| |
––––––––
“I’M GOING TO TELL MY wife she has competition.” Ivan rubbed his stomach and smiled at Vinnie. “This was delicious, thank you.”
“There’s more.” Vinnie nodded towards the two large serving dishes, one with mushroom risotto and one with enough ravioli for a group twice our number. Vinnie had borrowed the dishes from the hotel’s kitchen as well as pots large enough to prepare food for the nine of us. Everyone, including me, had dished up a second time. It pleased Vinnie.
After Manny had called President Godard, things had fallen into place very quickly. Within five minutes, Ivan had received a call from his bosses, giving him carte blanche on this case. Pressure from the French and Czech presidents and Interpol had been great enough for them to give Ivan access to all case files related to Shahab, Klára and her father Reza Alikhani.
“Oh, I wish I could fit more in.” Ivan straightened, his hands resting on his torso. “But there’s really no place in my stomach for another bite.”
“Okay, people.” Manny walked back from their bedroom, his smartphone in his hand. “President Godard has given us permission to share as little or as much as needed with Klára to get information from her.” He looked at me. “He says he trusts you to determine how she will treat top-secret information.”
“When will she be here?”
Ivan looked at his watch. “Maybe another ten minutes. My team is bringing her from the spa.”
Klára had been receiving a spa treatment with a friend when we’d located her. Since we’d been about to eat lunch and her treatment was to take another twenty minutes, Manny had agreed for Ivan’s team only to speak to her once she was finished. They were on their way here and I was impatient to glean information from her about Shahab.
“That paparazza is going to get herself locked out if she doesn’t show up before them.” Manny sat down next to Francine and took the tea he’d left on the coffee table when he’d taken the call from President Godard.
“She’ll be here.” Francine took her tablet and tapped the screen. “I gave her all our numbers in case she runs late.”
Bree had left as soon as she could to meet her assistant for lunch. The guilt on her face had been sincere when she’d explained that she’d cancelled lunch with him or had simply not shown up every day since they’d arrived. She planned to stop at their hotel before going to the restaurant. Her brother Gareth had been phoning and sending her messages and she needed to speak to him. She’d looked resigned and unenthused about that call. Colin had asked Ty to make sure she was safe. And not to lose her again.
“Hey, have any of you seen a photo of Sahar?” Roxy took Phillip’s empty plate and stacked it on a few others. “How old is she?”
“Give me a sec.” Francine tapped on her tablet screen. “Now that we have access to Ivan’s bosses’ files, I can tell you all her secrets. Hmm. She’s now thirty-seven, as short as you and has the most beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.”
“I’m not short!” Roxy rolled her eyes when the room filled with chuckles and comments. She was maybe two or three centimetres taller than Bree, but still at the shorter end of the average height for women. She walked to Francine and looked at the tablet screen. “What a beauty.”
Francine waited for Roxy to walk to the kitchen with the plates and turned the tablet for us to see. “The metadata places this photo as taken just after she arrived in Prague.”
The woman on the tablet screen was completely covered by a dark blue cloak. Iranian women often wore a chadar when they went out in public. Only her face was visible, her plump cheeks pale against the dark material. Her posture and body language were mostly hidden under the chadar, but the expression captured on her face showed a combination of fear, excitement and sadness.
Ivan’s phone pinged and he looked at the screen. He frowned as he tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear. He spoke in rapid Czech before ending the call and looking at us. “We are getting results back. Which do you want to hear first? The ME’s findings on the tests he ran or the intel my team got on the Iranian company that traded with Seppo-Tammi?”
“The ME findings first,” Manny said.
“The ME is worried. The five victims Shahab killed when he tested his opioid weapon all tested positive for the opioid described in Doctor Novotný’s journal.” He looked at Roxy as she took the last plates to the kitchen. “He also asked to thank you for forwarding the information you found in the journal. It helped him identify the opioid. He’s considering sending out a nationwide alert. If this drug hits the streets, it will kill a lot of people.”
