Quicksand (19 page)

Ahmad looked away. “Doesn't help to have the wrong kinda name.”

She leaned forward, laying her hand on his arm. “Someone messing with you at school?”

Ahmad sighed, glancing at the clock. “Nothing I can't handle.”

“Ahmad, look at me—”

His warm, brown eyes met hers.

She spoke quickly. “There is
nothing
you can't handle. Don't you let some punk get inside your head. You stay focused on what you're doing and you do it with dignity, you got it? The stuff people say, that's on them, that's all about whatever crazy situation they're coming from. It has nothing to do with you.”

Her brother nodded, then looked suddenly ten again. “When I think about this test I want to puke.”

“Come on, you're gonna do great,
in sha Allah
. It's a day of your time—and
in sha Allah
it will mean a four-year scholarship, right? Now, you want more
shay bi-laban
?”

He looked at his near-empty mug. “Yeah, as long as you're spoiling me, might as well take advantage of it.”

She stood and walked to the refrigerator. As she took out the milk, she said, “You want me to drive you? I can run get the car from the garage.”

He stared at her. “Ummm, I had plans to arrive alive, actually.”

“Boy!”

“Yes, yes, I know. You have a gun…”

*   *   *

She left just
after Ahmad, going in the opposite direction. She decided to ride the bus, and she wedged herself in among the dour-faced commuters, descending painfully just outside the William J. Green, Jr. Federal Building.

In the crowded security line, she was keenly aware of every small brush of a shoulder or jostling by a swinging briefcase. Her entire body felt electric with pain. She eyed the doorway to the stairwell, then immediately discarded the idea and stood with the throngs in front of the wide bank of elevators. Of all the people Nora didn't want to see at that moment, Ben Calder topped the list.

He squinted at her. “What is this? Nora taking the elevator? Without being bullied by Wansbrough?”

“Good morning,” she said evenly.

“Good morning,” he replied. His voice took on a serious note. “Are you okay?”

She tucked her earbuds into her bag. “I'm perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Whatcha listening to?” he asked.

She hesitated. She had picked the music because she woke up thinking of her mom, imagining her pain, and understanding why she had spent so many years as a hopeless romantic. After a moment, though, Nora admitted, “Umm Kulthoum, Star of the East.”

“Hook me up,” he said, pulling out his own earbuds.

“Oh, no, no way. She's an acquired taste.” Nora hesitated, then gave Ben a half smile. “I won't have you making little white-boy grimaces. The woman was—is—an
institution
.”

He took the bait, still clutching the earbuds. “Racist. Racist. Racist.” She moved to protest, but he interrupted her, saying, “I will Google this woman. I will buy her albums. I will sing her songs all day long. And you will see. What's good enough for Nora Khalil is good enough for her white-boy buddy Ben.” The elevator opened and they stepped on, along with a small crowd. “How's John?” Ben asked.

“He wasn't too hurt to come back for his laptop last night. But I hear Schacht actually forbade him from coming in today. So it's good you're here. We're expecting the brother of Hafsa al-Tanukhi any time.”

“Sure, no problem.” Ben studied her. “What were
you
doing here last night?”

Nora shrugged. The elevator paused at the fifth floor, discharging a few of its passengers. “Shootin' stuff.” She lowered her voice and leaned in, inadvertently catching the scent of his aftershave. “Our little Jane Doe has gonorrhea, by the way.”

Ben frowned. “Shit,” he murmured, as Nora pulled away. Their eyes held for a moment, and Nora was grateful that the doors swooshed open.

They emerged from the elevator with three other agents and two hairsprayed administrative assistants. When they entered their cubicle, Nora sank into her chair with relief she hoped was not visible.

But Ben was regarding her, noting her drawn features. “You don't look right to me. Was it the shooting yesterday? Or are you upset about Jane Doe?”

She sighed.
Yes. All that. And bruising a rib, losing a father. Where to start?
“I'm good, Ben. Let's just get through today.”

“Okay. Any word from Libby and Jonas about the computer?” he asked.

