The Abbey (3 page)

Once Hannah got off the phone, I called my boss and said I wouldn’t be in that day. She knew the situation, so she didn’t question it.

Hannah, Megan, and I had morning prayers as a family, but I wasn’t really into it. I rarely was. I called Olivia an hour later on the phone in my home office. I heard a low murmur in the background when she picked up, and I could make out the occasional clink of glass against glass as dishes banged together.

“Olivia, it’s Ash,” I said. “Sounds like you’re in a soup kitchen.”

“The Acropolis,” she said. That explained the noise. The Acropolis was a Greek diner near the County Courthouse downtown. It served pancakes as big as hubcaps and was a popular spot for lawyers and cops alike. “You had breakfast yet?”

“No, but I can’t eat there anyway,” I said. “They fry their pancakes and bacon on the same griddle. How’d things go after I left?”

Olivia grunted, or made an approximate feminine version of a grunt.

“Not as well as I had hoped,” she said. I leaned back in my heavy, oak chair. It creaked in that satisfying way only antiques can. “We took a drug dog through Robbie Cutting’s house, but we couldn’t find a damn thing.”

That was disheartening. Our drug dogs were pretty good. A guy I know on the K9 unit took one to a local high school a couple of weeks back. His dog was able to find marijuana seeds wedged in the back seat of a kid’s car. The kid had smoked the pot weeks earlier, but he still got caught. If there had been drugs at Robbie’s house, the dog would have found them.

“What are you up to now?” I asked.

“I plan to finish my hash browns if you let me,” she said. “After that, I’m going home to take a nap because I’ve been up all night. I got Rachel’s autopsy bumped to noon, so she’ll be released to your family by two or three.”

“Thank you,” I said. “My sister will appreciate that. You think this case will go anywhere?”

Olivia grunted again.

“I don’t know if it’s even a criminal homicide,” she said. “I’ll find out more and let you know.”

“Please do,” I said. “Kids don’t just die. I want to find out what happened.”

“Me, too,” said Olivia. Before hanging up, she told me to tell Rana and Nassir that she would do her best for their daughter. I told her I would.

Hannah, Megan, and I spent the rest of the day with my sister and her husband. Nearly every family from our mosque came by. It was a long day, but true to Olivia’s word, the Coroner’s office released Rachel to us by two. She was prepped and ready to be buried by four. By five, the ceremony was over and my wife and I were driving home, too shell–shocked by the whole experience to talk.

The next day was Sunday, and I was back at work. Since I was with the Prosecutor’s Office, most of my assignments were about as entertaining as watching
CSPAN
. That day was no exception. My boss asked me to babysit a pair of crack heads who were scheduled to testify against their dealer on Monday morning. My job was to keep them sober and out of jail. Unfortunately, that meant I had to watch cartoons with them for eight hours straight in a low–budget hotel by the airport. By the time my shift ended, my mind was jellified.

On my way home, I went by a sports bar and had a beer with a bourbon chaser. I probably would have had a few more if my wife wasn’t expecting me. Olivia called as I finished my drinks.

“Ash,” she said. She paused. “Are you in a bar?”

Somebody saddled up to the counter beside me and bellowed for a Budweiser.

“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m in a bar.”

Olivia paused again.

“I didn’t think Muslims could drink.”

“If God didn’t want me to drink, he wouldn’t let children die,” I said, laying a ten on the bar and motioning at it to the bartender. He nodded, and I stepped through the crowd. Technically, Olivia was right. Alcohol is forbidden for non–medicinal purposes. I figured that since I was self–medicating, though, my use was justified. Two men were smoking outside the bar’s front entrance, so I went to my car and shut the door. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d call to give you a heads up about a few things,” she said. “I haven’t got autopsy results from your niece yet, but we’re operating under the assumption that her death is a criminal homicide. I’m going to talk to some of her friends at school tomorrow, and I want you to be there. I think they’d be more willing to talk to you than to me.”

“Cause I’m a man?” I asked, unsure what she was getting at.

“Because you’re a Muslim,” she said. “And I figure most of her friends are, too.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much. Rachel was about as pious as I am, and I’m at a bar,” I said. “I doubt she has many Islamic friends, but if you still want a second body there, I can get the morning off.”

