Eye of the Beholder (36 page)

O
n Sunday morning, Will Seevers sat in his office, the ceiling fan rustling the papers on his desk, and watched through the window as investigators from the ATF, FBI, and Homeland Security combed the singed grounds around city hall.

Al Backus came in and flopped in a chair. “You feeling as useless as I am?”

“I don’t know whether
useless
is the right word. I’ll just have to live with the fact that I’m not in the driver’s seat on this one.”

“The feds are always so arrogant when they claim jurisdiction.”

Will folded his hands on his desk. “Let’s just stay focused on our two unsolved murders.”

“We’ve got nothing. How long can we keep poring over the case notes?”

“As long as it takes. It’s only been a week. I’m convinced whoever killed Fassih and Kohler has told someone. And that someone’s bound to slip up.”

Al shook his head. “Chief, we’ve talked to the victims’ parents, siblings, extended families, friends, neighbors, classmates, professors, the imam at the mosque, the rabbi at the synagogue—even the college librarian. Nobody’s given us anything.”

“Then go back and retrace your steps. Either we’re missing someone—or the killer’s a better actor than we are cops.”

“Maybe we’re never gonna know.”

“
Never
is unacceptable, Al. Stop whining and find me something. By the way, was that Investigator Hamlin I heard you talking to earlier?”

“Yeah. Looks like we can close our investigation of the break-in at the Jones’s house. Rob Blakely confessed to all three break-in’s—the house and Jones’s apartment twice.”

“Did he confess to killing the secretary?”

“No. He admitted writing the threat on Jones’s mirror and holding a knife on him, but swears it was just an intimidation tactic to try to collect the thirty grand. Blakely swears he never ordered a hit on Kinsey Abbot. Says he didn’t even know she’d left Tallahassee.”

“Does Hamlin believe him?”

“Yeah, Jones told him that when he and the missus took Ms. Abbott to the bus station, she was confident that absolutely no one knew about her going to Atlanta. Jones said she used a phony name on her bus ticket.”

“So her death really was just a random mugging?”

“Looks that way. According to someone at the law firm, she routinely wore a lot of gold jewelry and none was found on her. The medical examiner found scratches where it had been yanked off. You’d think she’d have pawned it if she owed money.”

“She probably couldn’t scrape up thirty grand no matter what she did.” Will shook his head. “Too bad a prominent attorney like Guy Jones let himself get involved with the likes of her.”

Guy followed Ellen into the kitchen from the garage and watched as she disarmed the security alarm.

“You’ve got that down pat,” he said. “Feel a little safer?”

Ellen nodded. “I never want to be without it again.”

“At least Rob Blakely’s locked up.” Guy put down his Bible and picked up the Sunday paper and tucked it under his arm. “I
might as well read the paper and see what the press is doing to me. Is there any coffee left?”

“Yes, I’ll microwave it and bring you a cup.”

Guy went out on the veranda and sat in his wicker rocker, aware of church bells ringing in the distance and thinking what a pleasant contrast it was to last night’s civil defense siren.

“Here you go.” Ellen handed him a mug of coffee, then sat in the other rocker, her arms folded, and seemed to be observing the bird feeders.

“Honey, I’m sorry I insisted we leave church before it was over,” Guy said. “I just couldn’t face all those people, knowing they probably think I’m a real sleaze.”

“I don’t know why you won’t just go talk to Pastor Crawford about the whole thing—get it out in the open.”

“Maybe after the dust settles. Not today.” Guy took in a breath and exhaled. “I’m dreading Kinsey’s graveside service.”

“What time tomorrow is it?”

“I need to call Brent back and ask him. Would you mind bringing me my cell phone?”

Ellen left the veranda and came back with Guy’s cell phone and handed it to him. He hit the auto dial and waited.

“Hello.”

“Brent, it’s Guy.”

“Donna and I were just talking about you!” Brent McAllister said. “Has the world gone mad—two car bombings in sleepy little Seaport?”

“It’s weird, all right.”

“The latest on CNN is that authorities don’t have any leads.”

“Maybe those Arabs they arrested before will decide to talk. Listen, Brent, did you find out the time for Kinsey’s graveside service?”

“Yeah, one o’clock, but you’re not going.”

“Why not?”

“Because the press will have you for lunch! Nobody from the
office is going. We need to distance ourselves from the situation.”

“Kinsey made a huge mistake, but that doesn’t erase the fact that she was a tremendous help to me for over a year. I’d like to pay my respects.”

“Guy, praying over her dead body isn’t going to do a thing for Kinsey … and it could do irreparable harm to your reputation. If you want this thing to
go away
without getting you dirty, you need to stay away.”

Guy paused, trying to process the implication. “I don’t know, Brent. I need to think about it.”

“What you’d better
think
about is how it looks. The press already knows that Kinsey spent the night at your place and that you found cocaine you didn’t turn in right away. You think they’re going to leave it alone?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Guy was surprised at the anger in his tone.

“I know. That’s why I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Me, or the firm?”

“Both. This may sound cold, but why bother paying your respects to some secretary dumb enough to get mixed up in cocaine trafficking? Kinsey Abbot wasn’t worth the dirt they’re about to throw on her casket. This was her problem. Don’t make it ours.”

“You’re right, Brent, it sounds cold. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Guy disconnected the call.

