“The village provided the compound with a share,” Mohan snapped. “Parsaa and I did your bidding to keep peace. You made assumptions, and Zahira did not want to upset you.”
And then there was Zahira’s money from other sources.
Arhaan went silent as Mohan explained that most of the compound’s funds came from foreign donors who had wanted Zahira to distribute contraceptives and healthcare in the region. Occasionally she sold supplies on the black market, but she feared getting caught and the stream of income ending. So she kept most of the drugs and supplies in storage at the compound.
Mohan and Aza did not plan to stay at the compound, and the blind man could not live alone. Parsaa guided Najwa outside so they could talk. “Are you all right here?”
The girl nodded and told Parsaa she had never felt more secure.
“Do you want to stay?” he asked, and she nodded. He mentioned that he no longer had her peshkabz, but she didn’t care and said she no longer had a need for it. She wanted to forget her past, and she asked him to do the same.
Parsaa advised that she and Arhaan could remain at the compound. “But will Arhaan listen to you? He must be civil with you, the new caretaker, and Laashekoh.”
She nodded.
Holding a shovel, Saddiq waited for his father, though Parsaa was in a hurry to return to Laashekoh and show his wife that their son was safe. He asked Mohan to find another shovel so Parsaa could help with digging two graves. The boy insisted on pulling his father aside. There was something his father needed to know, Saddiq whispered, and they could hide the problem by digging a third grave.
Stunned, Parsaa lifted his hand to interrupt. He glanced around to check that others did not overhear. “First I must ask. Do you know where Thara is?”
The boy hesitated. “All I know is that she is not coming back.”
Parsaa felt sick, not ready to hear more. “If others ask this question, you do not know where she is.” He was stern. “Do you understand?”
The boy swallowed, relieved about not having to explain or lie. “I really do not know,” Saddiq offered.
Parsaa asked about the other body, but Saddiq was cryptic. “There is no other body. Someone else at this compound needs our help. A baby girl.”
The boy led the way to one of the compound’s huts. Inside, a baby squirmed on a pile of bedding and whimpered. Saddiq picked up the child and handed her to his father. “Zahira took the baby from Leila.” His voice was firm, and he promised to explain more when his father was ready to hear. “But it is best for the child if Arhaan thinks she died tonight, too.”
Parsaa stared into the child’s eyes. There was no need for questions. “I see,” he said softly.
“I don’t think Ali knew about this child,” Saddiq said. “But she is ours now.”
The Skype call ended with a click. But the apprehension about witnessing a double-murder and learning why Michael had been killed did not vanish. The group was silent, and Cara recovered first, raising questions about what they should do next. She outlined their options for the recording of the Skype call. She urged copying the files and passing them along to authorities in Afghanistan or India. “Perhaps the US State Department can help arrange the transfer.”
Lydia stood and looked out over the front yard and the tree-lined street where Michael and Paul had once played as young boys. Then she gently shook her head.
Cara did not understand and gently pressed the woman, pointing out that Lydia had to hurry with a decision. “The call has a time stamp,” she warned. “Any delay will be questioned.”
Investigations could be abused. Authorities would pursue the matter only because of Michael’s wealth. They would compete to interrogate the Afghans and issue quick pronouncements. Lydia thought of Parsaa and the others in Afghanistan and wasn’t convinced that tracing the story to Laashekoh would result in justice. Her son’s murderer was dead. The motivations were complex.
The crime was a crisis for the foundation. A key manager had murdered a wealthy man and his wife overseas, and the deaths prompted the creation of the world’s largest foundation. Had the killer coerced others? Cara recommended the foundation conduct a thorough audit of Paul’s work and connections, checking for fraud or irregularities.
But Cara didn’t know Paul and how the foundation mattered to him more than anything else. Lydia turned to Kashif. “Did you sense that the man named Parsaa had any clue about what Paul had done?”
