Fairstein, Linda - Silent Mercy

“And you, Faith? Would you tell us about your beliefs?” I asked.

“I’m a Calvinist.”

“How’d you come by that?” Mike asked.

“Three generations of dirt-poor Kansans. Some were Lutherans, Dutch originally, from Pennsylvania. There’s a little bit of Cherokee in me that came on the Trail of Tears. The rest is a healthy mix of sharecroppers and horse thieves. The Grants were a rough bunch, but they were always religious. And how they hated the elitism of some of the Protestant sects.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine the way religion took hold on the frontier.”

“It was the only thing that held poor folk together, Mike. It was the idea that God loved them. You could accept the love of God and become a new person — a Christian. You weren’t just a product of your history and your culture — or should I say your lack of culture.”

“There were great divisions in the Protestant Church, too, weren’t there?” I asked.

“Certainly so. Around the turn of the last century, the Protestants divided,” Faith said, animated now, talking with her hands. “That split was between the head and the heart. The mainline church — the Eastern elite — that was all about the head. If you wanted to adore God, in their view, you built universities and you educated people.

“But it was the evangelicals that ran off with their hearts,” she said, tapping her chest with her hand. “Calvin and Wesley, Edward and Whitefield. They created churches instead of schools. These were men devastated by witnessing slavery, and by walking among the impoverished and the ill. Heart and hope — people with little else to cling to could have that. And the great irony? Union broke free from Princeton because our founders were all about the heart. But we managed to keep the head too. We do both very well.”

“So who are your enemies, Faith?” Mike asked.

“I never thought I had any, really. This hasn’t been a hard road for me, Detective. Many people don’t understand my choices, but I’ve never been as ‘out there,’ say, as Ursula was.”

“The other woman who was killed, Naomi Gersh,” I said, “did you ever meet her?”

“No. Where do you think I would have?”

“She took a class at Jewish Theological.”

“Good neighbors, they are. But I didn’t know her.”

“The play that Ursula directed— Double-Crossed —did you go to see that?”

“I didn’t. It was performed over the Christmas holidays. I’d gone home to see family for ten days,” Faith said. “Chat went with some of my friends to see one of the performances and told me about it.”

“Chat knew Ursula too?” I asked.

“Not well, but they met a few times. Why?”

“When you told us that Ursula had to move out of your apartment because Chat moved in, I made the wrong assumption. I didn’t figure they overlapped. My own mistake. In fact, I would have urged Chat to stay so we could have asked her about Ursula.”

“She obviously didn’t want to be here — I think you saw that. She didn’t know Ursula nearly as well as I did. I’ll tell her you want to talk.”

“Thanks. It’s just better if you don’t discuss it with her,” Mike said. “Better if we handle that.”

“I understand.”

“So Chat didn’t travel with you for the holidays?”

“It’s hard for her to go home. It’s — well, that’s neither here nor there. Even she told me the play was over-the-top.”

“What do you mean?”

“Very graphic. Like we talked about earlier.”

“What people — what groups — do you think would be most outraged about someone like Ursula Hewitt?” Mike asked.

“She got it from all sides,” Faith said, shaking her head from side to side and biting her lip again. “The actions that made her beloved to so many feminists were offensive to scores of her coreligionists.”

“How about someone with no religious attachment at all?” Mike said. “Maybe it’s my own head, but as someone who goes to church — maybe not as often as I should — it’s impossible to imagine a believer capable of this kind of violence.”

Faith Grant looked away from Mike. “The second largest group of people in the world, if you want to look at it that way, are the religious unaffiliated. Say they’re lapsed, or uncontained if you will, or even searching for an institutional form to hold them.”

“Okay. I get it.”

“I don’t view them as dangerous at all. They’re in twelve-step programs or yoga camps or ashrams. They don’t worry me in the slightest,” she said with a laugh.

“So who does worry you?”

Faith hesitated, as though she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone else. “The fastest-growing religious group in the world today is Pentecostal.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

“Many, mind you, have been accepted by Rome and by Protestant sects as part of the flock. It’s a serious movement, and encompasses a wide variety of believers. The poor and the disenfranchised really gravitate to it.”

“I imagine so, if it’s that fast-growing.”

“But there’s a whole sect of Pentecostal churches that are completely outside the constraints of the dominant culture,” Faith said. “They’ve overtaken the evangelicals.”

“Aren’t both about expressing the passions of the heart?” Mike asked.

“Well, yes. But evangelicals believe in regulating those passions. Not a lot of talking in tongues where I come from.”

“Can you point us to any specific organizations?” Mike was hoping to get direction from Faith Grant.

“I’d be looking at some of the extreme ministries that have sprung up.”

“Extreme?”

“Yes. You know that a lot of nondenominational churches — evangelicals in particular — have used popular culture to reach new followers. Rock music, skateboarding — including pop things like that has been going on for years.”

