“Ahh.” Maybe yes, maybe no. I had hardly gotten started.
The door swung open and Berk rushed out. “How dare you come into our meeting? What did you think you were doing? Don’t any of you aptal dinsizler know your place?” He lunged at me and shoved me back with both hands but didn’t manage to push me over. I was not easy to push.
I braced myself and squared by shoulders. “My apologies. I don’t always follow the rules when I have a murderer to catch.”
His face went red. He stepped back, eyes bugging. “You think we murdered someone because we are Muslim?”
“Not at all.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watched Jerrod inch his way to another exit door. The reality of “peer facilitator” hit me. Jerrod was a kid just like these guys and not at all prepared to deal with violent outbursts.
“If one of you murdered Adam Demarcus it would have been because you’re garden variety murderers. There’s really nothing special about murder.” I baited him because it was what he wanted and giving people what they wanted often got me what I wanted.
“It’s no good, Maura.” Jerrod’s nervous voice cut through the tension. He clung to the door knob with a white knuckled fist. “You aren’t going to get any answers this way.”
I looked Berk up and down.
His eyes bulged.
His shoulders tensed like they were cocked for action.
I had a feeling Jerrod was right.
A bevy of tapping feet crossed the gym floor behind me. Words in a language I didn’t speak rolled out quickly and sounded angry. “It’s not time for women in the gym.” A woman about ten years younger than me grabbed my elbow.
“That’s true!” Jerrod sounded relieved. “This is men’s night at the gym. The women are in the back, packing food boxes for tomorrow. No women in the gym tonight. You’ll have to leave.”
The woman tugged my elbow with force. “Come along now.”
Jerrod slinked up to the large young man. “Come on, that’s enough. They put her in her place.”
“Is that enough?” Berk spat the words out. “Is it enough to make the woman leave the gym she has no right to be in? Shouldn’t we also teach her a lesson? Teach her to not come back where she’s not wanted? Shouldn’t we teach them all to show a little respect?” He shook with rage.
“Calm down, you don’t know what you are saying.” Jerrod’s eyes shifted from me to Berk.
“I know what I’m thinking, anyway. I’m thinking I’ve had enough of you all.” Berk wrenched his arm out of the grip of his friend and stormed out of the gym.
“Come with us.” The woman holding my arm gave another tug.
I weighed the cost and chose to follow her. These men might talk eventually, but then again, so might the women.
To my surprise the women took me back to the room where they were sorting food donations into fabric grocery sacks and gave me a chair. I wasn’t the only woman with an uncovered head, but I was the only woman with her cleavage showing as she leaned over the bags.
“You’re a friend of Adam Demarcus,” the woman who had led me to the group said. “I’m Ellie Erkan. Berk, the one who got so mad, he’s an old friend of mine. I can talk to him later, but there’s no use reasoning with him when he is angry.”
A lady with her head covered rolled her eyes. “I get so mad at those boys. Playing with fire. Getting themselves and us in trouble.” She slammed a box of pasta into the bag. “Stupid little gangsters.”
A woman, a grandmother most likely, said something in the language that I didn’t know. Heads nodded around the room.
“What can be done with them?” I asked.
“We pray, we teach, we do what we can. We beg their fathers to take them in hand. What does anyone do with their sons?” Ellie replied.
“I like what Will and Jerrod and the others are doing. They listen, and then the boys listen to them.” This was from a woman who reminded me of my mother. Hazel eyes, tan skin, hair in a messy bun.
“Was Adam a part of this?”
“Sometimes. He came and talked to the boys about government and freedom. Change from within the system.”
I doubted that was the kind of speech that would influence these boys, but it did match up with the picture of Adam that was growing in my mind. “And the boys…did they believe him?”
She lifted a shoulder slightly. “Some did. Some didn’t, but because he listened to them first, they listened to him. You saw they didn’t listen to you.”
The woman with the covered head spoke again. “Please. Boys night. Who cares? You go in and out with tea every evening, Babaanne. Their girlfriends drop them off and then come back for them. He was just looking for a fight. He wanted to be mad.”
“I wonder why….” I scooted a full bag of groceries across the table and started another one. “Has something changed for him recently?”
“His girlfriend dumped him.” The youngest of the women in the room said it with derision in her voice.
“You mean you dumped him.” Ellie rolled her eyes.
“Exactly.” She slammed her full bag onto the table. “I’m not going to marry some boy who would ask me to strap explosives to my baby.”
“And this boy would?” I kept my voice as casual as physically possible, which was only so-so.
“He sure talks like he would.” She scrunched her face up in disgust. “And that’s bad enough.”
“Dilara, you talk big, but your father scared him off.”
“That’s because my father is the best.” Dilara squared her shoulders, a fierce look in her black eyes.
The women laughed.
“We won’t lose Berk. He just has a short temper. He’ll meet a new girl.” The woman who could be a grandmother spoke again, in clear English this time.
“A good Muslim girl!” Another woman in hijab said.
“And he’ll settle down.” Ellie smiled.