Libby called back, “Whatever was on it was wiped or saved to disk. End of story.”

Nora and Ben shared a look. “You are no longer the best computer geek ever!” he called.

“Thank you, Benjamin!” she returned tartly. “And you are no longer the best agent because you can't find where they put the
data
!”

He shook his head and said, softly, “Maybe when we are grown-ups we will get an office with real walls.”

The morning passed quickly, the eighth floor dense with activity and the sound of ringing phones and laser printers spewing out reams of paper. Within their cubicle, Nora and Ben worked side by side through a blur of phone calls, e-mailed reports, and files, as they rushed to finish their own paperwork while filling in the gaps left by John Wansbrough's absence. Eric Burton would appear, then exit silently, then reappear at random moments throughout the morning; Nora did not ask him what he was working on, and, as usual, he never volunteered information or spoke out of anything but necessity.

Just after eleven, Nora's direct line rang. It was the mother of Tameka Cooper.

“Cheryl from Tress It Up gave me your number,” came the voice. The woman sounded so exhausted and listless that Nora shuddered.

“Yes, Mrs. Cooper. I'm glad you called me.” Gently, Nora began asking questions. Tameka's mother was in a fog and seemed to know almost nothing about her daughter's habits. The only thing she knew for certain was that her daughter knew Dewayne Fulton, who she always referred to as “Reality.” How they had met was completely obscure. The extent of their relationship was unknown. But shortly after coming to know him, she began coming home with Louis Vuitton bags and Coach sneakers.

And then she didn't come home at all.

After Nora hung up, Ben turned to her, his eyes a question.

Nora gestured to the phone with her head. “Mother of a young girl who may be caught up in this gang-pimping thing—Dewayne's day job when the meth trade is slow.”

Ben nodded. “Renaissance man, that guy.” Stretching, he looked over Nora's desk. It was covered with photos of the crime scene and the neighboring houses. She had set up all the pictures the techs had taken of the neighborhood homes, and reconstructed a mini version of the Kingsessing block there on the desk. Photos of the corpse were laid in the center.

Pulling up the empty chair from Wansbrough's desk, Ben leaned in to study the layout.

“We're missing something important, Ben, I can feel it.”

He contemplated the scene from various perspectives.

Nora said, “I'm totally confused about any connection between Dewayne and our newest victim. But I'm honestly still trying to figure out the connection between Kylie and Dewayne. The whole sex with Kylie thing is still freaking me out.”

Ben looked up. “What if he was pimping her like this other girl?”

Nora's eyes widened slightly, surprised she hadn't thought of it.

He sat back in John's chair, thinking. “Well, why not? I mean, especially given what you guys found out from the hairdresser.”

“Monty would have found traces of other semen, then,” Nora said.

“Would he?” Ben jumped up.

Nora frowned. “What?”

“Well, I'm just a lowly drug guy, but if I were checking a rape victim, I'd probably stop as soon as I found semen. But if she had had sex with someone the previous day, she probably would have washed herself from the outside.” Nora shifted in her seat, keeping her face very still. Ben continued, “But there's nothing she can do about her insides. And former science guys like me happen to know that sperm can live up to five days in the right conditions…”

An aide poked her head in the door. “There's an Akram al-Tan … al-Tan…” She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her, wrinkled her forehead, then looked blankly back at them. Finally she said, “You have a visitor in interview room six.”

Nora gathered her things. “Will you call Monty and suggest that he look more thoroughly? Maybe see if Kylie had gonorrhea, too? If Dewayne's what they had in common…” her voice trailed off. Then she shook her head as though to expel any thought of Dewayne Fulton, a.k.a. Reality. “I'll get started in room six.”

*   *   *

Akram al-Tanukhi fumbled
with his visitor's ID, clipping and reclipping it to his sweater.

It had not been difficult to get him to come in. The agent who took the summons found him at home. Akram had asked to bring his own car because he had an afternoon class; he looked hollow-eyed with worry and seemed eager to help.

