Harley’s mouth dropped open. “Dirk, that must have—”
“My eyes burned like fire. I stumbled around, rubbing my eyes, unable to see. I felt like screaming, but didn’t dare to. In my blindness I knocked over her nightstand. She gave a little shriek and I told her to shut up. ‘Keep quiet,’ I said. She called for help and I swung at her, blindly. Hit her across the face and knocked her on her bed. She called out again and I jumped on top of her. My military training kicked in, muscle memory, and I went full force to constrain her. I grabbed a pillow, we struggled on the bed, and I held her down until she was quiet. Finally.”
Dirk turned his head toward the ancient rocks on the north side of the river. For a moment the two men said nothing.
“You killed her?”
“She wouldn’t shut up. I didn’t intend to kill her, but she wouldn’t shut up. I left her apartment feeling horrible, but knowing that I had achieved my goal, for Matt.”
“But it was a mistake.”
“Yes,” Dirk said, restraining tears. “Now I know that. When I learned from Matt that he was obsessed with a coworker—not with Norah—I could not believe it. It made no sense to me. But then I saw the truth and realized that my mission was a failure. Instead of helping Matt, I killed an innocent girl. Now the nightmare must end. Right here, right now.”
After a few moments, Harley said, “You are living a nightmare, Dirk. And you are right, it must end. But I don’t think it has to end with you in the river. You are not a Roman. You are a Christian.”
“What difference does it make? I am guilty of murder. An eye for an eye.”
“You have your honor, I get that. You want to see justice done. But you are also a sinner. And Christ died for sinners.”
“That’s why I am confessing, Harley. Give me your absolution and let me go.”
“You can be forgiven, Dirk. Christ has taken your sins on himself. But don’t add another murder to the murder you have already committed. Suicide is murder,” said Harley. “It is the taking of a life. Your life.”
Dirk pushed back. “Come on, Harley, you don’t believe that. A depressed person who takes his life—he’s not a murderer! He’s full of despair, mentally ill.”
“But that’s not you, Dirk. You are the sanest person I know. You are not depressed. You are guilty of hatefulness and a grave mistake. And Christ died to take your guilt on himself. He died so that you could live.”
Dirk pushed the handgun deeper into his jacket pocket. “I don’t know. I can’t live with the shame.”
“Matt needs you,” Harley pleaded. “You think you’ve hurt him by doing what you did? You’ll hurt him even more by killing yourself. Think about how your own father let you down when you needed him the most. Matt wants you in his life, even if you are guilty of a crime.”
“He’ll hate me.”
“He’ll hate your mistake. Hate your action. But not hate you. The truth will come out about what happened. Will Beckley was involved with Norah. His father condemned their relationship, and Norah knew it. You came to confront Norah, and she assumed that you were Will’s father. How could she assume otherwise? She didn’t know you, and you didn’t really know her. It was a tragic mistake.”
“Still, I have failed Matt.”
“Yes, but you are still his father.” Harley didn’t know if he was succeeding in talking Dirk off the ledge but figured that he had one more piece of ammunition. “Dirk, there is one more thing I want you to know. If you confess, you can help to stop a terrorist plot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I cannot go into details,” Harley said. “But if you go to the police and confess what you have done, you will begin a process that will save many lives. Islamic extremists will be arrested, and an attack will be thwarted.”
“How can you be so sure?” Dirk asked. He still looked skeptical, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Trust me,” said Harley. “Have I failed you before? I know someone who can expose the plot. I’ll have him take the evidence to Matt. Think about it, Dirk. It will be great for Matt’s career.”
Dirk pondered what his pastor was saying, thinking about the damage he had done to Matt and how he might redeem himself. Quietly, he said, “I do owe him.”
“Everything begins with confession,” said Harley. “Tell the truth about what you have done. Help the Bayatis to get Muhammad out of jail. Pay your debt in court, not here in the river. Help to make Matt a hero.”
Dirk turned to the left, catching sight of two people on the town side of the pedestrian bridge. Harley followed his gaze and saw that it was Youssef and Sofia Ayad, out for their morning walk. Although round and wingless, they looked like a couple of angels walking toward them.
“Here come the Ayads,” said Harley. “Coptic Christians. They have seen so many of their brothers and sisters killed by ISIS. Don’t make them watch another Christian die.”
With that, Dirk pulled his gun out of his jacket pocket, looked at it wistfully, and then handed it to Harley. He knew that he was exchanging a quick fix for a long and painful process. Harley put the handgun in the inner pocket of his sport jacket to hide it from the Ayads. Then Dirk pulled himself up and over the railing of the pedestrian bridge and joined Harley on the walkway.
“And so it begins,” said the Marine to his pastor.
CHAPTER 23
“Dirk Carter confessed to the killing of Norah,” said Harley to Omar, Sarah, and Fatima Bayati.
He had called the women to his house on Monday afternoon to meet with him and Omar, and the four of them sat in his living room with the blinds drawn. “He has been charged with voluntary manslaughter. That is a homicide that happens in the heat of passion, without a prior intent to kill.”
