The Book of Judges

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “It was sheer luck, I guess. A sheriff happened to be going up the Old Highway this morning.”

  “Praise God for luck, then.”

  “We’re just real thankful you thought to call us.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope she’s better very soon.” This, again, wasn’t a lie. No one wanted a kid to get hurt, but part of me didn't want an eye witness with amnesia, either.

  * * *

  While trying to wrap my mind around the close call, my oldest and dearest, Christine, texted me to come by and see her. I headed to Grace Community Church with a lighter heart. Gina would be okay. I hadn’t lured her to her death. And maybe the amnesia would pass. In any case, while waiting I had learned much about sensory bombardment and the idea of using flashing light to contribute to a murder didn’t seem as implausible as it had before.

  I hadn’t had five minutes alone with Christine in days, so her invite was more than welcome. I didn’t want to add to her stress, but after the shock, I needed a dose of best friend. I needed it bad.

  I skirted the far side of the foyer to avoid the head pastor’s secretary. I could only guess the kind of stories that had spread since I moved out.

  Christine was at her desk in the little waiting area in front of Rick’s office. One benefit of being part of a giant mega church was space. In addition to a great budget for staff, they had plenty of room for everyone. Christine assisted Rick, who wasn’t technically a pastor but had his office next to Melinda, the family life and ministry pastor. Melinda and Rick worked hand in hand often enough, sharing an assistant, a common space, bathrooms for clients, and concerns. She was a solid ten years older than Rick—so clearly not his type.

  “I am so glad you came.” Christine stood up and hugged me across her desk. “Have a coffee.” She waved her hand at the Keurig machine in the corner, then came around and sat down on the soft velvet couch against the wall. “Sit with me, please.”

  I sat. “How are you holding up?”

  “I should be asking you that. And I am asking you. Are you doing all right?”

  I sunk into the cushions and let my head rest on the back of the couch. “My case is a mess. My marriage is over. I’m homeless. So… I’m doing all right?”

  A soft knock on the wall introduced Pastor Bob, the head honcho of Grace Community. He had been an associate pastor when I was a punky kid in his youth group. He had not been excited when Rick and I eloped but had always been kind.

  He held one of his large, warm hands out to me. “Maura.”

  I sat up and let him wrap both of his hands around mine, holding on like I might slip away. Christine got up and brought a chair over for him.

  He sat down with a groan, something that always made me smile. Not an athletic man, Pastor Bob’s comings and goings were always accompanied by grunts and groans and sighs that made you think he was twenty years older than his actual fifty-seven. “Can we talk?”

  The door to Melinda’s office was closed. I suspected Christine of arranging this meeting for us. My jaw tightened. Was I ready for a lecture on how I should respond with grace and forgiveness? No. I was not.

  “Rick came to me and confessed everything. A lot more than I wanted to know, in reality.” Bob’s face looked tired. No hint of a smile. He wasn’t going to sugar coat this.

  Good.

  “He has let a lot of people down, but the person he has hurt the most is you, and it is you I am concerned about.”

  I swallowed but didn’t say anything.

  “We ended his rental contract immediately. It was a hard decision, not because we thought he should retain his place in our building, but because it might make things awkward for you as you decide what to do going forward. We know he is the main bread winner in your family.” He coughed lightly and reached into the pocket of his baggy sports coat and retrieved a long white envelope. “Because of that, the elders agreed unanimously that a gift from the benevolent fund was appropriate. This is for you, to meet your needs as Rick’s practice will likely suffer from lack of association with our church. We hated to undermine your financial security on top of everything else you are dealing with.”

  I didn’t move to accept the envelope, so he placed it on the couch between Christine and me.

  “Obviously, Izzy’s internship has been cancelled and the seminary has been informed of the reason. Beyond that, it is up to them to handle it. But this is all practical, nuts and bolts stuff. I want to know if there is any way I can help you more personally. Do you want to talk privately? If not with me, then with Melinda? It’s what we do, you know.” He did smile a little at that, but not in any kind of gross way.