“So what do the extreme groups do?”

Faith paused before answering. “There are a lot of ministers who think that the church has become too feminized. I don’t mean just because of women in the clergy. They think, in this new movement, that we’ve gotten too far away from Christ, emphasizing compassion and kindness rather than strength and responsibility.”

“So what’s their solution?” I asked.

“Fighting. Using mixed martial arts as part of the church service.”

“You got to be pulling my leg,” Mike said.

“I wish I were. They believe that using violence — or sport, I guess they’d call it — explains how Christ fought for what he believed in.”

“You know where these extreme ministries are? You’ll give us names?”

“I can work on that today. They’re pretty much springing up everywhere.”

“Have you had any personal experience with anyone in particular that you think marks you in one of these fringe groups?” I asked.

“Oh, no. Not that at all. But when I look for — I don’t know — someone capable of this kind of violent behavior, I’m not thinking he comes out of any church that I know.”

Mike lowered his voice. “Then you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Faith: every one of the deadly sins committed by the righteous and the religious, sometimes before the preacher even gets to say the last amen.”

MIKEand I walked Faith back to her apartment and waited while she packed a small suitcase with clothes, toiletries, and books to get through the weekend in the dormitory. She had arranged through the secretary of the soon-to-be-retired president to stay in one of the guest suites for the weekend. No one questioned the problems with the aged heating system that she complained of in her apartment.

“Are you sure we aren’t putting you into the reach of someone here who could be dangerous?” I asked as we entered the lobby and passed into the center courtyard.

“I’ll be very safe,” Faith said.

The small quad looked like most other campuses at eleven a.m. A few students were throwing Frisbees around while others tossed a football. The music that came from classroom windows was the sound of a gospel choir at practice, and the kids who greeted Faith on the path were a mix of earnest and upbeat.

“How about your nemesis?” I asked. “The guy you didn’t look too happy to see when the statue nearly got you. Won’t you tell me his name?”

She looked up at me and smiled. “Would you mind if I turn the other proverbial cheek, Alex? He spends weekends in Connecticut, and the only serious backstabbing he does is with a very sharp tongue.”

We exchanged phone numbers and e-mails so that we could stay in communication. “You’ll call us if anything happens?” I asked. “No matter how insignificant it seems to you.”

“Of course I will. I’ll have Chat here with me too. That’s why I told them I needed a suite. As soon as she comes back today, I’ll have her join me. Might be a bit more church than she’s used to on an average weekend, but she’s fiercely loyal to me.”

“That’s excellent. We’ll talk later.”

We let ourselves out and walked across Broadway toward Mike’s car. “Wasn’t that woman pastor in Kentucky murdered in a Pentecostal church?”

“Yeah, but can you imagine how many of them there are all over the country?” I said. “I wouldn’t go leaping to any conclusions from that. Are you still going to JTS to canvass?”

He checked his text messages. “Peterson’s got two guys on site now. Why don’t we work out of your office, with Mercer and Nan.”

“I won’t tell Scully if you don’t,” I said, getting into the passenger seat. I held my forefinger against my mouth to ask Mike to be quiet. “I’ve got a call to make.”

I dialed Information to get a listing for New Amsterdam Prep. “Connect me,” I said to the operator, then asked to be passed along to the headmaster. “Good morning. My name is Alexandra Cooper. I’m an assistant district attorney in Manhattan. I’m calling about two—”

“I was expecting your call, Ms. Cooper. Mr. Borracelli said you’d be phoning.”

If Paul Battaglia and Keith Scully were cutting back my duties, it looked like Borracelli had my day’s work lined up for me.

“Is Gina at school today?”

“Yes, she’s in class now.”

“And Javier Valdiz?”

“No. No, we suspended him when he showed up this morning. He’ll be expelled once you confirm that he violated the school’s honor code.”

“Violated what?” I asked.

“The New Amsterdam Prep code.”

“Mr. Borracelli is gravely mistaken, sir. My jurisdiction is strictly the penal code. I’m not calling on behalf of Gina’s father. I’m calling because I conducted a criminal investigation which involved two of your students and several others as witnesses.

“I want you to know that Mr. Valdiz, in fact, didn’t commit any crime. He’s not going to be prosecuted, and I would suggest — before I advise his lawyer to take legal action — that you reinstate him as quickly as possible.”

The man on the other end of the phone sucked in air. “May I have your callback number, Ms. Cooper?”

“Because you want to talk to Mr. Borracelli before you hear me out? He’ll be happy to give it to you.” And my home address, too, no doubt.

“He told me that Gina wanted to withdraw charges. That she’s too fragile, emotionally, to go through with a prosecution.”

“I’ll say it again. Javier Valdiz did not commit a crime. There was no rape. Gina admitted that to me, after all the evidence was evaluated.”