“You were not staying at the hotel?” Smith prompted. “How did you meet up that evening?”
Laura told him how Minn and Parnell had already been seated at an alcove table in the Fountain Room. How they’d had a pleasant business discussion over dinner, and she and Minn had left the dining room together, collected their coats, and headed out the main door into the bad weather.
Smith nodded. “Did you see anyone lurking inside or outside the hotel? Anyone who could’ve been observing you?” he asked.
Laura had not. She’d been totally in the moment, intent on fending off the employment pitches both men were lobbing at her. She searched for any memory, but found nothing out of the ordinary. “No. Nothing that I noticed,” she said.
“Please, Dr. Nelson. Take a moment. Go around the dining room in your mind. Did you see anyone out of place?”
Laura dutifully squeezed her eyes shut. So much had happened since that Sunday night when she’d left the Four Seasons, leaving Fred Minn to trudge to his death. Her hand broken to bits, her surgical skills obliterated, challenges in her new job because some incompetent at the FDA couldn’t find critical documents, a long-ago nightmare revived… “Nothing. I’m truly sorry,” she said, opening her eyes, seeing Smith’s anxious expression; sorry she couldn’t provide even a glimmer of information.
“Okay,” he said. “But will you describe in the greatest detail possible the scene at the hotel front door as you waited for and then left in the cab?”
“Sure.” Laura concentrated hard to remember the chill of the air as the doorman signaled the cab. The burly cabbie’s pleasant demeanor. The scrunch of the tires as the cab left in the early snow of the evening. Then she remembered the noise of a vehicle engine. “There was a Jeep parked across the street that started up after my cab arrived. An older model, so I wasn’t surprised by the loud rev of the engine.”
“Did you see where that vehicle headed?” Smith asked.
“It pulled out onto the street across from the hotel, but then I jumped in the cab and thought nothing more of it.” Laura was horrified. “Do you think that Jeep hit Dr. Minn?” She’d been so close. If only she’d turned to look. If only she’d insisted the elderly scientist ride with her…
“Tire impressions are consistent with a Jeep. Unfortunately, your cab driver had just pulled in to the Four Seasons, so he got just a cursory look, but he, too, reports seeing an older model, dark-colored Jeep. What we need right now is a tire match. If he’s smart, the driver could have destroyed the tires.”
“Sorry, Detective Smith. I wish I could have been more helpful. Dr. Minn was such a gentleman and so accomplished. He told me he was looking forward to retirement, going to sail his boat, spend time with his grandchildren in New Zealand.”
“Yes,” Smith said. “Everybody liked and respected the guy. Well, thanks for your help, Dr. Nelson. I know you’re off to the airport.” Smith pushed back his chair and reached into his pocket for his business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.” He set the card on her desk. “Whoever killed Dr. Minn needs to be brought to justice.”
Laura saw the detective to her office door and stepped outside to pick up her itinerary from Dr. Minn’s longtime secretary. On seeing tears in the older woman’s eyes, she went to give her a supportive hug. “I know you miss him,” she said, “and I hope they find the person who did this to such a wonderful man.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
TUESDAY, MARCH 3
When Jake had proposed to Addie on Sunday—just two days ago—she’d seemed hesitant. And now, she was insisting they get married right away. Why the sudden change? Something to do with her father? His health was bad; she wanted to see him before he died. Understandable, but why so important that she return as a married woman? Was that an advantage? Would marriage enhance her image at home? Give her some kind of protection? Jake had no idea. Her culture and religion remained mysteries. What did make sense: marriage to him would secure her immigration status.
“So quiet, Addie. Are you okay?” he asked.
“Just thinking about all the things that have to get done,” she said. “There’s so little time. I’m worried about the legal things. I don’t understand the American way. The laws here are so different from the ones in my country. I’m a scientist, and I never had to pay attention here to business or legal matters.”
“I can worry about all that,” Jake assured her. “Once we’re married. I can handle your affairs. And that will be the day after tomorrow.”