  I pressed my hands over my eyes. No lecture. Just money and kindness.

  He sat in silence for a long time. I realized he was probably doing the same counting thing I did, giving me a chance to warm up and speak, so I did. “Bob, you know I don’t know the Bible the way a pastor’s wife should, so, help me out. What is the point of the book of Judges?”

  “Hmmm.” He rubbed his chin. “I might say it is a long history of God’s tenacity despite man’s depravity.”

  I chewed on the thought. “So, it’s not a vengeance tale, primarily?”

  “By no means. It’s about grace. It’s the story of God coming back, choosing his people again, and again, and again. But Maura, that doesn’t mean you should keep choosing Rick. I know a few years back he gave you reason to leave and you chose to stay, that was brave of you. But God’s unfailing love doesn’t mean that you need to continue to live with an adulterous husband.”

  “Ah, yes. I was thinking more of the murder I’m investigating.” My face heated up. I hadn’t considered Judges as applying to my own situation. “At the very beginning of Judges, a king gets himself mutilated. Toes and thumbs. You know what I’m talking about?”

  “Of course. And you’re working on the case for that poor guy they found in the Gorge.”

  “Exactly. Does that part of the book have to do with vengeance or grace?”

  “I’d say it’s human vengeance as an act of disobedience which sets us up for the long tale to come, which is only concluded at the cross.”

  “But when the Israelites did the act, they thought they were in the right?”

  “Absolutely. They thought they were meting out God’s justice on his enemies and theirs.”

  Something to think about, there. Was our murderer a Muslim person getting vengeance for that ancient act or could this have been a religious crime perpetrated by someone who saw themselves as a representation of God’s people? And if so, which of our committee members saw themselves as more righteous than the rest of them? Obviously Rafe, but he was adamant about not being aligned with any Judeo-Christian faith, so he wouldn’t want to act out a Bible-crime. I had been lost in thought longer than I meant to but pulled myself back to Bob and Christine. “Thanks. That helps.”

  “What else can I help you with?”

  I leaned forward. “You said Rick confessed to more than you wanted to know…did he say he had been sleeping with his other interns, too?”

  “He told me about his mistake, calling Izzy ‘Carrie’ when he talked to you. He swears he only had an affair with Izzy, but not because he didn’t try. Carrie was one he tried to seduce, and a girl named Hope. He said they both told him off. The main thing he confessed, the one that shook me…I’ve been an idiot, Maura. I’ve been taken in by him the same as you and Izzy. I bought his story of salvation hook, line, and sinker, but he let me know, in no uncertain terms, that he isn’t a believer, and never has been. He thinks of the gospel as nothing more than a useful tool to help people get over their hang-ups. He apologized for using this church to push his career forward but wasn’t sorry that he treated faith as a self-help tool. He said he’d to it again, and in fact, would continue to use religion to help people because it worked.” Bob’s eyes filled up with tears, but they didn’t spill.

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. After all the years of hearing from Rick
that Christ would improve my life, that church would make things better, that God was what I was missing…I wasn’t even a little bit surprised to learn he didn’t believe any of it himself.

  Narcissists, as a rule, never thought they needed to change.

  Chapter Twelve

  I had taken my time picking up my repaired Jeep. I liked the Beemer, and liked Rick getting the big bill for the rental. But when I finally went back to it, I reconsidered the rock in the window. I hadn’t eliminated any of Will’s associates from my suspects list and finding myself back behind the wheel of the Jeep was a stark reminder that I needed to return to that line of inquiry. I pulled over to a quiet street and parked along the curb under the bare branches of an elderly maple tree.

  Then I called Will. “Hey Will, we need to talk. In fact, if you could arrange it, I’d like to meet with you, Elif, and Jerrod.”

  Will cleared his throat. “I know you’re the professional, but after the scene you created when you came to the center, I don’t think I could get them to meet.”

