Consulting Detective

by Alan Manifold

  “That hurt, you worthless piece of crap! I’ll make you pay for that.” He lunged at Mihdí but wasn’t able to make contact.

  “So, you just watched Wiegand kill an innocent man and did nothing, is that it?”

  “He didn’t look innocent to me, just weak. Wiegand’s no Schwarzenegger, but that black guy didn’t even put up a fight. Wiegand looked like he just wanted to harass the guy for fun. He slapped him a few times and punched him and the guy just stood there and took it. Finally, he must have gotten fed up and he swung once or twice at Wiegand and must have hit him. Wiegand yanked this knife out of his belt or somewhere and jabbed it right between the black guy’s ribs. And I got the whole thing on tape.”

  They continued to dance around each other, occasionally feinting or dodging, but neither one made any kind of effective attack. All of a sudden, Mihdí threw the vase at Richardson’s head and followed up with a rush towards the real estate agent. Richardson ducked away from the vase, but was unable to avoid Mihdí’s charge. The two of them went down, locked in each other’s arms, with Mihdí on top. Mihdí was holding Richardson’s right wrist with his left hand, but he could feel his left shoulder weakening from the deep cut. He rolled to his left, pinning Richardson’s right shoulder and arm beneath him so he could not use the knife. Mihdí swung his left elbow into Richardson’s right side, then raised his arm and brought it down on Richardson’s throat. Mihdí was unable to provide any continued pressure, though, because of his weakened shoulder.

  Richardson, with his right armed trapped under Mihdí’s body, was flailing around ineffectually, landing a few feeble blows with his left hand, but unable to get any leverage. He tried to pull his right arm out from under Mihdí. He grabbed the leg of a heavy table with his left hand to anchor himself and tried to dislodge the detective. Mihdí saw that both of Richardson’s arms were out of the way, so he swung his right arm around and rolled a bit so he could deliver a chop on Richardson’s throat with his right hand. He was at a difficult angle, so the chop wasn’t particularly hard or well-placed, but it did cause Richardson some pain and he gasped for breath. Mihdí was able to roll forward and get to his feet, avoiding a wild swing of the knife. Richardson propped himself up on his left elbow, still brandishing the knife, but he was still too winded to be able to get up quickly. Mihdí hauled himself to the front door and exited the synagogue. He didn’t stop when he got outside, but stumbled over to Ahmad Muhammad’s coffee shop, where he collapsed in the doorway. Ahmad didn’t immediately know the identity of the injured man limping past his window, but he sprinted for the door as soon as he saw him and got there just moments after Mihdí had fallen. He yanked open the door and knelt down next to him.

  At that moment, Richardson emerged from the synagogue and saw the tableau in the coffee shop doorway. He began to run toward the two men with the knife held out in front of him, still struggling a bit for breath. Mihdí saw him first and yelled a warning to Muhammad, pointing to Richardson.

  The coffee shop owner leapt fearlessly to his feet facing Charlie Richardson and stood so that he was completely shielding Mihdí. Richardson stopped in his tracks, as it began to dawn on him that his plan was crumbling.

  The noise of Mihdí’s shout had brought other curious people to the doors of their shops. Stephanie Plante emerged from the HisStory bookstore and hurried over to Uncommon Brews. While Ahmad Muhammad continued to stare Richardson down, she attended to Mihdí. With her help, the detective was able to stand up and face his erstwhile attacker.

  “Put your weapon down, Richardson,” he commanded, leaning heavily against the doorframe of the coffee shop. “It’s over. Stephanie, could you please call 911?”

  Richardson looked around slowly, then tossed the knife down on the sidewalk and took a few steps away from it.

  “I had no choice, Montgomery,” he said dejectedly. “I’m so far in debt I needed this project to get back on my feet.”

  Mihdí could feel anger beginning to well up inside him, but he spoke calmly. “You always have a choice, Richardson. Sometimes the choices are hard, but there are always choices. And you made bad ones. You made Jacob Klemme and Silas Pattison pay for your bad choices, and now you’ll make your family pay as well, for years to come. And you yourself will always pay, as long as you don’t take responsibility for every choice you make.”

  Ahmad was unwilling to leave Mihdí unprotected, but a customer brought a chair out for Mihdí, who slumped gratefully into it. It took only three minutes for the police to arrive, followed quickly by an ambulance. Kurt Childs arrived just a few minutes after the first officers. He consulted quickly with Mihdí to get the latest facts, then formally arrested Richardson and led him to a patrol car. He dispatched the patrol car with Richardson in it to the police department lockup and bundled Mihdí off in the ambulance to the hospital.

  Childs oversaw the quick clean-up of the case. Richardson told them where to find the DVD of the video of Brent Wiegand stabbing Silas Pattison. Contrary to Mihdí’s earlier suggestion, Wiegand had not turned himself in. Officers were sent to his home, where he was arrested and charged with murder and obstruction, on top of the charges for vandalism of the Islamic Center and the Beth Shalom synagogue. Richardson’s list of charges was even longer.

