Page 93 of Kiss Her Goodbye

“The bad guys are moving very fast,” I murmur.“We, on the other hand, are very slow.That’s not a great recipe for success.”

Detective Marc nods.I try to sip more water through my cup’s straw but get only air.He takes the pink plastic recepticle from me and fills it up.He volunteers: “Chen is working on the new math puzzles.His first thought was also magic squares, but there’s something about them being trivial… He has a theory.Going to consult a friend who’s also a math nerd.”

I know better than to nod by now.I’m very, very tired.I want to close my eyes and sleep forever.I want to dream of rainbows and unicorns, instead of a gathering of the dead.

“I also have IDs on the two murdered Afghan males.Rafiq Bahrami and Ahmad Bahrami.Cousins.Both fled Afghanistan after Kabul fell, being Hazaras, an ethnic group the Taliban has a tendency to cleanse.”

“Connection to Sabera and her husband?”I croak.

“Working on it.Records post-Taliban takeover not being so accessible.Especially, you know, for the Tucson PD.”

I get it, though it doesn’t diminish my disappointment.

“Also,” Marc continues, “have been spending quality time with cell phone records, his and hers.First time Sabera disappeared, Isaad made a dozen calls to a number in New York.Interestingly enough, soon after, Sabera started reaching out to that number as well.It’s the main number of a major hospital.”

My eyes round.“The baby…”

“The baby?”

“I didn’t mention that Sabera’s pregnant?”

“What?”

“Just learned.Honestly.Right before returning to Aliah’s deli.Had received a manila envelope with Sabera’s medical records—”

“You have the missing woman’s actual medical records?”Detective Marc sounds irate.“In a clear violation of how many HIPAA laws?”

“I didn’t steal them.Someone else did that.I was just given them… from a friend.”

I glance painfully around the room, waving my hand in a gesture of searching.“My brown messenger bag.Must be somewhere.Has records.Was gonna share.Swear it.”

Detective Marc huffs, then crosses to a closet, where, sure enough, my leather bag is hanging from a hook.He delivers it to me, but when I open the flap… Nothing.The manila folder is gone.I poke and prod some more.Basic items, including my emergency whistle, lip balm, discreet zippered pocket of cash… I empty everything out, not that it’s much, then…

I gaze at the detective blankly.“I had it.I slipped the docs into my bag, after speaking with Sabera’s caseworker, returned to Aliah’s deli.I phoned you, then we closed up shop, stepped outside…”

Everything gets blurry after that.

“Would one of your officers have taken it?”I ask.

Marc bristles.“No.And not the EMTs, either.Some of the looky-loos had access to your purse while you were down, but if anything they would’ve gone for a wallet, not a plain envelope.Shit.”

I don’t know what to say.I still barely understand what happened.

“Okay,” Detective Marc regroups.“Sabera is pregnant?”

“With a history of postpartum depression.Also was being treated for severe PTSD.The first time she vanished, she’d had some kind of breakdown, was put on a psych hold.Didn’t I mention that?”

“That you bothered to share.”

“This hospital number both Sabera and Isaad were calling… Maybe it’s related to mental health services?Or the ob-gyn unit?”

Detective Marc sighs.“I’ll follow up with Dr.Porway again.See if she was contacted by another doc, say one from New York, regarding Sabera’s care.She didn’t volunteer such information, but that’s not a surprise.She may be the type to champion the poor, but she still isn’t one to break doctor–client confidentiality.”

“You talked to Dr.Porway?”

“Not all of us have been sleeping for the past twenty-four hours.Yes, I met with the good doc.Much like you suspected, when I mentioned the name Jamil, I got an immediate reaction.When I pushed, and identified him as Sabera’s husband slash Zahra’s father, I got an even stronger reaction.I’m guessing from Dr.Porway’s expressions alone, we’re on the right track.I have officers running down witnesses from Sabera’s bus episode.With any luck, someone saw something—or someone—concrete, that’ll move us forward.”

“X factor,” I croak.