The Silent Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #1)

by Thomas Fincham

  He took a bath, picked out his best clothes, applied perfume and left his house.

  The Masjid (Mosque) was about a half-hour drive.

  Hyder found a parking spot, grabbed his prayer cap from the glove compartment, and got out.

  He was greeted by a couple of men he had grown up with. They were wearing shalwar kameez, a traditional dress worn in Pakistan and India. The shalwar was pajama-like trousers with legs wide at the top and narrow at the ankles. The kameez was a long tunic, almost reaching below the knees, with a western-style collar.

  Even though he didn’t wear one today, Hyder always enjoyed wearing it as it was loose and comfortable. There was a reason why it was worn in hot countries, he concluded.

  He was informed that the adhan (the call for prayer) was already performed. Muezzin, the person appointed to lead and recite the adhan had performed it fifteen minutes ago, which meant the khutbah, the sermon given by the Imam prior to the Friday prayer, would begin shortly.

  Hyder hurried into the mosque, removed his shoes and found a spot on the carpeted floor not far from where the Imam would give the sermon.

  After the service concluded the masjid began to empty as worshippers said a few greetings to those they knew and then quickly departed. Unlike in Muslim countries, where Friday was a holiday, most people had to get back to their jobs and other duties as it was still a workday.

  Hyder didn’t have anywhere to be, so he stayed behind.

  There was a line of people wanting to speak to the Imam. This line consisted of people who had various problems that they wanted the Imam’s opinion on. There were also others who wanted to request prayers from the Imam. And then there were those who just wanted to extend their greetings to the Imam.

  Hyder felt lost and confused. He not only wanted to greet the Imam, he also needed his opinion and prayers.

  When his turn came the Imam saw him and smiled, “Assalamu alaikum, Hyder.” He hugged and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Wa alaikum assalam, Qazi Sahib,” Hyder replied.

  Mubarik Qazi was medium built. He had dark skin, a dark beard, and wore round glasses.

  “I didn’t see you at the last Juma’ah,” the Imam said.

  “Sorry, I’ve been a little busy,” Hyder said.

  “It’s understandable, but it is my duty to remind you that if you take one step toward Allah, Allah will take ten steps toward you.”

  Hyder had heard other similar sayings as well. If one walked toward Allah, Allah ran toward them.

  Hyder could only nod. He wished he came to the masjid regularly. As a child it was the one place where he found peace and refuge from all that was happening out in the world.

  “What can I do for you, Hyder?” the Imam asked.

  Hyder told him about the loss of his job. He also told him about the death of his professor. Hyder finished by telling him how he was helping Jessica with finding out the truth.

  The Imam listened intently and finally said, “Do you believe that your friend’s father was murdered?”

  Hyder shrugged.

  “Do you or don’t you? It’s a simple question,” the Imam continued.

  “I do,” Hyder said firmly.

  “So, let me ask you this: if you are searching for the truth, then this truth will lead to justice, yes?”

  “Yes,” Hyder answered.

  “Then you should keep going. You should find out if your friend’s father was murdered or not, and if he was, who did it. Allah wants you to do this.”

  “He does?” Hyder was confused.

  “There is a verse in the Qur’an that stipulates this. I will paraphrase: O you who believe, be upholders of justice, even though it may be against yourself, your parents, or even your kin, and whether it be against the rich or poor: for Allah is a better caretaker for both. So do not follow desires, lest you should swerve. And if you twist or avoid the evidence, then Allah is all-aware of what you do.”

  Hyder hadn’t heard his verse before. He was now glad that he had.

  The Imam continued speaking. “I can understand that you are emotionally confused right now, but don’t let it silence your search for the truth and for justice. Whatever obstacles come your way, you must push through them. You can’t let anything stop you from fulfilling your duty to your friend.”

  Hyder nodded. “Thank you, Qazi Sahib.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Hyder left the masjid feeling better.

  He was heading to his Camry when he spotted a group of men standing to the side, smoking cigarettes.

  One of them waved in his direction.

  Reluctantly, he went over to him.

  “Hyder, how are you?” the man said.

  “I’m good, Sohail,” Hyder said. “I didn’t expect to see you at the masjid.”

  “The masjid is open for everyone, even people like me.” He smiled.

  “What can I do for you?” Hyder

  “A group of us are getting together to protest what they are doing to our brothers and sisters all over the world.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘they’ ?” Hyder inquired.

  “These Kafirs (Disbelievers), you know.” “They are trying to wage a war against Islam.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes, and we must defend against them.”

  “If I’m correct, don’t you have a son out of wedlock with one of these Kafirs?”

  Sohail’s expression hardened.

  “So does that make your son half a Kafir?” Hyder challenged Sohail.

  “I’ve made mistakes in my past and that is why I am trying to follow the right path now.”

