Eye of the Beholder (39 page)

His phone rang and he grabbed the receiver. “Seevers.”

“Will, it’s Gordy.”

“Hey, bud. You home?”

“Yeah, Pam and I got in about an hour ago.”

“Is that happiness I hear in your voice?”

“It’s great being married again. Pam’s already in the kitchen, decidin’ what to fix for our first dinner at home. Almost seems like she’s always been here.”

“That’s so good to hear. Can I call you back? I’m about to have a meeting.”

“Yeah, I was just wonderin’ how you’re holdin’ up.”

“Truthfully, I’m exhausted. At least the feds are working
with
us and not throwing their weight around.”

“I heard on the news you had some solid leads.”

“Yeah, we do.” Will looked up and saw Al Backus walk through the doorway. “Gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah, okay. Give our love to Margaret.”

Will hung up the phone and took a sip of coffee. “Tell me your impression of today’s press conference.”

Al held his gaze. “I don’t think it placated anyone, if that’s what you mean. The media keeps demanding answers we don’t have. All we need is for a couple of those college kids to get stupid enough to actually move against the Muslim community. Hard to say what might erupt.”

“Yeah, I know.” Will looked out the window at the various law enforcement people still combing the grounds outside city hall. “Why hasn’t someone claimed responsibility for the car bombings? And why didn’t they target something that would draw national outrage? The feds keep talking about domestic terrorism, but even that seems like a stretch to me. Why would anyone pick Seaport where they don’t get much bang for their buck?”

“Unless they live here … or nearby.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “What would be the motive? And why would they kill Isaac Kohler and Dary Fassih and then set off a car bomb next to city hall and the high school on a Saturday night when there wasn’t likely to be anyone there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they were practicing for something bigger.”

Guy Jones sat at his desk, aware of someone standing in the doorway. He looked up and saw Brent McAllister.
Here it comes
.

Brent shut the door and sat in a chair next to Guy’s desk, his arms folded, his eyes cold and piercing.

“I never agreed not to go to the cemetery,” Guy said.

“I thought I made our position clear.”

“No, you made
your
position clear.” Guy sat quietly for a moment, then took off his reading glasses. “Brent, let’s get something straight. I’m one hundred percent onboard when it comes to how we conduct the firm’s business, but this was personal
business. I accept that you didn’t feel a need to acknowledge Kinsey, but she was my right arm for over a year. You don’t have the right to tell me I can’t pay my respects.”

Brent exhaled loudly. “The media’s going to turn your life inside out, trying to prove you were lovers and that you knew she was dealing drugs.”

“I’m a big boy.”

“You’re also a partner. It reflects on us.”

“Then how about defending my character instead of game playing with the media? For crying out loud, Brent, I wasn’t sleeping with her!
I’m
the one who told the police she was dealing cocaine! I’m the good guy in this. How about treating me like it?”

“Why was going to the cemetery so all-fired important anyway?”

Guy leaned back in his chair, his fingers locked together. “I doubt you’d understand if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You owe me an explanation, Guy.”

“All right. I just didn’t think Kinsey deserved to be treated as if she never mattered to anyone.”

“What difference could it possibly make to a dead woman?”

“I think it matters to the One who made her.”

An awkward silence came between them, and Guy wondered what Brent was thinking.

“Oh, now I get it,” Brent finally said. “You’re hung up on whether she’s going to spend eternity in heaven or hell.” He waved his hand. “You know I don’t buy any of that religious bunk. Life’s over when it’s over.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to get into this discussion.”

“You can’t let your religion dictate the way you represent this firm.”

“You know better than that!” Guy looked at Brent and held
his gaze. “I’ve never pushed my beliefs on you or anyone else. But I can’t separate how I function from who I am and what I believe. Not going to the cemetery seemed just plain wrong.”

Brent seemed distracted for a few moments, then his eyes grew wide, a grin devouring his face.

“What’s so funny?” Guy said.

“Oh, something just occurred to me. If it turns out you Christians were right, I’ll see Kinsey again—in hell.” Brent laughed. “Should be lot more fun than where you’re going.”

Guy tuned out everything else Brent had to say, thinking the man was to be pitied, and that Kinsey’s change of heart was much too precious to waste on him.

Will Seevers had just finished answering his e-mail when a voice came over the intercom.

“Chief, Professor Hardy has arrived. Would you like me to bring him to your office?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Will popped a breath mint in his mouth, then stood and tucked his shirt in tightly.

Seconds later he heard footsteps and walked out into the hall and saw the receptionist approaching with Stephen Hardy. He shook hands with the professor and led him into his office.

“Why don’t we sit here at the table,” Will said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine.” Stephen took a seat, his fingers tapping the tabletop.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” Will said.

“Can I take another look at the picture of the two men getting out of the VW bus—the one you showed me yesterday?”

“Sure. Think you might recognize them?”

Stephen didn’t answer and took the picture from Will. He stared at it for several seconds, the photo shaking in his hands.

“Professor, what is it?”

The color drained from Stephen’s face. He dropped the photograph on the table and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “It’s … it’s my son. It’s Robert. He’s the driver. I think the other boy is a neighbor, Lance Pearson.”

Will’s heart sank. “Did you know this yesterday?”

