The plane landed right at seven in the morning at Dubai International
Airport. Dubai is a small Arab Emirate in the United Arab Emirates.
Michael Bloom was Canadian born, raised in Toronto and loved
to travel. However, this trip was “more business than pleasure,” he
admitted to himself. He was thirty-four years old with faded
facial scar marks that proved he popped the acne that used to
cover his face. As he stood in the custom’s check-in line,
he smiled and scoped the room. He had told himself constantly
to think positively especially since he was going to start a
new life. He had been chosen to help investigate unusual murders
occurring in the city.
***
His memory drifted into the not-so-distant past. He had created “Code Unknown,” a
secret underground organization, which worked outside the boundaries of the law
to locate Canadian fugitives. He had found ways to set them up in situations
that put forth enough evidence for law enforcement to carry out legal arrests.
They had sneaked into suspects’ homes, leaving no evidence of their presence.
Some Canadian government officials had used Code Unknown to dig up dirt on fellow
political candidates. But when any member of the organization had been caught,
the officials disavowed them.
The Canadian government had dissolved the organization without a single leak
to the media. A Canadian diplomat’s son had a severe sex addiction problem.
When Michael had met him at his house to entrap him into confessing about the
kidnapping of a model, the police were listening. Banging on the walls had started
in his basement. Before Michael had rushed down, the kidnapper had shot Michael
in the leg and rushed downstairs. Then, the kidnapper had shot the model in the
face, as the police barged through the door.
Soon after, A member of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (C.S.I.S.)
had offered Michael a plane ticket, seventy-five grand in cash and a trip to
anywhere he pleased in exchange for a five-year disappearing act and a silent
mouth about any of his previous connections to Code Unknown. He had said he would
think it over, although he had known he did not have much of a choice. After
all, he had wanted to salvage his remaining dignity.
On the way home from work, he had been pondering the thought of taking his wife
to the Caribbean. In his mind’s eye, he had been able to see the clear
blue water and the calm ocean. But when he had arrived home, he had received
a call that had changed his life. It was the hospital informing him of his wife’s
death. The fugitive bank robber had shot her in the face when she glanced at
him as she made her monthly transaction. It had happened at the ATM machine outside
the bank. Two women had gotten killed in one day – both women he should
have saved, he told himself. A second coincidence of a dead woman was too much
to bear. He was red with anger. His family doctor had tried to break the news
as gently as he possibly could in a situation such as this. Dr. Mike had known
Michael ever since the time he practiced family medicine and Michael poured out
his job frustrations. Dr. Mike had known about Code Unknown, but even though
he had trusted him, Michael could not have told him everything. He had told the
Doc how nerve wracking it was to try and catch a fugitive, but that he loved
his job and it was worth it.
He had remembered identifying Julie’s lifeless corpse that was as white
as snow. That is what had convinced him to call C.S.I.S and take them up on their
offer. To him, a place without memories was a good place.
***
As he approached the Customs desk, the Arab man looked up at him and with a thick
accent said, “American?”
“
Canadian,” said Michael.
“
Business?” asked the Customs agent.
Before Michael could respond, two men dressed in traditional dress approached
the agent and said something in Arabic. The agent nodded and stamped the passport.
As they headed out the door, Michael examined their dress carefully. He’d
never seen a person dress like that before. It was a long dress with no designs
that covered the neck all the way down to the ankles. Their slippers were rugged
looking. They both wore a head cover, with the white cotton material draping
down their shoulders. The head cover was held together by a tightly woven black
cotton loop. Michael stared at it and thought how handy that would be as a useful
weapon in a fight. It could be used as a whip. Little did he know that it sometimes
was used in fights. Michael had to have the ability to make use of what he had
around him to survive in Code Unknown. Abdullah Mohammed, one of the men, noticed
his curiosity.
“
You’re wondering why it looks like a dress,” he said as if psychically
reading Michael’s mind.
“
Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
“
Don’t worry. It’s called a Dish-Dasha,” interrupted Abdullah. “It
keeps my body cool from our very hot weather. The head covering is Egal. We can
wear these when we’re undercover.”
Michael smiled and nodded. Abdullah did the same to Michael. The silent partner
doubled over with laughter at the silly foreigner. Abdullah threw him a warning
look. The mute stopped laughing.
“
My brother doesn’t know when he’s being rude sometimes.”