  “No, Sohail,” Hyder replied, pointing a finger. “You always knew the right path. You just never chose to follow it. You know why? Because it was too difficult for you. And I also know the masjid is helping you financially, so don’t tell me you are doing this to save Islam. And as far as helping our Muslim brothers and sisters in the world, look at the leaders of the countries they are suffering in. Afghanistan. Pakistan. Bangladesh. Libya. Egypt. Iran. It is not these so-called disbelievers who are hurting them, it is Muslims hurting Muslims.”

  With that Hyder headed to his car, leaving Sohail and his friends to their discussion.

  FORTY-SIX

  Nolan was absolutely certain that someone had staged Eric Freeland’s suicide.

  His instincts had told him so from the very beginning, but it was his mind—the muddled state it had been in because of the drinking—that kept him from looking into it.

  The signs were there from the moment he entered the scene. The bruises on the wrists, the way the stool lay perfectly next to the feet of the victim, and the half empty bottle of anti-depressants, which he later found were never prescribed to the victim in the first place. To finish off the setup, there was the suicide note, and how it clearly and concisely stated why the victim did what he did. Those who were about to commit suicide were more likely to ramble, their minds at that moment usually not thinking straight.

  This was why Nolan was now going over the suicide note in detail.

  The note had been typed, which also made it more suspicious. A suicide note was a very personal statement and one that people poured their heart and soul into. This felt very business-like in nature, like someone who wanted to complete a transaction and had provided a side note explaining it.

  Nolan wanted to investigate this further.

  As he was leaving the division, he bumped into Detective Marina Lopez.

  “I heard you were coming into the office lately,” she said. “I just didn’t believe it myself.”

  Nolan shrugged. “Yeah, you know me. I’m a workaholic.”

  “Right,” she said. “But at least now you’re no longer an alcoholic.”

  Ever since he took on the case, his drinking had gotten substantially less. Maybe Captain Ross was right in bringing him back. An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop, Nolan reminded himself.

  She smiled. “You look better than the last ti
me I saw you.”

  Lopez was strikingly beautiful. She had tanned skin, brown shoulder-length hair, and her eyes were hazel in color. In another time and another place, Nolan wouldn’t have hesitated to ask her out.

  He coughed, clearing his thoughts. “I have to go,” he said. “I’m working on a big case.”

  “Well, I hope you solve it.”

  “I will and you know why?”

  She waited for him.

  “A drunk Tom Nolan is very dangerous, but a sober Tom Nolan is downright terrifying.”

  She laughed. “I’m now afraid for the criminals in this city.”

  “You may have to light a candle for them,” he said, pumping his fist. “Tom Nolan is out to destroy them.”

  As he left, he could tell she was still laughing.

  Nolan drove straight to the university. He was hoping to find documents from Freeland’s office that he could use to authenticate the signature on the suicide note.

  He found the door to the professor’s office locked. As he was walking around the campus, he saw someone familiar. He had seen her at the scene of the crime. More specifically, she was sitting in Lopez’s car.

  Nolan approached her and introduced himself.

  Miriam Stenfield was surprised to see him. “I thought the professor’s case was closed.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Oh,” she said. “If you are looking for something from his office, you won’t find anything. We cleared it out yesterday.”

  Nolan scratched his beard.

  “His daughter and her friend had come earlier and taken all the personal items so I thought it was okay to clear it. We have another professor moving into that office today.”

  Nolan nodded, thinking. “Do you by any chance have any of Professor Freeland’s old checks?”

  Mariam adjusted her glasses. “I’m sure I can find some.”

  They went to her desk and from one of the cabinets she pulled out a folder. She searched inside and removed a piece of paper. “He had given this to me when I was raising money for the Diabetes Society. My mom is…” before she could complete her sentence Nolan grabbed it and began examining it.

  He put the check next to the suicide note and tried to see how they differed.

  “What’s that?” Miriam eyed the note.

  “It’s Freeland’s suicide statement.”

  Mariam’s eyes watered. It looked as if she would cry.

  “Don’t worry,” Nolan quickly said. “He didn’t commit suicide.”

  “Oh,” her eyes cleared up. “That’s a relief...”

  “He was murdered,” Nolan blurted, staring at the papers before him.

  Mariam burst into tears.

  Nolan immediately regretted opening his mouth.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow this check,” he said, waving it. “I’ll return it once I’m done.”

  Mariam nodded between sobs.

  Nolan quickly extracted himself from the situation.

  As he was leaving the university he now had proof that Freeland was murdered.

  The signatures on the check and the suicide note did not match.

  Someone had forged them.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Hyder called Jessica and after a few rings he was grateful that she picked up.

  “Hyder,” she started. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve been through a lot lately.”

  “I can say the same.” Jessica told him about the man who chased her in the condo building. She also mentioned that someone had broken into her apartment.

  “Oh my God!” Hyder exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What did they take?”

