The Book of Judges

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “Was he going to try and run you over, too?” Gina was leaning forward, enthralled. Brit’s break down was likely one of the most exciting things she had ever seen—second only to murder.

  Brit squared her shoulders but shook like she was freezing. “Quint said he’d tell the cops what I’ve done, and he’s down there now, doing it.”

  “Brit…what have you done?” I whispered. Surely this little mouse of a girl wasn’t our killer.

  Brit looked from me to Elif. I had forgotten the tall young woman.

  Elif stood by the window, looking out, not showing us that she was paying attention, but I’m sure she was. Anyone would.

  “I had better not say anything.”

  “Quint is downstairs with the cops…” I murmured. Would he really tell them Brit had killed twice or had those been empty threats?

  I handed Brit my phone. “I think you should call Bruce. Get him down here. Tell him to bring his lawyer, if he has one.”

  She stared at my phone.

  I stared at the door. Rick stood, framed in the window, a look of actual fear on his face. A look I hadn’t seen in ages.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You scared me to death.” Rick nestled himself in the love seat right between Gina and Brit. “That was our ‘held at gunpoint’ code. You’re hardly in that kind of trouble.” He slung his arms across the back of the couch. As if he were a magnet, the two girls slipped closer to him. “But I’m here now. What do you need? I will do anything for you, my love.”

  “Find Jerrod. You know, Will Rashid’s friend. The one who busted my car window and threw that squash ball at the house.” I hadn’t been giving Elif’s problem the consideration it deserved. Where had that kid gone off to and why?

  “Nothing I can do for you here? The company is much nicer.”

  “Please find him.” Elif turned from the window, her face a picture of fear. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about, or why that man followed the other girl, but something terrible is going on, and Jerrod could be in danger.”

  “Ahh, you love him, don’t you?” Rick’s face lit up. Romance did that to him.

  “Of course, I love him. He’s my cousin.” Elif exhaled sharply. “I don’t want the police involved. I’m sure you know why. I came here because I don’t know any other people who are trained to help with issues like this.”

  “Well, I’m not trained, so I don’t know what any of you think I can do.” Rick folded his arms behind his head, effectively cutting himself off from the young girls who might need his help.

  “Fine. You stay here. Lock the door behind me. I’m going to talk to the cops and hopefully Quint, too.” I had my pepper spray, my gun, and my pulsing anger. If I couldn’t get to the bottom of this, no one could.

  I held my pepper spray in front of me, and not my gun. Sometimes in mysteries on TV or books, the detective kills the perp before they could be tried. I hated that. These people needed to rot in jail for a long time, as far as I was concerned. The world needed to know what they had done—not be left wondering, or in the case of some particularly weak stories, never knowing, the reputation of the killer being saved in the end. I took the steps slowly, listening. I wanted to stop when I could hear the cops clearly, so I could listen before I jumped into the scene. They had said they were coming up to my office, but it had been forever, and they hadn’t yet. For all I knew, they were gone, and Quint was gone with them.

  I was on the second to last step when I finally heard some voices.

  “He’s out.” This was followed by the crackle of a walkie-talkie. “No, we didn’t do anything. He just collapsed.”

  More crackle.

  “His pulse is fine.” This voice was deeper, perhaps the taller of the two cops. “I think he’s faking.”

  I took the last two steps and peered around the wall.

  They had moved to the waiting area by the elevators. Quint was in a chair, bent over, head down. The taller cop had his fingers to Quint’s neck, reading his pulse. The shorter, more intense guy was listening to the indistinct sounds on his walkie.

  I put my pepper spray down and watched. What was Quint playing? Would he refuse to talk? Had he taken a suicide pill? Why would he have one of those? Would they have to bring an ambulance?

  As I scrolled through my unanswerable questions, the short officer ordered an ambulance.

  “What’s going on?” I spoke slowly and with care, not wanting my raging intensity to seem like it was pointed at the cops.