Michael nodded, emotionless, as if he did not care either way. His eyes searched
the sky as if inquiring to the source of the scorching heat. He scanned around
him and noticed the wave of gases in the distance reflecting off the road. The
sweat dripped off his face and he wiped it off with his hand.
“
Maybe I should have worn a Dish-Dasha.”
Abdullah grinned at the thought of a Westerner taking on their ways. Michael
grinned back.
The shiny silver Mercedes Benz pulled out of the parking and made its way out
of the airport. Michael looked out the window as they zoomed past buildings as
tall as skyscrapers, green trees and flowers. Passing a strip mall, he rolled
down the window and caught some Russians talking and an Indian father and mother
calling their kids out of a toy store. Michael saw some British and American
families window shopping. It was obvious that the country depended on tourism
for a profitable economy -- other than oil, of course.
“
Dubai is literally almost crime free,” explained Abdullah. “Most
crimes are theft, embezzlement and fraud. We have never dealt with serial killers
before. That’s what this looks like,” continued the detective as
he pointed to the body lying on the morgue examination table. As they passed
the other female victims the coroner had been showing them, Michael stopped to
examine a female victim from different angles. The morgue was full of bodies
on sliding beds and various tables with neatly organized slicers and shiny metal
autopsy equipment. While he stepped around the dead body, Michael was careful
to avoid touching it just to avoid tainting the little evidence available.
There were stab wounds on the female victim’s torso. The Coroner, who gestured
to Michael to take a closer look, pried her mouth open.
“
She’s the only one to have her tongue cut out. We’ve never seen anything
like it.”
“
Jesus Christ,” shuddered Michael. “She tried to scream. All the others
were taken by surprise. Where were the victims found?”
“
Abandoned houses, alleyways, behind restaurants…different places. Night
and daytime,” explained Abdullah. Abdullah turned to his silent partner
in shock. Michael noticed.
“
What’s the matter?”
“
She also has a cross engraved on her back by with a knife,” Abdullah emphasized. “Just
like the rest of the victims.”
The Coroner turned her over and revealed the big scar.
“
He’s a Christian extremist,” explained Michael.
Michael had helped capture members of the Aryan Nation and other white supremacist
groups and knew their killing styles well. That was the past. Little did he know
that it would come in handy in another time and another place.
“
What religion were the victims?”
Abdullah understood what he was implying.
“
He hates Jews and Muslims,” said Abdullah. Abdullah pondered the possible
reason for the murders. The killer chose two religions of which its descendants
were cousins. Was the killer attempting to single handedly ethnically cleanse
the followers of these religions?
Michael paced around the room looking at the victims intensely as if the dead
would rise and speak to tell him their story. Where should we start the investigation?,
Michael thought.
“
You have a large Russian immigrant population here, don’t you?”
“
Yes, but we have Americans and others as well,” Abdullah said.
“
You told me earlier in the car that she was found at an area that houses a large
foreign community. Were you referring to the Russians?”
“
Yes. We use the term foreigners to group Western immigrants.”
“
Good. I suggest you start your investigation there first,” advised Michael.
“
We think it’s all the same guy,” Abdullah said.
“
You’re assuming that because of the same age range of women, right? Okay,
I’ll give you that, but how do you know it’s a guy?” said Michael.
“
A woman doesn’t have that much power, Mr. Bloom,” Abdullah assured
him.
“
All you will need is a well-planned crime and a murder weapon. The power of people
is sometimes given too much credit. A smart woman could do it,” said Michael. “In
my line of business everybody is considered a suspect until they are proven otherwise.”
Michael started for the door when Abdullah called out. “It’s too
late. We have a suspect in custody. He’s admitted to committing these murders.”
“
So, what do you need me for?”
“
We think he’s lying.”
“
How do you know for sure?”
“
He’s Muslim.”
The sign read: “Dubai Police Station.” It looked too newly renovated
to be considered a good building that had just withstood the ravages of time.
It was a large red brick building structure with adjacent buildings, all having
signs hung up in Arabic. Examining the writing, Michael logically assumed that
each sign just named the different departments within the station. The three
men entered through a door where a guard frisked Michael for any weapons. They
continued on their way to the prisoner’s cage.
“
Why Dubai?”
“You don’t pay taxes. If something is three Dirhams, it’s three
Dirhams, not four.”
