Girls of Yellow

by Orest Stelmach

  It was the Holy Ghost, Elise realized. She’d prayed to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and her prayers had been answered. It was the Holy Ghost who’d assumed control of her body. It was through his mystical ways that she was overpowering a man twice her size and strength, just like the man who’d lifted a car in Miss Joba’s story. This meant that if the proof God really existed, it would show that all the dead who were rising were Christian. The Christians could rise to power again!

  Air entered her lungs. Elise began to cough. Gulp after gulp, she consumed air frantically. And somewhere along the path to cardiovascular recovery, Elise regained her sense of smell and realized something very strange. The Holy Ghost smelled of musk and man. Not only that, he had hands, too. Big, hairy hands with a vise grip …

  Elise saw the second set of hands beneath hers were real and realized that another human being had pinned Darby to the floor. A ferocious glint shone in this man’s eyes as he gnashed his teeth and strangled Darby. Elise’s prayer had been answered in the form of assistance, she realized, not divine intervention.

  She didn’t release her grip from Darby’s neck until long after he was dead.

  Neither did Ali.

  CHAPTER 37

  Ali lay exhausted on the floor beside the dead man, his right leg stinging from the cut he’d suffered when he’d snuck into the house by breaking a window. Elise lay on the floor beside him, back propped up by her hands, lungs still heaving.

  “How did you get in?” she said.

  “Bedroom window. Ground level. I assume you know this man.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “GPS unit.”

  “Impossible,” Elise said. She gathered the bottom of her ibaya and found the tracking unit that had been sewn into its lining. “This thing? I crushed it with my shoe. There’s no way it’s working. No way.”

  “Not that one. I used a back-up just in case the first one malfunctioned.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In your right shoe. The one you used to crush the primary unit. The boys in tech imbedded it in the heel. You’d have to be looking for it to see a trace of the incision.”

  Elise glanced at her shoe and then back at Ali. “Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

  “I was afraid I’d shoot you.”

  “Then why didn’t you hit him over the head with your gun?”

  Ali considered her question. It was a good one because she was right. He should have used the safest form of lethal force. And yet, instead of hammering the killer with his weapon, Ali had chosen to use his hands.

  “Rage,” Ali said. “I wasn’t entirely in control of my faculties.” He staggered to his feet and offered his hand to Elise. “Come. I’ll show you.”

  Elise took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She followed him down the corridor to a room on the far right.

  “Careful of the broken glass,” Ali said.

  Ali stepped aside, let Elise enter the room first, and followed her in.

  The room had an aromatic smell to it—woody, earthy and fruity. A dresser had been transformed into a shrine for the killer’s victims. Pictures of each dead girl hung on the mirror. Christian crosses, icons and small jars of oils rested on top of the bureau.

  “Why did he cover their bodies in oil?” Ali said.

  “It was an ancient custom. To seal in the goodness and prevent dangerous spirits and demons from entering.”

  “Sounds tribal.”

  Elise ignored his comment and the shards of glass, and marched right up to the mirror to study the victims’ photos.

  “I don’t see her,” she said. “I don’t see Valerie.”

  Ali mumbled obscenities under his breath. “There was another murder tonight.”

  Elise blanched. That was consistent with Darby’s statement that the sanctity of Valerie’s soul was in God’s hands.

  “Where?” she said.

  “The body was brought to Matthias.”

  “Did you see it? Did she look like me?”

  “What?”

  “Did the dead girl look like me?”

  Ali shrugged. “I didn’t look.”

  Elise screamed. “How could you not look? What kind of cop are you?”

  To his own surprise, Ali understood her anger and managed to contain his dismay even though a woman—and a Christian at that—was yelling at him.

  “I had a different agenda,” he said.

  “Take me to the crime scene. I have to see the body. I have to see it now.”

  Ali shook his head. “That’s impossible. You can’t be seen out of jail because you aren’t really out of jail. I’m here alone. Come to think of it, an anonymous informant told me about the shrine in this house and I drove out to investigate by myself.” Ali paused. “I’ll tell you what I can do. I can make some calls on our way out of here and get someone from the crime scene at Matthias to take a picture and send it to me. Assuming I can get someone to help me, you’ll see the picture before you get to the station. And while we drive, you’re going to tell me exactly who this man is and how you met him.”

  Ali made the necessary phone calls to get the picture, and then called in the killer’s murder.

  “Don’t you have to be here,” Elise said, “when the other cops get here?”

  “Nothing is more important than getting you out of here,” Ali said. “I’ll make up an excuse for leaving later. Something to do with being needed at the crime scene at Matthias. A cross-up in communication or the like—”

  Ali’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and was immediately concerned when he saw who was calling. He picked up the call.

  “What is it, Chef?” Ali said.

  “You know I don’t call unless it’s important,” Florence said.

  “I know. That’s what scares me.”

  “Well, the General was in Zaman’s office and I delivered them dinner. I was outside the office getting my tray organized before I went back to the elevator and I overheard something. Not that I was eavesdropping or anything …”

  “You’ve caught me at a bad time, Florence. What did you hear?”