Immediately after they’d secured the marriage license, they’d arranged to come back to the same courthouse for their ceremony. Just the two of them; the court would provide witnesses.
“American law considers women equal. Sharia law—the basic law of Islam—does not. Woman are rated as ‘half a man.’ Islamic law is just so different—in almost every way.”
Jake noticed that Addie shuddered. “Addie, are you sure you want to go to Iraq so soon? You could wait, speak to your father on the phone, maybe plan your visit for later. Your family will understand you’re newly married. Just postpone leaving for a while.”
What about Immunone? As Jake waited for her reply, he flashed back to the drug approval—was the timing still critical for him and Addie? Or now that their marriage was scheduled—
“No.” Nothing about Addie’s response seemed to leave room for negotiation. “Jake, there’s so much you don’t know about Islam. Once I get back there—”
“Sharia? Isn’t that some kind of banking thing? About charging interest?”
“Much broader, more complicated,” Addie said. “It’s a whole set of laws. I wish you’d learn more about my culture.”
Jake was too obsessed about Immunone to worry about culture right now. Scenarios kept mixing in his mind. He had to get them straight. Scenario one: Immunone is approved very soon; that would be okay. Addie could leave for Iraq on Friday, he’d have power of attorney, and could manage her affairs. She would return as soon as she settled her father’s issues. Scenario two: the Immunone approval drags on—thanks to his intervention—but now the tables had turned. They’d be married; the sooner she had her hands on the money, the better.
“Okay,” Jake said, not sure what she’d asked for. He’d zoned out. Addie’s hands were trembling, and he reached to hold one. “I will miss you terribly. How long do you think your father will need you?” He almost said, “your father will live?”
“I don’t know, Jake,” she said.
They’d arrive at Addie’s place and Jake planned to go inside so they could prepare. So much had happened. And so much had to be done. After they were married on Thursday, they would go to see a lawyer to finalize the power of attorney. She would show up at Replica, distraught, needing to travel immediately to her dying father. With a parent dying, surely they’d approve a leave of absence. Or would they give her a hard time? Only as an employee of Replica would she be eligible to collect the money from Replica’s sale of the drug. Would they be happy to have an excuse to renege on that agreement?
“Addie, I love you,” Jake said, as he led her out of the car. “I will wait forever, but please, don’t make me wait long. I need you so.”
And he did. So much so, that he’d already killed two people. As much as he wanted to tell Addie, to prove to her how much he loved her, he had to keep that secret. For now. Maybe someday, when they’d been married for many years, he’d feel comfortable telling her.
As he and Addie entered her building, Jake had an eerie feeling that something was not right. When they stepped into the elevator, he turned as the door closed, but not before he caught sight of two figures he definitely recognized. Jake felt his stomach tighten as he followed Addie to her apartment and waited as she unlocked the door.
Once they were inside, Addie rushed to him, her arms outstretched, then hesitated. “Jake, are you okay?” she asked, taking a step back.
“I just saw the two—”
The doorbell interrupted, loud and har
sh.
“Nobody ever drops by at this time,” Addie said, reaching for the doorknob. “Maybe it’s Dru.”
Dru, the Iraqi guy who insisted she leave for Iraq immediately because her father was ill. Not that he didn’t believe the story, her father was getting up in years, and Iraqi living standards weren’t that good. Made sense that life spans would be shorter there.
But her company was not Dru. When she opened the door, a familiar voice announced, “Dr. Abdul, you may remember me, Detective Booker. My partner, Detective Finley? Mind if we come in?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Those asshole detectives. Addie had told him they’d been there before asking questions about the night Karolee died. Now they find him here with the woman. “Gotcha.” But, so what? Their marriage would soon be public information. Jake started to feel his heart hammer. He reminded himself that the detectives had nothing. They were on a fishing expedition.
Jake turned to face the detectives as Addie led them into the apartment. Had they been waiting for Addie? Or could they be looking for him? Do they know about our relationship? Best to tell them outright. Claim you and Karolee had been planning an amicable divorce before she was so horribly murdered. Wouldn’t the fact that Karolee left him totally out of her will back up that scenario, that they’d been planning to end their relationship, both preparing to move on?