  “That was a huge misfire on my part. I swear to you I was not trying to be disrespectful. I just wanted to get the young men off their guard. It works with…” Shoot. I had talked myself into a corner. White kids? Normal kids? American kids? To say these Muslim kids weren’t American or normal wasn’t going to win me any friends.

  “Yeah. I know. It works with most guys, but not here.”

  “Is there any way you could get a few people to meet me somewhere else? Maybe my office? If not Jerrod and Elif, then Seda and her mom? Or Seda and her grandma? I want you there, too. We have a situation to discuss that is a little more on point than the bad job I did when I came by. It’s pretty important, in fact.”

  “How long do I have to arrange it?”

  “The sooner the better, and if you know of an effective apology I could make to smooth things over, please let me know.”

  “Silence is golden, Maura. I suggest you never mention it again. I’ll see what I can do about a meeting and call you back.”

  He didn’t call back until that night, but he had good news. He had three people ready to talk—and one of them was Berk, our angry young man.

  Will brought Berk, Elif, and Seda to my office the next day at noon. I had a few chairs arranged in a circle with the love seat, and both tea and coffee brewing.

  “Thank you all for coming. Can I serve you a drink? Coffee, tea?”

  All four heads shook no.

  Berk sat on the edge of a metal folding chair, his elbows resting on his knees, face grim. Elif and Seda sunk into the sofa.

  I held court from my rolling desk chair, the note that had been wrapped around the rock was smoothed out and resting on my knee.

  “I found this in my car as I was leaving the center. Does anyone recognize the handwriting?” I slowly lifted the paper.

  Seda leaned forward to check it out. Elif looked away.

  “What did you call us here for? To accuse us of something?” Berk’s voice was a low growl—a sound much older than he looked.

  “No accusations. I’m only searching for information.”

  “If we recognized it, why would we tell you?” Berk looked at the girls on the couch with narrowed eyes.

  “Because to this point I haven’t shown the police the note, and if I can get some answers, I won’t.”

  “Empty threats.” Berk curled his lip in disgust. “You pretended to call the cops after you found your broken window. You didn’t then, and you won’t now.” He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

  “Oh, I called the police. I just didn’t tell them about the note.”

  Elif spoke, “I told you when it happened that I didn’t know anything. I still don’t, but you didn’t mention the note then. How can we be sure it’s real?”

  “You can trust Maura.” Will’s voice was confident, but his eyes weren’t.

  “You only trust her because your mother is white. You’ve been desensitized to all of this.” Berk gestured at me, though this time I was wearing the most modest clothes I had available in my limited run-away closet. A pair of wide leg slacks, a high-necked T shirt and the baggy sweater I had packed for evening walks on the beach during the retreat—the retreat that seemed so long ago.

  “You’re such a jerk.” Seda, the young almost-stepdaughter of Adam Demarcus wasn’t impressed by Berk’s posturing. “My mom is white, too, but that doesn’t make us brainwashed. Maura is a detective. She’s got a job to do. She wouldn’t fake that note. Besides. I know who wrote it.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” She scrunched up her face. “I saw her do it. That’s the paper she keeps by the phone.” Seda didn’t volunteer a name, but Elif swallowed.

  “Don’t be like that, Seda.” Elif’s voice was quiet. “Don’t throw out accusations.”

  “It’s not an accusation. Melati didn’t see me. I was in the back of her office calling my mom when she pulled out the paper and wrote the letter. I saw her. First, she was texting, then she wrote that, looking at her texts.”

  “How do you know it’s the same letter?” Will asked in a remarkably calm voice.

  “Because Melati looked around, not behind her, but out the front of the reception desk before she started writing. She didn’t see me, and was obviously trying to keep it a secret, so I snuck up behind her and read it. I thought it was rude but didn’t know she had left it in Maura’s car.”

  “She didn’t.” Elif interrupted with a quiet, regret filled voice. “She called me to the office and asked me to hand the letter to Jerrod. You were still in the office, Seda. I saw you. The letter was folded so I didn’t see what was in it.”