“I saw the resemblance in the picture but had no reason to think Robert capable of this. But the can of Mountain Dew was the first red flag. Robert drinks it like water, and I finally had to make him buy his own.” Stephen looked up at Will, his eyes hollow. “I can’t believe I’m so removed from his life. I’m really not a bad parent. Robert’s been a handful since his mother died four years ago, and I can only ride herd on him so far. He seems bent on fighting me at every turn, and—”

“Take it easy, Professor. Just tell me why you think he’s involved in this.”

“Robert’s basically a loner. Then a couple months ago, he and Lance Pearson were suddenly inseparable. Robert was cheerful and less combative, and his grades improved. It occurred to me the boys might be gay. I’m ashamed to say I enjoyed the reprieve from our power struggles and chose not to rock the boat by questioning Robert about how they spent their time.”

Will leaned forward, his arms on the table. “You mentioned the first red flag. I assume there’s a second?”

Stephen nodded. “What I discovered last night in Robert’s room. You have to understand that he and I respect each other’s privacy. I can’t remember the last time I was in there. But after you showed me the photographs, I felt compelled to search his room. I was horrified to find all this white supremacy stuff. Magazines. Newspaper articles. Fliers. Stuff printed off the Internet and plastered all over his computer closet. I got on his PC and read his e-mails …” Stephen’s voice cracked. “I think Robert killed Dary Fassih and Isaac Kohler … and made it look like the Jews and the Muslims were killing each other—maybe even
to spite me for giving them more attention than I gave him.”

Will raked his hands through his hair. “What about the car bombs?”

Stephen nodded. “Robert’s been all over Internet sites that give explicit instructions on how to make a car bomb. I have no idea how he got the materials or where he stored them or who else may have been involved.” Stephen let out a sob and then stifled it. “I haven’t said anything to him. What do I do?”

“Where is Robert now?”

“Probably at home on his computer.”

“Okay, we need to pick him up and get a warrant to search his room and his computer.”

“What kind of father turns in his own son?”

“One who knows his boy needs help.” Will put his hand on the professor’s shoulder. “What you just did took more courage than most people could muster in a lifetime.”

Guy Jones lay on the couch in his new apartment, the back of his hand on his forehead, his temples throbbing. He had interviewed four applicants for Kinsey’s position—none as enthusiastic or vibrant as she. He wondered how long it would be before he was capable of honestly assessing anyone who sought to replace her.

He had already forgiven Brent for being so insensitive. How could the man be expected to understand how asinine he sounded making light of something as serious as where he would spend eternity?

Guy lay quietly, his headache now only a dull throb. Tim Rayburn’s call to Ellen was a gift from heaven. He shuddered to think how different things might have been for Kinsey had Ellen not stepped out in faith and forgiven her—or not offered her the tract.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture Kinsey aglow with joy and standing in the presence of God. This was the first time since
he’d become a Christian that he experienced rejoicing over a sinner who gets saved.

Suddenly, he had a real desire to rid himself of the callous indifference he had seen mirrored in Brent McAllister. He wondered if his attitude toward Ellen’s friends had been any less offensive.

Will Seevers walked in the front door and smiled when he heard the sound of Margaret’s scuffs approaching.

She met him in the entry hall and put her arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you. I can hardly believe it’s really over. But I feel bad for Professor Hardy.”

“Yeah, he’s devastated. My heart goes out to him—and to the Pearson boy’s parents.”

“You want me to heat up your dinner?”

“Not really. Come sit with me. The eleven o’clock news will be on in a few minutes. I’d like to see how the media’s reporting this.”

Will sat on the couch, his arm around Margaret, and studied the framed portrait of Meagan on the end table. “How does a nice man like Professor Hardy end up with a monster like Robert?”

“I guess if we knew the answer to that, we could hang out our shingle.”

“I went by the Fassihs and the Kohlers on the way home,” Will said. “I told them we got the killer and his accomplice.”

“I’ll bet they were relieved.”

“I’m sure. But neither set of parents reacted the way I would’ve expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“They got teary eyed for Professor Hardy and the Pearsons and seemed genuinely concerned for what these other parents were going through. I guess after losing their own sons, they don’t get much satisfaction out of seeing two more families torn apart.”

“What’s Professor Hardy’s son like?”

“Big kid. Tall. Quiet. Eyes deader than stone. I kept looking at his hands and thinking about what he did to Dary and Isaac. Makes me shudder. He outweighed those boys by fifty or sixty pounds.”

“Did he say
why
he killed them?”

“Yeah, the kid kept ranting even when his attorney tried to shut him up. Says as far as he’s concerned, Muslims and Jews are ruining our society. That what happened to Dary and Isaac was nothing compared to the extermination that’s coming if we don’t keep their kind from taking over. Robert admitted killing Dary to incite the Muslims against the Jews, and killing Isaac to incite the Jews against the Muslims. The car bombs were intended to get everybody scared enough of the Muslims to turn against them.”

“Were they the ones who vandalized the mosque?”

Will nodded. “Robert said he deliberately dropped the Star of David on the floor. Everything these boys did was designed to pit Jews and Muslims against each other, and make everyone else turn against both groups. It’s hard to comprehend that kind of hate.”

“Where’d he get it? Professor Hardy isn’t like that, is he?”

“No, not at all. But their relationship’s been adversarial since Robert’s mother died a few years ago. I guess the kid found an outlet for his anger. It’s easy to see from the Web sites he frequented where he picked up his twisted ideas.”

“How will we ever put an end to this kind of hate?”

Will held his gaze on the portrait of his daughter. “I don’t think we will … unless enough of us are willing to start looking at all people as fellow human beings.”

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