  “The housekeeper … the one who worked for the man in the wheelchair? She was spotted at the airport.”

  Ali pressed the phone closer to his ear. “When?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “But the thing is,” Florence said, “I don’t think anyone’s interested in apprehending her.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I heard the General say that sometimes it’s best to let things lie. And if that’s the case, I’m not sure it’s in your best interest to go anywhere near her. But I thought you’d want to know.”

  Ali considered Florence’s warning. If Zaman and the General were letting the housekeeper leave Budapest, they had to have a reason.

  “Where was she seen at the airport?” Ali said.

  “General Aviation Terminal. Next to Terminal One. It’s for private planes. ”

  Ali was about to end the call without another word, but then remembered his last lunch with Florence. If the roles had been reversed and Florence had threatened Ali into revealing something he had preferred to keep confidential, Ali wasn’t sure he would have made the phone call tonight.

  “Florence?”

  “Yes, Major?”

  “Thank you, Florence.”

  A slight pause followed, and Ali could sense that he’d been wrong. Somehow, their friendship was far from broken.

  “I cook to serve,” Florence said.

  Ali ended the call and looked at Elise. He needed to get her out of here, and she needed to know if the dead girl at Matthias was her daughter. And yet there was an even greater urgency than either of theirs, he thought. The man in the wheelchair had been a liar and a con artist, but he’d been a tax-paying dhimmi who deserved the protection of the law. In addition to that protection, he also deserved justice in the event a crime was committed against him, and the
re was no bigger crime than the man’s own murder.

  “We have to get you to safety,” Ali said, “but we’re going to make a quick stop, first.”

  They drove to the airport. Ali parked in front of the entrance to the departure area and put his special parking permit in the windshield. Two limousines were dropping off a family and a businessman, and airport employees were assisting with their luggage.

  Ali burst through the doors and looked around inside. A spacious and plush waiting area flanked a courtesy desk. A man in a suit stood behind it smiling and helping passengers. Ali counted six people waiting to board a plane. None of them resembled a leper.

  “Who are we looking for?” Elise said, stepping up beside him.

  “You’ll know when you see her.”

  Elise’s eyes shot up when Ali implied that she knew the person.

  The waiting area extended beyond their line of vision, which was obscured by a wall to the right. The sound of an airplane idling came from the same direction, suggesting the gate itself was located in the same area.

  Ali stepped forward to see around the wall. Two huge men in suits who looked like expensive bodyguards lifted four suitcases. As they departed toward a spot further beyond Ali’s peripheral vision, something flashed in their wake.

  It was the metallic glint of a bionic hand.

  CHAPTER 38

  Elise stood transfixed by the sleek and elegant prosthetic hand, silver knuckles gleaming amidst the matte black metal hand and fingers, all in sharp contrast to the leper’s ancient hijab and the sores on her face. Elise recognized the housekeeper immediately, and her first thought was of the man in the wheelchair and his likely expression when the woman he considered a friend lifted her blade into the air to sever his head from his body.

  The housekeeper had free access to the house and the greatest opportunity to commit the murder. The only question remained her motive. Why would a woman kill a man who cared about her so much that he’d restored her sense of touch with state-of-the-art myoelectric hands that connected with her brain? What could she value more than such thoughtfulness—if not love?

  As these questions flitted in and out of Elise’s mind, she followed Ali’s eyes beyond the wall that was obscuring their vision, and saw that the fingers on the housekeeper’s other bionic hand were curled together as though gripping something. Elise took another step forward and realized that the object in the housekeeper’s hand was, in fact, another hand. The fingers were entirely human, however, supple and smaller. Elise strode further and saw that the hand belonged to a girl. As if sensing the presence of a new arrival, the girl turned and looked at Elise.

  The girl was Valerie.

  Elise stopped breathing for the second time that evening. Valerie’s eyes met Elise’s for a split second and continued onward to Ali, then darted back with recognition. Elise held the girl’s gaze, sealing her lips and reminding herself not to move or say a word because she didn’t understand the current circumstances. The same shadows hung in the corners of Valerie’s eyes, even darker than before. How easy it was to spot a child’s sadness, Elise thought.

  When Valerie turned forward again, Elise glanced at her free hand. Elise realized that it wasn’t free at all. In her other hand, Valerie held the fourth ceramic cat. The figurine’s bottom had also been cut off. Whatever had been hidden inside had been removed. This cat, too, was hollow.

  A man further ahead of Valerie and the housekeeper said something indiscernible to Elise, but his voice sounded distinctly familiar. Elise recognized him from the Persian School of Dressmaking. His name was Moncef Zaid. As she remembered her encounter with him, Elise’s thoughts turned to the man’s boss, whom he’d accompanied to visit Miss Mona’s classroom.

  Imam Salim emerged from beyond a wall. The housekeeper followed the bodyguards toward him, black metal fingers engulfing Valerie’s petite hand. The radical cleric said something and they all stopped to listen. Elise couldn’t make out the words but the mere sound of the man’s voice commanded attention. It sounded more like music than human speech.