  “But when I held it up you recognized her writing.” I said.

  “I wouldn’t have said for sure, but yeah, it looked familiar.”

  “Jerrod would never do a thing like that.” Now Will sat forward, his posture aggressive.

  “I don’t know what Jerrod did with it.” Elif said.

  “I suspect he rubber-banded it to a rock and broke my car window with it.”

  Elif picked at her thumbnail. “It doesn’t seem like him. He’s such a good guy.”

  Seda nodded. “He is as pure as the wind-driven snow, I swear he is.”

  “What did he do when you gave him the letter?”

  “He shoved it in his pocket and went back into the gym. I didn’t follow him.”

  “Did you go back to the gym, Berk?” I asked. “Did you see what happened next?

  Berk didn’t move, not even a facial twitch.

  “Did he give you the letter?” Will asked.

  “No. When I left in anger, I didn’t go back. I needed to walk it off.” He leaned forward again. “There is nothing more important in this world than Allah and to honor him. I don’t like my anger. But I like infidels even less. I walked it off. Whatever Jerrod did with that note it was after I was long gone.”

  “Which way did you walk?” Berk may or may not be lying. He wasn’t giving away any tells. If he was honest, he might have seen something on his walk.

  “I took the road behind the center up into the neighborhood. The Imam lives there. I went to his house to see if he could talk to me. He wasn’t home, so I wandered around, and then came back. Your car was gone when I got back.”

  “My car? How did you know which was mine?”

  “Because when I left for my walk, it was the one I didn’t recognize.” He snarled, not defensively but disgusted that I questioned his knowledge.

  “Ellie, you handed the letter to Jerrod, are you sure he didn’t say anything? Hasn’t said anything?”

  Elif jerked her eyes up from her phone and held it out. “He’s saying something right now. Give me just a second.”

  We sat in silence, only the sound of Berk’s metal chair squeaking as he shifted.

  “Okay. Here’s the deal.” Elif read from her phone as she spoke. “He took the letter because he was closest to the door when I knocked. When h
e got back into the room for the group meeting Osman asked him for it, so he gave it to Osman. Then he left.”

  “So, Osman smashed my window with a little help from Melati.”

  Will was nodding, his eyes sad. “I’ve been worried about him. He hasn’t been around since that day.”

  “How high of a radicalization risk was he?”

  “Very high.” Berk stood up. “I’ll find him.”

  He pushed his chair back and left, his heavy steps echoing down the stairs.

  “Berk doesn’t want any more of his friends to die,” Elif said. “He’s lost too many already.”

  I glanced at the paper on my knee. To me, this was a case. A paycheck. A way to move forward after my marriage crisis.

  To these kids it was life and death. I’d have to tread carefully. I didn’t have to like their religion to want to keep them alive.

  Will stood up. “I need to go with him. It’s my job. Are you two okay?”

  The girls nodded. “I’ll take Seda home, don’t worry.” Elif held a hand out to Will. He gripped it, his eyes glued to hers, a connection I had been ignoring was suddenly clear. Young people in love in a time of crisis.

  Someone should make a movie about it.

  Seda stood up, too. “I’m sorry about your car, Maura.”

  “I kind of asked for it, I know. I seriously regret it.”

  Seda shrugged. “None of us killed Adam. We have enough to worry about on our own.”

  Elif also stood, and the girls left.

  I pulled out my notebook and recorded our conversation for future reference.

  These kids seemed to be hanging on by a thread—the passions of young adulthood under the fire of international religious crisis. But that didn’t mean someone from the center hadn’t killed Adam.

  I could eliminate no one.

  * * *

  I hadn’t heard from Gina or her family in a little while, and the precarious position of the kids at the community center reminded me of her, and her literally precarious grip on life. I didn’t want to bother her grandparents, who were plenty worried without me getting in their hair, and I didn’t want to call her step-mom who might care too little and make me angry, so I hit up Facebook, to see if our amnesiac had been doing any poetry writing.