  “Hey.” The tall cop came over to me. “We were trying to question him, but he wasn’t talking. Eventually he just slumped over like this. He’s not responding to any stimulation, but I still feel like he’s faking it.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I agree.”

  I knew nothing about Quint. His background, his family, his mental health. I didn’t know if he knew any of the committee members besides those he had met at our dinner, and yet, this trick made me think of Rafe. Seems like he could have learned some kind of self-knock out trick from a guy like that.

  But would Quint have known Rafe? Did any of these groups ever get together? Like the kids at the MCC…had they ever met the kids in Bruce’s discipleship group?

  I stared at Quint. He was completely motionless. I wouldn’t have believed he was breathing if I hadn’t heard the officer say he had a pulse.

  He hadn’t responded to any of the officers’ stimulation, but maybe I could shock him.

  I closed my eyes, counted to three, and then, in a whisper, for the drama, I gave it my best shot. “Is Jerrod dead, too?”

  Quint’s hands hung limp at his side, his knuckles touching the floor. The left one twitched.

  The left one.

  A breath shot from me like I had been punched. Quint was my southpaw. Quint had absolutely killed Linda. Every last doubt blew away. This was my killer, sitting there, head down like a kid who was going to be sick. He wouldn’t have had Brit do the dirty deed. Ehud, the hero of that story, had been a left-handed man. That was how he was able to bring a weapon to the king, how he was able to thrust the sword into him by surprise. And how Quint had been able to…maybe secretly drop the poison, whatever kind it was, into Linda’s drink.

  “This man is a murderer. He killed Linda Smith. She was poisoned. He did it. Check the glass of water that was by her bed. That was probably what he poisoned.”

  The taller officer reached a hand out to me. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “No, I have to go back upstairs. I have clients. He killed twice, he was stalking a teenage girl. Don’t let him escape. Don’t take him to the hospital. Please. He is a murderer.” In my head, my words didn’t sound like the panicked ravings of a scared woman, but the officer’s face seemed to indicate they did. I slowed my words down, but it didn’t seem to help. “Sorry. Hectic day. I have to go upstairs to my clients. This man is a murderer. Please, please, take him in. I can explain everything. Call, um, Chapman, or Julie, my friend. They’re police, they’ll know what I am talking about.”

  The shorter cop made a call, I hoped it was to Julie, though I suspected he had no idea who I was talking about.

  I heard sirens arriving as I ran back up the stairs.

  Quint had twitched—he had responded to my mention of Jerrod’s name. Jerrod was most definitely in trouble.

  I didn’t go slow or listen on my way back upstairs. I ran as fast as I could. We needed to find Jerrod. I had almost found Linda in time. If I had…If I had known…

  I hadn’t known. I hadn’t even suspected. But this was different. We might still have time to save Jerrod.

  I unlocked my door with a shaking hand. “Elif, does Will know where Jerrod is?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was impatient. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Brit, do you know Will Rashid? Did you ever go to the Muslim Community Center with Adam?”

  “Yes.” She seemed to have gained a little strength since I was last in
the room. Rick was turned slightly towards her. Thank God for his people skills—whatever he had been doing seemed to be working. “You did? I thought so. Good. Did you know Will? What about his friend Jerrod?”

  “Yes. I met them.”

  “Did Quint know them?”

  “We all did. Sometimes we came to pick up food bags to deliver to shelters.”

  “That’s right. I remember your van,” Elif said. “I never talked to you guys though. Melati did, the girl at the front desk, and Will and Jerrod of course.”

  “Good. Okay. Well, not good. Quint knew them. That’s not good. Did you all ever meet Mac from the homeless shelter?”

  Elif scrunched her face up. “Yes, I think so. We delivered food there sometimes, and clothes.”

  “What about Rafe? Did you know him?”

  Elif smirked. “Yes. He came around a lot.”

  “Rafe?” Brit leaned forward. “Quint saw a lot of him. He was teaching him how to meditate.”

