“You know why? I mean, don’t get me wrong; we are happy to merge our case with Raqqa. It might even be the right move, but I never thought you guys would give it away just like that,” Arya said, snapping her fingers.
“Okay, I can give you the diplomatic bullshit answer about how we are happy to share information for the betterment of the case. But….” Jimmy paused and leaned forward to whisper, “We all know that is just bullshit.” He then leaned back and said with a grin on his face, “Because I like you kiddos, I will let you in on the secret. This Raqqa case is a loser, and we have hit a dead-end here. We can’t proceed any further unless we get the suits to help us out. With what just happened two days ago, helping a missing person case would be the last thing Feds would do.”
“I guess transferring this would get this off your scorecard,” Arya asked, connecting the dots.
“Yup. When your LT called, my boss saw this as a perfect opportunity to get the case moved. In one move, he got brownie points for playing nice with you guys, and also had the loser case cleared off our dock.”
“How naïve am I! All the while, I was thinking you guys were helping us out of your goodwill,” Arya smiled broadly.
“That is also true,” Jimmy grinned from ear-to-ear, pointing at Arya.
Their lunch lasted for another fifteen minutes, and, when it ended, Arya was not sure how exactly Raqqa’s case was connected with Samir’s disappearance. But her strong gut feeling was that both of the cases were related; if you crack open one, the other one will follow.
18
Arya and Edgar’s drive back to their precinct involved lengthy conversations about both cases. It ranged from the facts they knew about Samir and Omar’s employment in Aries Financials and to outright speculations if they were both kidnapped by the same person. In the end, they could not conclude if both the cases were connected, except that both men worked for Aries Financials and disappeared under mysterious circumstances within a few months.
When Edgar brought out their similarity in descent, Arya refuted it by saying that Omar is a Saudi national, and Samir is a Pakistani. Both are Muslims, but they are from different countries. In the end, they decided to table it as a possible similarity.
Arya also pointed out the difference in reaction to Omar and Samir’s disappearance by their families. In Omar’s case, they didn’t file any report, and they basically moved back to Saudi Arabia. However, in Samir’s case, Sania was the person who filed the complaint to start the investigation.
In the end, they were confident about two things.
First, they had to find out if Samir and Omar knew each other when they worked in Aries Financials. And second, they were convinced that whatever package that was smuggled through Marisomo was the motive behind Omar’s disappearance. They had to dig deeper to find out the mystery man’s identity and what was in that package.
“I am going to hit for a cup of joe; do you need me to grab you one?” Edgar asked as they walked into the Germantown precinct.
“You read my mind, partner,” Arya beamed, as she playfully bumped him on his shoulders.
“Be careful, next you know what I would be reading,” Edgar joked, referring to the reason why Arya hadn’t settled in with anyone yet.
“You know who you sound like? My mom.” Arya made a face, expressing how ridiculous Edgar sounded.
They zigzagged each other with their smarty comebacks for another minute or so before laughing it off like they usually do. Edgar then took a detour to the cafeteria, and Arya proceeded upstairs to the squad room.
Arya waved to a couple of detectives as she walked into the squad room.
“What case you got?” one of the detectives yelled.
“Missing person, why?” Arya asked.
“You seem to be clogging the fax machine. I had to haul a whole stack of papers from there for you,” the detective complained.
“Really? How the fuck did you manage that?” Arya made a smug remark.
“Jeez. You and your mouth.”
“Got to say; learned from the best.” Arya pointed the finger at him, and they both chuckled.
As she made her way to the desk, Arya noticed a stack of papers piled up on her desk. She had requested a collection of faxes from various airlines that had flights from Philly to Los Angeles on September 10th.
Arya leaned back on her chair and rested her foot on the table as she started examining the faxes one by one. In the next ten minutes, she went over faxes sent by all the airlines – American, Delta, and United. As she examined them, her expression changed from curiosity to being baffled.
