I bite into the fruit, juice dribbling down my chin, while Aliah takes my plate and dishes up little piles of almonds, raisins, and hard-coated candies, then hands it back.She’s very serious about this eating business, especially as there are just the two of us present, and she’s laid out enough snacks to feed an entire elementary school.
As new case meetings go, this one is off to an auspicious start.Of course, I met my last client at a maximum-security prison where she was serving time on Death Row.Not too hard to beat that.
Aliah had found me through a friend of a friend, which was pretty good considering I don’t have many friends.I was enjoying a long-overdue hiatus that had brought me all the way to Seattle when I got her call.Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the phone.Maybe it’s the true measure of my obsession that even happy and well rested for the first time in years, I clicked answer.Or maybe it’s the full degree of my self-destructive streak that led me to say yes to her, and no to him, even though it hurt us both.
I’m not one to look back.At least, for the past twenty-four hours that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
And now I’m at a charming tea party in Arizona.
My specialty is working missing persons cold cases.I can’t tell you exactly why I take on this particular mission versus that one.Given there are hundreds of thousands of people who’vedisappeared at any given time, I might as well be throwing darts at a board.Money is not a factor—I don’t charge for my services as I’m not a trained professional, just a woman with an obsessive hobby.Geography is also a moot point—I don’t have a home, family, or real job, meaning I can go anywhere at any time.
Some people might find my lifestyle concerning.What kind of idiot dedicates herself to finding people she’s never met in cities she’s never frequented at the behest of complete strangers she’ll never see again?I’ve spent the past ten years trying to answer that question.If only I knew.
In Aliah’s case, the timeline sparked my interest.Her friend, a fellow Afghan, vanished three weeks ago.Definitely not my usual cold case terrain.In fact, not enough time had passed to motivate the police to search overly hard or alarm the husband enough to launch his own efforts.
The combination of searching for a missing refugee—exactly the kind of at-risk population that’s often overlooked—as well as possibly discovering someone still alive proved compelling enough to bring me here.That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m completely on board yet.In my line of work—okay, in my kind of hobby—it pays to be skeptical.People lie.Endangered people who live in marginalized communities often have a tendency to lie even more, with good reason.
“Look,” I attempt now, setting down my pear, sampling another one of the ridiculously good dried mulberries, “you say your friend has disappeared, but you seem to be the only one who’s worried about her.Why are you so certain she hasn’t run off with another man, taken a mental health break, whatever?Didn’t you say she’d just immigrated to the US?That’s got to be a little traumatic.”
“Of course, Sabera’s overwhelmed.In the beginning, we allare.But she has a daughter.No mother leaves her child, especially not after fighting so hard to get here.”
“What do you mean by fight?”
“There are thirty million refugees in the world.Do you know how many are actually granted placement, a chance at a fresh start?”
“Not many?”
“Barely one percent.Sabera and her husband are the lucky few, and they know it.”
I nod.“Fair enough.But fortunate or not, their stress level has gotta be real.”
“She would not leave her daughter,” Aliah insists.“Zahra is only four.She needs her mother, especially now that they’re in a new country.”
“What about Sabera’s husband?The guy who’s not even looking for her yet?”
“It’s not a love match,” Aliah confirms, her scowl returning.
“How long have they been married?”
“Four years.”
Married four years with a four-year-old kid.I can’t help but arch a brow.Aliah merely shrugs.“My understanding is that Isaad was a friend of her father’s.They had just gotten married when Kabul fell.Isaad was able to get Sabera out of the country.Her family was not so lucky.”
“What happened to them?”
“They’re dead.”
“All of them?”I can’t quite keep the shock from my voice.
Aliah gives me a look.“Sabera is a refugee,” she repeats.“Not a tourist.”
“Walk me through this,” I say at last.“When did Sabera and her family arrive in Tucson?Where are they staying?When did you last see her, that kind of thing.”
“They arrived ten weeks ago from Abu Dhabi.”
“Why Abu Dhabi?”
“After Kabul fell, they bounced from a temporary refugee camp in Islamabad to a larger one in Abu Dhabi, where they awaited official status.It’s a process.”
