Page 31 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

B Y THE TIME D ARYL AND I climb back into the car, I’m a hot, demoralized mess. It’s only three P.M. and I can’t believe everything that’s happened. Good news, we discovered where Sabera has been hiding out. Bad news, she appears to be long gone, while leaving yet another puzzle behind.

First Zahra had supplied “a lock to a key for a key that has no lock.” Now Sabera had added, “Beauty is power; I am her sword.”

I’m a person who doesn’t even like crossword puzzles. What am I supposed to do with brain teasers?

At least Daryl had been productive today, arranging for the delivery of furniture to Ashley the housing coordinator. Though what it means when outfitting a murder unit is the highlight of your day is beyond me.

“Daryl,” I state.

He glances at me in the rearview mirror, my cue to speak.

“Walk through this with me. Something happened three weeks ago, causing Sabera Ahmadi to take off. She disappears until just the other day, when she reappears at a crime scene where two of her countrymen are brained to death. Do we think she’s a witness, perpetrator, or possible fellow victim?”

He shrugs.

“Exactly. Okay, so what else do we got? She’s been disappearing twice a week for a few hours each time. Going… somewhere. She’s also most likely taken to drinking, also somewhere. Do we think those two things are related, unrelated, or something else?”

Shrug.

“Great, happy to know we’re on the same page.

Let’s see… Oh yes, she’s been networking with retired military officers to learn more about her mother’s spying activities in Afghanistan.

Also, she got involved in the intelligence game herself, until being forced to leave under less than favorable circumstances.

Do we think she’s a traitor, is working to her own end, or is representing yet another player in the geopolitical game? Maybe the South Africans?”

Third shrug.

“We agree! Okay, final puzzle piece: still-missing-in-action Isaad. What could’ve been delivered to him the other day to make him abandon his own child? A message from Sabera? A threat from someone else? A third totally different possibility that we haven’t even considered yet?”

Fourth shrug.

“We’re not doing very good at this game, Daryl.”

Finally, a nod. I sigh heavily. My phone rings. Saved by the bell. I check the screen and feel some hope return. I put the phone on speaker.

“Hi, Aliah!” In the front seat, Daryl perks up. “Have you heard from Isaad?”

“Still nothing, I’m afraid. Zahra is okay. Are you with Daryl the dancer? She’s been asking for him.”

“Hi, Aliah!” Daryl booms from the front of the car. I’ve never heard him sound so enthusiastic.

“Ah, that is good. We would like to invite both of you to dinner.”

I look up at Daryl, give him a questioning glance. Genni?

His crestfallen expression tells me enough.

“I don’t think we can do dinner,” I inform Aliah regretfully. “We have another commitment involving an iguana.”

Long pause. I get it. What do you say to that? Then:

“I would like to invite you to come over,” Aliah says, this time with just enough emphasis for me to catch on that what she really needs is to meet. “I’m at my restaurant. Perhaps you would like a snack?”

“We would love a snack,” I fill in. Then, as another one of the day’s developments occurs to me: “Hey, did you and Zahra make that pudding stuff?”

“We have made fresh firni, yes. Please, you should try.”

Daryl hits the gas.

“We will be there in ten,” I inform Aliah dryly. “Or five, given someone’s appetite.”

ALIAH ALREADY HAS a table waiting for us when we arrive. She has set out two square bowls filled with what looks like custard; half is a pretty pink, the other half a creamy white.

Daryl doesn’t bother with words. He pulls out a chair, grabs a spoon, and digs in. Far from disapproving, Aliah beams with pride.

Zahra is nowhere to be seen. At my inquiring expression, Aliah nods her head toward the back.

“She’s in the kitchen, helping Habibullah.

She likes to measure and mix. We will make a good cook out of her, especially now that she’s memorized every recipe I know, including the ones from my grandmother’s grandmother. ”

Aliah takes a seat while I scoop up the first bite of the firni pudding. I nearly groan in ecstasy. It is at once thick and creamy, yet tastes light and airy, like a rose-kissed promise.

Aliah beams again. I like her concept of happiness. Except then her face falls as we come to the reason we are really here.