Nora exhaled slowly before beginning with Akram. The scene with the father had not ended the way she hoped, and she was determined not to cause more problems than she solved this time. She started by asking him for the one thing she most regretted not getting from his mother: the names and addresses of some of Hafsa's friends. He began writing down some names of family friends on the pad of paper she pushed toward him.

“No doubt your parents described to you our visit to your home,” she said.

Akram shifted in his chair. “My dad was pretty upset,” he volunteered cautiously. “My mom … well, she's been upset for a few days now, so that was nothing new.”

Ben walked in, and Nora introduced them, then asked cautiously, “Why was your father so upset?”

“I'm not sure,” Akram answered. “I think he felt like you guys overstepped; he took offense that you were poking through the house. As though you might think we had something to hide.”

“Do you?” Nora asked.

Akram's eyes widened slightly. “Of course not. My sister's disappeared. We just want to find her.”

“Then why was your dad so angry when I was in your sister's room?”

Akram shrugged. “He's pretty protective of Hafsa.”

“And yet, he sent you to college instead of her. Sacrificed her future for yours.”

“Well—it sounds bad when you say it like that,” Akram protested. “Hafsa understood. She was sad and all, but I made her a promise.”

“What kind of promise?” asked Ben.

“I told her that as soon as I have a job, I'll pay for her college education. If she wants to go to Harvard, I'll pay for it. If she wants to go get a Ph.D., I'll pay for it. And that's her plan.”

“
You
are her big plan?” Nora didn't mask her irritation.

Akram frowned. “No, but, you know, to hang on. Not give in to Baba.”

“To give in to what?”

Akram seemed to think he'd said too much. He looked flustered. “I—”

Nora and Ben regarded him in expectant silence.

Finally, he said, “Well, Baba feels like she should focus more on marriage and children.”

Nora bit back ten different acerbic remarks. “And how do you feel about these options for your sister?”

“Oh, you know.…” Akram made a long, heavy exhalation. “You have to understand who Baba is. He left Iraq against his will, a refugee, but did it because the situation had become so bad.”

Ben and Nora waited for him to continue.

“He just … Well, making sure that Hafsa gets married is all he knows how to do to protect her and make sure she has a happy future.”

“And Hafsa, does she still want to go to college instead?” Ben pressed.

Akram nodded. “More than anything. So I guess … her idea of a happy future and his are different.”

I've heard that one before
, Nora thought.

Ben said, “Can you describe a little more how your father and sister interact?”

Akram looked nervous. “What do you mean?”

Nora offered, “How do they talk to each other? Do they joke a lot or fight a lot?”

“Well, Baba's not much of a joker,” Akram began. “But I guess that in the last few years their relationship has been … well, more tense than it was when Hafsa was younger.”

“Because of his pressure on her to marry?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Akram said.

“Do suitors come over to the house?”

“Oh, yeah, all the time. It makes things really crazy. Mama's always cleaning and baking to host some new guy for Hafsa to meet.”

“And Hafsa's reaction?”

Akram smiled ruefully. “She rejects every one. Usually because they are so strict—like really super
salafi
guys, really big beards and stuff. No smile. Hafsa is—well, she has a strong sense of humor, and the guys Baba has been inviting home … Three or four of them were already married.”

Nora sighed, pursed her lips, then asked, “Has he ever hit her or threatened her when she rejects a suitor?”

“No. He…” Akram looked at the floor and his voice became soft. “Well, he has threatened her sometimes. He has pulled her hair sometimes, and Baba shouts a lot. One time he pulled off his belt like he was going to use it on her. But he never has.”

Ben asked, “Is it possible that he hits her when you aren't there?”

Akram considered this. “I think she would have told me. And Mama wouldn't have been silent about something like that. Mama's scared of Baba's shouting, but she can shout when it comes to Hafsa.”

“Tell us about her volunteer work.”

Akram said, “She goes to a few different mosques. She tries to help women learning to read and write. She can help American women with Arabic and she also helps foreign women with English.”