found the meaning of life.
There was comfort in acceptance of truth. Accepting the inevitable created simplicity. Simplicity was a beautiful thing, even drenched in blood.
The side street was dark and empty. The neighborhood was quiet.
“I’m sorry you can’t come with me, but this part is mine. We’ll be together again soon. Then we’ll be together forever.”
The kiss was long and lingering, with no one to judge. There was freedom now. It didn’t matter that the lips were cold or that the body was lifeless. The spirit lived on. Their spirits would live on together once the circle was complete.
43