The Language of Secrets (23 page)

“As I said to you before, Mr. Ashkouri, it will be appropriate to speak of such matters only when the investigation into Mohsin's murder has been concluded. Until then, and for my sister's sake, I would appreciate it if you would hold off on your plans.”

Stay the hell away from my sister,
in other words.

Ashkouri inclined his head in a brief nod, but Khattak knew this hadn't been a victory.

He was beginning to perceive the extent of Hassan Ashkouri's plot.

 

19

Rachel poured Alia Dar a glass of
rooh afzah.
Tense and wound up, Alia didn't drink it, just held it with a death grip, her haunted eyes focused on Paula. Alia had shown up at Khattak's house wearing blue jeans and a sweater and a matching pale blue scarf.

The others had left with Jamshed. Ashkouri waited for Paula in the entrance hall, speaking quietly to Ruksh. They held each other's hands. Esa watched them, thinking of his mother, and what she would say to him.

Khattak heard Alia's tearful voice and joined her in the kitchen, quietly signaling Rachel.

Alia wheeled to face him. “You tell me, then. Because this woman won't tell me anything. What was she doing with Mohsin? Did she love him? Did he love her? I know she was desperate to seduce him.”

With each new sentence, Alia's voice rose higher, thinning out at the top of her register to a shriek that must have been painful for her throat.

Paula scowled at her.

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I wasn't the least bit interested in him. He hounded me, not the other way around.” She importuned Khattak. “Tell her it's the truth.”

Rachel intervened.

“Maybe she'll believe you if you tell her what Mohsin wanted. If you weren't having an affair, why did he hang around you?”

Paula shrugged. And Khattak could well believe that despite Alia Dar's naked grief, the answer didn't impinge on Paula's conscience at all.

“I don't know,” she said impatiently. “He just thought—the mosque was suffocating me. He said I should spread my wings, share my talents. Get out and meet other people. He kept talking about the value of my contribution.”

Alia's whole body seemed to shrink beneath the revelation.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why you and not me? I made a contribution, too. I did my best to serve the community. He knew that.”

Paula stared pointedly at Alia's listless scarf.

“Maybe because of that. Maybe because you never observed the proper etiquette of hijab. And maybe because you refused your husband when he asked you to wear the niqab. Maybe that's why he preferred the company of a woman like me.”

Alia's breath rattled in her chest. She stared at Paula for a moment, unblinking.

Then she raised her glass of milk and tossed it in Paula's face.

*   *   *

Khattak led Alia to a seat in the foyer. Rachel had dealt with Paula's hysterics, and Ruksh had helped dry her face. She had left with Hassan Ashkouri, but Khattak knew she was only temporarily contained. From what Rachel had told him, Paula's convictions were etched in stone, and like stone, they were mute in the face of nuance or difference. It was possible that Paula would find her way in time, when the rituals proved empty without a richer commitment to sustain them. Or she would leave the house of Islam, a failure on their part. One that would have eased Alia's many worries.

He thought of the information Laine had shared with him.

Something we've just learned. Alia Dar collected a speeding ticket outside of Huntsville, twenty minutes from Algonquin Park, on the night Mohsin was killed.

As a friend, Esa knew this wasn't the time to ask, not when Alia was so overwrought with emotion. As an investigator, he knew he'd have no better opportunity.

“Alia,” he said. “Tell me where you were the night that Mohsin died.”

Alia perched on the small Chinese bench that was placed beside an antique porcelain cabinet. Her eyes dwelt aimlessly on the curios within.

Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own.

“Do you think Mohsin was having an affair? With Paula, of all people?”

Esa drew up one of the Versailles chairs that framed the marble balustrade.

“It doesn't sound like the Mohsin I knew. But it's been a long time since I knew him.”

Alia brushed at her eyes, tears escaping in a thin, monotonous stream.

“Then what he was doing doesn't make sense to me. So much concern for someone who wasn't his own, so little interest in someone who was. Did you know he called me Sitara?”

