Page 53 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

H ABIB IS VERY CLEVER,” S ABERA is saying now.

“He merely pretended to be a ghost so I would think that my family and I were safe. But no, he’s been plotting all along.

He will not rest till he has avenged himself and his family.

He will do whatever it takes, regardless of the consequence. Just like Rafiq.”

I glance over at Roberta to see if she’s following any of this.

She’s lowered her headscarf to better hear Sabera’s rasping voice.

The woman is a mess, black eye, split lip, lacerated cheek.

Her trembling hand, still clutching some kind of rusty steak knife, appears to have two broken fingers and one ripped-out fingernail.

I feel ill just looking at such damage. I have no idea how she survived it.

We’ve almost convinced her we’re the good guys. The fact we’ve been able to name drop everyone from Aliah to Nageenah to Captain Kurtz to spymaster Lilla is helping. We’ve also assured her that Zahra is safe, and we’ll happily take her to her daughter, but first we need to rescue Aliah.

Which seems to be one development too many for Sabera’s clearly stressed-out mind.

Given the current conversation regarding ghosts who are not ghosts, I wonder about her mental state in general.

How long has it been since she’s taken her prescribed meds, because last I knew, suddenly quitting antidepressants let alone antipsychotics leads to very bad things.

Definitely, Sabera is highly agitated.

“Once you realized Habib was still alive, that’s when you and Isaad made the plan for you to disappear?”

“I needed a place to hide. I should’ve been able to see it immediately, but the drugs… They dull my thinking. Eventually, I realized I could sneak into the vacant rooms and apartments at the resort where I work.”

“So when you initially disappeared?”

“I never caught the bus. I backtracked to an empty unit instead.”

“Did you tell your coworkers you were leaving Isaad?” I want to know.

“Divorce is shameful. I knew it would occupy their minds, distract them from revealing other details about me.”

“What happened?” Roberta asks. “Because…” She gestures to Sabera’s battered features.

“I was not careful enough.” The words come out hoarsely. In the dim light, I can just make out a ring of bruises around her throat. “I kept looking for Habib, expecting Habib. I never saw Rafiq or his cousin till it was too late.”

I’ve heard the name Rafiq before, as well as a reference to a cousin. It comes to me—Detective Marc, identifying the two dead men in the warehouse.

Roberta, on the other hand: “Who’s Rafiq?”

“We shared a cabin with him and his family at the first refugee camp. His wife, Malalai, was very kind, helping us learn how to survive. And one of their sons, Omid, took a liking to Isaad, following him everywhere. Isaad taught him math. Can you imagine? One of the greatest mathematicians, famous for his arrogance, scratching basic sums in the dirt to occupy the camp children? He loved Omid, too.” Her voice catches. Then, in a single breath:

“Omid died. Zahra was born. And Rafiq grew bitter that we had a child, while he and his wife lost theirs. We didn’t know what happened to them. We transitioned to a different camp while they…

“They were never granted refugee status. Eventually, they were expelled back to Afghanistan, where, given they were Hazaras, the Taliban snatched them up. Rafiq told me his children died quickly. Malalai was not so lucky.”

Sabera’s gaze has taken on a distant, glassy look. Her tone is terrifyingly matter-of-fact. This is life. This is the world we live in. This is what can happen to any of us.

“But Rafiq got out alive? The Taliban let him go?” Roberta asks.

“He bartered for his freedom. Offered them untold riches, a cave filled with gold. He offered them to me.”

Sabera returns her attention to us. “After the birth of my daughter, I was sick. Malalai tended me. I was too feverish to know. I thought she was an angel, sent to save me. I talked, said many things. I have no memory, but apparently I gave up not only my secrets but also my mother’s.

Malalai related these things to her husband.

And eventually, he used this information to save his life.

If they let him go, he would find the key and bring it to them. ”

“And they believed him?” I’m already skeptical.

“They might not have, except they had another prisoner at the time. A young male from a good family, also recently deported back to Afghanistan. My cousin Habib. He’d told them similar stories.

They’d ignored him, but now with two men who seemed to know the same things about the same woman. ” Sabera shrugs. “A deal was struck.”

Her gaze falls to her lap, where her right hand is still gripping the knife. She’s no longer threatening us with the blade, nor does she let it go. Maybe at this point, being without a weapon no longer feels like an option.