“Hmm.” Roxy walked back from the kitchen and sat down. “Shahab doesn’t need a delivery system to kill people. All he needs to do is sell this to drug dealers. And he has the contacts to do that. He’s been selling drugs in Europe for a decade.”
I thought about this. “That won’t fit in with Shahab’s behaviour. The people he’s killed... Let me correct myself. The victims we’ve linked to Shahab all had some connection to him. There might be more victims, but we haven’t found any more whose deaths shared any of the similarities. I can’t see Shahab changing his manner of killing to kill without motivation.”
“Doc is right.” Manny rubbed his head. “His MO hasn’t changed. In Strasbourg his motivation was to protect his business. Here, his motivation seems to be connected to Sahar or Klára or whatever her name is now.” He shook his head. “No. The ME shouldn’t worry about random victims. We should worry about his plan to avenge Sahar leaving him and becoming Klára.”
“That’s all I have from the ME. The intel on the Iranian company is not surprising.” Ivan tapped his phone. “I’m forwarding this to everyone. This company was established in 1952 by Klára’s maternal grandfather. As soon as Klára’s mother married Reza Alikhani, her father gave the business to them.”
“What kind of business?” Phillip asked.
“An extremely successful children’s toys company. They cater for the ridiculously rich in Iran. I mean, we’re talking about four-meter-high, five-meter-wide princess castles for a little girl’s bedroom. And Italian designer clothes for toddlers who will grow out of them in a few months. That kind of crazy rich-people stuff.”
“I’m on their website.” Francine rolled her eyes. “Ivan is right. These toys are stupid expensive.”
“But they supply to Tehran’s bazaar, right?” Vinnie looked from Francine to Ivan who nodded. “Hmm. You see, there are some asswipes who took advantage of the economic sanctions against Iran and became extremely rich by controlling import channels. Is there any mention of Reza being one of the bazaris?”
“Hmm.” Francine swiped her tablet screen a few times, then shook her index finger at it. “Yes, right here.”
Vinnie nodded. “The bazaris are businessmen with regime connections in government who found a way to control what comes into the country. It created economic problems with the inflation rate and crap like that. An honest few in the government have been trying to get rid of these bazaris, but it’s still ongoing.”
“Do I want to know how you know this?” Ivan smiled when Vinnie shook his head. “Thought so.”
“This is also interesting,” Francine said. “The business is in Klára’s mother’s name, but intel shows that it’s the father running it.”
“Does the mother know about Alikhani’s terrorist activities?” Manny asked.
“Oh, yes.” Francine looked at her tablet. “It says here she’s as radicalised as him, if not more. Toxic people, the lot of them.”
“Rumour is that Alikhani has been more successful than his father-in-law in using the company to import weapons and finance many terrorist activities.” Ivan’s lips tightened, the corners of his mouth turning down. “If I’d had this information earlier, it would’ve helped a lot.”
“If we’d had this last year, we might have been able to stop Shahab long before this.” Colin looked at Manny. “Why didn’t Interpol have any of this?”
“I checked.” Manny scowled. “This company was on Interpol’s radar. But there’s no mention anywhere that the company or Alikhani is connected to Shahab. Why, I don’t know.”
Ivan’s buccinator muscles pulled his mouth into a sneer. “I think my bosses and the US might’ve wanted to keep this one for themselves. I have no proof, just a feeling.” He paused. “And then there is the fact that this is a completely legal company. Their reputation for providing toys and joy to children for more than seventy years makes them an unlikely suspect in any crime.”
“Oh, dude. That’s naïve.” Vinnie crossed his arms. “That makes them the perfect suspect, because no one would suspect them.”
“True, but as it is, not one of the Western allies has found anything on that company.” Ivan looked at his smartphone for a moment, scanning down the screen. “As soon as Klára told us and the US about her dad’s company, we all investigated, but found nothing illegal. We and the US tried to infiltrate the company, but it’s not possible. It’s a family operation and they don’t employ any outsiders. They’ve managed to keep the company small despite their success.”
“Small and controllable,” Colin said.
Ivan nodded, then blinked when his phone pinged. He checked the screen and tapped it. Again he spoke in quick Czech, then ended the call. “My guys are in the elevator with Klára. Natálie Zemanová is with them.”