“We checked your Criminal Justice degree at the University of Toronto and
Toronto Police. Why would you leave your job as a detective and come here?”
“
I’m not here to talk about me. You checked my credentials with Toronto
Police. That’s all you need to know,” Michael assured him. His forehead
wrinkled making him appear ten years older than he already looked. He had lied
to the Emiratis when he phoned overseas to offer his services to them. Of course,
Canadian Intelligence had set up his records making it look like he worked for
the Toronto Police Department. Anything to get rid of him.
The jailee approached the cage with an escort who took him into another cage
and locked the door as he stood outside. He was tall, ethnic looking with a five
o’clock shadow. The man limped as he walked towards the awaiting detectives.
His face cringed with each step. His entire being spoke in extreme agony. He
stared at Michael and back at Abdullah as if to ask him, “Who the heck
is this guy?”
“
What do you want from me?” he asked in an accent that seemed to be either
Indian or Pakistani.
“Zeeshan, this is Mr. Michael Bloom. He has a few questions to ask you,” said
Abdullah.
“I have answered all your questions. Why hasn’t my wife come to visit
me? Or maybe you just did not let her in.”
The man was sweating so he raised his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face,
revealing the red bruises on his upper torso around his sides and out of view.
“Mr. Zeeshan?”
“Zeeshan is fine.”
“Okay, Zeeshan. How did you commit the killings?” said Michael.
“I stabbed them with a knife. They deserved to suffer,” said Zeeshan.
“So, you just stabbed them and left them for dead. Did you do anything
else to them?”
Zeeshan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he trudged towards the bars to
get closer to Michael. He pierced Michael’s eyes with his while his mind
worked overtime trying to read Michael’s thoughts. Why would he ask me
if I did anything else to the women?
“
No,” Zeeshan blurted.
Michael scrutinized Zeeshan’s features for clues. “If you don’t
tell me what really happened…do you want to see your wife and kids again?”
“
They’ll be better off when I’m dead. You should see the neighborhood
we live in.”
Better off when he’s dead? Michael nodded in frustration. It’s hopeless
to question the man, he thought. His experience in catching fugitives proved
their mannerisms during questioning always gave them away. But this was a lying
victim of something. He could not put his finger on it. It was almost as if the
man wanted to die.
“
Thank you for your time, Zeeshan.”
As the trio was about to head out, Michael stopped in his tracks and turned to
Zeeshan.
“
Have you had any problems in there? Did you get into a fight?” said Michael.
“
No. This is not a big prison for that. Everybody’s here for minor offenses,” said
Zeeshan.
Michael flashed a gracious smile at Zeeshan.
The car turned into the Holiday Inn Hotel parking lot and Michael stared at Abdullah
with venom in his eyes.
“
How did he confess?” asked Michael in a cool tone.
“
We questioned him and he…”
“
Do I look like an idiot to you?” roared Michael. “I know the signs
of torture and he was tortured with a whip.”
“
We don’t torture anybody,” uttered Abdullah between gritted teeth.
“
Since you’re lying to me, I don’t know what else you aren’t
telling me. I’m off this case until you start telling me the truth.” Michael
threw his hands up in the air and reached for the door. He swung the car door
open, but his hand was grabbed short of stepping out.
“
We whip them sometimes. Little lashes to make them confess. He was playing games
with us during his confession. How did you know?”
“
The red, thick marks on his body. He doesn’t even know that one of the
victims had her tongue cut out. He’s either covering for someone or he
is lying for another reason.”
“
Like what?”
“
I don’t know. Give me the file on the victims. Let me see what I can find,” said
Michael.
“
You have had a thirteen-hour flight. Rest and we’ll talk in the morning,” said
Abdullah.
Abdullah waved as Michael headed into the hotel.
The hotel room door swung open and Michael looked around the room. There was
a well-kept bed, large TV, a mini bar, and an oak work desk with an office chair.
After that thirteen-hour flight it sounded like heaven, Michael thought. He dropped
his small luggage on the bed and spread the victims’ files next to Zeeshan’s
file. He reached for a beer and sipped on it while he scanned the files for any
clues.