I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t believe these women were sure either. Would their voices have been as optimistic if an outsider hadn’t been in their midst?
“You came to talk about Adam Demarcus.” Ellie rerouted the conversation. “Will told us you might come.” She looked up and down at my clothes.
“Thanks for having me.” I layered bags of lentils in a grocery sack. “I wanted to talk to you all as well, not just the guys. Would you say everyone liked Adam? In the group, outside of the group?”
Heads nodded. “He was well-liked.”
“Even Berk with the bad temper?”
“Yes, even him. The Imam loved him, too. Adam was a very respectful man to us all.”
One of the younger women wiped her eye with her sleeve.
I considered…Adam had ended a relationship recently, but no one knew why. He was hanging out at the Muslim Community Center doing stuff that didn’t help the homeless situation. Could the beautiful girl with the inky black hair and the soft brown eyes wiping away her tears be the reason?
Before I could ask her anything, she slipped out.
I stood up. “May I use the restroom?”
“Of course. Right out that door and around the corner.” I exited the same door the crying girl had and went on a hunt for her.
The bathroom was easy to find, and I checked there first. The most common place a crying woman sneaks off to.
The girl stood in front of the mirror, dabbing at her eyes.
“Was Adam a good friend?” I kept my voice low and tucked myself between the counter and the hand dryer, so she wouldn’t feel cornered.
“Yes.” She sighed. “He was…”
I wanted to supply all sorts of words: good, wonderful, handsome…but more so, I wanted to hear what she would come up with.
“He was dating my mother.”
I scribbled a mental note with a lot of exclamation points. A real connection, finally. “Had they been together long?”
“They had dated for seven years. Like, all my school. Middle school, high school. All of it, but they just br
oke up.”
“He was like a father to you?”
“Much nicer than a father. My father…” She rolled her eyes.
“Is your dad still living?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but he’s back in Turkey.” She grimaced. “My grandma makes me come here.”
“Not your mom?”
“Oh no. Mom isn’t Muslim. Or Turkish, even.”
“So…um…how is she doing now that Adam has passed?”
A look of anger passed over her, her cheeks twitching, eyes narrowing. “She said he got what he deserved.”
This was better than I had hoped for. I was finally earning my paycheck. “Their split wasn’t amicable.”
“Nope. He left her for a younger woman.”
And there it was. Adam was the nicest jerk in the whole world. Everybody loved him. And he loved “everybody.” Just like Rick. “That sucks.”
“Yup.”
“Had you kept in touch with him after the break up?”
“No. Why would I? He had hurt my mom so badly and was such a jerk about it.” She laughed, a wry, almost grim sound. “So why am I crying in the bathroom over him?” She straightened up and slipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Because he had been someone we had loved. Like a dad but cool, and fun, and not a crazy religious freak. And now he’s gone, and I can never make up with him again.”
The image of a dead Rick crossed my mind’s eye as she spoke. It didn’t give me the pleasure I had expected.
She was right. If Rick were dead, I could never make up with him again. This anger would always be with me. That horrible thought made me want to call him right now. I bit my tongue, just to make myself angry again. Rick wasn’t dead, but he was sleeping with his intern. I had every right to be angry with him.
“I’m so sorry.” I kept my words to a minimum and didn’t try to reach out to her. “Would your mom mind if I called her?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not?”
I pulled out my phone and passed it to the girl. She input her mom’s number and name: Tricia Gordon.
“Thanks.” I pocketed my phone. “In case she asks, who should I say gave me her number?”
“Her ungrateful brat of a daughter, Seda.”
I chuckled. “Sounds good. Thank you.”
“Sure.” She looked relieved, reminding me that I did have a decent way with American teens. I couldn’t let the scene with the young men’s group destroy my confidence.
She slipped out of the bathroom, walking just fast enough to show she didn’t want me to come with her.
I went back to the kitchen and filled up the bags of groceries. After half an hour, the party broke up without giving me anything new for my investigation. Nonetheless, I felt good. I had gotten a grip on the case and could start really digging now.
I had a kick in my step, the positive feeling that I could get the job done and could get my feet under me. The perfect revenge for Rick. I could show him I didn’t need him.
I paused in the reception area to check my texts and then went around back to my car.
I had my hand on the door handle before I realized that my window was a gaping hole. And even staring at it, it took me a moment to register that my window had been smashed in.
I stepped away and assessed the scene. All was quiet around me, no other people heading out. Only two other cars. This side of the building had the steel door that Berk took when he stormed out of the gym.
I went back to the car and looked inside. A rock, with a note rubber banded to it, lay in the driver’s seat. I took several pictures. And considered…call the police? Go back in and look around until I found Berk, and collar him for it myself?
Since I had lots of pictures and could put the rock back just as I found it, I decided I’d read the note first.
The ink was black. The writing was cursive with large, looped letters. And judging by the verbiage, the note had been written by a girl who knew her Quran well.
“Our boys don’t want kafir whores, so stay away! ‘Allah is the guardian of those who believe. He brings them out of the darkness into the light/But Allah is encompassing of the disbelievers. The lightning snatches away their sight.”