“How... Huh. She was the friend at the spa with Klára.” Manny got up and walked to the door.
“Bree is going to miss all of this.” Francine looked at Colin. “Ask Ty where she is.”
“Why don’t you phone her?” I asked.
“I tried.” Francine rested a hand on her hip. “She killed the call and sent me a message that she can’t talk. She’ll see us soon.”
Colin swiped the screen of his phone and sent a message. “Ty always has his phone on silent in case it rings at a bad time.”
A knock on the hotel door prevented any more discussion about Bree. Ivan had joined Manny at the door. Manny opened it, his posture alert. A man was standing in the hallway, two women behind him and another man behind them. The men’s postures, vigilance and hands hovering close to their holsters made it clear they were Ivan’s team members.
“Jiří, come in.” Ivan nodded towards us. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
The tall man walked past Ivan and held out his fist for a fist bump. Their nonverbal cues communicated the same respect and comradery I saw in Daniel’s team. Jiří nodded at us, but stopped by the kitchenette and watched the two women walking in.
Francine and Roxy both reacted when they saw Klára—their eyes wide, their mouths slightly agape. Klára was no longer the slightly overweight woman we’d seen on the photo, covered in layers of material. She was wearing light green cropped trousers, a fussy dark green sweater and ankle boots. Her hair was a rich brown with lighter streaks, cut very short. Tastefully applied makeup completed an image of a confident, successful woman. She looked far more European than Persian. Her fit shape and the way she moved made me wonder what type of sport she’d started with her new life here.
She glanced at Manny and Ivan at the door, but walked to us. Her head was held high, her shoulders back, her arms slightly away from her torso. This was not the posture of a scared woman. “Hi, I’m Klára Bittová and I would like to know why I’m here.”
The second woman followed her quietly and stopped next to her. There was no mistaking that this was Natálie Zemanová. Her hair was a bit shorter, the wide smile I’d seen on both photos replaced with concern pulling at her eyes and mouth. “I’m Natálie Zemanová.”
“She’s my friend.” Klára didn’t turn to look at Natálie, but lifted her fists to rest on her hips. “I go nowhere without her. At least nowhere if there are police involved.”
It was interesting to watch these two women. Two things occurred to me. They both spoke accentless English and they both appeared prepared for an interview with the police. I doubted they had any knowledge of Shahab’s activities in Europe and now in Prague. Looking at Natálie’s nonverbal cues, I was convinced she didn’t know her parents had been murdered.
This was not going to be an easy meeting.
Ivan spoke to his two team members and closed the door behind them. Manny walked past the women and quietly sat down next to Francine. He must have observed something in the two women not to use his usual acerbic tone or employ his vexingly indifferent body language. Ivan walked to us and gestured to the open seats on one of the sofas. “Please sit down. We’ll explain everything.”
Klára looked at Natálie, then shrugged and sat down where Ivan had indicated. Ivan sat down next to Daniel. “My name is Ivan Kemr and I’m with the Prague police. These people are a special investigative team that is helping us at the moment.”
“You aren’t from Czech.” Klára looked around the room. “Where are you from?”
Ivan introduced us, only giving our first names and not revealing our team’s work. When he finished he turned to Daniel. “The next part I will leave to Daniel. He’s always been much better at this than me.”
The immediate regret was fleeting on Daniel’s face, but I’d seen it. He shifted to the edge of the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. He inhaled to speak, but then turned to me. “Tell me when I should be wary or should stop.”
I understood his meaning. We’d discussed in detail who would speak to Klára and had decided Daniel would be most suited. I’d insisted. His astute observations and empathy made him ideal. I didn’t envy him.
He turned to Klára. “I know you’ve been used as a pawn the moment you left Iran. I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through and won’t pretend that I do. We aren’t here to use you for our own gain. We need your help. Your trust. And for that, I will give you as much information as I can.”
“Wow.” Klára tilted her head back and stared at us through narrowed eyes. “This is different from all the other times the cops spoke to me.”