“What the heck are you reading?” Edgar asked, handing a cup of coffee to Arya.
“Proposal from my suitors,” Arya made one of her wiseass remarks.
“How much do you have to pay for them to take you?” Edgar joined in on the wiseass game.
Arya reached over and punched him on the shoulder. “Asshole.”
“Takes one to know one,” he smiled, rubbing the spot Arya landed her punch.
“From the airlines,” Arya said, raising the papers in her hand.
“PNRs?” Edgar asked. Airlines typically maintain a detailed passenger list called PNRs – Passenger Name Records. Not many people know about the extent of information that is being collected every time they fly. PNRs were not designed just to collect passenger information like their names, dates of birth, contact information, and if a passenger requested wheelchair assistance, but also information about their travel histories in the previous six months and details about the method of payment used.
“How the heck did you get that?” Edgar asked, expressing his surprise on the speed and ease by which Arya managed to get the airlines to divulge the PNRs. Typically, the airlines keep that information close to their vests. You need to obtain warrants for them to share PNRs with law enforcement.
“9/11. I said the records are needed for the investigation,” Arya whispered, leaning closer to Edgar.
“Shit. That is wrong on so many levels,” Edgar scowled.
“Come on, get over it. We are investigating a disappearance that happened on 9/11. So technically, I didn’t lie.” Arya shrugged her shoulders.
Edgar shook his head, expressing that he still couldn’t believe that Arya pulled that crap.
“Do you want to just sit there and pout or help me with this?” Arya questioned, holding the stack of PNRs in her hand.
“What did you find?” Edgar asked.
“It was not what I found; it was what I didn’t find,” Arya gave a cryptic reply. “I scoured through the PNRs of all the airlines that had a flight from Philly to Los Angeles on the evening of September 10th, and I didn’t find Samir’s name on any of them.”
“What time did his wife say his flight was?”
“7:10 in the evening. There was only one flight scheduled around that time to fly to Los Angeles, American. Samir Tariq is not listed as one of the passengers.” Arya shook her head, gesturing that was a surprise.
“Hmm…,” Edgar said thoughtfully after taking a long sip of his coffee. “Maybe we are looking at it the wrong way. What if he didn’t travel direct, and he had a stopover?”
Arya gestured to indicate Edgar had a point. “Maybe Sania got it wrong. She mentioned that Samir had a direct flight. Maybe she got it confused.”
With a renewed sense of optimism, Arya and Edgar divided the laborious work of going through the PNRs. There were 527 departures on September 10th from Philadelphia International Airport, and, out of it, close to 300 departures were in the afternoon. Based on the timeline provided by Sania, Samir was dropped off at the airport around 5:00 PM. Given that knowledge, they decided to check all flights that departed after 5:00 PM. That left them close to 165 flights to sift through to look for Samir’s name on the PNRs.
“I wish the airlines had sent you a soft copy of the PNRs. This is way too much work,” Edgar complained, as his wristwatch reminded him that it was almost 7:00 PM.
“Me to
o. Who knows? Maybe, one day, we will truly be in the twenty-first century, and all this will be disseminated into a searchable digital format.” As Arya was going through the PNRs, she started to describe an article she read on The New York Times, which talked about next-generation phones that would put the internet in everyone’s pocket.
“Yeah, right. We will have robots cleaning our houses and doing our dishes,” Edgar said sarcastically.
They both exchanged glances and started laughing at the absurdity of their discussion.
It was almost 7:30 when Edgar wrapped up his search. His face said it all; disappointment was written all over it.
Arya, without lifting her head, signaled that she had two more PNRs to go.
As Edgar waited, he started to stretch his legs to loosen up his tight hamstrings.
When Arya finished her last PNR, she slammed the desk in frustration. Edgar didn’t have to ask how the search went; it was quite obvious. They both came up empty after hours of exhausting work.