A few hours had passed. There were empty beer cans lying on the carpet. Michael
rose from the bed but lost his sense of equilibrium and plopped back down. His
head felt like a big bag of lead. He was a little tipsy. Some observations from
the files were jotted on a pad of paper. The images of Julie’s white, stiff
corpse was flashing in his mind. If he had not answered the phone, she would
not be dead. No, don’t be silly. Fate always wins in the end. But maybe
fate could change if you get there at the right moment. Tears rolled down his
eyes, but he wiped them off as if it was a sign of weakness in a man. He was
going to make his own fate and catch the murderous bastard of these young women.
The Al-Guhrair Center was a large ten-story mall with everything from fast food
joints to department stores and even housing on the last few floors. There was
a hustle and bustle from the inside to the outside of the center and vice versa.
A very popular and busy mall, thought Michael. He was starting to love this modern
country after he had heard on the news all the false stereotypical images of
what Arab countries were about.
Before he got there, all he had thought about was why was he moving to a third-world,
backwards country again? He realized now that he had surely practiced ignorance.
The Arab Detectives, Abdullah and Ali, approached the Russian teen who exited
the Hardees fast food joint. On seeing them, the teen darted to the door, but
Michael rushed up to him and leaped on him. As they stumbled over each other,
some mall patrons stopped and stared. Abdullah said something to them in Arabic.
They continued going about their business.
“
Don’t send me back to Russia. Please,” said Vladimir with his pitiful
look of appeal.
Abdullah jabbed his finger into Vladimir’s chest.
“What makes you think we’re the immigration authorities?”
“I know you are cops,” Vladimir stammered.
Michael noticed the Russian fidgeting with his eye and glancing at the two Arab
cops occasionally.
“Are you worried about something?” said Abdullah.
Vladimir stood silent.
“You found the last victim’s body behind a Russian restaurant at
three a.m. when you got off work. Right? ” Michael said.
“
Yes.”
“
Did you see anyone else there?”
“
No.” His leg twitched and he smiled – a little too much.
Michael grabbed Vladimir’s shoulders like they were old buddies.
“
You have nothing to worry about,” said Michael with a genuine smile. “We’re
not suspecting you of anything.”
Abdullah cleared his throat and mimicked Michael’s hand and smile. Michael
shot Abdullah a knowing look. He looked away fighting the urge to laugh at Abdullah.
“Did you find anything at the scene before you called the cops?” said
Abdullah.
“I have irritable bowel syndrome. I will use the bathroom,” blurted
Vladimir .
They followed him to the bathroom and waited outside. In the stall, he locked
the door and wrote on a piece of paper. “At scene. For your eyes only.” He
exited the bathroom.
“
Any more questions?”
“
Yes. The one we just asked you,” said Michael.
“
Oh, yes. I didn’t see anything unusual at the scene except a dead body – the
same thing I told the police who questioned me first.”
Vladimir shook Michael’s hand and discreetly squeezed into his hand a lighter
and a note attached to it. He looked into Michael’s eyes intently as if
to tell him, “Do not look at it now.” Michael caught on. His years
as a manager of Code Unknown had made him very sensitive to silent messages transmitted
by others. He had to be to avoid giving away any hint of knowledge of the fugitive’s
crimes. Vladimir picked his nose when unexpectedly Michael turned around to look
at him. “Jesus, I think I have to wash my hands.”
Zeeshan’s apartment was in a small, gray building with cracked and peeled
paint on the walls. Some trash bags lay on the street. Michael knocked a few
times, but no one answered.
“I’ve already talked to his wife,” said Abdullah.
“
I haven’t,” said Michael. “Off topic for a second. Doesn’t
he speak at all?”
Abdullah pointed to the mute cop. “Ali? He doesn’t speak English.”
“
My English bad. Very embarrassing to talk.”
Michael smiled. “Your English is better than my Arabic,” he encouraged
him.
Michael rubbed the lighter in his pocket as if that would have helped him examine
it psychically. After all, he thought, for some reason, he had had no problem
trusting a complete stranger with his lighter as opposed to the local cops. What
was he really so nervous about? Why was he afraid of the local cops? Michael
figured that he had to do some investigating on his own.
“I’ll interview her myself. I need you and Ali to go check on the
background of the Russian and reexamine the crime scene. See if you can find
any hair samples or any objects that could be linked to the killer.”
“We…”
“I know. You already checked. Check again,” Michael emphasized. “Before
I forget, where should I meet you when I’m done?”“Call me to
see where we are first.” Abdullah scribbled down the cell number.