“That sounded adversarial,” Ellen said.

“Brent doesn’t want me going to Kinsey’s graveside service.” Guy relayed to her everything Brent had said. “Apparently, no one from the firm is going.”

“It doesn’t surprise me that he’s decided not to go, but how dare he dictate what your response should be.”

“It really burns me the way he kept downplaying Kinsey, like she didn’t matter because she was just a secretary.”

“Brent’s a master manipulator. Are you going to let him guilt
you into not going?” Ellen got up and stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. “What’s
really
bothering you?”

Guy breathed in and exhaled. “I guess part of me would like to have a legitimate excuse not to go. I mean, Kinsey died an unbeliever. The idea of her spending eternity in hell … well, that’s a tough one. I wish I’d tried harder to get her to listen.”

“So now
you’re
the Savior?” Ellen paused for a moment, then resumed kneading his shoulders. “Free will is what it is. You can’t force a change of heart.”

“Why did she have to be so stubborn? It’s one thing to bury someone, knowing you’ll see them again. But this?”

“So concentrate on the things about Kinsey worth remembering. If you decide to go to the cemetery, I’d like to go with you.”

“Even if it means antagonizing my partners?”

“I think we need to consider a higher Authority, Counselor. Which approach seems right to you?”

Will Seevers walked up the steps of a white stucco two-story with a red-tile roof and rang the doorbell. Half a minute later, Simin Fassih opened the door.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Fassih,” Will said. “This will just take a minute.”

Will walked down an elegant entry hall of polished Spanish tile, a wrought-iron chandelier overhead, and entered the living room. The entire back wall was glass and offered a panoramic view of the gulf.

“This is spectacular,” Will said.

Simin nodded. “I originally built this to be the model home in this development, but my wife fell in love with the view.”

Will smiled at Mrs. Fassih. “I can see why.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Simin said. “I cannot tell you how sorry we are about the car bombings. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Actually, no.” Will sat in a white cushy chair facing the couch and noticed the couple’s eyes had grown dull with grief. “I came to reassure you how hard we’re working to find Dary’s killer.”

“You have leads?”

“Not yet. But rest assured, we’re going to get him. I just wanted you to know we’re retracing our steps and looking for every conceivable angle. This case isn’t going to get put on the back burner because of the car bombings.”

Simin held tightly to his wife’s hand, his eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you. I’m sure public sentiment is not in our favor at the moment.”

“Well, I don’t run my department based on public sentiment. I want your son’s killer punished.”

Simin nodded. “We’re grateful.”

“That’s really all I came to say. I wanted to tell you in person, not over the phone.”

Will’s eyes found a family portrait on the bookshelf, and he remembered Dary was the oldest of four children. What a handsome kid he was. Looked like his mother. Will was glad to have a likeness of the boy to replace the battered image that kept replaying in his memory.

Simin escorted him to the front door and seemed trapped in silence, then finally said, “I cannot tell you how good it feels to be treated with respect, as if you value a Muslim’s life as much as everyone else’s. We cannot bring Dary back, but hope that through his death, others will come to see that Muslim Americans have the same feelings, hopes, and dreams as everyone. At least then my son’s suffering would not have been in vain.”

“If it’s any consolation, Mr. Fassih, Dary’s death has caused me to realize how easy it is for people to misjudge those they don’t understand and have little interaction with. Maybe some of the unfounded suspicions would go away if Muslims were integrated into the community and not isolated.”

Simin nodded. “I have thought that myself. But I don’t know how we would be received when there is so much fear and hostility. It is a frightening time to be Muslim.”

Will walked down the front steps and out to his squad car, Mr. Fassih’s parting words echoing in his mind, thinking how ironic it was that Muslims were as scared as everyone else.

 36
 

A
t six o’clock Monday morning, Police Chief Will Seevers sat at his computer, scrolling through the case notes on the Dary Fassih and Isaac Kohler murders. He took a sip of coffee and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. What were they missing? Why did this killer seem silent and invisible?

Al Backus appeared in the doorway and bit off the top half of a doughnut and chased it with a gulp of coffee. “You’re here early.”

“Why waste time sleeping when I can be trying to solve these murders?”

“Any revelations?”

Will looked over the top of his glasses. “No, but I can see why you’re convinced it wasn’t a student.”

“Plus we already checked out all the siblings and the professors. You want us to go after the custodian and the gardener? They’re both right-handed and in their fifties. But hey, who’s to say one of them doesn’t throw a mean left punch?”

“I don’t feel like joking about it, Al.”

“Sorry, Chief. A little humor seems to break up the monotony.”

Will got up, his hands in his pockets, and stood at the window. “I went by the Fassihs yesterday. I told them we weren’t putting this case on the back burner because of the car bombings. I told the Kohlers the same thing.”

“What do you want me to do? I’m out of ideas.”

“Go back and talk to the rabbi and the imam. See if they’ve noticed anything strange since the murders—maybe someone
who suddenly seems scarce, or more vocal. After the car bombings, I’m sure you’ll encounter some resistance in the mosque.” Will lifted his eyebrows. “Tread lightly. I know it’s not your strongpoint, but I need you to make these religious leaders your best friend. I think I’ll go to the college and talk to the English professor.”

“Stephen Hardy?”