  As his entourage listened and Elise watched, Valerie turned around and glanced at Elise one more time. The fourteen year-old elevated her chin and looked Elise straight in the eyes. Gone were the shadows Elise had detected previously. In their place she saw strength and composure, and a commitment to persevere no matter what awaited her beyond the departures gate.

  They all left the lounge and boarded the airplane. Elise stood still, paralyzed with joy and frustration.

  And just like that, the plane took off down the runway, and Valerie was gone.

  CHAPTER 39

  As the scene gradually unfolded at the airport, the bionic leper went from person of interest, to prime suspect, to being the killer with ninety-nine percent certainty in Ali’s mind. As the murder victim’s housekeeper, she had free access to his home, and her employer’s trust gave her more opportunity than anyone else. Her motive for murder was now clear as the night was dark. Salim had sunken his religious claws into her. He wanted the treasure that all the kingdoms were trying to buy for himself. She’d killed her boss to get it for him and prevent anyone else from ever acquiring it.

  Who knew how Salim had met the bionic leper? The man in the wheelchair dealt in all kinds of antiquities and treasures. Maybe Salim had seduced her with a religious calling for the purpose of acquiring the location of this particular treasure, or perhaps she’d joined his cult in search of contentment and proven to be more useful than he could have ever imagined. Either way, the treasure that the entire world wanted was now in Salim’s hands. That was the most likely scenario because Valerie De Jong was holding the missing cat in her hand.

  The bionic leper had probably taken the contents of the other three cats, and for some reason taken the fourth intact. Why not take all four? Ali wondered. Why not break the fourth? The bionic leper had held Valerie’s hand in an intimate manner, like an aunt or a nanny. Perhaps she’d thought the ceramic cat would make a nice gift for a girl to whom she’d taken a liking. It didn’t matter. What she did or didn’t do with the ceramic figurines was irrelevant.

  Far more relevant was Salim’s destination. If he had the location of the treasure that could benefit or discredit Islam, it was safe to assume that he was flying there to find it. Ali assumed that Elise’s sister was accompanying him because Salim had decided to graduate her early from his school and had chosen her to be his slave.

  None of these conclusions and questions superseded Ali’s outrage that the bionic leper was going to get away with murder. She needed to be brought to the station and interrogated. Ali contemplated what he’d do if the housekeeper resisted or the bodyguards engaged him. The personal risk to him was of secondary importance. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing while dhimmi’s murderer left the city.

  Ali started toward Salim’s entourage. But then Florence’s words echoed in his ears. I heard the General say that sometimes it’s best to let things lie. If the General was letting the bionic leper escape, that meant he’d weighed the cost and benefit of capturing her, and decided that letting her go was in his best personal interest. If Ali acted in a contrary way, he’d once again incur the General’s wrath, who’d be unlikely to forgive him a second time, especially so soon. And if that happened, whom could the remaining dhimmis rely on once he was fired from the police force?

  Al retreated and watched Salim and his crew depart. Then he noticed that Elise was doing the same. He murmured for her to drop her eyes but she didn’t seem to hear him. Ali had seen the two men who’d just entered the lounge, staring down the passengers and the man at the front desk with a palpable sense of moral superiority. The last thing he needed right now was a showdown with the morality police.

  Ali stepped in front of Elise and blocked her view of the window so that she had no choice but to look at him.

  “Drop your eyes,” he said.

  She spotted the two men and promptly lowered her gaze to the floor. As Ali led her to the fro
nt desk, the morality police glared at him. Ali ignored them, surprising himself yet again, because a week ago he might have given them a piece of his mind.

  He pulled out his police ID and flashed it at the man at the courtesy desk.

  “I have an urgent matter to discuss with Imam Salim,” Ali said. “Is he on that plane?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. He reached for a telephone. “I’ll call the cockpit.”

  “Out of the question,” Ali said. “This must be done in person. Can you tell me where that plane is headed?”

  “To the nuclear wasteland,” the man said. “To the country formerly known as the United States of America. There will be a great celebration at the Amerabian outpost.”

  “Why is that?” Ali said.

  “Because Imam Salim is getting married. He’s taking a fourth wife.”

  Ali remembered what Miss Mona had told him at the Persian School of Dressmaking. I’m working on a dress for Imam Salim. Something personal. It hadn’t made sense then, but it did now. She’d been working on a wedding dress, Ali realized.

  He glanced at Elise and feared she might respond poorly to this news, which could attract the attention of the morality cops, who might ask questions about her identity, the kind Ali and Elise couldn’t answer. Ali nodded toward the exit and reached out to guide her but she needed no assistance. She kept her eyes low and remained silent as though strangely contented.

  Ali wondered how Elise could be contented, given Valerie’s fate, but then he recalled her confession at the hookah bar and the truth hit him. Elise was contented because Valerie was alive, and Valerie’s life mattered more to Elise than whom the girl married. In fact, Valerie’s life mattered more to Elise than anything else in the world, including her own life.