There is another customer in the store, a young man browsing the collection of candied nuts and dried fruits. Aliah waits for him to make his selections, then cashes him out. She locks the door behind him to ensure our privacy.

First things first: “Still no word from Sabera?”

Aliah’s sad exhale says enough. “Did you learn more from the place where Sabera was hiding?” she asks.

I shake my head. Now we both sigh.

“I feel like I have been a bad friend,” she begins. “I didn’t know about the drinking. I was concerned, yes. There were things… But maybe I wasn’t worried enough.”

“You were worried enough to contact me.” I eye her curiously. I still think there’s more to this story than she’s let on.

“It’s not easy, what Sabera and Isaad have been through, are going through. The loss… it’s hard to put into words.”

I nod. We’ve covered this ground. Losing one’s entire country, culture, family, way of life, is indeed daunting.

“There was an incident, maybe a few weeks after Sabera and Isaad first arrived. She showed up here, dressed in her work uniform. She was… flushed, agitated. I tried calming her, but when she looked at me, it was as if she couldn’t see me.

She just kept shaking her head. Finally, I got her to sit and brought her some tea.

Gradually, her breathing steadied, her eyes cleared.

Eventually, she rose to standing. She gave me a hug, murmured something about having to get to work, and then left without another word.

“I assumed she was having some sort of spell, maybe a panic attack. I’ve experienced them myself.

But now I wonder. Maybe it wasn’t an emotional episode at all.

Maybe it was due to alcohol. As one Muslim with another, it never occurred to me.

” Aliah finishes mournfully: “I’ve not been a good friend. ”

I consider Aliah, what she’s saying, and what I still feel she’s not saying. I also contemplate Staci’s carefully guarded allusions that there’s more going on with Sabera than meets the eye.

“When Sabera didn’t return home from work three weeks ago, what did you immediately think?”

Aliah hesitates again.

“You were worried about her mental health,” I prod. “Did you suspect self-harm?”

Aliah recoils. “No! Never! It is not done.”

“In theory, neither is divorce. Or drinking. And yet…”

“No.” She shakes head adamantly. “Never. Not that.”

“But you suspected something.” I eye her again. “First time you and I spoke, you implied Isaad might have something to do with Sabera’s disappearance; you’re clearly not a fan of his. But it’s not really him you’re concerned about, is it? Aliah, I need you to be honest with me.”

Her gaze falters. She glances down at the table.

Daryl scrapes his empty bowl with his spoon. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table and helps himself to mine. I don’t stop him, my attention focused on Aliah.

She takes a deep breath. “That time Sabera seemed so disturbed… I stopped by her work at the end of her shift to check up on her. Except she wasn’t there.

Her boss said she called in sick, which I could understand, having seen her earlier.

But when I went to her apartment, she wasn’t there, either.

Isaad thought she was working late. I didn’t…

I didn’t correct him. Two days later, he called me, still looking for her.

She had yet to return home or show up for work. ”

“Sabera disappeared once before? As in, this latest misadventure isn’t the first time she’s gone missing?” I give Aliah a pointed look. So I hadn’t been wrong in my suspicions during our initial meetings—Aliah has definitely been less than truthful about this situation.

“It was only for a few days! Then she was back, something about taking care of a sick friend from work and she couldn’t call as she’d run out of minutes on her phone. It happens. It does!”

I give Aliah another look. “You ever talk to her about it? Truly push the subject?”

“I thought eventually she might volunteer more information—”

“Such as the truth?”

Aliah flushes, appears genuinely remorseful. “After that… Sabera seemed more and more withdrawn. Jumpy. Anxious. Something was not right. I just didn’t realize how wrong. I’m sorry. I thought I was being respectful, waiting for her to come to me. I wish now I’d pushed harder.”

That would make two of us. “Aliah, do you remember the exact day this incident happened—Sabera coming here all rattled and distressed? The date?”

“I could look it up.”

“Please do.” There’s a thought forming in the back of my mind.

According to Staci, Sabera had once been admitted to the ER, leading to Staci getting a call instead of Isaad.

I’m wondering if the hospital stay might have been Sabera’s first disappearing act, especially given that Isaad wasn’t summoned.

