Eye of the Beholder (37 page)

“Yeah. What’s he like?”

“As I recall, late forties, sandy hair and beard. Soft spoken. Nice guy. Real cooperative. Why do you want to talk to him? He didn’t know anything.”

“I guess because he paired the two boys up for class projects and had a chance to observe any reaction from the students.”

“He told us nobody in class paid much attention to it.”

“I know. I just want to meet the guy.”

“I’ve never seen you this consumed by a case before, Chief.”

“Is it that obvious? I don’t usually get emotionally involved.”

“Why did you this time?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe because I talked to Isaac the day before he was killed. And the sound of Dary’s mother’s weeping keeps me up at night. I can’t seem to shut it off. I just want to get the person who’s wrecked their lives, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. I’ll get back out there after this morning’s meeting.”

Guy Jones pulled his car into Shady Pines Cemetery, glad when he spotted a fresh gravesite not far from the entrance. He looked in his rearview mirror and waited until he saw Ellen’s white Thunderbird turn in, then continued on the winding path and pulled up behind a black van and shut off the motor. He glanced at his watch: 12:50.

He got out of the car and looked over at the light gray casket under a yellow canopy and noticed a modest spray of white flowers
and greenery draped over it. He counted only five people: one stooped and elderly man; and four people who reeked of media, poised like wolves ready to pounce. This must be the right place.

Guy offered Ellen his arm.

“Brace yourself,” she said. “Decide what you want to say, but if you start answering questions, it’ll just lead to more.”

Guy and Ellen walked across the spongy grass toward the gravesite, and within seconds the reporters were walking alongside.

“Mr. Jones, when did you know Kinsey Abbott was dealing cocaine?”

Ellen squeezed his arm. Did she want him to comment or not comment? He kept walking.

“Sir, did you withhold evidence from the police in order to protect Ms. Abbott? How could you work with her an entire year and not know she was dealing drugs?”

“Were you and Ms. Abbott lovers?”

Guy stopped and locked gazes with the reporter who had the most obnoxious voice. “This is neither the time nor the place to ask these questions. I would appreciate it if you would stay back and respect what we’re trying to do here. Excuse us.”

Guy continued across the green lawn to the yellow canopy, surprised and relieved when the reporters didn’t follow.

He and Ellen were met by a party of one: the stooped, ancient-looking gentleman, wearing a too-small brown suit, green socks, and beige walking shoes. What was left of his white hair was neatly parted and combed to one side.

“Hello, I’m Henry Dibbs, Kinsey’s grandfather.” The old man offered Guy his withered hand.

“I’m Guy Jones and this is my wife, Ellen.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Henry said.

“I wasn’t aware that Kinsey had any family except her mother.”

“Her mother, Millicent, is my daughter. How do you know Kinsey?”

“She was my legal secretary,” Guy said. “And a darned good one. I’ll miss her.”

Henry looked sheepishly at the casket. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come, so I didn’t plan anything. I just knew Millicent would want Kinsey to have a proper burial, even if she was in trouble with the law. That girl always seemed so dark, even when she was little. I knew she was going to be trouble. Kinsey was my flesh and blood, but that didn’t mean we loved each other. I don’t think she knew how to love anyone, not even her mother. I could count on one hand the times I’ve seen her in the past twenty-five years. Listen to me jabbering. I’ll scoot on out of here so the two of you can pay your respects.”

“Wait! Wouldn’t you like us to say a prayer?” Guy said.

“Nah, I’ve never been a praying man. Never saw that it did much good.”

“We didn’t intend to run you off,” Ellen said.

“That’s quite all right. I already did what I came to do. You folks do whatever suits you.”

Henry Dibbs hobbled across the cemetery lawn toward a white Ford Galaxie parked in front of the van.

“How sad,” Ellen said.

“More like pathetic.”

Guy stepped closer to the casket and tried not to think about Kinsey’s murdered body being inside. He pictured her beautiful face and imagined the sound of her laughter. “What’s sad is that a human being can live and die without having made a difference to anyone.”

Ellen blinked rapidly. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Guy put his arm around Ellen. “Kinsey’s measure of right and wrong was very different from mine, but I can honestly say she made a positive difference in my life for the year we worked together. I guess that’s something.”

“I always liked her. I knew she was a lot of help to you.”

“How could she end up like this, Ellen? I know she had choices, just like you and I, but she was so wounded. Her father was a drunk. Her mother was unhappy all the time. There was this big void inside her. She never quite felt as though she belonged anywhere.” Guy squeezed Ellen’s hand. “Before you say it, I know lots of people have a big void, yet they don’t sell cocaine. I’m not excusing her, just trying to understand how she could be so lost.” He noticed the spray of flowers on the coffin had no ribbon indicating that Kinsey was someone’s daughter, granddaughter, wife, sister, friend—nothing. “I prayed she wouldn’t die without the Lord. Yet here she is.”

Ellen wiped a tear off her cheek. “We have to let it go. God gave her the same choice He gives everyone, Guy.”

There was a long stretch of silence and then Guy heard himself say, “I’m still ticked off at Brent for not coming.”

“It was certainly in character for him. At least he was honest.”

“
Too
honest. How could he just write her off that easily? She did a great job for the firm, regardless of what she was doing on her own time.” Guy put his hands in his pockets. “This is awkward. What do we pray over someone who’s lost?”

“Let’s get quiet,” Ellen said. “I’m sure the Lord will impress us with something.”

