A Prayer for the Devil (6 page)

After breakfast with the family, Luke asked Deborah if he could talk to her in private for a few minutes. They went into the library, where she questioned, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I wanted to ask you for a few favors.” Relieved, she smiled.

“Can you please call the Verizon store and ask them for a new phone for Aaron?”

Startled, she asked, “Why?”

“Knowing Aaron, there’s a good chance that he had the names and numbers of his contacts stored. This way, since his phone was destroyed, his contact list can be reloaded by the phone company.”

“Why do you want that information?”

“I need to know who he was talking with the morning of the bombing, and I want to reconstruct the last few days of his life. It’s something that I have to do.”

She nodded, understanding.

“And can you request a detailed report of all of his calls for the last three months?” Before she could answer, he continued, “I need one more favor.”

“Yes, anything.”

“Please make sure they don’t ever turn off Aaron’s number.”

When she asked why, he confided that he called Aaron’s phone number every day, just to hear his voice. She cried, then quickly retrieved her phone and dialed his number herself.

Luke spent part of the afternoon in the backyard playing with Alessa and Abel. When they came in, Deborah was standing by the back door. She bent down, and the children released Luke’s hands and ran to her. Deborah smiled at Luke. “The phone store called to say the new phone is ready, and I had one of the security guards pick it up.”

“Thank you so much. And the phone records?”

“They said that they would be e-mailed sometime today.”

She went to get the phone as Luke headed to his room. Seeing the bedroom closet door ajar, he opened it and noticed that it was now full of Aaron’s clothes. Then he saw the note on his nightstand: “Luke, please remember this is what Aaron would want. Also, here’s the ID and password for our e-mail account. The computer is in the library.” He showered and shaved, then knelt at his bedside and prayed. Deep in thought, he was startled when there was a knock and the door slowly opened. He stood quickly and Deborah walked in, holding the new cell phone. When she handed it to Luke, he noticed the awkward look on her face before she turned to leave. It was then that he realized he was shirtless. Quickly pulling on a sweatshirt, he examined the phone and headed to the library.

Being somewhat computer savvy, Luke quickly logged on to his brother’s e-mail account. Seeing the phone company message, he opened it and began analyzing the data. Working backward from the day of Aaron’s death, he documented each call while attempting to match them to the contact names on Aaron’s phone. Four hours later, Luke had a spreadsheet containing the names and phone numbers of everyone
that Aaron had talked to in the last few weeks before his death. There were six numbers with no matches on Aaron’s contact list. Realizing that these numbers might be important, he knew who to call for help.

Carlos Sanchez answered on the second ring. “Luke, I’m so sorry for your loss.” The longtime friends spent several minutes discussing the recent events and reminiscing about the time they spent in the seminary together. Carlos was in charge of the archdiocese computer systems and networks, and Luke finally got to the point. “Carlos, I need help with some phone numbers.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to determine who my brother was calling in the past few months. I have his phone records, but there are a few numbers that I can’t match back to the contact list on his phone, and I want to find these people.”

“Luke, are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Think about Washington, DC. Do you remember?”

Luke stood and walked over to the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Looking at his reflection, he gently ran his index finger up and down the small scar on the underside of his chin, the only distinguishable difference between the twin brothers.

Not hearing a response, Carlos asked, “Luke, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember? You can’t lose your temper, for God’s sake, you’re a priest now.”

Luke thought about that winter day—January 22, to be precise. As much as he tried, he could never forget it. While in the seminary, he and Carlos took a trip to DC on the anniversary of Roe versus Wade to join the antiabortion protesters. Shortly after getting off the bus, they were confronted by an arrogant pro-choicer who took exception to their presence. After calling them insulting names, he moved so
close to Luke that when he started screaming, “Damn your God, damn your God,” a mist of his saliva covered Luke’s face. Then he pushed a poor, defenseless old woman out of his way, causing her to fall as he laughed and ran away.

Before leaving on the bus back to New York, Luke insisted that Carlos come with him on a walk through the downtown club area. Finding the jerk outside one of the local bars, Luke handed Carlos his collar and verbally confronted the man. When Luke turned to walk away, the coward hit him with an uppercut that he never saw coming, causing the scar on his chin. Something in Luke snapped, and he started punching the man uncontrollably, not stopping until Carlos pulled him off.

Although Carlos was horrified, he agreed to keep the events of that day a secret as long as Luke went to confession and promised to pray for strength to control his rage. Luke met Carlos in the confessional the next morning, and Luke’s problem with anger in response to injustice had remained suppressed since then. But now Carlos worried that the murder of Aaron would unleash it once again.