Edgar and Arya exchanged a knowing glance; the words didn’t have to be spoken out aloud. They both know what this means; Samir had lied about his flight to Los Angeles. He never left town on September 10th.
Edgar leaned forward, removing the pen from his mouth, and asked, “You know what this means,” in a manner that had ‘Didn’t I say so’ written all over his face.
“I know,” Arya heaved a deep sigh. The last thing she wanted to admit was that Edgar was right about Samir. Samir had clearly lied about his travel to Sania. Typically, when husbands do that, it means one thing – they are having an affair.
Edgar motioned his hand, like shooting a basketball, and made a sound like he swished it through a basket.
“You now owe me seats to the 76ers game when Shaq-Kobe comes to town,” Edgar grinned.
Arya’s father’s firm is one of the major sponsors to the 76ers, and that comes with many privileges. A season pass to a couple of courtside seats was one of them. Arya knew Edgar’s wife was a huge Lakers fan, as she grew up in Los Angeles as a kid, and, when their anniversary fell on June 15th, she knew the best gift she could get for them. The coveted tickets to Game 5 of NBA finals – Lakers vs. Sixers, and not just any tickets; courtside – right next to the Lakers bench. Edgar and Simone had the night of their life, as the Lakers beat the 76ers that night and won the NBA championship. They were there when the final buzzer sounded, and, in Simone’s words, the moment was surreal, and she would never forget it in her life. Edgar described the night similarly to Simone, but for very different reasons. He had the best sex of his life that night.
“I know what you are aiming with those seats,” Arya teased him.
“What can I say? I am just a married man,” he grinned.
Both of them enjoyed the back-and-forth banter, and they broke into a silly laugh.
“What next, genius,” Arya asked, bringing the conversation back to the case at hand. “This is turning out to be messier than I thought,” Arya said, alluding to her initial gut about the case when she left Sania’s house last night.
Edgar leaned back and closed his eyes like he was replaying all the known facts about the case in his mind.
“Follow the money,” he said, opening his eyes.
“What? This is not Watergate!” Arya exclaimed. The phrase ‘Follow the Money’ became popular among the public after the movie All the President’s Men released. In the film, the character Deep Throat advises Robert Redford to follow the money to crack open the Watergate break-in investigation.
“If that strategy worked for the President, it would certainly work for a cheater.” Edgar paused to certainly add for dramatization. “If you are cheating on your wife and going to run away with your mistress, you will most certainly need to have a few things hidden. And the first thing the cheaters hide is money.” Edgar raised from his chair and walked closer to Arya. “Having a mistress is not cheap; it is expensive.”
“Wow! Is this something I should bring up to Simone?” Arya joked.
Edgar rolled his eyes and signaled, “Enough with the silliness.”
Arya, getting the visible cue from Edgar, shifted her conversation back to the case. “Credit card transactions, bank statements, airline tickets, what else?”
“All his financials. From what we know, he resigned from his job three months back. How were his finances before and after leaving the job? How was he keeping up the lifestyle?” Edgar closed his eyes, thinking about the case. “You know what I don’t get? How could his wife not know that he doesn’t have a job? We now know that he lied about his job and didn’t have a high-income job like he had claimed. He had a blue-collar job, and, with that, how the hell did he manage to stay in that pricey neighborhood?”
“All good questions that we don’t have answers for yet.” Arya nodded, gesturing her approval to Edgar’s way of thinking.
“Money never lies! You either have it or not. If you do, it will always leave a trail.” Edgar nodded his head, looking into Arya’s eyes, gesturing his firm belief about his approach.
Arya nodded, signaling that she had bought into Edgar’s argument.
“Okay, let’s get going on this.” Arya started breaking down the areas they wanted to dig deep into. Bank statements, credit card transactions, airline tickets, deposits made to their checking account after he resigned, the overall state of their financials….
Their discussion came to an abrupt stop when Arya’s phone started to ring.
Arya shook her head and placed her hand on her forehead in disbelief that she forgot about her parents’ anniversary dinner.