“May god bless you,” said Ali. With that Ali tapped Michael on the
shoulder.
“
Thank you,” replied Michael.
The door opened and Michael showed her his temporary badge. The lady nodded and
gestured him towards the living room.
“
What’s the problem now?” she said.
“
Mrs.…?” Michael said.
“
Reema is fine.”
“
Reema. We think your husband is innocent.”
Her eyes widened with alarm. “But the Police say he admitted to doing it.”
“
Reema. During the time the murders took place, did your husband do anything out
of character?” said Michael.
“
He did start to act strangely when he came home after the murder happened. His
face was as white as snow. He looked like he saw a ghost. The next day he ran
some errands and came back home excited.”
Michael’s brain went off like a thunderbolt. His eyes shifted in different
directions, searching his experienced brain for assistance. He knew that the
clues to the murderer lay in what Zeeshan did the next day. Suddenly, his eyes
stopped shifting. He bolted up.
“
He turned himself in the next day. Right?” asked Michael. “Lived
in this house for a long time?”
“
We have a lot of debt. We can’t afford another apartment.” Reema’s
voice cracked.
Michael smiled en rapport with her. “What kind of man is your husband?
Have you ever had any physical assaults against each other?” said Michael
in the most neutral tone possible.
“
None of that. My husband would do almost anything to keep his family happy,” Reema
said.
Michael flashed a c’est tout dire smile. He was onto something. If Zeeshan
was the sacrificial type of husband she implied he was, then maybe he was being
paid off to die. Zeeshan knew the killer, but was not going to ruin his family’s
chances of happiness by revealing the killer’s identity. Michael’s
gut told him that what Reema knew that she thought was insignificant was anything
but.
“
Does your husband have a will?”
She nodded. She got up to open a drawer in the kitchen and removed a sealed envelope.
She handed it to Michael who had been sticking out his hand.
“
This is a note, not a will. The date on this is October 12th, a day after the
murders. Reema, did you see this?” said Michael, taking a long searching
look at her.
She shook her head.
“
He made me promise not to open it until he dies,” she said.
Michael pointed to a sum of 100,000 Dirhams in the note.
“
He says here that you should expect that amount upon his death. He says he didn’t
leave a will because he did not want anyone to know the source of the income
should this be found while he’s living. Are you sure your husband does
not have any money saved up?”
“
Yes. We don’t even know any people who would lend us that kind of money.
I don’t understand. He said he borrowed some money from someone, but would
not tell me who or how much. Where would he get that kind of money?”
“
I’m going to have to find that out first.”
Michael entered the waiting cab when an eighteen-year-old guy came rushing after
him.
“
Wait!”
He waved his hand frantically to get Michael’s attention.
“
You’re police is my guess,” the guy said. “You must be here
about Mr. Zeeshan Kumar.”
“
Who are you?” Michael said.
“
Zeeshan would never commit a sick crime like this,” he said.
“
You seem so sure,” Michael said.
The guy pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to Michael.
“
That’s my dad’s address and phone number. He had a fist fight with
Zeeshan a day before the last victim.”
Michael peered out of the corner of his eye at the guy. “How do you know
this?”
“
Because I was there with my dad at the bar. He owes my dad 30,000 Dirhams. You’d
probably find my dad at a bar right now. Please don’t tell him I told you.”
Michael nodded, smiled and shook his hand in appreciation for the information.
He took down the kid’s apartment number and telephone number.
He found the location of the bar very quickly. Not bad for a newcomer. Michael
approached the bartender and inquired about the teen’s father. The bartender
pointed to a stocky, bald, raggedly dressed man sitting on a stool. The father
Johnny glanced up at the approaching stranger. Michael passed the locals hanging
around eating their lunches.
“
What do you want?” Johnny barked.
“
You’re Johnny,” said Michael.
“
Depending on who’s interested,” Johnny replied.
“
You know Zeeshan…”
“
He owes me 30,000 Dirhams. Were you going to ask me anything else?”
“
Did you ever threaten him or fight with him?”
“
No.”
“
So, if I ask around this bar, no one will confirm that you were here on October
12th. Right?”
“
All right, look. The guy owes me money that he hasn’t paid yet. I just
punched him around to teach him a lesson. What goes around comes around.”