The Bayatis were stunned. “But who is Dirk Carter?” asked Fatima.
“He’s a resident of Lake Ridge,” Harley replied. “And, I’m sorry to say, a member of my church.”
“He must be related to Matt Carter,” said Omar, with rising anger.
“Yes, he is,” said Harley. “He is Matt’s father.”
“But why would he kill my daughter?” asked Fatima, choking up.
“As I said, he did not intend to kill her,” Harley explained. “He behaved in a reckless and violent manner, but he did not enter her apartment with the desire to kill her. It was a tragic case of mistaken identity.”
“What?” asked Omar. “That makes no sense to me.”
“Let me explain,” said Harley. “Dirk thought that Norah was involved with his son, Matt. He had heard Matt talking about a woman that he was attracted to, someone who looked like Norah. He showed up at Norah’s apartment to put an end to her relationship with Matt.”
“That would never work,” said Sarah quietly, knowing her sister well.
“But it gets even more complicated. Norah thought that Dirk was the father of the young man she was seeing, Will Beckley.”
“Norah was involved with Will?” asked Fatima.
“Yes, she was,” admitted Sarah. “I knew it, but I never said anything. I knew that you and father would be angry.”
“We were very angry when we heard that rumor,” said Fatima. “It was not right for her to be involved with an American. But, Sarah, if you knew about Will and Norah, why did you not take that information to the police?”
“Will did not kill her.”
“How could you know?” asked Fatima.
“Because I went to him the morning we found her dead. I woke him up and told him. He was stunned. He could not believe it. He was very upset. They really loved each other.”
Harley knew that Norah’s relationship was still a raw nerve but felt that he had to continue. “When Dirk forced himself into her apartment, she fought back. She shot him with pepper spray. They struggled and he smothered her.”
“He should die,” hissed Omar.
“Believe me, he wanted to,” said Harley. “When he discovered his mistake, he wanted to end his life. But
I convinced him to surrender to the police.”
The Bayatis sat for a few moments, quietly processing what Harley had told them. Finally, Fatima said, “Nothing is going to bring Norah back, whether her killer is dead or alive. We have to trust that justice will be done. God will help us to get through this.”
“You have a good lawyer, right?” asked Harley. He knew that they were using the defense fund to get the best representation they could. “Call him immediately, and tell him about Dirk’s confession. He should be able to get Muhammad released right away.”
“We are grateful for your support,” Fatima said, “and for the generosity of the donors.”
“I want you all to have some time together, once Muhammad is released,” added Harley. “Omar, I think you can go home tonight, as long as you remain hidden. You and I have some business we still need to take care of.”
“What kind of business?” asked Fatima.
“Something that will help you all,” replied Harley. “It will make you more secure.” Omar just sat in his chair, looking noncommittal. “Get Muhammad and bring him home. Omar, I will see you first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock.”
“Whatever,” said Omar.
“Show some respect,” said his mother.
“Okay. Nine o’clock.”
As the Bayatis left, Harley watched from the window. He hoped that the Woodbridge guys were not in the vicinity, ready to pounce on Omar as soon as he resurfaced. Although solving Norah’s killing had been a huge step forward, it did little to change the course of the terrorist plot. Harley worried that the ISIS sympathizers would succeed in finding new photographs and acquiring another boat while he and Omar had their extended slumber party. And he couldn’t help but think that his bold stand on Sunday, refusing to let the motorcyclist pass, might have made the entire group angry and even more determined.
Seeing the Bayatis make it safely to their shop, he turned to plan his next step. He wanted to call Matt Carter to set up a meeting but figured that he would still be at the police station with his father, dealing with the shock of Dirk’s confession. Dirk had made two phone calls as Harley drove him to the police station that morning: one to Matt and one to his lawyer. When Harley left the station, the lawyer was in conference with Dirk and Matt was on his way from FBI Headquarters in Washington. Harley wanted to give Matt some time before he asked to meet with him about the terrorist plot. One shocking revelation at a time was probably enough.
Glancing at the clock on the microwave in his kitchen, he saw that it was two o’clock. He figured that he ought to put in a few hours at the church since he was being paid to be a pastor, not a counterterrorism specialist, so he left the air-conditioning of his townhouse and entered the heat and humidity of the August afternoon. He walked up Washington Street past the Gold Emporium, grateful that the Ayads had appeared on the pedestrian bridge. He peeked into the Yarn Shop, saw the red hair of Doris King, and said a silent thanks that she had stepped up and helped him when he took his stand on Mill Street. Whatever happened in the next twenty-four hours, at the very least Harley knew that he was not alone. Then, as he was about to cross Washington Street and enter the church, a green Subaru made the turn from Commerce Street and headed straight for him.
“Harley, get in,” said the driver as she pulled quickly to the curb. It was Leah. “I just heard about Dirk from a friend at the police station. Unbelievable.”
“You are right about that.”
“So, let’s go talk someplace.”
“Okay,” Harley agreed, opening the front door on the passenger side. “Where to?”