  “I don’t think it was a robbery,” she said. “I think someone came in looking for something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She suddenly went silent.

  “Jessica? Are you still there?” Hyder said, worried

  “Do you still have the pages from my dad’s diary?”

  “Yes, it’s in my backpack.”

  “Do you suppose they came searching for that?”

  Hyder thought about it. It sounded plausible. Suddenly he was concerned about his mom. “Do you think they’ll break into my house?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m Eric Freeland’s daughter. If he had sent it to anyone it’d most likely be me. Do you get the feeling that someone’s watching you?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Exactly!” she replied. “I am, and it could be because of the pages from the diary.”

  “But why? The pages are all gibberish. We had to come up with our own theory—one that we still don’t know if it’s true—just to make any sense of them.”

  “Maybe they don’t know that,” Jessica said. “Maybe they think the pages contain information that implicates them directly to the crime.”

  “You may be right,” he said.

  “This would make a great story for your newspaper, Hyder,” she said.

  “About that…”

  Hyder told her about his employment situation.

  When he was done, she said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, because I just told you now.” He tried to brush it off, but it still stung.

  “What if…” she started. “You were let go at the paper because it had something to do with my dad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if someone knew you were helping me and to shut you up they had you fired?”

  “You’re making it look like a conspiracy,” Hyder replied, laughing.

  “What if it is,” she said, sounding dead serious.

  Hyder stopped laughing. “I don’t know about that, but you’re sounding more like your father. He thought everything was a conspiracy.”

  “Ok, whatever,” Jessica replied. “I’m still sorry for what happened, though. So what’re your plans now?”

  “I’m going to help you find out the truth about your father. We will bring those guilty of this crime to justice.” The words of the Imam were still echoing in his head. “I’m going to go meet the remaining people on the list.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Jasmine Vicky Johnson lived in the suburbs in a house on top of the hills.

  The house was shaped like a box. It was probably influenced by some new modern look. Hyder wasn’t familiar with the architecture so he wasn’t qualified to make any comment.

  Hyder was thankful he had decided to take his Camry, or else the walk up the hill would have killed him.

  He parked the car to the side and walked up the long flight of steps.

  He was out of breath by the time he reached the front doors.

  He never understood why anyone wanted to live this high up. When he turned, he got his answer.

  The view was breathtaking. The sun had started to come down, and it had blanketed the city in orange. It was magical and beautiful.

  He could see himself spending the day just staring at the scenery. With a hot cup of chai in his hand, he would almost be in heaven.

  His bliss quickly faded when he realized that it would soon be night, which meant getting back to the city from where he was would take time. He had to conduct the interview as quickly as possible.

  He rang the doorbell and waited.

  When he didn’t get an answer, he tried again.

  Still no answer. He walked around the house and peeked through the windows. It was dark inside and looked empty.

  Hyder thought about waiting but the drive through the winding path back onto the main road would be troublesome in low light.

  He would come back and visit Jasmine Vicky Johnson tomorrow.

  When he reached his car, his cell phone rang.

  Dunny was calling.

  Hyder was confused. Why was she calling him? She had already ruined his life. What more did she want from him?<
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  He answered it.

  “Hyder?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Caroline.”

  Dunny rarely used her first name, especially with her subordinates. Maybe it was because he no longer worked for her.

  “What can I do for you?” Hyder’s voice was hard.

  “Can we meet?” Her voice was low, as if she didn’t want anyone else to listen in on their conversation.

  “I’m not sure why, though,” he replied. “You fired me. End of question.”

  “I know and I’m sorry.” Hyder was shocked. During his employment at the Daily Times he had never once heard her use that word. “If you will please meet me, I will explain everything.”

  Hyder wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. He was still angry about being let go.

  “Just hear me out, please,” she said. Hyder had also rarely heard her say that word before either. This must be important, he thought.

  “Okay, your office, tomorrow?” he asked.

  “No, tonight, by the city pier.”

  “Okay, but how will I find you?”

  “Do you know the Guildwood Yacht Club?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you there.” Before Hyder could say yes, the phone went dead.

  Hyder looked at the screen and shook his head. He was baffled by what had just happened.

  He looked up at the sky. Darkness had suddenly swallowed everything around him. He quickly got in his car and drove back to the city.

  FORTY-NINE

  The Pier, as it was known, was located east of Franklin. It was on a small body of water and was surrounded by a marina, a water treatment facility, and the beach. A boardwalk stretched from one end of the beach to the other, allowing easy access to the waterfront.

  Hyder had walked the three kilometer boardwalk many times. In fact, his house was only a ten minute drive away. During the summer he enjoyed coming down in the morning and watching the water wash up on the sand.

  He would see joggers making their early morning runs. He would meet pet owners who were out to walk their dogs. He would greet moms with strollers who wanted to get a few minutes of exercise before their hectic day started.