Inspector Jorgeian Fraser of Interpol spoke confidently about the case, and this seemed to please Deon. He clapped and laughed for the first time in the house, and even carried Shakira into their bedroom and planted a kiss on her lips. But she wondered why. Fraser was only a voice on the line. He could be sipping coffee and browsing through Men’s Health as he spoke. They were concerned parents. A phone call couldn’t be enough.
Shakira squeezed out of his embrace. “I think we should call back to set an appointment.”
Deon’s eyes widened. “With who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jorgeian Fraser.”
He shrugged. “We just spoke with him, and he’s on top of the case.”
Shakira paced the space between the king-size bed and her closet. “So? We didn’t know the case had left the jurisdiction of the KPD until we went to sit across from the officers.”
“Jorgeian Fraser is in Washington DC. You want to fly across the country to sit in front of someone who knows his job? What will this do to the case?”
She held her head. Couldn’t he understand? “It would give us a face and an identity and not just a case number,” she cried.
Deon told her he needed to seal the deal for the glam offices in downtown Houston. His deal meant everything for their finances. Shakira couldn’t wait an extra day to see Fraser, who agreed to meet the following day. The trip meant everything to her peaceful existence.
She traveled alone to Washington DC.
Being a home-girl, born and raised in Texas, Shakira found DC a bit overwhelming. Fraser worked in one of the stately buildings housing Interpol. He was the epitome of a triple-A geek. His age was hard to determine, but he could be fresh from some academy and sounded just as eager and confident about his assignment. Perhaps this was his first case? Was this good or bad?
Fraser wore professor glasses, which he tilted to rest on his nose. His straight dark hair hung in heavy bangs across his forehead but interestingly did not interfere with his deep blue eyes. A committed agent of international law enforcement, Shakira thought with some false humor.
“I’m so pleased we could meet at such short notice,” she said as she took the seat opposite him in the Starbucks across from his office. He had chosen to meet her in a neutral place for reasons best known to him.
“Sorry for your loss, Mrs. Smith,” Fraser drawled. A true Southerner? His accent hadn’t seemed so thick when they spoke on the phone. “You flew in all the way from Houston?”
“Yes. Those babies were all we had––have, our only children.”
Fraser pushed the glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I understand such a great tragedy. My family was killed in an accident caused by a careless driver.”
“Did you get closure?”
Once upon a time, this tragedy would have moved Shakira to tears and physical pain for Fraser, but after her experience, she felt nothing. No grief compared with losing one child. And two? How did she still manage to talk normally?
“Closure is a big word, Mrs. Smith. When you watch two people you love die, nothing gives closure.”
She could identify. Nothing gave closure. “Was he apprehended? The driver?”
“She.” He inhaled. “My twelve-year-old daughter. Ran the car over my mom and her mom. She’s in a mental hospital today.”
“Must be––hard,” Shakira said, genuinely mortified. How horrible.
“Yes. Hard is a good word.” He cleared his throat. “So what do you want to know about the case of the Nigerian woman?”
How could he sound so casual? If he had a twelve-year-old daughter and came across like this, then he couldn’t be too old. Maybe in his forties? He appeared much younger. How could he look so much younger with such a tragedy in his life?
“What can Interpol do?”
He nodded as though to convince himself first. “Find the fugitive and extradite her. Bring her to the United States to face justice.”
“Is it so simple, Inspector Fraser?”
“It’s what we do every day. In the last forty years, the Interpol USNCB, uh, United States National Central Bureau, has recorded immeasurable success. We dig till we find.”
Shakira sighed. Perhaps Deon was right. But she’d needed to see this man for herself. “I took time to read about Nigeria. It is a large country. It has over two hundred languages. They have a corrupt government and security is lapse.”
“And we have agencies we work with in Nigeria. The police work well with us.”
“The police in the country are corrupt.”
“But we get our job done.”
She sighed. “Has Interpol—your office—ever caught any Nigerian like in this case?”
“Mrs. Smith, I have worked for Interpol in three countries including Nigeria over the last ten years. If you’ve lost a needle in Nigeria, I’ll find it for you.”
Shakira tightened her lips. “So why is it taking so long? It’s been over a month now. Almost Christmas. She could leave Nigeria and go to another country.”
“We will find her. I assure you. And she will face justice.”
“How do you do it? How do you face these evil people when you find them?”
Fraser sighed. “It’s part of the closure I get every day. The freedom to bring justice to the earth is my peace.”
“There is no peace anywhere.”
“Except in the one who made you?”
“You’re religious?”
“I got peace, Mrs. Smith. Peace that passes human understanding.” He nodded. “This peace is what we truly all need.”
Shakira closed her eyes. “The woman took everything from me. The most precious people to me. They were innocent children who never hurt anyone.”
She talked about Leila. How caring and protective she was of her sister and her parents. Leila was the child who thought she could mother anyone. And Latoya was just so adorable, a calm baby who never fussed.
Inspector Fraser let her talk till her voice shook. Then he placed his hand on hers and squeezed gently.
“Mrs. Smith.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “Yes?”
“Move on.”