The Shadow of Death (Psalm 23 Mysteries Book 9) (15 page)

“Do you happen to know what she looked like?”

“He sent me a picture, but I do not know if I still have it. She was a very pretty girl with red hair.”

Mark was definitely going to have to look up Amy Smith. He knew for a fact her name hadn’t come up in the original investigation and he couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Mr. Kazmi, I want to thank you so much for your time,” Mark said.

“Certainly. Please, call if there is anything else you need. And, I would appreciate it if you would call and let me know when you have found something.”

“I will,” Mark promised.

“Are there no other questions I can answer for you right now?”

Mark took a deep breath. “There is one, and I don’t mean to cause offense.”

“None will be taken.”

“Is it possible that one or more of Asim’s older brothers was or could be involved with something dangerous?”

There was a pause and Mark was sure that he had gone too far. When the man spoke again his voice was heavy with sorrow. “I understand what it is you are asking, Detective. For
Tamir, I cannot say. I do not know him well enough.”

“And Khalid?”

“Khalid was a hateful, twisted young man a few years ago. I have no doubt that without some extraordinary intervention by Allah that he has become an evil man capable of doing unspeakable things.”

Mark licked his lips which suddenly felt very dry. “Thank you for your candor,” he said.

“As I said at the beginning of the conversation, I will do anything I can to help the man that will bring Asim’s murderer to justice.”

“No matter where the trail may lead?” Mark asked before he could stop himself.

“I am not a violent man, but if I knew that Khalid was responsible I would take his life from him myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kazmi. That’s all I needed to know.”

When Mark ended the call he realized that he was sweating heavily. A picture had formed in his head and he didn’t like it one bit. He thought about calling Jeremiah, but he decided that he needed to double check one thing first.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning. It was time to get dressed and go see Traci, but first he figured he’d stop and get some coffee on the way.

Half an hour later Mark was walking into the Starbuck’s that was closest to where Asim’s apartment had been. It had been two years and the odds were against him finding Amy there. For all he knew she could have already graduated and moved halfway across the country. Before he started doing a people search for an Amy Smith, though, he figured it didn’t hurt to check the place out.

The line was long. He was not going to wait that long for coffee, not with Traci waiting for him at the hospital. He walked around it and walked down the counter, looking at the people behind it. Two guys and a girl with dark hair. He was about to leave when a young woman who worked
there exited the bathroom. She had flaming red hair that fell halfway down her back.

He moved to intercept her before she got behind the counter. “Amy Smith?” he asked.

She blinked at him in surprise. “Yes, who are you?”

He pulled out his badge. “Detective Mark Walters. I’d like to talk to you about Asim Kazmi.”

She turned pale and for a moment he thought she might faint or run. After a moment she seemed to steady herself. “Give me a minute.” She walked behind the counter and pulled aside one of the other baristas. She said something to him and then came back around the counter and led Mark outside.

She kept walking until they came to a shady spot under a tree far away from most of the cars clustered around the building. She stopped in the shade and turned to look at him. She wiped at her eyes which were tearing up.

“After he...he died, I thought for sure someone would come around to talk to me, but no one ever did.”

“Why didn’t you contact the police?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “And say what? That my boyfriend and I had had a huge fight the day before he was killed? That would have made me look guilty.”

“Hiding makes you look even more guilty,” Mark advised gruffly.

“I couldn’t cope. I know that’s wrong and everything, but...I loved him, you know?”

“Prove it.”

“How?” she asked, wiping more tears away.

“By helping me catch whoever killed him.”

“I don’t know who killed him,” she protested.

“No, but you know something.”

“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, it seems like someone else’s life sometimes, you know?”

“Two years is a long time to carry around guilt and grief. Don’t you think you’ve suffered long enough?” he asked, changing tactics.

She began crying in earnest. “I was afraid...I don’t even remember why now. Maybe I was afraid I’d get killed, too.”

“By who?” Mark pressed, but kept his voice soft.

“I’m not sure. It was just weird you know. Everything was weird after he got back from his brother’s wedding.”

“How was it weird?”

“He was mad at them, but he wouldn’t tell me about what. He kept saying that they were stupid and part of the problem instead of part of the solution. He said that their hate was poisoning them, but that they refused to see a different way.”

“Go on.”

“One of them called him about a week before he died, I don’t know which one. He did tell me, though, that he realized he couldn’t have anything more to do with them, maybe not ever.”

“Did they call again?”

“No, but a few days later I saw him in the park talking to this...skank.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah, tight black pants, plunging shirt. She was a real piece of work and she was coming on to him, trying to talk him into...heaven only knows what.”

“I got mad and later that day I confronted him. He said she was
noone. I said it looked like they were having a pretty long conversation for her to be noone. He said it was his problem and he actually told me to mind my own business. I was furious. I thought he was cheating on me. The next day I had cooled off and I realized Asim wasn’t the kind of guy to ever cheat. I felt so bad. I was going to make him dinner and apologize, but...he was already dead.”

“Do you think the woman had something to do with it?”