“Mr. Harter.” Booker extended his hand as if was selling door-to-door insurance policies.
“We meet again,” the younger, pudgier Finley said, moving across the living room. “Nice and convenient to get you both. Nobody home when we dropped by your place, Mr. Harter.”
“We have a few questions about your relationship; handy that you’re both right here,” said Booker. “Mind if we sit down?”
“Okay,” Addie mumbled.
Booker motioned for Jake and Addie to the two chairs opposite as he settled next to Finley, already seated on the overstuffed sofa.
“Dr. Abdul,” Booker began, “We know you called the Harter residence the night of Mrs. Harter’s murder. And you told us you needed information about a drug Mr. Harter is working on at the FDA?”
“By the way,” Finley broke in, “what about FDA conflict of interest regulations? I had a case once—”
“Fin, let’s not get distracted,” Booker said.
“Just wanted to make the point that if the agency doesn’t know yet what’s going on between you two, they—”
Jake glanced, alarmed by the stunned look on Addie’s face. “Please,” he said, “don’t scare my fiancée. She’s from the Middle East, where law enforcement officials at your home can mean torture, deportation, that kind of thing.”
“Fiancée?” Detective Booker’s expression did not change. “You two are engaged? As in, to be married? That kind of engaged? Not what we expected to hear. Huh, Fin?”
Finley rumpled his already rumpled hair. “This better be good. Mr. Harter, explain, please.”
And Jake did. How he and Addie had met when she’d represented Replica at the FDA. How they’d carried on a secret affair. How he had been working out a divorce with Karolee. How they’d talked about it for years. How they agreed they’d both be happier apart, but until Addie, he’d had no motivation to go through with it. How he’d told Karolee about a woman in his life. How that meant nothing to her. How he’d agreed she keep all interest in her business and her investments. “And then,” he said after a pause, “tragically, she’d died.”
“Was murdered,” Booker interjected. “But go on.”
Now that he was a widower, Jake explained, there was no reason for he and Addie not to be married. They’d applied for the license. They would be married Thursday. No ceremony. Simple affair.
“And you chose to lie to the authorities about your marital situation,” Booker stated. “Fin, you got the notes where Mr. Harter tells us that bullshit about ‘just the usual married people stuff.’ Why is it you didn’t tell us about your ‘impending’ divorce?”
They caught you in a lie. Suck it up. Say you’re sorry.
“I regret that, I truly do, but I just didn’t see the point. I was in shock for days after Karolee’s death. I wanted to protect her. Didn’t want to air our dirty laundry. She was a proud and private woman—”
“We’ll deal with all that bullshit later,” Booker said. “And you, Dr. Abdul? You never thought to mention your relationship to the dead woman’s husband?”
“I didn’t want to get either of us in trouble,” Addie said, lowering her head. “Everything Jake says is true.”
“Didn’t want to get either of you in trouble,” Finley echoed. “So you lie to the police. You think that won’t get you in trouble. You’re supposed to be a smart woman.” Finley leaned forward, shaking his head. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Baghdad, Iraq,” Addie said. Americans were not too happy with Iraq these days with suspicions of weapon of mass destruction secreted throughout the country. Jake knew it was just media hype. The UN had been over there and came up empty how many times?
“By the way, Dr. Abdul,” Booker said. “Are you an American citizen?”
“No. I have a green card.” Jake could deal with these bastards, but it killed him to see the fear in Addie’s eyes. They were scaring the shit out of her.
“You still have family in Iraq?”
“Yes. My parents and—”
“Names?”
Addie looked confused, and Finley clarified, “Your parents’ names.”
“Jamail Abdul, my father. My mother—”
“What kind of work do they do?” Finley continued.
“My father is a medical scientist and my mother stays home,” Addie said. Jake recognized the note of pride that had crept into her voice when she talked of her father.
“Yeah? What kind of a scientist?” Finley persisted.
