Page 40 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

S TACI AGREES TO MEET ME at the same coffee shop as before. The caseworker doesn’t sound surprised to get my call. Understanding now what she was hinting at earlier, I suppose she isn’t.

Once again she’s seated near the back, her side-swept hair artfully shielding her acid-scarred face. She already has a mug of coffee steaming before her. I pause at the order counter long enough to pour myself a glass of water, then head over.

Staci watches me approach. Her expression is carefully composed. I don’t blame her.

“I know,” I state without preamble, “about Sabera’s hospitalization—the seventy-two-hour psych hold.”

Staci continues to study me.

“And I know the other piece of the puzzle. Sabera’s pregnant. Were you ever going to say anything?”

“I couldn’t.”

I puff out an exasperated breath. “What a fucking mess.”

Staci’s turn to sigh. “Exactly.”

I TAKE A seat, opening my messenger bag and withdrawing Kurtz’s special delivery. I make a show of spreading out Sabera Ahmadi’s medical records. I want Staci to see that whatever concerns she had about protecting her client’s privacy don’t matter anymore.

Staci’s gaze flickers to the fanned pages. She doesn’t bother asking where, why, when, or how. Most likely, she doesn’t want to know.

“According to these reports, Sabera suffered some kind of mental breakdown while on a city bus. Started screaming hysterically, tearing at her hair, lashing out. The responding EMTs described her as ‘speaking in tongues.’ Except it wasn’t gibberish, was it?

It’s just how a gifted polyglot might sound to people who are used to hearing only one language at a time. ”

Faintest nod.

“First thing the ER docs did was test her for drugs, which, in this day and age of bath salts and meth heads, makes sense.

Except the tox screen came back negative.

Even her blood alcohol level—zero. I wondered about that, given some of the things people have had to say.

Sabera seemed stressed, distracted, tired.

At times smelled of booze, maybe even slurred her words.

But no drugs, no alcohol. Just a cocktail of various psych drugs and antidepressants.

“Because Sabera has had mental health issues in the past. Postpartum, to be specific. And once more, she has baby on board.” I can’t help myself. My tone isn’t just intent, but borderline angry as I lean way forward. “Did she know? Was it planned? Did she talk to you about it?”

“She never said a word.”

“And Isaad? Did he know?”

“I wish I had more answers. I don’t.”

“But you knew! You were the one who was called to the ER, so you knew about the baby! And then Sabera went missing, and then Isaad took off. Dear God, were you ever going to tell someone that there’s a whole other life at stake?”

I sit back. I’m getting heated, which doesn’t help anything. I’m just so frustrated. And tired. And frustrated!

I’ve read the illicit medical reports half a dozen times already. Maybe, if I review the documents thoroughly enough, they will make some sense. Maybe, if I dissect every word, the riddle that is Sabera Ahmadi will finally unravel. For now, I can only shake my head.

Staci takes a sip of coffee. The mug trembles in her hand.

She’s not nearly as unaffected as she pretends.

That, as much as anything, helps me calm down.

It can’t be easy to be a caseworker. Taking on such an immediate and intimate role in the lives of total strangers, while having to remain separate at all times. God knows I couldn’t do it. Obviously.

“Sabera suffered some kind of episode,” Staci finally allows.

“She was taken to the ER where she presented in a dissociative state. According to the psych consult performed by Dr. Cindy Porway, she appeared to be experiencing some kind of severe PTSD episode. Possibly a threat to herself and/or others. She recommended an involuntary psych hold.”

Sabera’s infamous missing days. Which apparently coincided with her distraught visit to Aliah’s deli. So something had already gotten Sabera agitated; she went to see her friend, where she apparently recovered enough to board a bus for work…

And promptly went berserk.

“Did Sabera know she was pregnant before she was admitted to the ER?” I ask Staci.

“Sabera wasn’t exactly talking when I first got there. Given her level of distress… let’s just say the drug protocol was extremely thorough.”

I roll my eyes. It leaves me with an interesting theory, however. As in maybe the inciting event in this terrible little saga had been Sabera discovering she was pregnant. The immediate news would account for her agitated state when she arrived at Aliah’s deli.

“Look.” Staci sets down her coffee. “Sabera authorized her doctor to speak with me. I’m not sure why me versus Isaad, but if she was ever going to get released, it had to be into someone’s care, hence the call to me.

When I first arrived, she was out cold from all the meds.

When she finally came around, it was mostly to insist I never say a word about what had happened.

I wasn’t lying before. Part of my job is to respect privacy, both for the family and the individuals. ”

“You didn’t find her need for secrecy suspicious?”

“Many cultures consider mental illness to be taboo.”

“Sabera disappeared for three days. You’re telling me Isaad never asked questions about that? Didn’t reach out to you? Demand some kind of explanation?”

“Isaad called me repeatedly looking for her. He sounded worried, then frustrated, then very worried and frustrated.”

“What did you tell him?”

Staci thins her lips, studies her coffee again.

“Part of the psych hold is a more thorough evaluation of Sabera’s mental and physical health.

Dr. Porway had an entire list of considerations: Had there been any recent changes in Sabera’s eating or sleeping habits?

Signs of self-destructive behavior? Suspected alcohol or drug abuse?

Maybe she was hoarding weapons or suddenly giving away personal treasures.

“Normally, this is the kind of information provided by a loved one. Except Sabera had put me on the spot. On the one hand, I’d just spent several intense weeks with this woman, trying to get her and her family settled into Tucson.

I’d studied her background, helped her learn mass transit, taught her American social etiquette.