“I don’t know, but whatever she said to him, it really upset him. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Mark’s heart went out to her. He encountered a lot of liars in his profession, but this girl was not one of them. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s nothing you could have done to save him,” he said.

“Maybe if I hadn’t fought with him,” she said, now crying openly.

“No, it wouldn’t have mattered. And it’s even possible that by distancing yourself for those few hours you saved your own life. His blood is not on your hands, and it’s time to forgive yourself and let it go.”

She was crying even harder now, great gasping sobs of pain, but after a minute he could tell that she was also experiencing some sense of release. That was good. She didn’t need to be carrying this guilt around with her for the rest of her life. There’d eventually be plenty of things in life for her to be legitimately guilty over without making extra trouble for herself.

“Thank you,” she said at last when her tears had subsided.

He handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, please let me know.”

“I will,” she promised.

He thought of Traci. He needed to go to her. He turned and started to walk away, but then turned back as one last thought occurred to him.

“The woman, was she Iranian?” Mark asked.

Amy shook her head. “No, she was Russian.”

13

Cindy was a bundle of nerves by the time they arrived at the hotel in Iran. She kept fidgeting with the ring on her finger even though she knew she shouldn’t. It just felt so foreign, like everything else around her. She had been surprised to discover on the plane that Jeremiah actually spoke German and with an accent good enough to fool the flight attendants. When she’d asked him how many other languages he spoke he just smiled at her.

“What do we do next?” she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Next, we rest up for a few minutes. I’m going out tonight to try and find someone, and I really can’t take you along to that meeting. Trust me, please on this. The best thing you can do is rest. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll be heading out for a wedding where we’ll be meeting a contact. Hopefully the man can help shed some light on this whole thing.”

“Okay.”

“The man we are going to see. His name is Omar. He loves proverbs.”

“He’s a friend of yours?”

“He would say so.”

“And what do you say?” she asked.

“He is an asset, a contact, and a valuable one. He cares more for himself than for causes, and loves peace better than war. It enables him to enjoy all that he has more freely.”

“Do you pay him for information or help?”

“Sometimes, sometimes not. It depends on the cause and the generosity of his spirit on any given day. And, like any good businessman, he knows that occasionally doing something nice for those he works with reaps him greater rewards in the future.”

“Sounds...interesting.”

“Only answer if he speaks to you directly, and, as always, be discreet in those answers.”

“I understand,” she said. “If you have this relationship, whatever it is, with him, then why are we still going disguised as a German businessman and his wife?”

“So as not to draw too much attention from anyone else. It is well known that Omar does business with many people throughout Europe. Our arriving to pay our respects to him and his daughter will not be seen as strange. On the other hand, an Israeli and an American arriving at his home at any time would be marked with suspicion.”

It was a strange world that Jeremiah had brought her into, but she was determined to do her best to keep up appearances and not break their cover.

When Jeremiah left that night she tried to go to sleep, but found herself tossing and turning, fearful in this new place and worried about what might be happening to him. She hadn’t wanted to leave his side until they were back home, but the look on his face when he’d told her couldn’t take her that night had been convincing.

It was nearly six in the morning when he finally returned. She pretended to be asleep. In the morning he told her that he hadn’t been able to find the man he was
looking for. He would try again that night if he didn’t get the information he needed from Omar at the wedding reception.

The next afternoon
Cindy felt like she had stepped into an entirely different world. Tents were set up all around the grounds of a prestigious looking home. Everywhere she looked she saw musicians, dancers, and other revelers. The largest tent covered over banquet tables where hundreds were beginning to be seated.

Jeremiah had purposely timed their arrival for right after the wedding ceremony so as not to intrude on the bride and groom’s most sacred moment. It was very thoughtful of him, she thought, and it showed a respect for the man they were going to see.

The air was filled with the scents of fresh bread, mint, and sweet smells that tantalized her. Everywhere she saw people making merry as you would expect at a reception. However it was larger and far more elaborate than even Geanie and Joseph’s had been. She glimpsed the bride, wearing white, beaming at a young man next to her. She looked happy and it made Cindy smile. It also filled her heart for a moment with longing.

Jeremiah approached a servant and whispered something to the man. He disappeared and then reappeared a minute later and gestured for them to follow. Jeremiah gave her his arm as they entered into the house.

They swept through a grand entryway and then turned to the left where there was a sitting room with opulent wall decorations and dozens of colorful cushions scattered around the floor.

There was no one there, and they turned, facing the door, waiting. Moments later a large man entered.

“Now, who is it that disturbs my celebrations?” the man asked. He stopped short when he saw Jeremiah. Then slowly he moved forward until he was standing in front of him. This had to be Omar, Cindy realized.

“I had never thought to see your face again,” Omar said.

“As they say, ‘visit rarely and you will be more loved’,” Jeremiah responded.

Omar laughed, “In that case you must have stayed away a hundred years by my count. That is how much love I have for you.”

He embraced Jeremiah, his face jovial. “Welcome, my friend. It has been too long.” Omar’s eyes drifted to Cindy. “Do my eyes deceive me or have you taken yourself a wife at last?”

“I have,” Jeremiah said, tightening his arm protectively around her waist.