The Shadow of Death (Psalm 23 Mysteries Book 9) (14 page)

Jeremiah had to admit that Cindy looked exceptional in a designer dress. She’d even managed to fluff out her now short hair into an appealing look. He knew she was angry about that, but she’d be using the scarf soon enough and she’d be grateful for the short hair then.

The flight to Frankfurt had been fine although spent mostly in silence. That had been good, though, as it had given him time to plan and think. There were three men he could possibly talk to in the country. Fortunately Solomon had had an easy time locating the whereabouts of one of them. His daughter was about to get married in an elaborate ceremony which would make it easier to approach him publically than it normally would have.

Finding the other two would be far more challenging. One of them he couldn’t even get confirmation whether or not the man was still alive. There’d be a lot of scrambling to do once they hit the ground.

They’d left their own clothes and suitcases back in the hotel in Tel Aviv. They were traveling with just one suitcase now with a mixture of clothing styles for both of them. Jeremiah had had to leave the knife he cut Cindy’s hair with behind as well. He did have on him a small, black knife made out of incredibly tough plastic. It had gone with him everywhere he went when he was working for the Mossad. The small knife didn’t show up on metal detectors, but was sharp enough and strong enough to make killing someone easy.

Their flight to Tehran was going to be boarding in half an hour and Cindy had gone to use the restroom. He stood up casually and walked toward the restrooms, searching out all the cameras in the place.

There were none focused on the water fountains near the women’s room. Jeremiah took a drink then lingered there waiting for Cindy. A moment later she emerged and was clearly startled to see him right there.

“Come here,” he said.

She took the few steps to him and then stopped right next to him. “There’s one more thing Solomon picked up for me before we left,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a ring box and opened it. Inside it was a platinum wedding band with diamonds on it.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasped.

“The wife of a wealthy businessman needs to display her jewels proudly,” he said as he picked up her hand and slipped it on her finger.

From his pocket he retrieved a matching platinum man’s wedding band and he slipped it on his hand. “There, now we look official,” he said.

She nodded, unable to take her eyes off the ring on her finger. He let her stare at it for a moment more then he took her other hand and tugged slightly. “Let’s get back to the gate.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice sounding somewhat strangled.

He understood. He was having problems not thinking about the weight of the ring on his own finger and everything that it symbolized. He was tired of living a lie, though. He wished it was all real.

But he couldn’t afford to daydream like that. Not when there was work to be done.

When Mark woke up it was early morning. Sunlight was just starting to creep into the room. For a moment he drowsed, wondering what had woken him. Then he heard the chime on his phone that let him know he had a voice message. He twisted onto his side and grabbed the phone from the table next to the bed.

Maybe Traci was calling with a list of things he had to do to get ready to bring home two babies instead of one. He’d already started working on that list in his head the day before but had since forgotten half of it he was sure.
No matter how well prepared he was he knew that once the Rachel and Ryan came home everything could change as the reality of what babies needed trumped their perceptions of what babies needed.

It turned out the message was from Liam. Mark pressed his ear to the phone to listen.

“You asked me to track down information on Asim Kazmi’s family. It turns out he’s got an uncle in Detroit. His parents are both dead, but he has two older brothers. One of them is still in Iran. The other moved to Jerusalem six months ago.”

12

Mark’s heart was pounding as he called Liam back.

“Hi, Mark, how’s Traci?” Liam asked when he answered the phone.

“Doing well, so are Rachel and Ryan.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. I’m planning on stopping by around lunchtime to see everyone.”

“That would be wonderful. I know Traci would appreciate it,” Mark said, battling his own impatience. “Look, I got your message. Have you talked to either of the brothers or the uncle yet?”

“No. I don’t have numbers for the brothers, but I do have one for the uncle.”

“I’m going to call him. Can you text it to me?”

“Sure, right away. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Given that Traci just had the babies and this is a day off for you, I would think this would be the last thing you’d be thinking about today.”

“Yeah, well, I might have had a breakthrough. I want to follow up while the thoughts are fresh in mind. Maybe it’s nothing.”

Mark said goodbye and ended the call. Moments later the text from Liam came in and he stared at the number for a moment. Maybe it was nothing.

“Or maybe this will help save my friends’ lives,” he whispered.

He called the number then waited impatiently as it rang. Just when he thought it was going to go to voicemail a man answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Kazmi.”

“This is him.”

“Sir, my name is Mark Walters, I’m one of the detectives who has been working to find your nephew’s killer.”

There was a pause and then the man spoke, his voice choked with emotion. “You cannot be working too hard at it since it has been two years and there has been no justice for Asim.”

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Loved ones always thought that no matter how much effort police were putting in that it was never enough. Asim’s uncle had more cause to complain than most. He needed the man on his side, though.

“One of the original detectives assigned to the case was murdered. I recently was able to look at the file and read over some of his notes that he hadn’t entered into the official report. It’s possible I’ve found something, but I need to ask you some questions to know if I’m even on the right track.”

It was unfair of him, putting the blame on Paul that way. But Paul was dead and had left him with a heck of a mess, even if technically Asim’s murder wasn’t part of it. Besides, if the man he was talking to felt like he cared, like he was a new detective on the case doing his best, he would likely be less jaded and more cooperative.