Kashif shook his head. “Paul’s admissions were in English. Parsaa thought of Paul as an honorable man and did not realize that Paul had kept secrets from him.”
“And what will happen to the man who killed Zahira?” she asked.
The student shrugged. “Without pressure from the funders in the West, nothing,” the student said. “And even then . . . The husband talked about his wife having affairs. One of the victims confessed to arranging murder himself. This blind man Arhaan would face no charges.” Kashif also trusted that Parsaa would search for the downed helicopter and speak with local authorities.
“The villagers are satisfied.” The student shrugged and then excused himself to return to classes on the peaceful campus in East Lansing.
The woman watched him walk down the street amid gold leaves drifting under the blue autumn sky. “So much could go wrong,” Lydia said, turning to Cara. “If the video leaves our hands, it will be leaked.”
Both women agreed that the only reason an investigation would ensue was because of Michael’s wealth. The story would become a media circus, with unwanted attention casting doubt over GlobalConnect and forever changing lives in Laashekoh. “So we agree to trust the Afghan contacts to handle this matter on their end,” Cara said. “And we cooperate if they need us as witnesses?”
Lydia didn’t want to lie. Still, there were plenty of reasons to hold back. A key foundation employee had committed a crime, but was dead. Authorities in Afghanistan had other crimes to pursue. An investigation and international publicity would destroy the village of Laashekoh. No one in the clinic had known that Lydia and Cara were recording the Skype call. Once the recording was handed over to investigators, anyone in those offices could leak the tape and track down Parsaa, Saddiq, and Arhaan.
Cara continued when Lydia did not respond. “Paul’s crimes won’t just damage the reputation of this charity. The publicity could damage philanthropy for years to come . . .”
“And so could a cover-up,” Lydia added.
The two women stared at each other, and Lydia reached for Cara’s shoulder. She would not risk ruining the foundation and Michael’s legacy. “The evil is done, and no more justice can be done from here.”
Evil must hide, Lydia thought to herself. But all that hides is not evil.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Gratitude to my agent, Alison Picard, and my editor, Dan Mayer, for steadfast encouragement and constant work; the book would not be the same without the contributions of the staff of Seventh Street Books, including Jade Zora Scibilia, Cheryl Quimba, Bruce Carle, Sheila Stewart, and Jill Maxick. This writer thrives on the camaraderie of fellow authors including the fun team at Seventh Street Books and members of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters and Crime, International Thriller Writers, National Federation of Press Women, and Military Writers Society of America, as well as enthusiastic readers including Linda White, Barb Reynolds, Irene Vanh, Joe Malley, Dana Froetschel, Betty Froetschel, and Jennifer LeRoy.
Work at YaleGlobal Online and conversations with Nayan Chanda and Rahima Chaudhury have long sharpened my writing on globalization. The countless ideas, experiences, and love sprinkled throughout my books always start with Doug and Nick. And thank you to Afghanistan and Afghan people living everywhere. I have been entranced by the setting, its beauty and history, since 1980. The errors are mine alone, so forgive the wanderings of an imagination anchored in Michigan.
The technology for Photizonet was inspired by physicist Harald Haas and his TED Talk. Details on healthcare in the developing world ar
e from the World Health Organization. The quotations from the Koran are from the University of Michigan’s online version; the Dari words are from the Dari dictionary available at http://estragon.100megsfree5.com/dic.htm. Sissella Bok’s Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life helped with exploring the rationales for lying; Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy was useful for thinking about the connections behind charity, forgiveness, and wrongdoing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Froetschel writes for YaleGlobal Online, based at Yale University’s MacMillan Center. Her previous book, Fear of Beauty, was nominated for the 2014 Mary Higgins Clark Award through Mystery Writers of America, and it was also recognized by the National Federation of Press Women as a best book for adult readers and by Military Writers Society of America with the mystery/suspense gold star award in 2014. She lives in Michigan.
Author photo by Steve Dean
Allure of Deceit Page 27