Olivia paused for a moment, presumably rethinking her invitation.

“No, I’ll still take you,” she said, finally. “How about if I swing by your place at nine?”

“That’s fine. I’ve got class at one, but that should give us time.”

Olivia agreed that we’d be done by one and hung up. I drove home. Hannah usually kisses me as soon as I walk through the door, so I told her that I had onions with lunch so she wouldn’t. I rinsed with mouthwash in the bathroom and then called Rana and Nassir from my office.

It was one day after their daughter was buried, but they were holding up well. Indianapolis doesn’t have a large Islamic community, but we’re close. Two families from the mosque had brought over dinner, and I suspected Rana and Nassir already had a freezer full of casseroles. I asked if they wanted me to come over, but they said they were fine.

My family had dusk prayers and then we ate dinner. After that, we watched Animal Planet until Megan went to bed. Since I had a class the next day, I studied for about an hour. Realistically, I needed another two hours to be fully prepared, but after my past few days, I was dead to the world. I’d have to wing it. Hannah and I went to bed at about ten.

The next morning came early when a pair of sticky hands shook me awake. I don’t know how my daughter always had sticky hands, but she somehow managed it.

“
Baba
,
Baba
!”

My eyes fluttered open to see Megan’s straight, brown hair and brown eyes. The blinds were still drawn, but it was dark enough outside that I knew it was before sunrise. I glanced at the alarm clock. A little after six. My daughter beamed at me, as if proud to wake her father up before any sane man should ever rise.

“
Ummi
made breakfast.”

“Did she?” I asked. I reached over and tickled her shoulders through her Winnie–the–Pooh pajamas. She squealed in delight and ran back to the kitchen screaming, “
Baba
’s up.
Baba
’s up.”

I swung my legs off the bed and shook my head, hoping to clear it of any residual sleep–induced fog. The house was still cool, so I threw a robe over my pajamas before making my way to the kitchen. Hannah was standing in front of the stove, a spatula in one hand and the handle of a skillet in the other. Like me, she wore a bathrobe, but unlike me, she had already showered. Her hair was matted and wet against her neck.

“Morning, dear,” I said, yawning and pouring myself a mug of coffee. Hannah had a gift with coffee, but not in a good way. The liquid I poured into my cup was so black it could probably bend spacetime like a black hole. I smelled it, trying to hide my wince and hoping it hadn’t singed my nose hair. Hannah’s black death six AM roast. If it doesn’t wake you up, you’re probably already dead.

I poured a generous serving of half–and–half into mine and sipped. I don’t know how, but my wife drank her cup straight.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I told Megan to get dressed. I didn’t know she’d wake you up.”

“That’s okay,” I said, grabbing a piece of toast from the pile beside the stove. “I’ve got a meeting this morning anyway.”

Hannah nodded and turned her attention to the stove.

“Breakfast will be done soon,” she said, scrambling what looked like half–a–dozen eggs. “Can you make sure the kid gets dressed? I’ve got a long shift today, so we have to leave by seven.”

My wife’s long shifts were ten hours in a pediatric emergency room downtown. Her long hours allowed her to spend a majority of the week at home with Megan, but I didn’t envy her.

“Sure,” I said.

I helped Megan pick out a pair of jeans and yellow T–shirt with Curious George on it while Hannah finished making breakfast. It was a nice morning. Simple, quiet; I wish we had more like it. We ate breakfast and had morning prayers together. Megan counted everything on our breakfast table while we ate, although she started over every time she got to fifteen because that was the biggest number she knew. She and Hannah were out the door at just before seven, giving me more than enough time to get dressed and watch the news.

There had been another murder the night previous, bringing the total to nineteen for the month. That was almost three times our average murder rate. The Chief of Detectives chalked it up to the heat in press conferences, but I don’t think anyone seriously believed that. At least not anyone who knew enough to form an opinion that mattered. Something else was going on, but we hadn’t figured it out yet.

I turned the news off before a perky weather girl could tell me that the hellish heat wave would continue. While I had a moment, I called my sister and brother–in–law to see if they needed anything. They didn’t, although we made plans to see each other that evening.