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“I appreciate that sir. He was a good man, but he left a mess behind him. It was only by sheer chance that I came across the one note that I did that got me thinking in a new light about the case.”

“Perhaps it was not chance, but Allah guiding you in that discovery.”

Mark hesitated a moment and then said, “For most of my life I haven’t believed in God. The last couple of years, though, I’ve seen things that I couldn’t explain any other way. Well, lately it’s got me thinking quite a lot. You could be right.”

“I know I’m right,” the man said, his voice warming. “Now, tell me what I can do to help you find my nephew’s killer.”

“I appreciate it. First, I should ask you if this is a good time. I have a lot of questions. Some of them will seem quite basic or even unnecessary, but are important for me to see the entire picture.”

“I understand, Detective, and for the man who will find Asim’s killer I have all the time in the world.”

“I appreciate that, sir. As I understand it, Asim’s parents are both deceased. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it was a tragedy. They died when Asim was sixteen.”

“What happened to them, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“A car accident. It was what you would call ironic.”

“How so?”

“They were visiting some of my sister-in-law’s family in Gaza. They had gone out for the evening by themselves and when they returned her family’s home had been destroyed along with several of their neighbors. She lost six relatives that day.”

“But she and her husband escaped the bombing?”

“Yes, only to be killed the next morning by a drunk driver. Senseless waste of life.”

“Their sons weren’t with them at the time?” Mark asked. He was definitely getting an image of how that tragedy could have affected their children.

“The oldest boy was with them. He survived the car accident, but was never the same. It scarred him physically, but more than that it twisted him and made him bitter, crazy. The second oldest boy was away at university. Asim was still in high school and stayed at home with friends. He had wanted to go with them, but his father refused to allow him to miss that many days of school. I told him Allah had persuaded his father to leave him behind so that he might live, grow to manhood and do something important with his life. I believed that with all my heart. But then some coward took that from him.”

Mark struggled to find the words to say to make it better, but none came. All he could do was press on and try to find peace for this man and justice for his nephew as quickly as he could. “The boys lived all their lives in Iran, is that correct?” Mark asked, forcing the words out.

“Until that time, yes. I brought Asim here to live with me. He finished high school with honors. He got accepted to a wonderful college in California where he could study under some of the best minds in his field and I was happy to pay the tuition. I knew that he was going to do great things with his life, that he had been spared for a reason.”

“His older brothers stayed in Iran?”

“Yes, Khalid returned there after he left the hospital.
Tamir stayed in the university.”

“You said that the accident changed Khalid?”

“Yes. His name means ‘immortal’. He started to believe that it was true, that he didn’t die with his parents because he could not die. His rage over what had happened grew deeper every day and the wounds that time should have healed instead became more raw with each passing day. He was sick, he had a disease of the mind, but I could not reason with him. After a while I stopped trying. Tamir was also bitter, but not in the same way. When he graduated from the university I offered to get him a job here where he could live a better life. He refused. He said he had no interest in the things of the West.”

The man was painting a chilling picture, one that Mark didn’t like at all. The more he heard, though, the more he believed that he had been right to be suspicious.

“I believe I have this in my notes, but could you tell me what Asim was studying here in California?”

“Certainly. He had a dual major and was going for degrees in both Sociology and Political Science. He had a dream of bringing peace to his homeland someday. He was so kind and gentle and well-spoken that some days I allowed myself to dream that he actually had a chance at doing that.”

“From what I understand he was well-liked by his professors and peers.”

“Yes. He had made many friends and I was happy for him. He even had a girlfriend, Amy, that he spoke almost constantly of when we’d talk on the phone.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“The night before he died. We spoke at least once a week.”

“How did he seem to you that night?”

“He was agitated. Upset. I pressed and he told me it was nothing. I persisted and he admitted to me that he had a fight with Amy, but that he was going to make everything alright.”

“Did he say what they fought about?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything else peculiar?”

“Yes, he did. He told me he’d make things right with her just as soon as he’d figured out who he needed to talk to about something important.”

“Did he mention what that important thing might be?”

“No, I asked, but he wouldn’t say, which was very unlike him. Asim never was the type to have secrets. It was the first time he’d ever kept something from me. He was always such a good boy, though. I knew that when he was ready he would tell me.”

“Did he talk often with his brothers or other family members besides you?”

“Generally, not often. However, he did spend a week in Iran with his brothers about a month before he died.”

“Why did he go back?”

“
Tamir was getting married and Asim went for the celebration.”

“Did you go?”

“No. I was not invited,” the other man said, a trace of anger coloring his voice.

“Can you tell me anything more about his girlfriend, Amy? I don’t remember seeing her name in the file.”

“Her name was Amy Smith. I remember the first time he told me. He commented that it was a genuine American name and that seemed to please him for some reason.”

“Did she go to college with him?”

“Yes, but she was in entirely different classes. He met her because she worked at the Starbucks by his house. He told me when he first saw her he went every day for a week before getting up the courage to ask her out.”