“We’re not cops.” Francine’s smile was warm. She pointed at Daniel and Ivan. “Only those two are.” She raised her chin towards Manny next to her. “And he’s a little bit.”
Manny scowled, but didn’t say anything.
Klára looked at us again, her emotions flowing across her face. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her fingertips against her temples. On a deep inhale, she opened her eyes, lowered her hands and looked at me. “This is about Shahab, isn’t it?”
I blinked in surprise. Daniel was the person who connected with people. Not me. But Klára didn’t look away. Instead she raised both eyebrows, waiting for my response.
I nodded. “Yes. We are looking for Shahab.”
“Looking for him?” She deflated, her face losing colour. “Why? Isn’t he in Ira... He’s here.” Her hand flew to her throat, covering her suprasternal notch. Women often touched or covered the hollow area above the breastbone in times of great distress or fear. Or both.
“He’s been in Europe for some time,” Daniel said.
She didn’t look at him, her eyes still on me. “How long is ‘some time’?”
“A year. That we know of.” I watched her reaction and nodded to myself. I’d been correct in my initial observation. She hadn’t known Shahab was here.
She rubbed her arms twice, then pulled her shoulders back like she’d done when she’d entered our hotel floor. “He’s killed people, hasn’t he?”
“Why do you ask that?” Manny’s tone was gentle.
“I’m asking you.” She didn’t look away from me.
I sighed when Daniel sat back on the sofa and nodded to me. I didn’t want to be the one speaking to these two vulnerable, neurotypical women. I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Last year, he killed people in France. He has a specific way he does that. That is how Ivan knew he was here in Prague.”
“Do...” She took a deep breath and slowly breathed out an attempt to calm down. “Do you know if he’s here because of me?”
“Yes, we think he is.”
She gasped and shuddered when Natálie took her hand. “He won’t find you, Klára. He won’t even recognise you.”
“But does he know I’m here?” Her attempts at staying calm was failing. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths and she shrank back into the sofa. “How does he know I’m here?”
“He saw a video of you on Charles Bridge some years ago. You were still overweight and looked much the same as when you’d left Iran. You look better now.”
“Genevieve.” Francine widened her eyes in the look she always gave me when I’d said something inappropriate.
“No, she’s right.” Klára waved away Francine’s concern. “I lost twenty kilograms, cut and coloured my hair and started wearing these clothes for two reasons. The first reason was because I wanted to find my own identity. I didn’t want to be someone’s nameless wife. I didn’t want to be invisible in black garb. I want my clothes to represent who I am. An independent, intelligent, strong woman.” She huffed a self-mocking laugh. “Not that I feel like that at the moment. The second reason I changed was so I could really be Klára. So Shahab would never recognise me and force me to go back.”
“He will never take you back.” Natálie leaned forward to grab Klára’s attention. “I won’t allow it and these people won’t allow it.” She looked at me. “Right?”
I balked. When had I become the person neurotypicals trusted? Colin took my hand and lightly squeezed. I nodded. “We want to find Shahab and stop him from ever hurting anyone else again.”
“He likes it.” A tremor shook Klára’s body. “You hear so many times women tell stories about their husbands beating them and apologising, promising to never do it again. Yeah. That wasn’t Shahab. When we first got married he was kind. And quiet. He was idealistic and dreamed of being in one of the top positions in the police. He wanted to make sure the police did what they were supposed to. Protect the innocent, catch criminals and live honest lives. But when he didn’t receive a promotion and it was given to someone who had a reputation for the many bribes he received, Shahab changed. At first he didn’t speak to me at all. Then one day he started ranting about the man who’d been promoted. How he was extorting families, small business owners, anyone who crossed his path or caught his attention. Shahab said that if a man like that was promoted and Shahab overlooked even after being the perfect officer, he would show them exactly how corrupt a police officer could become.
“I made the mistake of telling him not to throw away everything he’d work for. Not to dishonour his name and our family.” She touched her cheek. “He broke my arm, my jaw and two ribs. And while he did that, I saw the sick pleasure it gave him. The more I begged, the more he enjoyed it. He never apologised. Not once.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Roxy wiped tears from her cheeks. “No woman should ever experience that kind of terror.”