But Khattak understood too well, the questions that had been puzzling him resolved by Paula's heedless admission. Rachel had been right in her guess about Mohsin's motivations.

“Alia,” he said again. “Where were you on the night Mohsin died?”

“I don't know,” she said. “At home. With Baba.”

“You weren't on the road to Algonquin?” Her shocked eyes met his. “We have a record of the speeding ticket you received. It was nearly midnight. There's no mystery about Mohsin's time of death. He was killed just after midnight. What were you doing at the camp?”

Alia shook her head side to side, the movement of her neck stiff.

“You know everything,” she said. “You might as well know this.”

It was several more minutes before she continued. Esa watched her in silence. She was a woman undone by too many unanswered questions. He knew he possessed answers that would have granted her comfort, but they weren't in his power to give her.

“I couldn't take it anymore. I thought it was time I confronted him. Before that, I never wanted to say the words aloud. I thought they might be the catalyst for Mohsin to act. Maybe he'd taken his time because he didn't want to hurt me, and now if I challenged him, he would make a decision, he'd leave. He would choose Paula.” Her breath caught on a sob. “I didn't know even as I was driving exactly what I would say. Maybe that I would start wearing the niqab. Maybe that he could have his freedom. Maybe that I would beg him never to leave me, to remind him how much I loved him. All of those things. Any of those things.”

“What did you decide in the end? What did Mohsin say?”

Alia looked surprised. “I didn't meet him. After I got the speeding ticket, it was like I had come out of a fog. I couldn't do it. I decided to give him a little more time. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe my words would hurt him. I can't prove I drove home, but I did.”

And yet if she had shot her husband, why would she tell Esa any different?

She wasn't done. She tucked her hair back under her scarf, some remnant of Paula's words still in her mind, Esa guessed.

“I keep thinking about that. If I had gone to see him. If I had found him there. Maybe he would have heard me tell him how much I love him.” She rose from the bench, her shoulders slumped under the weight of her decision. “Or maybe the last thing I would have heard him say is that he didn't love me anymore.”

*   *   *

Rachel collected the dirty dishes in the kitchen and passed them to Ruksh at the sink. Khattak's sister examined Rachel's unassuming face.

“So you're Rachel,” she said. “My brother's partner.”

Rachel nodded, well aware that despite the fact that Ruksh had yet to give her away, there was a patent lack of cordiality in Ruksh's voice.

“And here you are in my house, not on your own explicitly stated terms, but undercover, sneaking around. Spying on us.”

Rachel fingered her collar. She was wearing a denim shirt over her fitted cords. She could feel herself begin to sweat. She looked at the door, hopeful that Khattak would appear.

“Not on you,” she said. “I'm just doing my job.” Rachel tried a halfhearted smile. “This wasn't how I'd hoped to meet the boss's family, but sometimes needs must.” And then, because she was anxious on this point, she blurted out, “You haven't said anything?”

Ruksh braced her elbows on the counter, the dishes forgotten. She looked sophisticated and cool in the pink cashmere sweater that topped a pair of white wool trousers. A marquise diamond glittered on her finger. She wore gold bangles on her wrists that played a subtle music as she gestured and spoke.

Rachel felt out of her depth. Ruksh's smile did nothing to put her at ease.

“Not yet,” Ruksh said coolly. “Although I don't appreciate the position the two of you have placed me in. Conspiring against my own fiancé.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “I'm sorry,” she said. “This should be over soon.”

Ruksh's insinuating gaze appraised Rachel's face and figure.

“Esa's quite fond of you. Much more so than any of his previous partners. He says you do excellent work.” Her tone needled Rachel. “What kind of work are you doing by infiltrating the mosque, hanging about our halaqas? No one invited you, yet here you are.”

Rachel might not have possessed the other woman's casual flair or her air of arrogance, but that didn't mean she was about to let anyone condescend to her. Even if that person was Esa Khattak's sister. She found she didn't like Ruksh very much. And she pitied Khattak his dilemma. To try and impede such a woman in anything she wanted would be a difficult task.

