Eye of the Beholder (32 page)

“So you just let her go?”

“What’d you want me to do? The police didn’t have enough to arrest her.”

“Well, they do now. You need to call Investigator Hamlin and tell him what you just told me.”

“All right.”

“Brace yourself. I’ll do what I can to make sure the facts are disseminated correctly to the media, but your name’s going to get batted around and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“I know, Brent. I’m just sorry it happened.”

“I’ve got the ball rolling to get you another legal secretary. I may have some prospects for you to interview Monday.”

“All right. See you then.”

Guy hung up the phone and sat quietly for a moment.

“What happened?” Ellen said.

He fell back on the bed and told her what Brent had said. “It’s not as though I didn’t know this was coming, but it’s humbling to realize how little I knew about Kinsey. Doesn’t say much for my ability to read people.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Counselor. It just proves the old adage: The true measure of a person’s character is who he is when no one’s looking.”

Will Seevers hung up the phone and for a moment wished he were a kid again, when the biggest problem he had was deciding which baseball card to trade.

Al Backus appeared in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, have a seat.”

“What’s up?”

“The Coast Guard just confiscated another boat full of explosives.”

“Where?”

“In Seaport Harbor.”

“Coming in or going out?”

Will picked up a bent paper clip and pitched it in the trashcan. “The boat was moored. It appears it was being used as a
weapons storage facility. It’s registered under a phony name and address. Intelligence is hearing a lot of chatter that terrorists are planning an attack somewhere along the coast. It’s going to hit the news any minute.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Keep a watchful eye. The threat level has been elevated again to Orange.”

“Whatever that means. I hate this.”

“We all do. Let’s just stay focused on what’s in front of us and let the feds deal with it.”

Backus folded his arms and tilted his chair back. “Focus on what? We’ve got nothing.”

“Because none of the students’ DNA matched what was found on the bodies? Come on, Al. Somebody knows something. Anyone capable of this probably bragged about what he was going to do and maybe even after he did it.”

“Yeah, well, mum’s the word.”

“I saw the look on Isaac’s face. He was scared of something. How closely did you scrutinize the Jewish students?”

“Same as everybody else. No one stood out and none of them were left-handed. They all seemed pretty tight. Killing one of their own seems really extreme.”

Will arched his eyebrows. “Unless they wanted to shut him up.”

“You think Kohler knew who beat up the Muslim kid?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. I need you to find out.”

Gordy Jameson went out on the back deck of the crab shack and sat at the lunch table with Captain Jack, Eddie Drummond, and Adam Spalding.

“I’m ready to get off my feet,” Gordy said. “Tell me what you know about the latest terrorist threat. I’ve heard bits and pieces.”

“The Coast Guard found another boat of explosives—this
time in the harbor,” Captain said. “Intelligence sources are pickin’ up all kinda chatter about an imminent attack along the coast.”

“People are freakin’ out.” Eddie tilted his glass and crunched a mouthful of ice.

“Anybody arrested?”

Captain shook his head. “No, but you know they’re sniffin’ out the Muslim community.”

“Still think we should reach out to them, Gordo? Maybe send a card?” Eddie snickered.

“Can it, wise guy.” Gordy pitched an ice cube at him. “So what are the authorities sayin’?”

Captain shrugged. “Same thing they always say: be alert. Report anything that looks suspicious.”

“You didn’t need this with the wedding so close,” Adam said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think any of us need this any time. I wonder if Pam’s heard.”

“Isn’t she here?” Adam said.

“Nah, she’s off till after our honeymoon.”

Eddie nodded toward the back door. “Well, look what the cat drug in.”

Assistant Manager Weezie Taylor strutted over to the table and stood, her hand on her hip. “You boys up to no good—same as always?”

“Heck, yes, we are,” Eddie said. “You miss us?”

“Unh-unh. And I sure don’t miss waitin’ tables.” Weezie’s smile was a bright half moon. “Well … maybe just a little.” She sat next to Gordy. “Can you believe the rehearsal dinner’s
tomorrow
night?”

“Yeah, and it’s about time.”

“Look at you, Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected. My innards would be jitterin’ all over the place!” Weezie’s hearty laugh turned a few heads toward the table.

“What are you doin’ here?” Gordy said. “You’re not at the helm till three.”

“Oh, I think you should get out of here, concentrate on more important things.”

Gordy smiled. “Afraid I’m gonna give away too many desserts, eh? Well, I’ll have you know, I’m buyin’ us lots of good will.”

“Ha! You’re gonna
good will
us right into the red. Why don’t you step aside and let Weezie, the wise and wonderful, work her charm? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with makin’ a profit.”

Adam put his hand over his smile. “The woman’s got a point. I haven’t paid for dessert since I started coming here.”

“You always get the special. Dessert’s included.”

Weezie turned to Gordy, her elbow on the table, her fist supporting her chin. “Any idea how many desserts you gave away yesterday?”

“I don’t keep track. I told you, it’s good will.”

