Every Second

42

Los Angeles, California

Everyone Is Welcome.

The sun-faded sign rattled above the doors of the mission in downtown LA. Old men, women, teenage boys and young mothers with children were leaving the building after the last meal.

Inside, twenty long tables topped with vinyl tablecloths filled the dining hall. The rules were written on laminated pages and displayed everywhere: All meals are to be eaten in this room. No swearing, no fighting, no drugs, no booze, no weapons. We offer food, love and respect.

The walls were papered with optimism in the form of children’s art, finger-paintings and crayon-colored presentations of flowers, rainbows and happy people. They were clustered around passages of Scripture, some of the pages fluttering in the wake of two FBI agents who’d rushed passed them.

They’d pinpointed their subject to this location.

He was a retired accountant who’d volunteered seven days a week at the mission. When the agents found him, he was wiping tables.

“Ted Irwin?”

The man glanced at the IDs the agents held up.

“Yes.”

“Bill Kendrick and Wade Darden, FBI. We’d like to talk to you about your nephew Jerricko Titus Blaine. It’s urgent.”

Sadness washed across Irwin’s face and he took them to a private corner table where he wiped his hands with a dish towel.

“I expected this when I saw the news report earlier today, only not this fast. It’s been weighing on my mind. In fact, I was going to call police when I finished up here, but I-”

“Mr. Irwin, do you know your nephew’s whereabouts?” Kendrick asked.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“What about an address, phone number, an email?”

“No.”

“You understand that lying or holding back information could be construed as obstruction of justice, sir?”

“I’m telling you, I have no idea where he is. I haven’t seen him in years-not until I noticed his face and name flashing on the news about those hostages in New York. It’s terrible,” the man said. “Just like it was with his older brother.”

“When exactly was the last time you had contact with Jerricko?”

“Oh, ages ago. Years. We just lost touch with Naz and the boys after Andrew died.”

“Who’s Naz?”

“Nazihah. Andrew’s wife and Jerricko’s mother. We all called her Naz.”

“Do you know where can we locate her?”

“I believe she’s in Afghanistan, last I heard. She went back a long time ago.”

Kendrick and Wade exchanged quick glances before Kendrick continued.

“Tell us what you can about the family’s history.”

“My wife, Michelle, and her older brother, Andrew, were true Good Samaritans who wanted to make this world better. Years ago, Andrew took a leave of absence from his job as an electrical engineer and volunteered with a church group as an aid worker in Afghanistan.”

“What were Andrew Blaine’s politics?”

“He had none, really. He just wanted to help people. He was working in a volatile area of Kandahar. I think it was Zhari, where he’d met Naz. She was born in the region. She was an aid worker, too, a teacher, and quite striking. They fell in love, and he brought her home to Los Angeles. They got married, she became a citizen, and they had two boys, Malcolm and Jerricko.”

“Were you and your wife close to them?”

“We were at that time, yes. They seemed to be a happy family. We had no children of our own and we thought the world of the boys. Then Andrew told Michelle that, even after several years, Naz was not settling in. I guess she was having a hard time adjusting to life in America.”

“In what way?”

“Just with accepting American behavior, attitudes, values, that sort of thing. Naz had an ultraconservative religious upbringing-it’s very different from life in the States. She couldn’t adapt-didn’t want to. She wanted to return to Afghanistan with her sons. Andrew didn’t want to leave the US, but she kept insisting that she couldn’t raise the boys properly as long as they stayed here.”

“What happened?”

“It was around then, when she became determined to move back, that Andrew was killed in a traffic accident on the Hollywood Freeway. It was horrible. A tanker truck jackknifed and exploded. They said Andrew died instantly.” Irwin paused, staring at nothing, lost in a memory. After a few moments, he continued. “That really hit us hard. By this time, the boys were older and Malcolm began running with gangs, just as his mother had feared. He got into trouble so often, and eventually he was convicted of a robbery and sent to prison in Tehachapi.”

“Was his mother still in the country at that time?”

“Yes, she and Jerricko would visit Malcolm in prison. Michelle still kept in touch, then. She worried about them all and talked often on the phone with Naz.”

Kendrick glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was ticking by, but he didn’t want to rush this man as he opened up.

“Prison had hardened Malcolm, changed him. He came out a cold, embittered man. He took his mom’s name, calling himself Malcolm Jordan Samadyh. He seemed…disdainful of his American heritage and he continued with his criminal ways until-” Ted paused again, shaking his head. “He was killed during a robbery in Santa Ana.”

“What happened to his family after that?”

“Naz was devastated, out of her mind with grief. During one call with Michelle, Naz blamed America for the deaths of her husband and son. She really believed everything would have been different if they’d gone back to Afghanistan when she’d asked.”

“Malcolm murdered a police officer and shot a pregnant woman while robbing a convenience store. And she blamed America for his actions?” Kendrick asked.

“I know, it was her son. Naz refused to accept reality. She claimed there was some sort of conspiracy against her family, that they were being punished by the US because Andrew had helped people in Afghanistan. It wasn’t long after Malcolm’s death that she returned home.”

“What about Jerricko?”

“He idolized his big brother and was never the same after Malcolm’s death. He was lost. My wife heard that he drifted across the country doing odd jobs, but we couldn’t find a way to contact him.”

“He didn’t go to Afghanistan with his mother?”

“Not initially, but we’d heard that he did a few years later-stayed a few years and then returned to America a very angry young man.”

“Who told you this?”

“My wife. She’d tried so hard to stay in touch with Naz after she’d left. They both had something important in common-they loved Andrew. And Michelle felt like she owed it to her brother to keep Naz close, to remember they were family, despite everything else.”

“We’ll need to talk with your wife,” Kendrick said.

Ted stared hard at them, something dark and painful behind his eyes.

“Michelle died a year ago. Heart failure. That’s why I’m down here doing what I do. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

“I’m sorry about your loss, Ted,” Kendrick said. “I’m sure you’ll understand, we’ll need contact information of everyone in the family. Can you provide it to us as soon as possible?”

“Yes, anything to help. There’s only a few people-a cousin in New York, one in Texas.” Irwin reached for his cell phone, shaking his head while scrolling through contacts. “It’s a sad irony, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Andrew went to Afghanistan to help people in need, a wonderful legacy. But that legacy also includes a son who killed a police officer, another involved in a terrible robbery and hostage situation, and their mother, who blames America for it all.”