  “Who was teaching who, Brit?” I was impatient, almost yelling. Jerrod was missing, but Will wasn’t answering his calls. Odds were, he was missing too, and he was the one Quint would want to kill. But how? Tent peg through the temple? Surely, he would have had Brit do that. That was a woman’s story.

  “Rafe. He is teaching Quint.”

  “That seems…unlikely.”

  “I know. I thought it was dangerous, but Quint was determined to seek a higher communion with God. I don’t know. I wanted to turn him in for it, but then, he seemed so devout, and I thought maybe he was trying to save Rafe.” Her hands rested on her knees, palms up. She stared at them. “Are the cops coming for me?”

  “Quint hasn’t said anything. He’s passed out in a chair and an ambulance is taking him away.”

  Brit nodded. “Deep meditation. He is seeking God.”

  “More like he is seeking his fifth amendment right to not incriminate himself. Babe, do you mind if I go down there?” Rick stood.

  “I don’t mind at all. I can find Jerrod myself.”

  “Great.” He left. I suspected he was curious about the deep meditative state and its uses to get him out of his own crimes, or possibly as something he could sell to his clients.

  “I think Will and Jerrod are in trouble. In danger, even. It is imperative we find them now.” I flexed my hands, adrenaline firing through every nerve. “Elif, you’ve got to help me here. Will and Jerrod, where would they run to for safety? Parents? Imam? The basement of the community center?”

  She shook her head. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. I’ve checked everywhere. Literally.”

  “They’re with Rafe.” Brit’s eyes didn’t leave her hands.

  “What makes you say that?” My jaw was clenched tight and so were my fists. Had she known all along? Was she trying to throw us off the scent? Had she really been scared? So many questions swirled in my mind.

  She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a phone. “I think this means they are with Rafe.” She tapped the screen and passed it to me.

  Rafe had sent a group text. I recognized Bruce’s number and Rick’s. I could guess the others were on the committee. The Temple is always open. The temple is a shelter for you. When you need to serve, you come here. When you need to preserve, you come here.

  I frowned. “Did he often advertise through text?”

  “Never.”

  “Are you thinking Will got the text and took him up on the offer?”

  “Maybe they came to Rafe and he’s telling us we can too. He did that…bragged. He thought it was a competition between Muslims, Christians, and him. Like…who could score the most soul points. That’s what I think.” Brit stumbled over her words, but the idea was clear enough.

  The text was from five this morning. I read the one before it, from last night when you are prodded to the edge, you must seek self-first.

  “Just these two messages?”

  “No, the one right before it, too.”

  Also from last night, it was a short one. Let the river set you free.

  “I know where they are. Elif, you’ve got to come with me.”

  I stared at Brit and Gina. I couldn’t leave my eye witness with my accomplice. “You all come. Let’s go.”

  We met Everly on the stairs. “You know what? I am sick of your issues with the police. This is not the kind of building I run. I’m starting eviction immediately.”

  I pushed past her without comment. I could hope that Rafe had prevented any serious damage to the boys, but I didn’t know. I hadn’t one sweet clue what the murder method might have been.

  Boadicea’s temple was just two blocks away, but he texted once more before we got there. Others cant control you/cant shepherd you/cant goad you into anything if you come to the temple.

  Goad!

  It had been a joke—Rick had been joking about it. Had Quint tried to kill Will and Jerrod with an ox goad? He was out of his mind.

  I dragged us into the driveway of the tiny little temple run by the young, mentally ill widow. “Text back and say we’ve come to meet the river.”

  Brit texted without question.

  Bodie’s mom opened the door. “Well, hi! I didn’t know it was going to be you.” Her smile was warm and inviting. The temple smelled like cookies. “Rafe said he’d invited some more friends over. Come in, ladies, come in.” She gave me a side hug as I passed.

  “The others are downstairs. It’s a bit cold, I’m so sorry. I can’t convince Bodie to light the fire. She’s concerned about evaporation.” A flicker of worry crossed her face, but she controlled it quickly. Bodie’s paranoid delusions weren’t new to her. “Just a sec, will you bring these down for me?” She hustled into the kitchen and came back with a tray of chocolate chip cookies. “I have no idea what’s going on down there, but cookies never hurt.”