Which girl had written this note, and who had thrown it? Maybe Berk’s old friend had written it and he had thrown it? I didn’t think Seda had thrown it. Not after our conversation. What about…who was it…Dilara? The girl who had just broken up with Berk? Not unless she was playing a deep game.
There had been eleven women working on the bags, and only a few of them had spoken to me. Most of them were quiet—possibly because I was there, and several spoke in the same language I didn’t know. I was guessing it was Turkish, since there seemed to be a Turkish connection with Seda. It wasn’t a huge leap to think that people with linguistic and cultural similarities worked on the same volunteer projects. I could only guess which of the women had taken Berk’s side in our little kerfuffle and wanted to scare me off.
I put on an air of shock and dismay and went to the reception table. “Something has happened to my car.” I spoke breathlessly.
“What do you mean?” The girl behind the counter looked wary.
“The window was broken. I think I need to call the police. Right?”
She chewed her lip. “I guess.”
“Or is there someone here I should talk to?” I chewed my lip, too, mirroring her to win her trust.
She drummed her fingers on the table top and stared at the multi-line desk phone. “Maybe…”
I counted as she hesitated. I made it to seven before she picked up the phone. “Elif, could you come out here? There’s a problem in the parking lot.” She paused. “Yeah, she’s in the reception out here with me. Okay.” The receptionist hung up. “She’ll be right out.”
Berk’s friend Ellie—apparently, her full name was Elif—joined us in the reception area.
“What happened?” She sounded concerned, and inclined her head slightly towards me, a sign of sympathy.
“Someone smashed my window. I guess I need to call the police and file a report, so my insurance will cover it.” I shook my head slowly back and forth. “Such a bummer. You don’t know if anyone was out there who might have seen something, do you?”
“Where were you parked?” Ellie leaned her elbow on the reception desk.
“Around back.”
“Everyone was leaving earlier, but I don’t know where they all parked. And, since it really could have happened any time...” She glanced at the wall clock.
“Okay, I guess I’ll just call it in then…” I had a strong feeling she wouldn’t want me to have the cops called to the center. Just a hunch, so I waited before I dialed.
“Sorry for your inconvenience,” she said. “This kind of thing can sure ruin a day. I’ve got to finish cleaning in the kitchen.”
The receptionist stared at Ellie with wide eyes. “You’re going? Are you sure?”
I considered the receptionist. Pretty girl. Most likely no older than twenty-five. Maybe a sister of Berk? Or a new love interest? If she had written the note she certainly wouldn’t want me to call the police.
“Yeah. Doesn’t really involve me, does it?”
I took in Ellie’s face and posture. What was she really communicating to the receptionist? As far as I could tell, implacable indifference. Perhaps though, she was sending a message to the receptionist that she needed to feign indifference as well.
I called the police—the number was in my speed dial—and made a quick report over the phone. When I was done, I put my hand over the microphone like someone was still on the line, “I’m sorry” I addressed the receptionist. “What was your name?”
The color faded from her olive complexion. She gulped. “Melati.”
“Could you spell that?”
She did.
I mouthed “thanks” to her and walked away as though I wanted to finish the call in privacy. Nobody took the bait, though. These ladies didn’t crack easily.
A scorned lover.
A grieving child.
A hot-headed youth.
A fearful receptionist.
And someone who had tried to scare me away.
Melati and Berk, maybe? They might be behind the attempt to scare me away. Unfortunately for the person who had done in my window, I don’t scare easily.
Chapter Seven
Heavy clouds had shuttered the sky since morning. By five it felt like day had died long ago. I turned on all the lights in my office—including the bathroom—and pulled the blinds. I had been digging into quran.com to see if I could get extra meaning out of the verse that came with my friendly rock-through-the-window, and something about it had gotten to me. Maybe because the Quran was something good Christians didn’t read. Maybe because I had been buying into the idea that all-Muslims-are-dangerous without realizing it. Or maybe it was because I was alone in an old, noisy building at the uncanny hour where nothing feels real or safe. Whatever was at the root of my shivers, I took myself, my laptop, and my bathrobe to the couch and curled up. I knew stuff about the verse now, but what did it all mean?
Allah was light. Which was funny, because Jesus was also the light of the world and the church was supposed to be a city on a hill shining light on all the sinners, and Rick was supposed to be the light, but he was a cheating, lying, hypocrite instead.
This was not about Rick.
This was about my two-year old Land Cruiser, it’s broken window, and whatever it was I had learned at the community center to make someone there want to break it.
According to the verse from the Quran, Allah brought believers into the light, but then used light to blind the disbelievers. I was the disbeliever, and the verse wasn’t wrong: I was completely blind to the charms of this particular religion, and pretty much all it stood for, though I hadn’t meant to make it obvious today.
Allah liked to blind people with flashes of light and “John Deere” was haiku-ing about deadly flashes of light. How could you kill someone with light, and why?
The Book of Judges Page 7