Johnny burst out laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke of his life.
Michael grinned along with him, then changed his expression. I cannot make him
talk in here, he thought. It would draw too much attention. He was not about
to start a bar brawl. He clenched his fist having already lost his patience.
“
Let’s go outside for a walk. You might feel more comfortable telling me
what happened outside. Away from the locals.”
“
All right.”
They headed towards an alley behind the bar next to a trashcan.
“
Here’s what I know.” With that, Johnny swung a punch at Michael’s
face, who blocked it, jerked him up and slammed him against a wall.
“
I don’t like people like you. I’m not going to ask you again.”
“
All right, all right. I told him that if he didn’t give me my money by
the 13th of October, I was going to tell his family that he stole the money from
me,” Johnny admitted in a voice that degenerated into a childish whimper. “It
would embarrass him in front of his wife.”
“
If I find out you’re lying to me or forgetting to tell me something, I
won’t be happy. When I’m not happy, I’ll make you deal with
Dubai Police. They won’t be as nice as I was to get you to talk.”
Johnny nodded like a scared kid would to his stern father.
***
Back on the road and unsure of where he should go next, he pondered what he knew
so far. Zeeshan had managed to somehow come up with the money to pay Johnny.
The last thing he wanted was to be embarrassed in front of his wife and kids.
His wife and kids would get a big inheritance from his death and also could afford
to pay off Johnny’s loan. Whoever offered Zeeshan the money desperately
wanted Zeeshan to take the hit for the murder of the last victim. It also could
have been a coincidence that Zeeshan came up with the money a day after the murder
happened. It was possible that he found out about the murder the next day. Maybe
a family member had done it and he had decided to take the hit since his family
would be covered financially when he’s executed. He could have money stashed
up for a rainy day.
He remembered how Julie Bloom had saved up so much money when she was alive,
but he had not found out until she died. He was always the spendthrift. They
had been regulars at restaurants, dance clubs and magic shows. He had wanted
to make her happy. She had loved to ask him about his day and had hugged him
when his day went bad.
***
He wondered whom he might have missed as suspects. If there was one thing he
had learned in Code Unknown, it was that anybody could be a suspect. He had a
lot of work to do. He thought he could go to Vladimir alone and try and convince
him to talk. Michael jumped up when his cell phone went off.
“
Did you find anything, Abdullah?”
“
Yes,” came the response. “Vladimir was caught shoplifting and received
a few lashes for it. The arresting cops threatened him with deportation to Russia.”
“
Give me his address.”
Michael drove up to a nice high-rise building. It had the country’s flag
at the lobby’s entrance. It had tinted glass windows and a black and white
exterior. He scanned the callboard at the bottom and buzzed an apartment that
was adjacent to his target. He was not going to take any chances of Vladimir
knowing Michael was showing up. If he knew, Michael was positive he would try
to escape from the back door in the building -- he might even use the freight
elevator.
“
Who’s this?” came the response from the tenant. “I’m
sorry to disturb you. My name is Mark. I’m a friend of Vladimir. He’s
waiting for me, but he must be in the shower or something. I don’t think
he heard me buzz.”
“
No problem, Mark.”
The door buzzed open and Michael entered and threw out, “Thank you.”
Michael pushed at the door while Vladimir pushed back with his bodyweight of
The door flew open and Vladimir fell on his butt.
“
Not you again,” he said. “I answered all your questions before.”
“
They threatened to deport you if you got in any trouble again, didn’t they?”
“
Nobody threatened me with anything.”
Michael searched the fridge for a bottled container containing the last victim’s
tongue.
“
You can’t do that.”
“
If you don’t let me search, they’ll deport you,” said Michael. “Believe
me, I won’t stop them.”
He rummaged through the fridge but did not find anything.
“
Okay. Just don’t send me back, please. The army will kill me. What do you
want to know?”
“
I want to know who you saw at the crime scene.”
“
I swear I didn’t see anyone.”
Michael examined any nervous body language. He was telling the truth.
“
I just found that lighter. The indigenous citizens of this country can deport
anyone they don’t like except American citizens. They can even deport the
Arabs that are not indigenous citizens. All they have to do is come up with a
reason.”
“
Like being a thief,” Michael said.
Vladimir nodded. Again, Michael searched for any nervous mannerisms.