  “Sure. Just…it could get a little…busy. Would you keep the front door locked for us?” I hated to worry her, but she did need to worry today. “Don’t let anyone in unless I say it’s okay.”

  She frowned, but she reached behind Brit and locked the door. “The basement is through there.” She pointed to another door, and we followed.

  “Welcome!” Rafe stood, his arms out wide. Bodie sat in the corner, cross-legged and quiet, head up, looking at the ceiling.

  Jerrod sat in an overstuffed armchair by the dark fireplace. Will paced the room, hands in his pockets.

  “What happened? Quint with an ox goad?”

  “The river came for them.” Bodie’s voice cracked. “They are here to be cleansed.”

  Will’s clothes had the rumpled look of clothes that had dried while on a person. “Did Quint try and…goad you into the river to drown you?”

  Elif had gone to Jerrod. She sat beside him, speaking softly. What I could hear didn’t sound like English.

  Brit stood against the wall.

  “What did he use, Brit, what happened?”

  “Dude.” Rafe’s voice was filled with awe. “The river really did come for them. I found them, soaking, on a street…”

  “We were headed to Metro,” Will said. “We wanted to find out who our new contact was now that Linda is dead.”

  “When, yesterday?”

  “Yes, around four. We got stuck in traffic on the way, so were later than we wanted. We hadn’t called first because we didn’t know who to ask for.”

  “What is this about the river? What are Rafe and Bodie talking about?”

  He ignored my question but continued his story. “First, we finally made it to Metro, which was great, but once we were there we ran into Quint. He seemed desperate to talk, and we didn’t have an appointment, so we left with him. That was mistake one.”

  Will seemed to enjoy his role as storyteller. I turned to Brit. “What did he use, Brit? I think you know.”

  She passed me her phone, resignation rippling over her person. “He made it. I mean, I think this must have been what he used. He told me it was for the wilderness retreat the men go on. It’s a wa
ter cannon.”

  “A water cannon.” I checked out the picture. It was a power sprayer, exactly like the one in my garage, except for the nozzle. Not that I could describe what was wrong or different about it, but something was.

  “He made it shoot farther. They were going to do targets or something with it. All the guys tried it in Bruce’s backyard for fun.”

  “Did you get to try it?”

  She shrugged. “Vivian and I were cooking.”

  “He got you outside and attacked you with a homemade water cannon…a smaller version of a crowd control weapon that can be deadly…though I don’t know that this one could be.”

  “Maybe he had tested it on small animals.” Will pulled up his shirt to reveal the bruises covering his abdomen. “I don’t think it could have killed us, but it hurt.”

  “Where, when, and how did he do this?”

  “We went with him, he said we could come back for our car—he’d take us back. He drove us to the community center, by then it was dark. We got out—didn’t have a clue what he wanted still—and he just started blasting us. He had it set up to our own hose. I ran, and he started in on Jerrod. The place was locked but I had my phone.”

  “Why didn’t you call 911?”

  “Because I was confused. Quint was laughing. I didn’t realize he was trying to kill us. I just thought he was…an idiot. But we didn’t have a car, didn’t have a ride. It’s funny I know, but I called Rafe because he’s kind of become a buddy. The only guy my age on the committee, and I had committee business on my mind, so I just called him.”

  Jerrod looked up. “I fell. I thought he broke a rib. Maybe he did. I played dead. Whatever. But he thought I was dead, I am sure of it, and he turned off the water. A car pulled into the front parking lot—it was Rafe, but I didn’t know it. Quint freaked, started screaming, got in his car and left. Left whatever that machine was behind. Then this freak drove us here and hasn’t let us leave.” Jerrod took a cookie. “I guess you’re here to free us.”

  I dialed 911. We had witnesses now. We could nail him. This case was closed.