“I can't comment on that, Ms. Khattak. And given the sensitive job your brother's been asked to do, I'm surprised that you would ask. It should be sufficient for you to know that he's trying to bring a murderer to justice—more than that, trying to secure justice for a friend. Whatever I'm doing, invited or otherwise, is intended to support him to that end.”

Ruksh quirked an eyebrow at Rachel.

“You really do admire him, don't you? Must be nice for Esa to have someone loyal as a partner for once. Someone who doesn't try to set fire to his whole life. Still,” she said, raising a hand to her mouth and yawning prettily. “I don't see what there is for you to learn among such a harmless circle of people. Look at Zaki and Sami—they're just boys. No member of this halaqa would ever hurt Mohsin. He was the darling of the group, the class clown. And no one could have loved him more than Hassan and Din.”

Rachel's response was as wooden as she could make it.

“Perhaps it's best that experienced police officers make those determinations, Ms. Khattak. We're trained not to take people at face value.”

A genuine smile broke across Ruksh's face.

“I'm being awful, aren't I? Of course you know your job much better than I do.” She ran the tap in the sink, looking down. “I know Esa thinks he's acting in my best interests. But I wish he would learn to trust me. Hassan is a good man. I wouldn't be marrying him if he wasn't.”

Rachel's inexhaustible supply of compassion welled up once again.

Could Ruksh really have no idea of Ashkouri's ulterior agenda?

“Your brother is under a lot of pressure. If it were possible for him to accept your word, I'm sure that he would.”

*   *   *

When Khattak found Rachel alone in the kitchen, he told her about his conversation with Alia.

“Do you think she could have made it to the camp and back in enough time that no one would notice her absence?”

“It's possible,” Rachel said. “We'll need to check the alibi with her father-in-law.”

“Who won't be inclined to be helpful.”

“Who'll do everything he can to screw us,” Rachel paraphrased. “It would be tight, even if he confirms it. What were the roads like? Can we search her GPS?”

“Clear. No accidents, either. And she doesn't use a GPS.”

“So if she was speeding—maybe she'd already seen him.”

“No,” Khattak argued. “Mohsin didn't take his walk until after midnight. Alia got the speeding ticket just before. She wasn't that far away from the park. It's possible, Rachel.”

“Then if she killed her husband—say in a jealous rage—she would have been driving like the wind to get home. Not much of an alibi at all.”

“Especially if she believed her husband was having an affair.”

Rachel snagged a slice of pineapple from a fruit platter on the counter.

“He wasn't interested in an affair with Paula; Paula made that clear. He was doing the same thing with her that he was doing with Din. It's just surprising the RCMP missed it.”

“Mohsin could be very persuasive. He wouldn't have lasted in Ashkouri's group for very long if he hadn't been.”

Rachel munched on her pineapple, putting the pieces together. “Mo
was
working as their agent, keeping tabs on the camp, trying to figure out the method of communication between Ashkouri's cell and the strike team. But he was also doing something they didn't know about—something there's no way in hell they would have wanted him to do.”

Khattak listened patiently.

“Mo never had any intention of turning all the members of the halaqa over to his handlers at the RCMP.” She blew out her breath in a whistle. “No wonder he ended up dead. He was trying to get Din and Paula out. Grace too, because she and Din were a package deal.”

A mixture of sorrow and guilt settled in Khattak's stomach.

“Yes. That was the Mohsin I knew.”

*   *   *

Rachel remembered the second clue she had been waiting for information on.

“Sir. What about the cassette tape? What was on it?”

“Believe it or not, some kind of hip-hop fusion. Local. Speaking in English and Arabic. And I know the voice that raps over the music. It belongs to Din Abdi. Didn't you tell me that he does spoken-word poetry?”

“Yes. That's what Grace told me. That Din competes at poetry slams. What's he been rapping about?”

“There's music, too. He speaks over it. He calls it a Somali backbeat, and most of what he recites is about Somali pride. Nostalgia for a place he's never seen. He calls himself a pirate.”