True to Olivia’s word, she pulled up to my house at about ten to nine. She wore a thin, beige blazer and a pair of jeans. I thought I could see the outline of a holster beneath her jacket but didn’t want to comment in case she thought I was staring at her chest. I slid onto the blue vinyl seat and pulled the door shut. It creaked and sounded as if I had shut the exterior door of an airplane.

“Morning,” I said, sinking into the vinyl and positioning my briefcase between my legs. “You have a nice weekend?”

She shrugged and put the car in gear.

“Not really,” she said. “I was hoping I could have closed this case.”

I nodded, knowing the feeling. Olivia’s car was unmarked, but the antenna array on the trunk wasn’t subtle. Everyone within eyesight knew we were in a police vehicle and adjusted his or her driving accordingly. I saw more blinker lights used in five minutes with Olivia than I would have seen in a week driving my wife’s Volkswagen.

We arrived at my niece’s school about twenty minutes later. Reportedly, it was one of the city’s best private high schools, as it should have been with thirty–thousand dollar yearly tuition. My sister said it was worth it, but I had my doubts. I suppose it didn’t matter anyway, though. Hannah and I would have to sell ourselves into slavery to afford it. That’s how it goes, though. As a public employee, I was accustomed to second or third best. The Principal met us outside. His forehead glistened, and his pink Oxford shirt stuck to his chest and arms with sweat.

“Principal Eikmeier, I’m Detective Olivia Rhodes. We spoke on the phone,” said Olivia. She gestured at me. “And this is Detective Sergeant Ash Rashid.”

I shook the Principal’s hand and immediately stuck my own back in my pocket to wipe off the sweat. I hoped he didn’t notice.

“We’re ready to go,” he said. “One of our guidance counselors made a list of Rachel’s friends. They don’t know you’re here yet, but we can round them up quickly.”

“Get everybody together,” said Olivia. “I want to address them as a group.”

Eikmeier nodded and led us in. The main hallway was wide and long with branching hallways to the left and right. Crimson lockers lined the walls and a line of glass trophy cases led to the gym in the rear of the school. Eikmeier led us to a staff–only conference room on a side hallway. The overhead lights cast an artificially blue light, and the walls were covered in motivational posters.

I pulled out a black leather chair from the conference room table and glanced at Olivia.

“I want to interview the kids individually,” she said. “I’ll take the lead, and you look scary. Tap my leg if you want to ask a question, and I’ll take a step back. That sound good to you?”

I nodded and took a quick look around the room.

“That sounds fine,” I said. “You ever interviewed kids at school before? Some of the rules are different.”

Olivia nodded and looked as if she were going to say something, but someone knocked on the door before she could. An Asian girl poked her head inside. Olivia directed her to have a seat across from us while we waited for the other students to arrive. There were ten of them. Most were girls, and none was over eighteen.

I passed around a sheet of paper and asked each student to write his or her name, address, and phone number on it. Chances were that we’d never have to call any of them into court, but we wanted to be covered. Olivia started speaking when everyone was seated.

“I’m Detective Olivia Rhodes with
IMPD
. My partner is Detective Sergeant Ash Rashid with the Prosecutor’s Office. By now, I’m sure you’ve heard about Rachel Haddad, and I know some of you are probably pretty upset. We understand that, and we’re sympathetic. Our department is doing its best to find out what happened to her, and since you were her friends, we wanted to speak to you. Just to be clear, you are not in trouble, and we’re not looking to get you into trouble. Unless you tell me you’ve got a body buried in the backyard, what you say here stays here. Okay?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Olivia continued.

“We’re going to ask each of you a series of questions while the others are in the hallway. Since you’re minors, Principal Eikmeier or your Guidance Counselor can remain in the room with us. That’s up to you. Bear in mind, though, that school officials have different priorities than we do. If you say you were involved in something that violates school policy, chances are that Detective Rashid and I won’t care, but Principal Eikmeier might. You can make your own decision. Right now, go back in the hallway, and we’ll call you individually.”

The students filed into the hallway. I turned to Olivia when they were gone.