On the other hand, these are questions involving intimate details of daily life.

Had Sabera been acting strangely lately?

” Staci shrugs. “If anything, compared to other refugees I’ve assisted, she seemed especially stoic.

But maybe what I took to be mental fortitude was actually emotional disconnect.

I didn’t feel comfortable answering. Given that, I did my best to work those considerations into my conversations with Isaad—”

“How? Like he asked you if you’d heard anything from Sabera and you said, hey, how’s that gun collection of hers coming? Or discover any more empty vodka bottles in the recycling bin? How did that not come off sounding suspicious?”

“Oh, I think it came off as very suspicious. And I think…” Staci hesitates.

“At a certain point, I think Isaad not only knew what I was doing, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked such inquiries.

They’ve spent years living in uncertainty and fear, remember?

Time involving Sabera losing her family and watching her country collapse.

Of giving birth and then trying to raise a baby in squalid refugee camps known for their violence.

Of course Sabera has a history of mental health struggles, postpartum, PTSD, and otherwise.

Again, I don’t know why she didn’t list Isaad’s name.

Personally, I think he figured out exactly what was going on.

And like me, he did his best to assist, while never acknowledging what he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge. ”

I’m honestly not sure what to do with this.

So Sabera disappeared once before for three days, but maybe for Isaad, that didn’t count as a true vanishing act, given he connected the dots to a necessary medical intervention.

Which could also explain why he didn’t initially respond to Aliah’s pestering when Sabera disappeared a second time around.

“From your point of view?” I ask Staci now. “When you heard Sabera never made it home from work a second time, did you assume she’d suffered another breakdown?”

“After the first twenty-four hours, I contacted local hospitals. I also reached out to Dr. Porway, who did some digging. One of the trickiest parts of a psych doctor’s job is making the determination of whether a patient can be safely discharged or continues to be at risk for harm.

Needless to say, she was very concerned about Sabera’s well-being. ”

“Was it the news of Sabera’s pregnancy that got her released the first time around? As a mother, surely she wouldn’t harm her unborn child?”

“From what I understand, parenthood isn’t the best indicator of success—women commit more murder-suicides involving their children than men do.

A strong religious prohibition, however, can be very powerful.

And the tenets of Islam clearly state that only God has the power to give and take away life.

Suicide is not only murder, it goes against God’s will and denies one entrance into heaven.

Being a practicing Muslim was a major factor when contemplating Sabera’s future. ”

“Did you agree? Seventy-two hours later she’s all better and can go home?”

Staci hesitates. Once more, I can see the wheels turning in her head, what she wants to say, what she thinks she can say…

I lean forward, play my admittedly brutal trump card. “Isaad is dead.”

“What?”

“His body was found yesterday. Badly mutilated. He was tortured, then killed.”

“What?”

“Whatever’s going on right now, it’s not a simple matter of Sabera’s mental health.

The threat is real. The violence tangible.

I don’t know why, which is really pissing me off, but at this point, I consider finding Sabera a point of life or death.

We help her—and her unborn child—survive this together, or they die alone.

“According to these medical reports,” I continue relentlessly, “part of Sabera’s discharge requirement was to enroll in therapy.

Twice a week. From what I’ve heard, she had her neighbor, Nageenah, watch Zahra while she went to these appointments, under the guise of ‘running errands.’ Except Sabera only made it to three actual sessions.

Then the therapist never saw her again. Though Nageenah claims Sabera kept disappearing two afternoons a week.

Why? Where was she going, what was she doing? You need to tell me everything .”

Staci appears visibly shaken.

“I don’t know what I don’t know,” she starts.

“Join the club.”

“Are she and Isaad married? He seems committed, she implied not. Clearly, it took the two of them together to get out of Afghanistan.”

“I sense a but in all this.”

Staci takes a deep breath. “The kind of severe PTSD episode Sabera experienced while on the city bus… it’s generally triggered by some sort of external stimuli.”

I wait.

“Say a sound. Why so many veterans can be set off by cars backfiring. Smell is also a very powerful association, say the scent of barbecue, which is apparently quite similar to human flesh.”

I shudder.

“Or by sight,” Staci concludes. “Seeing something reminiscent of the traumatic time. Or someone.”

She pauses a beat. I go wide-eyed. I can almost nearly get this…

“Sabera would sometimes cry out while I was visiting her in the hospital. Nightmares. During them, she repeated one name, over and over again: Jamil.”

“Jamil?”

“Later, when they started weaning her off the meds and she became more coherent, I asked her about it. She dismissed my questions immediately. Jamil was her brother, nothing more; she must have been dreaming about her childhood. But here’s the thing—I’ve read Sabera’s family history.

Her brother’s name was Farshid, not Jamil. ”

“Why would she lie?”

“Off the top of my head? I’ve also seen Zahra’s birth certificate. Her middle name is Jamila.”

“As in… daughter of Jamil?”

A single nod.

I feel my eyes go even wider. “Holy shit. Zahra… Jamil. Sabera… Jamil.” Then, on the heels of that: “Why does Isaad feel like a committed married man, yet Sabera still fights it? The answer I’m guessing is Jamil. Okay then. Where the hell is Jamil?”

“There’s no record of any Jamil in Sabera’s background reports.

Which brings me to the other thing she kept repeating during her hospitalization.

‘I killed them. I killed them all.’ And based on the tone of her voice, I don’t think she was speaking figuratively.

Sabera’s final days in Kabul—something terrible happened. ”

Staci shrugs. “I don’t think it’s over yet.”