Guy closed his eyes, aware of the muggy air, reporters talking, cars moving along Setzler Boulevard—and the nagging emptiness that served as a reminder that there was nothing to rejoice about.

Suddenly Ellen’s voice stole his attention. “Father, thank You for choosing us to be here to commit Kinsey’s spirit back to you. To the depths of our being, we know that You valued her, so much so that you sent your Son to die for her sins so that she could be reconciled to You. It’s not ours to know how she responded. But thank you that her death has reminded us on a deeper level how we should respect every human being because
each has a spirit that is God-breathed and eternal. Father, in Your time and in Your way we ask that you show us what we need to learn from our experiences with Kinsey. We leave her now in Your hands, knowing that You, who
are
love, will deal with her justly.”

Guy stood quietly, wondering what he could possibly add to that. “Lord, I’m a new Christian and still learning so many things. I pray that Ellen and I will find something positive in all this …” Guy’s voice trailed off.

He let the silence calm his emotions and then reached out and put his palm on the side of the casket. Ellen covered his hand with hers.
Goodbye, Kinsey
, he thought.
I wish things had ended differently
.

Seconds later he removed his hand and dabbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Thanks for your sensitive prayer, honey. I’m glad you were here. Ready to go?”

“Whenever you are. I’m not in a hurry.”

Guy glanced over at the reporters, all too aware that Kinsey Abbot would be remembered as a cocaine dealer, a loose woman, and whatever else Rob Blakely decided to reveal about her to the media.

He stared at the empty space where Henry Dibbs’s Ford Galaxie had been parked and wondered if the old man felt satisfied that he’d done his duty.

Will Seevers went in his office, a manila folder under his arm, and picked up the phone and dialed Al Backus’s extension.

“This is Al.”

“I need you in my office.”

“Be right there, Chief.”

Seconds later, Al Backus appeared in the doorway.

“Let’s sit over here at the table,” Will said.

“What’ve you got there?”

“The break we’ve been waiting for!”

Will took some photographs out of the manila folder and laid them on the table. “This crushed Mountain Dew can was recovered in the rubble of the first explosion. The DNA on the saliva inside matches the killer’s.”

Al turned to Will, his eyes wide. “Fassih and Kohler’s?”

“Yep. How’s that for a shocker? We’ve got a thumbprint, too.”

Al rubbed his hands together. “Now we’re cookin’!”

“There’s more.” Will took another set of photos out of the manila folder and laid them on the table. “A surveillance camera across the street captured these just three minutes before the first explosion—this old VW bus pulls in the circle drive and stops in front of the entrance. Two men get out of the vehicle. Within seconds, both men disappear.”

“They look young. Can’t they enhance these so we can see more detail?”

“These are enhanced. But look closely at the man getting out on the driver’s side. He appears to be Caucasian, dark hair, large build. Notice his left hand.”

“Looks like a ring.” Al brought the photo closer to his eyes. “The autopsy mentioned an odd indentation cut into the Fassih boy’s cheek. Could’ve been caused by a ring. Must be a pretty substantial ring to show up in a photograph taken from this distance.”

“This should breathe new life into the case. From this point on, you’re going to be working concurrently with the feds.”

“They’re not gettin’ credit for this one. We’ve done too much of the ground work.”

“Frankly, Al, I couldn’t care less who gets credit. I want the killer. How’d you do at the synagogue and mosque?”

“I was a good boy, if that’s what you mean. They didn’t give me anything, but I feel sure they’ll call if anything seems suspicious.”

“Good. What was the mood at the mosque?”

“The imam seemed genuinely sad about the explosions—and baffled. I never know how sincere he is, but he seemed like it. Did you talk to the English professor?”

“No, I got tied up in meetings.” Will glanced at his watch. “I may try to catch him after his four o’clock class.”

 37
 

W
ill Seevers opened the heavy wood doors in the administration building at Seaport Junior College and walked down a long, shiny hallway toward the faculty lounge. He glanced at his watch, lamenting being seven minutes late, and hoping Professor Stephen Hardy had waited for him.

Will turned into the lounge and saw only one man sitting at a table, seemingly grading papers. “Professor Hardy?”

The bearded man looked up through his round spectacles. “Yes, you must be Chief Seevers.”

Will walked over to the table and shook his hand. “Thanks for agreeing to meet. Do you want to talk here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

“This is fine,” Stephen said. “What’s this about?”

Will sat across from him, his arms folded on the table. “My department is stepping up our efforts to solve the murders of your two students, and we’re retracing our steps. I realize you’ve answered questions for Investigator Backus, but I wanted to talk to you myself. I’ve taken a personal interest in this case, as I’m sure you must have. I just want to brainstorm a bit, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, anything I can do to help.”

“Would you describe Isaac Kohler to me and any impressions you may have had about him?”

“Isaac was quiet, but very bright. Intuitive. I sensed that he appreciated and understood poetry and literature on a deeper
level than my other students, though he rarely volunteered his thoughts.”

“Did the other students like him?”

“I don’t think they
disliked
him. But he certainly wasn’t considered cool.”

“How did you determine that?”

“Isaac always seemed to be on the sidelines, watching everyone else. He was the shortest young man in the class and wore unusually thick glasses. It didn’t help that he was an introvert … or that he was Jewish. He carried himself as if he expected to be treated as the odd man out. He was a gentle kid. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body.”