Klára’s smile was cynical. “That was only the physical side of it. I grew up in a home where psychological abuse was normal. Both my mom and dad enjoyed telling me how useless I was. Wait.” She inhaled sharply and froze, her eyes wide. “Is my father here too? Is he also involved?”
“No.” I looked at Ivan, who shook his head, and looked back at Klára. “We have no indication that your father is here.”
Klára looked at Natálie, then wrapped her arms around herself in a full self-hug. “I don’t know how you think I can help you find Shahab. I didn’t even know he was here.”
“You can tell us more about his victims.” It would help to know if there were any connections between the victims other than what we’d found.
“Um, Genevieve.” Daniel moved to the edge of his seat again, his expression cautious. “Maybe I could?”
I didn’t know what he was implying, but trusted him to be much more equipped to tell these women about the people Shahab had killed. I nodded in relief.
“No.” Klára shook her head. “You’re a cop. I’ve had enough of you people. She’s telling me the truth.”
“This is not going to be an easy truth to hear, Klára.” Daniel’s tone and expression were gentle.
“Tell me.” She looked at me.
I sighed heavily and looked at Natálie. “Your parents are dead.”
“What?” Natálie jerked and moved towards Klára. Further away from me. She looked at Daniel. “What is she talking about?”
Daniel’s eyebrows pulled in and down in regret. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, Natálie, but we found your mother and father unresponsive in their bedroom this morning.”
“It’s not possible. I spoke to them this morning.” She was in full denial, shaking her head, her arms crossed tightly. “They can’t be dead.”
“I’m sorry, Natálie.” Daniel’s quiet words broke through her denial and she uttered a sound so primal in its pain, I shuddered.
“No! No!” Sobs wracked her body as she folded into herself.
Klára put her hand on Natálie’s arm, but pulled back when Natálie moved away. “Oh, Nat. I’m so sorry.”
Natálie shook her head and shifted on the sofa, putting even more distance between them. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
Klára looked at me, devastated. Her expression implored me to intervene. I had no idea what to do.
“Natálie.” Roxy got up and knelt in front of the weeping woman. “Why don’t you come with me for a moment of privacy? My room is just over there and we can close the door if you want.”
Another loud sob escaped when Natálie nodded and took Roxy’s hand. She blindly followed Roxy to her and Vinnie’s room, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Roxy led her in and turned back to us. “The hotel?”
Daniel closed his eyes, but quickly opened them and looked at Roxy. “Tell her.”
Roxy nodded and closed the bedroom door behind her. I was glad Roxy would be the one to tell Natálie about her friend Jarda’s death. She would know how to handle it.
“What about the hotel?” Klára asked me.
I didn’t know how to do this, except by being honest. “Shahab killed Jarda Zonyga.”
“Oh, no.” Klára covered her face with both hands and uttered a long, low moan. When she looked at me again, her fear had been replaced by intense sadness as well as anger. “They were best friends. I’d met Jarda. He is... was such a nice guy. Kind. Real. Oh, Nat is never going to forgive me.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” At first I didn’t see why she would need forgiveness. I thought about this from a neurotypical perspective and almost sighed. “Natálie can’t hold you responsible for the actions of another person.”
“The actions of an evil monster.” Francine put her tablet aside and waited until Klára looked at her. “I’m the one who gets all the dirty details about people for our investigations. Everything I found about Natálie tells me that she knows this is not your fault. She just needs a moment.”
“But it is my fault.” Klára pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. “If I hadn’t come here, none of these people would be dead.”
“That is true.” I ignored Francine’s angry hiss. “But if we use that argument, you should never get in a car in case there is an accident. You should also not eat any food because other people are starving. If you want to take indirect responsibility, there is a lot of guilt you can wallow in if you so choose.”
“That’s a bit harsh.” Klára rested her forehead on her knees for a moment, then looked at me again. “But you are right.” She lowered her feet to the floor and pulled her shoulders back. “So how do we stop Shahab?”