Where was he going with this? What did it matter what Addie’s father did for a living?
“A microbiologist,” Addie said.
“Now, isn’t that interesting. You don’t know where they’re keeping that anthrax shit over there, do you? The UN’s tearing the country apart, trying to find that poison. Your old man’s in the middle of all that?” Finley shot a look at his partner. “Booker, remember that briefing we got from the CDC? You think we might have stumbled into a State Department matter?”
“No way,” Booker said. “She said her dad’s a scientist, that doesn’t make him a terrorist, Fin.”
“He’s very ill,” Addie protested.
“Doubt the State Department cares much about his health,” Finley remarked. To Addie, he said, “Give me your father’s contact information at the institution where he works—or worked if he’s too sick now. Can’t be too careful. Your country is a mess. Can’t believe the way they treat women. I just read the other day that if you’re caught in adultery, you get stoned. You get caught filching something, you get your hand chopped off. Somebody doesn’t like you, somehow you disappear.”
“Quite the speech, Fin. Now, if you’re done, let’s get back to the murder of Karolee Harter,” Booker said. “Mr. Harter, you are a person of interest in the murder of your wife, a more interesting one than before. Your affair with Dr. Abdul makes it much more interesting.”
Booker then turned his attention to Addie. Asked her again about the phone call she’d made to the Harters’ house.
“I told the truth,” she said. “I called to inquire about Immunone. I needed to know. I had never, ever called Jake’s home before.”
“Why then?” Booker asked. Jake congratulated himself for getting rid of his answering machine. “Why the night his wife was murdered?”
“At the request of a friend who was interested. I told you that before.” Addie’s mysterious friend from Iraq. Who was this guy, and why is he interfering in Addie’s life now?
Finley flipped through his notes. “Yes, Badur Hammadi. Your alleged alibi, Dr. Abdul. We’ve tried to find him. No success. No response at the Dearborn number you gave u
s. We need his work contact information. One of the reasons we came tonight.” Finley actually grinned. “Besides wanting to extend our congratulations on your engagement, of course.”
Jake remained quiet as Addie got up, walked across the room to a desk, and picked up a black address book. From it she read a phone number which she said would connect to Chase Manhattan Bank, the Cadieux Harper branch in Detroit.
“You still claim he’ll alibi you for the night of Karolee Harter’s murder?” Booker asked.
“Yes,” Addie said, sounding a bit more composed.
Composed, Jake thought, until she realized the implication. The small address book fell to the floor, and her body started shaking so violently that Jake was afraid she might be having a convulsion. With tears flooding her cheeks, she managed to whisper, “Me? You think I killed Jake’s wife?”
Jake jumped to his feet, flung his arms around Addie, and tried to ease her back into the chair. “I think you’ve terrorized her enough,” he said, turning to face the two detectives, still sitting on the sofa.
“Maybe so,” said Booker. “Dr. Abdul, would you give us some privacy, please, so we can talk to Mr. Harter—your fiancé—alone? We’ll let ourselves out when we’re finished. Perhaps we’ll speak to you again. A lot depends on finding this Hammadi, and on what he has to say about your whereabouts the night of the murder.”
Addie leaned against Jake as he helped her out of the chair and into the bedroom, waiting as she settled on the bed. “Don’t worry, Addie,” he promised. “This is just routine police work. Please, don’t worry.” A flicker of reassurance seemed to cross her tearful face. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then returned to the two detectives in Addie’s living room.
The interrogation that followed lasted two hours. A minute-by-minute accounting of his time on Wednesday, February 19th, the night Karolee met her fate. And then a repeat. And then a third round. Had he fucked up? He didn’t think so. The timeline held. He’d rehearsed it so many times. How he’d left the FDA, how his car broke down, found out it was a broken belt; all corroborated by the Good Samaritan, Frank Barker, whom the detectives obviously had interviewed. Jake’s time at the garage was well documented. There could be no doubt he did not kill his wife. Funny, Jake thought, even I’m beginning to believe I couldn’t have done it.
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