“And Rafiq recruited his cousin for the cause? There are other men involved as well, yes? Including your brother, Farshid?” I ask gently, as that’s the kidnapper Lilla identified.

Sabera shakes her head. “Farshid is dead.”

“He’s not here in Tucson?”

“No, I thought he was alive, wanted to believe he survived the fall of Kabul, especially as his spirit has never found me. But, no, fate was not that kind. The males in my family all look very similar, including my brother Farshid and our cousin Habib. Once before, in Dr. Richard’s medical clinic, I thought I saw Farshid coming through the doors.

But it was only Habib, bruised and battered and as cruel as ever.

He threatened me and my unborn child. So I suffocated him to death with my bare hands.

At least, I thought I did. But Dr. Richard arrived before I could be certain, and then Omid died and Zahra was born and now it’s all a blur in my mind. ”

Sabera rubs her temple with her left hand, then winces in pain.

“I dream too much of blood,” she murmurs. “It has changed me. Once I knew things, all sorts of things. Now I’m not certain of anything anymore.

“Jamil,” she speaks her child’s father’s name. “I think his ghost is real, but maybe I’ve just needed him that much, to keep some piece of him with me. Does it matter? When I was a girl”—she sighs—“I dreamed.”

“How many kidnappers are there?” Roberta asks, trying to regain focus. She looks at me, then stares pointedly at her watch. I get the message.

“I think five. But I don’t know them all.

Rafiq and his cousin threw me in the back of their vehicle and drove to the abandoned warehouse.

Habib was there. And… and…” Another shrug.

Roberta and I can fill in those blanks just by looking at her.

“I didn’t talk. I wouldn’t talk. I already knew Habib would kill me.

In many ways, it’s only fair. I did kill him first.”

“But you got away?”

“Isaad. Habib decided if I didn’t care about my life, maybe I would care about his. He cut off my hair, put it in a box, and had it delivered.”

“That was quite a riddle,” I comment.

“I wrote it as a warning. Isaad would read it and know exactly what happened. He was to take Zahra and leave.”

“He didn’t.”

“Isaad is a good man. Better than I deserved. He understood the warning, but he chose a different course. An ambush of sorts? I don’t know the details.

But he appeared earlier than they’d planned, before the other men had returned.

Rafiq started yelling at him; Isaad replied with insults of his own.

“I was able to get loose from my bindings. I ran, assuming Isaad and… thinking my husband would be behind me. But no. I don’t know what happened after that.”

I catch the stutter. Isaad and…? I wait to see if she’ll elaborate, but she doesn’t.

I try a different tack. “Sabera, who were you calling in New York and in Washington, DC?”

She shakes her head, as if she doesn’t understand the question, but just for a moment… a brief hardening of her gaze that comes and goes so quickly, I might be imagining it.

“You saw Isaad. You were there. At the scene of my husband’s murder.

” Sabera turns her attention to Roberta.

Clearly she’d been watching from somewhere close.

I wonder how long she’s been following us.

And how she’s been following us. A woman on the run who doesn’t have a vehicle?

Let alone, where has she been since fleeing the resort townhouse?

I feel increasingly unsettled. I’ve finally found my target, and yet…

“Did he suffer? Tell me. What did they do to my husband?”

“What matters is that Isaad died protecting you,” Roberta offers gently. “He gave his life out of love.”

“He and Jamil both died protecting me. If that’s love, I don’t want it anymore.” Sabera raises her steak knife again, waving it in agitation.

“Sabera.” I redirect her attention to me. “Remember what we told you in the beginning? They didn’t stop with Isaad. They tried to kidnap Zahra as well.”

Sabera blinks.

“When that failed, they grabbed Aliah instead.”

“Do you know where they might have taken her?” Roberta asks. “The location they held you and the location of Isaad’s body aren’t the same. We have a sense of a general area, but not a place.”

Sabera shakes her head. “Where’s Zahra? I want my daughter.”

“Zahra’s fine. She’s someplace safe and well protected.”

“Take me.” The thin serrated blade, waving again.

Roberta reaches out and slowly lowers it. “Do you truly believe being with you is someplace safe for Zahra? Given all that’s happened?”

The distressed look on Sabera’s face is answer enough.

“Habib… He came back even after I destroyed him. What more can I do?”

“It’s okay.” Roberta pats Sabera’s arm. “We have a plan.”

I add, “And the good news is, we no longer have to rely on a decoy.”