“Hey, Mom,” Arya answered the call, still shaking her head.
“Uh-huh, can you hold for a moment.” Arya closed the mouthpiece and looked at Edgar.
“Get out of here. I will start making some calls. It will take some time to get hold of Samir’s financials.” Edgar encouraged her to leave immediately so that she can make the anniversary dinner on time.
“You sure?” she mouthed without making a sound.
“Are you kidding me. Go and be with your family. I will get a few things organized, and we can touch base tomorrow.” Edgar gestured towards the door.
“Mom, how can you think I forgot? I was just about to leave when you called.”
Hearing Arya lying to her mom prompted a smile from Edgar.
“Shut up,” Arya mouthed towards Edgar, drawing a bigger smile from Edgar.
“Mom, I am not going to be late. I will be there before anyone notices….” Arya continued to argue with her mom as she headed out for the night.
19
A few miles from the Germantown precinct, a Toyota Highlander was parked in the southeast corner of Waverly Avenue and Eaton Street. The darkness enveloped the streets and inside the SUV. The engine was shut off, and the person inside the SUV sat in complete darkness. There was no music on, nor was anyone talking in the car. It was complete silence. There was only one thing that was lit inside, and that was the eyes of the driver. The driver was a young female, must be close to her late twenties or early thirties, and was no taller than five feet and two inches. Her eyes were hazel or brown, and her sclera was as white as fresh snow on the ground. Her eyes glistened when the lights of a passing car shined briefly upon her. She might have had tears welled up.
And one more thing, she was most definitely pregnant – her belly brushed against the steering wheel. It was Sania Tariq, sitting alone grimly, and her gaze was laser-focused on the house on the opposite side of the street. The house design seemed inspired by Tudor Revival architecture, with its half-timbering brickwork, steeply pitched roof and chimneys that shoot high from the roof.
The windows in the house, which seemed to be too many to count, remained firmly closed. There was no light in the house except the foyer, where a chandelier seemed to be on. Sania shifted her gaze from the house to her wristwatch to check on the time. It was almost eight o’clock.
She knew in her gut what she was doing was a bad idea. Sh
e was warned not to come to this house, not once, but repeatedly, by a person she trusts. She knew coming here could raise some uncomfortable questions and land him in a terrible place. However, here she was, waiting a few feet away from the house with the hope of seeing him. Just like an addict who could not resist a drink, Sania could not resist the urge to come here.
It had been three days since she last saw him, and her mind started to go crazy. Did something happen to him too?
As time painfully passed by, she couldn’t wait any longer. She had a backup plan in her mind if someone other than him opens the door. Her mind battled if the plan would hold up under his wife’s suspicious eyes, but she didn’t care at this point. It was time to find out.
Sania stepped out of the vehicle and made her way gingerly towards the front door of the Tudor. She wavered for a moment as her fingers touched the ringer, but it didn’t last long. She rang the bell once and waited. When no one opened, she rang twice. The seconds passed by, and there was no response. She stepped back from the porch to check if any of the lights were turned on, and all she saw was the lonely light shining from the foyer chandelier. She hung her head in disappointment; he was definitely not home.
With disappointment all over her face, she made her way back to her vehicle. It was time for her to get back home. Maybe he would call tonight and explain the reason for his no-show for the last three days. With that faint hope, she started the SUV and drove away to her house.
* * *
As she drove away, she didn’t notice a silver-colored Honda parked about a hundred yards behind her Toyota. A man inside the car had a camera mounted with a telephoto lens, and he had just fired close to twenty shots. The photos captured Sania waiting inside the car, walking towards the house, ringing the bell, and walking back with her head hung in disappointment.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes like he was searching for an answer. He was expecting Sania to know where the man of the house was, but now he was not sure. As he thought more, he became more convinced that something happened between the night of September 10th and early hours of September 11th.
The Hunt for Truth Page 10