“Then let me enlighten you.” Weezie put her lips to his ear. “You gave away fourteen slices of that good will. At three-fifty each, that’s forty-nine dollars—times thirty days is over fourteen hundred a month—times twelve months is over seventeen
thousand
bucks a year in good will.”

Gordy chuckled. “I’m more generous than I thought. Haven’t you got somethin’ better to do than harass me on my lunch hour?”

“Not unless you let me take over your shift so you can go help your fiancée get the last-minute details taken care of.”

“You sure? It’s gonna be tough on you workin’ double shifts when we’re on our honeymoon.”

“What else have I got to do? Besides, we’re closin’ early on Saturday.”

Gordy pushed himself up from the table, pulled Weezie to her feet, and kissed her on the cheek. “All right. You don’t have to ask me twice to spend time with my honey.”

Ellen refilled the iced tea glasses, then sat again at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry the intruder smashed the old dishes, but actually, I like these better.”

“Well, the tuna salad tasted great,” Guy said. “Really hit the spot.”

“Want me to make you another sandwich?”

“My taste buds would love it, but my waistline doesn’t need it. You want to go to a movie this afternoon?”

Ellen smiled. “That might be fun. How long has it been?”

“I don’t even remember. It’d be nice to get my mind on something else.”

“All right. Why don’t I get the dishes cleaned up while you check the newspaper and see what’s on?”

Guy got up and pressed his lips to hers. “I wonder if this is what it’ll be like when we retire?”

“Not if we have a banana plantation to run.”

He left the kitchen chuckling.

Ellen had just finished stacking the dishes in the dishwasher when the phone rang. She reached for the receiver. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Jones, this is Investigator Hamlin with the Tallahassee police. May I speak to your husband, please?”

“Certainly. Hold the line.” She put her hand over the receiver and stuck her head in the hallway. “Guy, it’s for you.”

Guy walked out of the living room and across the hall, and she mouthed the words
Investigator Hamlin
and handed him the phone.

“Hello … No, I haven’t talked to Brent since just before I talked to you this morning … When …?” Guy closed his eyes and shook his head. “Any suspects …?”

Ellen sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Guy’s expressions, the sound of the investigator’s voice audible but his words indistinguishable.

After several minutes, Guy hung up the phone and sat next to her.

“What is it?”

He turned to her, his face ashen. “Kinsey’s dead.”

Will Seevers sat in Bougainvillea Park on the same wrought-iron bench where Isaac Kohler had sat memorizing his poems. He started to take a bite of his sandwich, then put it back in the sack, thinking it seemed profane to indulge his appetite here and now.

He looked down at the bottom of the grassy slope where Dary Fassih’s body had been discovered. The crime scene tape had been removed, and just a few yards away a man was throwing a red Frisbee to his Irish setter. It seemed to Will almost sacrilegious that anyone’s feet should be allowed to tramp on the blood-soaked ground where someone’s child had lain dying.

He wondered if Isaac had been as nearsighted as he claimed, or if he’d simply chosen not to notice what was happening a hundred yards from where he sat.

“Was Dary your friend?”

“Are you kidding? I’m Jewish. He’s Muslim.”

Isaac’s eyes had belied his feeble denial, and Will felt sure that the young student had made some sort of connection with Dary Fassih—one that may have cost him his life.

Will gathered his uneaten lunch, then got up and trudged down the slope. Why was he so consumed by what had happened here? Why couldn’t he just let it go and let Backus fill in the blanks?

The haunting cries of one mother’s lamentation seemed to grow louder with each step he took, and he wondered if even solving the case could silence it.

Guy was aware that Ellen was staring at him and wondered if he’d spoken the words or merely thought them.

“Kinsey’s
dead?”
Ellen’s arms went limp. “How? What happened?”

Guy could barely find his voice. “The Atlanta police found her in—” He swallowed. “A Dumpster.” Guy wiped the moisture off his upper lip. “Stabbed in the chest.” He reached for Ellen’s hand.

“Do they know who did it?”

“Probably a mugger. They found her empty purse in with the garbage. No money or ID—just a business card. They called the office and talked to Brent, then e-mailed her picture to him. Brent confirmed it was Kinsey and called Investigator Hamlin.”

“They don’t think it was drug related?”

Guy shook his head. “They seem convinced it was a mugging. Brent asked the Atlanta police if Kinsey was wearing any jewelry. They said she wasn’t.”

“She could have hocked it,” Ellen said.

“Yes, but if this was drug related, the assailant would’ve made sure she was dead. Whoever did this got what he wanted and couldn’t have cared less if she lived or died. She probably bled to death.”

Ellen closed her eyes, her lip quivering, and wiped a tear off her cheek.

On the walls of his memory, Guy watched a slide show of images of the Kinsey Abbot he had known and respected: Beautiful. Bright. Sensitive. Capable. Efficient. Articulate. Funny. Anything to keep from picturing her dead and stuffed into a Dumpster.

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