  Mihdí needed fourteen stitches in his shoulder, but was treated and released before suppertime. Sam Schliebaum had called Andrea that afternoon to make a special request for the whole family to come to the Interfaith Community Thanksgiving Service at the synagogue that evening. Although Mihdí was still in a lot of pain and Andrea was concerned about him overexerting himself, he was happy for a good reason to go. They arrived almost exactly at 7:30. Schliebaum met them at the door and ushered them to a front row seat. The service began immediately, before Mihdí even got a chance to look around.

  Representatives of various local religious groups took turns with the various parts of the service. An interfaith choir sang two numbers, conducted by the Music Director of Saint Luke United Methodist Church. Prayers were offered, songs were sung, and scriptures were read. When the time came for the homily, Sam Schliebaum came to the front to share some thoughts on the occasion of Thanksgiving. He stood silently for a moment before he began.

  “I’m sure you have all noticed the unfinished swastika on the wall. This act of desecration of our sanctuary came on the heels of the murder in this very room of our friend and colleague, Jacob Klemme, just last week. These four walls almost witnessed another murder here this afternoon. We left the swastika here to witness the gathering of people of goodwill from all around our city in this service this evening. Soon after the service is over, we will take steps to remove this symbol of hate, as our innocent belief in the safety and purity of our sanctuary has already been forcibly removed.

  “But we have also gained something that is perhaps of more significance. We have gained a new appreciation for the importance of what we’re doing here tonight. Through this interfaith service, we are building bonds of friendship and respect between members of different religions. Like many of you, I have long believed that building bridges between people of faith is important. We have had services every year, and we have, from time to time, welcomed each other into our rituals and worship. These things have been good, and they have served to make us all feel like members of a larger congregation than our own, a congregation of all of God’s people in every land on earth.

  “Today, though, through the work of my friend, Detective Mihdí Montgomery, I have a new idea of what it means to build bonds between people of faith. It can’t be done just in annual services and occasional visits to other people’s houses of worship. It must be done in the day-to-day acceptance and honoring of every person created by the Almighty. It must be done by learning about each other’s religions, each other’s cultures, and each other’s values. And it must also be done by learning about each other’s families and children and interests and each other’s hopes and fears. My friend has taught me this not by preaching but by d
oing. His work today may have saved our synagogue and perhaps some of our lives. But I believe his work every day has helped to strengthen our community. And it has given new meaning to interfaith work for me, and I hope it will for you as well.”

  He came over to where Mihdí was sitting. “Detective, would you join me here for a moment?”

  Schliebaum helped Mihdí stand and turn to face the congregation, which burst into applause. With tears in his eyes, Mihdí saw that just behind Andrea, Enoch, and Lua, Ahmad Muhammad was sitting with a young woman, probably his wife. Stephanie Plante was sitting on the other side of the aisle with Sandy Klarr and a visibly uncomfortable Matthew Skefton. As Mihdi looked out at the still applauding crowd, he spotted Harry Katz and Neil Hoffman. Ruth Fischbach was sitting near Scott Craig. Mihdí saw his friends Ray Engel, Janice Chernievski, and Erica Iyer. His neighbor, Karen Short, was on the left, while Jill Bartholomew was on the right. A few police colleagues were there, including Darla Brownlee and Kurt Childs. Rick Sapp sat between his sons, Carl and Andy, neither of whom looked particularly happy about being there. Mihdi also picked out Brenda Lyons and the Rouhanis from his local Bahá’í community, as well as many other friends.

  As the applause began to die down, Schliebaum asked, “Would you say a few words, Mihdí?”

  Mihdí nodded and cast his eyes around the room. “A Muslim, a Christian, a Jew, and a Bahá’í walked into a coffee shop,” he began. When the inevitable laughter died down, he continued, “That shouldn’t be as unusual as it seems that it is. We all like coffee. We all have families. We all share many values. We all try to live our lives in the ways we think best. And when we do those things together, we all feel stronger connections to our communities, to our families, to our faith, and to our God. Those connections are a protection, a comfort and an amazing gift. And that is something that’s definitely worth giving thanks for.”

  Mihdí stood for a moment, his eyes filling with tears. His daughter, Lua, seeing her father crying, jumped from her seat and rushed over to him. He bent over to catch her in his right arm and lifted her up, where she gave him a big hug. Andrea hadn’t been fast enough to stop Lua, but she followed, with Enoch close behind. Enoch hugged his father’s legs while Andrea took Lua from Mihdí, who was beginning to show that he was feeling his fatigue and the pain of his injury.

  Andrea turned to Sam Schliebaum and said, “I hope you will excuse us, but I think our hero needs to get some rest.”

  She took Mihdí’s hand and began to lead him towards the rear of the synagogue. The congregation stood, row by row, as Mihdí walked past, silently expressing their admiration and love.

  Andrea drove the family home and got the children ready for bed while Mihdí rested on the couch. Both kids came and sat next to their Dad while he read them a bedtime story. The children got their goodnight hugs and kisses from Mihdí, then their mother took them off to bed.

  By the time she came downstairs, Mihdí was nodding off where he sat on the couch. She sat down next to him, put a pillow on her lap, and guided his head to it, where he quickly fell asleep. Andrea sat quietly, gently caressing his hair as he slept. At about 10 p.m., she woke him to say it was time they went up to bed.

  “Why now?” he quipped, with a smile.

  She laughed, “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

  He leaned on her shoulder as they made their way up the stairs to the bedroom.