Manhattan
“Hang tight,” Wojciechowski said. “I’ll send a car.”
“I hate leaving Ginny by herself,” Nicole’s dad told the detective.
“I’d like you both here. Can someone else stay with her? We shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
“Well, at least one of us will be there,” Ben said.
“I’ll be fine,” Nicole’s mother said. “I’m ready for a little dinner anyway, so staff will be around.”
While they were waiting for the ride to the Central Park station house, Kayla showed up to report she had talked with Dr. Thorn to get an update on her mother’s condition. Nicole talked with her in the hall. “Bet he wasn’t happy to be called at home.”
“He wasn’t. Especially this late. But he did say he was concerned about something he referred to as ‘sundowning.’”
“What’s that?”
“I took some notes. Best I understand it, Sundown Syndrome refers to changes in behavior late in the afternoon or evening with Alzheimer’s or premature dementia.”
“Which he determined my mother doesn’t have.”
“He said that, but he also said to watch for things like agitation, delusions, paranoia, or disorientation. He said he’s trying to get at why her mental acuity seems to come and go.”
“But as far as how long she has to stay here …”
“He’s guessing up to another week.”
Nicole told Kayla she and her father had to be gone for about an hour. “Any chance you’ll still be here when we get back?”
“If you need me to be.”
“Well, we’re just a little skittish about leaving Mom alone.”
“The officers will be here.”
“I know, but we prefer someone who’s here to look after her specifically. They’re just keeping people out—which is great, but …”
“Pleased to sit with her,” Kayla said.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
At the precinct station house, Wojciechowski sat hunched over Nicole’s phone. “Can’t believe you both know Arabic. I wouldn’t have even known what language this was if it hadn’t been for the letter you got, let alone what it says. Gotta be the same guy though, right? That what you’re thinkin’?”
“Seems like it,” she said. “But what do we know? You’re the expert.”
“Not when it comes to this foreign stuff. I don’t know what to make of it. But you’re sure whoever it is is referring to this Mustafa guy?”
“That’s all it can mean, in my opinion,” her dad said. “Question is, does this person really know whether the plane crash was an accident, or is he just taking advantage of the situation to make Nic wonder.”
“Somebody in Chock-a-block’s department can determine whether this text came from overseas. Maybe Pranav himself.”
“Chock-a-block?” Nicole said.
“I’m tryin’ to get a handle on his last name ’cause he gets mine right and makes me feel bad.”
“You’d better stick with his first name.”
“Anyway, he already decided the stamp and postmark and envelope and paper are Middle Eastern on the one you got at home. Print results ought to be up soon. We already released your mail carrier. Told us what she knew, which wasn’t much. Noticed it because it was foreign but says you get a lotta that kinda stuff.”
“Foreign mail, sure, but nothing like that.”
“Here’s Chaka Kahn now,” Wojciechowski said as Pranav swept in and handed him two manila folders.
“Thank you so much for trying, Detective Woe Jeh House Key,” the Indian said. “You see how easy it is to master a difficult name if you just invest a little time?”
“You’re a better man than me, Pranav,” Wojciechowski said. “Whaddya got?”
“All the detectable prints on the envelope trace back to Ms. Berman, the mail carrier, and postal workers in other cities whose prints are in our system. So, just as we suspected. The originator wiped his or hers off. As for the letter, the only prints are Ms. Berman’s and they’re consistent with unfolding it, not folding it or stuffing it in an envelope. And as I told you, Detective, all the elements appear to be genuinely Middle Eastern, and sent from there. The second file is the translation of the other document you gave me and our best assumptions.”
Wojciechowski gave him Nicole’s phone. “How long would it take to determine if this message was sent from over there too?”
“A software package on my phone can do that in no time.” He forwarded the file to his own phone, punched a few buttons, and said, “Saudi Arabia.”
“You’re sure?” Wojciechowski said. “Couldn’t have been faked?”
“Someone tried to hide it with a random number, but one hundred percent it’s from there.”
“Think you deserve the rest of the night off, Pranav.”
“Oh, come on, Detective. Repeat after me, Chak-rah-bar-tee.”
“I’ll work on it.”