***
On the way back to the police station, Michael realized another possibility.
How could he have missed this? What if Zeeshan saw the police at the crime scene
and asked them about what was going on? A cop could have, for the sake of conversation,
told him that there was a murdered victim found and that this wasn’t the
first one. Zeeshan could have grilled him for details tactfully. There’s
just one problem. How did he see the murders if he was at work that day? The
fact was that the murder took place in the daytime. There was only one way to
find out. He dialed Reema Kumar.
***
“
Reema. This is Michael Bloom calling about your husband.”
“
Did you catch the guy?” she pleaded from her end.
“
I will. I promise. Did your husband leave work early the day the victim’s
body was found?”
“
Yes. Why?”
“
Does he pass by that area going home every day?”
“
Yes. That’s his usual route. Why?”
“
I can’t tell you right now.”
He dialed Abdullah’s number.
“
I need you to tell Zeeshan that the cop that he spoke to on his way home from
work told us that he asked about the murders. We also know that he took out a
life insurance policy thinking that it would cover his family when he’s
executed.” Michael felt that he had no choice but to lie. This was the
only way Zeeshan would confess to being innocent.
“
I can’t do that.”
“
Oh yeah, you’re an indigenous. A local. Sure you can,” Michael insisted.
“
Pull some strings. Isn’t that how it works?”
“
Hold,” Abdullah said in an infuriated voice.
A few minutes had passed and Abdullah returns on the line.
“
He just wanted a better life for his family. He said he was told by a cop at
the scene about the victim. He said he barely read the life insurance policy.
It had too much legal jargon.”
“
Did you find out who did do it at least?”
“
No, but I am within an inch. When will you release Zeeshan?”
“
Within an inch of what? Is someone with you?”
“
No. It’s a… never mind. About Zeeshan?”
“
Tomorrow,” Abdullah assured him.
“
Meet me at Al-Guhrair.”
He could not trust anyone now, especially after the Russian had told him about
the locals’ power. He had to get Zeeshan alone for questioning before they
let him out.
Michael stepped on the gas and quickly parked at the police station parking lot.
“
He showed his badge and rushed through the doors. The guard brought Zeeshan in
handcuffs. Zeeshan stared at Michael, seeing only red
“
How will I pay off our debts now? You should have just left everything the way
it was.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“
Your wife and kids love you. I know they would rather have you alive than dead.
Don’t take your wife for granted while you’re still breathing.”
Zeeshan sighed.
“
Am I leaving now?”
“
Abdullah and Ali will come and get you out. Who told you about the victims?”
“
It was Ali. He just arrived on the scene and was telling a cop to brief him since
all he knew was that a woman’s body was found. Right after that, I asked
him about the victim. He went on to tell me that she had a cross engraved in
her back and that it is linked to the string of other murders.”
Michael gasped.
“
He’s a strange individual.”
“
Why do you say that?” said Michael.
“
He would constantly glance around as if he was waiting for somebody.”
Michael realized that there was one question he had to ask now.
“
Is Ali Muslim or Christian?”
“
That’s an Islamic name,” responded Zeeshan.
“
Don’t tell anyone that I was here.”
Michael stopped at the Etisalat Telephone Company. The receptionist pointed him
to a cubicle among all the phones ringing and office conversation going around.
Employees were walking around in a rush making copies, faxing and typing away
on their keyboards. He knocked on the cubicle.
“
These people. Abdullah Mohammed and Ali Mohammed. I need their home address.”
“
I’m sorry. I can’t give you that.”
Michael produced two hundred dollar bills.
“
When you convert these into Dirhams, it will make a nice addition to your salary.”
The Agent grinned and floated his fingers on the keyboard. He pressed, “Print” with
his finger smacking the keyboard. He smile was beatific.
Abdullah and Ali were drinking their coffee at Hardees. Abdullah glanced at his
watch.
“
Where is he?”
Michael pulled up a few villas down and parked his car behind the villa. He scanned
his surroundings. There were no signs of any witnesses. He climbed the gate and
leaped onto the front lawn. He treaded around the two-story villa and stopped
to admire the Mediterranean architecture with white paint and a flowery, neatly
trimmed lawn. He searched around for an open window and pushed his big body through
the small window. He went into the first room and looked through for any sign
of any unusual knife or anything he could find. He noticed the picture of Abdullah
holding a gun and several pictures of him wearing a police uniform. Wrong room.