“Lake Ridge Coffee. Should be quiet this time of day.” They arrived in five minutes and, as predicted, the place was deserted.
Leah bought a couple of iced coffees, and they sat in the back of the café. “Pat and I spent a lot of time here,” she said. “She loved it.”
“She?” said Harley, bewildered. He didn’t think he had heard her right. “Wait a second. Pat was a woman?”
“Of course,” said Leah.
Harley stared at her, feeling the ancient rocks under his feet begin to shift. “I assumed Pat was Patrick,” he said. And then the movement stopped, the rocks assumed a new configuration, and the puzzle of their perplexing personal history suddenly made sense.
“No, Harley,” said Leah. “Pat was Patricia. You know that I am a lesbian, right?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t,” he said, sheepishly.
Leah laughed. “Harley, how could you not know?”
“I just didn’t. Never occurred to me.”
“You are so funny,” she said, shaking her head. “But look, this is a conversation for another day. Right now, I want to hear about Dirk. Break it down for me. What happened?”
Harley told her the story that he had just told the Bayatis, weaving in elements of his conversation with Dirk on the pedestrian bridge. He ended with a prediction that Muhammad would be out of jail very soon, and said, “I hope the poor guy doesn’t have to spend another night in that place.”
“What a tragic mix-up,” Leah said, shaking her head. “Two young lovers, two angry sets of parents, and one old Marine determined to protect his son. That’s a combustible mix.”
“You’re right,” Harley agreed. “It could have been diffused so easily, if people only talked with each other.”
“You say that Norah’s boyfriend was Will Beckley? I know who he is, but don’t really know him. I wouldn’t have pictured the two of them together.”
“Join the club. I think it was a big surprise to everyone except for Sarah Bayati.”
“Yeah, sisters know that kind of stuff. I think I told you that Norah was a patient at our clinic. We knew that she was sexually active, but didn’t know the name of her partner. Wish we had known more, and could have done more.”
“Don’t blame yourself. People deserve their privacy.”
Leah sipped her coffee and said, “I give you credit for the relationships you’ve established, Harley. It’s been what? Just two months?”
“Not even.”
“You’ve done some good work, man. You’ve built a bridge to the Bayatis, and you talked Dirk off a bridge. You had your whole congregation take a stand with you in the street yesterday. Pretty impressive stuff.”
Harley felt embarrassed. “Well, that’s what being a pastor is all about. Relationships.”
“You do well, Harley.”
“Although I sure missed the boat on you and Pat.”
“Hey, nobody sees everything clearly.”
“I know I need to do better,” he admitted. “After the deaths of Karen and Jessica, I retreated into myself. Now I see the problem with that.”
“What you did was understandable. I was pretty isolated after Pat died. But I’m glad you’ve come out of your shell. So, what do you think your next move will be?”
“I can’t really go into detail,” Harley said, “but there is some information that Omar and I need to take to the FBI. I want to call Matt Carter this evening.”
“He’ll be a mess, won’t he?”
“Probably. But part of my persuasion of Dirk included a promise to make Matt a hero.”
“Harley,” said Leah with a sly smile, “you go big, don’t you?”
“Go big or go home.”
“I guess that you’ve got nothing to lose, right? When you are talking a guy off a bridge, you’ll promise anything.”
“I think Matt can help us. I really do.” At that moment, Harley’s cell phone rang and he looked at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” he said: “Matt Carter. Mind if I take this?” Leah agreed.
“Matt, how are you doing?” Harley said into the phone.
“I’ve been better. I am still in shock. My father was always impulsive, but this is insane.”
“I’m so sorry. Your head must be reeling.”
“Well, I’m trying to compartmentalize. We learn how to do that in the bureau. And I guess my dad taught me that as w
ell. I cannot believe he killed that girl and somehow lived a normal life with blood on his hands.”
“He felt he was helping you. Crazy, but true.”
“This is going to take me a long time to process.”
“I’m here to help, you know.”
“Speaking of help, I want to thank you for helping my dad on the bridge. I’m upset about what he did, but his suicide would have just made things worse. So whatever you said to him, thanks.”
“I just told him the truth, as I understood it.”
“Well, it worked. And that’s a small miracle in itself, since he isn’t very good at listening to anyone.”
“I’m glad I could help him.”
“I want to let you know that you might be called to testify. He has confessed to manslaughter, but you might be needed to speak, especially at the penalty phase. There is still a lot that lies ahead. I just wanted to call and thank you, and give you a heads-up.”
“I appreciate it, Matt. And while you are on the phone, there is something I need to ask of you. Maybe your father mentioned this, but maybe not. I have some information on a terrorist cell in Woodbridge, a group of Islamic extremists who have their sights on Fort Belvoir.”
“Stop. Don’t say another word.”
“Okay.”
“The phone is not good for this. Can you talk with one of our people?”
“Yes. When?”
“Now.”
“Okay, but I need to bring someone.”
“Meet me at your church. I’m still in Manassas, but I’ll meet you at your church and lead you to our Washington field office. I can be there in thirty minutes.”
City of Peace Page 22