Realizing that Carlos was waiting, Luke finally responded, “I want to understand who he was talking to and why. I really need to know.”

After a few moments of silence, Carlos reluctantly asked, “What’s your e-mail address? I know there are several websites that offer this as a free service. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll send you an e-mail with a web link.”

Luke thanked him and promised to keep in touch.

Using the reverse-lookup website, Luke located the missing names and was surprised that the site also listed their addresses. His list was complete except for two numbers, which must have been unlisted. Unfortunately, they were the two numbers called most often. One was the number Aaron had called right before he walked onto the stage
on the morning of his death. Luke knew he had no choice but to call each one.

THE FIRST NUMBER HE
called was disconnected. Luke assumed that whoever it belonged to was probably dead. While carefully dialing the second number, he now panicked that he hadn’t rehearsed what he would say if someone answered. However, after several rings, the phone went silent. Hesitant about redialing, he lay on his bed and reviewed the other numbers on the list. Another one suddenly caught his attention. On the morning of the bombing, Aaron had spoken to Ablaa Raboud, the Muslim reformist, for more than twenty minutes. There were also several other calls to her number on prior days. Knowing that it was useless to call her because she, too, was dead, Luke decided to take a ride by her house first thing in the morning to see if anyone else lived at that address.

After dinner, Luke returned to his room while the rest of his family moved to the den to watch the nightly game shows. His parents were getting stronger day by day, but he worried about Deborah. He sensed that she could fall apart at any moment. The responsibility of raising two small children alone and making all the day-to-day household decisions, while trying to figure out what to do with Aaron’s law firm and clients, was noticeably wearing on her. Luke was doing all he
could to help, but Deborah tried to ignore everything except the children, causing important decisions to be made in crisis mode, further adding stress to her now complicated life.

The next morning, Luke told Deborah that he had some errands to run. Before she could ask how, he explained his new clandestine escape route from the backyard. Already having too many things to worry about, she didn’t question him, but she agreed to keep the children and his parents occupied until he returned. Aware that his clerical clothes could actually help in some situations, Luke put them on and quickly headed out the back door and over the wall. As he entered the address into the Mercedes’ GPS, he saw that Ablaa Raboud’s residence was located on Malcolm X Boulevard in the heart of Roxbury. This didn’t surprise him, since the Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center was located on the same block. The ISBCC was the largest Islamic center in New England and the second-largest on the East Coast. Noticing that his destination was only twenty minutes away, he backed out of the woods onto the empty street.

When the GPS announced, “You have arrived at your destination,” Luke waited patiently as an elderly couple slowly maneuvered out of a parking space directly in front. Pulling in, he called Aaron’s cell number for encouragement once again before he left the car. He found the address numbers on a brick apartment building, and he entered and looked for apartment 1C. He quickly determined that the arrangement of the mailboxes in the lobby corresponded to the floor plan of the building. Relieved that 1C was located on the first floor, he walked back outside and looked at the structure again. It appeared that each apartment contained two large side windows, so he walked on the grass to the rear of the building and approached. Holding his hands up to shield the sun’s reflection on the glass, he peered through the blinds to see inside. Hearing something behind him, he turned quickly but
saw nothing unusual. Turning back to look in the window again, he was startled as he saw a figure staring back at him. He backed up quickly and stumbled over his own feet, falling hard on the uneven ground.

As he struggled to get up, he tripped several more times. Finally regaining his composure, he got to his feet and started to run toward his car until he heard, “Stop right there! Don’t move and place your hands were I can see them!”

Luke froze and slowly lifted his hands above his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man dressed in a dark suit moving into his line of sight. His attention was immediately drawn to the gun that was pointed directly at his chest. The man was talking on a radio with one hand, while the other held the unwavering weapon. The gunman quickly placed the radio in his coat pocket and pulled out a badge. Addressing Luke, he said, “Boston police. What are you doing here?” As Luke came into full view, the detective saw Luke’s collar and immediately recognized him. Luke finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Detective; I just stopped by to see the Raboud family. I wanted to express my condolences.”

As the officer holstered his weapon, Luke saw his gaze drawn to something behind him. Turning his body without moving his feet, Luke recognized the person from the window walking toward them. The female figure approaching was wearing a full burqa that covered her entire body except for an open slit for her eyes. She stopped while a few feet away and addressed the officer. “Detective, who is this man?”

Feeling like a criminal, Luke turned completely around and said sincerely, “I’m so sorry that I frightened you. I’m Luke Miller. My brother Aaron was also killed in the bombing. I came here to extend my condolences to Ablaa Raboud’s family.” As she moved closer, Luke could see the compassion and hurt in her eyes, her only visible feature.