"What?" Tucker and I yelled.
Karima Mansour pouted and studied us from beneath her eyelashes. "You didn't hear? Such a tragedy. The flooding, you know."
"How do you know him? Did you verify his identity?" demanded Tucker.
Yes. I bet Egypt had more than one Abdallah Hussein. Still, I felt nauseous.
"Oh, we're aware of your connection."
They'd bugged our hotel room and bribed the staff. They'd followed us everywhere. We'd tossed them a bone by meeting at a bus station. I began scratching my arms before I could stop myself.
"Our team helped you find him, as a matter of fact. You think it was entirely the power of Twitter and your friends that uncovered his identity?" Scorn flicked up the corners of her mouth. "We broke the story and interviewed the Hussein family. He has three little children. So sad."
Tucker grasped one of my hands so tightly that I compressed my lips, but he did stop me from scratching myself as I asked, "How did a grown man drown during a flood?"
"He was electrocuted first."
I stifled a gasp. "Someone electrocuted him?"
She waved one stylish hand. "You must always be wary of loose electrical cables during flooding. It's not unheard-of for this to happen, although so unfortunate. Egypt really must modernize its drainage system and architecture. Then, of course, once one is electrocuted, it is so easy to drown."
Electrocuted. Drowned.
No, it wasn't a coincidence that Abdallah had been killed after he spoke to us. How did a stray electrical cable kill a healthy adult man instead of a knee-high child?
Who'd kill Abdallah Hussein?
My eye fell on the fly broach box, which Karima had passed on to the lighting director. The white box stood out against his dark skin.
I remembered the 24K gold fly's eyes. Pestilence.
Then I spoke to Karima Mansour, woman to woman. "I have one final story for you. This may be the most shocking one of all. But first, I need help with one very sick boy, his father, his sister, and one pregnant mother. They need medical care, education, and honest employment."
She shrugged. "Yes, I've advertised Hadi's plight in my stories. It is possible some viewers will donate to Dr. Tucker's GoFundMe, although of course we hear so many sad stories, and most Egyptians don't have spare funds. Still, we'll do our best to help you."
I leaned toward her and stared until her words died. "I will cut you out of this story unless you help them."
Tucker's head snapped up, and he moved to my side in silent solidarity.
She pressed her collagenized lips together. "You may have an inflated idea of a news reporter's income."
"I'm sure you could contact someone with more resources."
Her eyebrows arched. She knew I meant the stalker. "I can't make any promises on his behalf, Dr. Sze. If he does take on their bills as a sign of good faith, will you meet with him afterward?"
Tucker choked, but I was already shaking my head. "Never. Still, this final story could make your career. What's it going to be?"