He darted for Ali’s room. He picked the lock with a lock picker. He found
a bachelor’s degree encased in a gold frame and hanging from a hook on
the wall. Then he opened a drawer and found a lighter. He pulled it out and compared
it to the lighter Vladimir gave him. It was the same silver-plated lighter. He
shoved around the clothes in Ali’s closet and found a cross hanging inside
covered by his clothes. Suddenly, Abdullah and Ali entered.
“
What do you think you’re doing?!” shouted Abdullah.
Michael focused on Ali.
“
Your brother converted to Christianity. He is a Christian wacko.”
“
How dare you talk to my brother like that.”
Ali yanked Abdullah back and shoved a gun in his mouth.
“
You don’t want to do that, Ali.”
Abdullah gawked in disbelief. He mumbled something inaudible.
“
How did you know?” said Ali with an alligator grin.
“
You were a little too well informed on details for a cop who just arrived on
the scene. The lighter you dropped at the scene was your favorite one. That’s
why you bought a new one like it.”
“
Okay. You win. You don’t proof except my word.”
“
And you will, of course, recant your confession. You’re right. We have
no evidence to arrest you except one lighter. Who’d buy that idea? Right?”
Abdullah mumbled something and Ali pulled the gun out of his mouth.
“
You’re not my brother anymore.” Abdullah’s lips curled in disgust.
“
They were non-believers who follow wrong religion,” spoke Ali in strangled
tones. “Christianity came first.”
“
What about me? Am I a non-believer?”
“
I would never do anything to hurt you, brother.”
“A cop who committed murder is not an everyday occurrence here. Down at
the station we can make sure he does not change his confession,” Abdullah
said in a voice that was wooden and distant.
“You already know that I don’t do torture,” said Michael.
“
I am doing service to Christians and Muslims. All these women were hookers by
night. I had to rid Dubai of filth,” said Ali.
Michael glared at Abdullah for not checking into the women’s backgrounds.
Abdullah feigned ignorance of Michael’s glare.
“
I’m sorry. They were all secretaries and cleaning ladies at different companies.
How was I supposed to know they were prostitutes? We still would not have known
it was my brother even if we found out about their second jobs.”
“
If they had not sin and make choice to come my car, God would have protect them.
They would still be alive by now. They fail my test,” explained Ali.
“
You were testing these woman? You are not God,” said Abdullah.
On that, Michael quickly pulled out his gun and, grabbing onto it with his shirtsleeve,
fired into Abdullah’s shoulder. Abdullah let out a high-pitched moan.
“
Are you crazy?” screamed Abdullah.
Ali’s face was glazed with shock. Michael threw the gun to Ali who caught
it on impulse. Michael drew his other gun.
“
You’re under arrest for attempted murder of a law enforcement officer.”
“
You shoot him. Not me.”
“
It’s your handprints on the gun you’re holding. The same gun you
just fired,” said Michael.
Ali dropped his gun and Michael cuffed him. Michael ripped his own shirt and
helped Abdullah apply pressure on his shoulder.
Abdullah’s face was pinched tight. “I will get you for this,” Abdullah
said.
“
Sorry. You have plenty of time to get me -- partner.”
“
Partner? Great,” Abdullah responded with words laced in sarcasm. “He
won’t be tried for murder.”
“
But he’ll get the same punishment as if he did. I did my research. If he
doesn’t, you can always pull some strings with the judge. It pays to be
an indigenous local. Don’t you think so?”
“
My god. This hurts. Have you ever been shot?”
“
Not once.”
Abdullah shot Michael in the shoulder.
“
Ow!”
“
Your first time on the job with me and you get shot? We should give you extra
training -- partner,” said Abdullah with his face beaming.
“
I like you. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
Abdullah raised his cell to dial the police for back up.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sammy Montana is a script consultant/writer who assists writers in
creating authentic, 3D, non-stereotypical, and complex Middle Eastern
(Persians and Arabs), East Indian characters and Muslim Characters.
He was inspired to write this psychological thriller/murder mystery
because there are very few well-written Middle Eastern characters
in print. As a person, who has been lucky enough to accomplish his
love of traveling to live in various countries, he has experienced
these different cultures firsthand. He grew up in Toronto, Canada.
Currently, he writes from California.
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