Maybe my theory’s nothing, but maybe it’s something, and at this point, I could use all the something I could get. For now, I switch gears. “Did Sabera ever talk about her mom?”

“All the time. She died when Sabera was a girl, but Sabera missed her very much. Her mother’s name, Maryam, means beloved. Sabera would whisper it as a term of endearment. Clearly, they were very close.”

“Did you know Sabera had reached out to an organization, No One Left Behind, to learn more about her mother’s role as an MI6 agent?”

“What?” Aliah’s eyes round. She appears genuinely stunned. “Her mother was a spy?”

“It’s the real reason Sabera’s mother returned to Kabul against her family’s wishes. I mean, I’m sure she loved and missed her husband as well, but there was more going on than met the eye.”

Aliah’s mouth opens, no words emerge.

I continue with my newfound information. “Were you aware Sabera herself had worked briefly for the army’s military intelligence unit in decoding?”

Aliah no longer appears dazed, but shaken. I imagine it’s becoming clearer and clearer to her how little she knew the younger refugee.

“I did not.” Aliah takes a deep breath in, releases it slowly.

“But then, Sabera didn’t speak much of her former life.

That’s not so uncommon. We may discuss missing a favorite food, or season, or smell in the air.

The little details that skip across our memories.

But our actual day-to-day lives… What was but is no more.

Who we were but are no more. Most choose to leave it completely behind. ”

“Did she talk about other members of her family? Her father, siblings, cousins, anyone?”

“Her older brother, Farshid.” A quick smile. “Sometimes, she would let stories slip. They would make her smile. And then, they would make her very sad. He died the day Kabul fell. Their father, too. That’s all I know.”

“I didn’t think there was much fighting. Didn’t the city just sort of… fold?”

“There was not an all-out battle if that’s what you mean.

The real war turned out to be suitcases of cash and secret handshakes behind closed doors.

Many of the national police and security forces hadn’t been paid in months, or even a year.

Deals were made with frontline soldiers who had families to feed.

Leaders were bought off who wanted to further fatten their wallets.

After that, the Taliban simply had to appear, and mostly, it was over.

But not everyone gave up their future so quietly.

And some knew they would be targeted by the Taliban either way.

Especially once it became clear evacuation was impossible, they made the decision to go down fighting. I lost some family, too.”

“You still have… had… family in Kabul?”

“Of course. Only my mother and us two girls emigrated twenty-five years ago. Otherwise most of my family remains in Afghanistan. In the months leading up to Kabul falling, I could feel their tension when we’d video over WhatsApp.

Then, after the city collapsed, for an entire week, nothing at all.

It was one of the worst weeks of my life.

Finally, an aunt reached out. The moment I heard her voice, I knew.

My cousin’s son, a known activist. The Taliban shot him dead in the street, then left his body as a warning for others.

And now, all of my family lives under such a regime.

I would bring each and every one of them here, if only it were possible. ”

Aliah gazes at me solemnly. “I can’t help them, so I do what I can to help my fellow countrymen here. And I hope that back in Kabul, someone will show equal kindness to my loved ones. Conditions there are bad, and only going to get worse.”

She shrugs fatalistically. I wish I had hopeful words to offer, but we are both too experienced for platitudes.

“You said your cousin’s son was killed because he was a known activist. Was that why Sabera’s family died? Or maybe someone figured out her mother had been a spy?”

“Maryam had been dead for years by then. Sabera’s father, however, was known for his progressive views on women’s right to education.

And being an academic of some note, he would’ve made for an easy target.

Sabera’s uncles, on the other hand, didn’t sound like nice men at all.

According to Sabera, they were corrupt, greedy bullies.

Given their various business activities…

Well, let’s just say they were not well liked by their neighbors. ”

“Their business activities? Meaning…?”

“Their enterprises weren’t just illegal but controversial.

The practices had been outlawed by the government as the Taliban themselves were turning to such things for profit.

But also, such businesses were extremely dangerous and exploitive of the locals.

There’s another term, not one we use in Afghanistan, but in other countries—blood diamonds. ”

I feel a cold fissure race along my spine. “Sabera’s uncles were involved in illegal mining ?”

She gives me a curious look. “Exactly.”

“Aliah, start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”