a Muslim operative, it jumps to 44 percent.
Al-Kazaz shook his head. “Ahmed was killed in the Times Square bombings yesterday.”
I didn’t have to fake my surprise. “How do you know?” I asked.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I have to be honest with you, Dr. Reinhart. I’m not privy to what Ahmed really did for a living. I have my suspicions, but it wasn’t my place to ask,” said Al-Kazaz. “Ahmed told me he was an insurance executive when he hired me years ago, although I haven’t known many insurance executives who wanted to exchange a text every day in order to confirm they’re still alive.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“It was an unusual arrangement, and it’s what ultimately led me to you,” said Al-Kazaz. “Every day, precisely at noon, I sent Ahmed a one-word text. If he responded in a certain way, I knew it was him and that he was alive.”
“May I ask what the one word was?”
“It was actually a name. Gary.”
“Gary?”
“Yes. And every day for the last three years, without fail, Ahmed texted back the same response within sixty seconds.”
“Cooper,” I said. It was pure reflex. Ahmed loved westerns. His favorite movie was High Noon. He used to talk my ear off over pints of Guinness about how cool Gary Cooper was.
Al-Kazaz nodded. “Only yesterday, there was no Cooper,” he said. “I immediately had a bad feeling given what happened in Times Square. I called a friend of mine with the police. Ahmed’s wallet had been found on one of the bodies.”
“I’m confused,” I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “Was my name in his wallet or something?”
I knew that wasn’t a possibility, but the dots still weren’t connected. How did this attorney get to me via Ahmed?
“I had one other responsibility besides texting Ahmed every day at noon,” said Al-Kazaz. “He gave me your name and your address. If he were to die, I was immediately supposed to come see you.”
“Why?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket. “To give you this,” he said.
CHAPTER 14
“WHAT IS that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Al-Kazaz, holding up the envelope. “I don’t think I’m ever supposed to know. But you are.”
He leaned over the coffee table, handing it to me. It was your typical number 10 white envelope. No writing on either side. Sealed.
“How long did you say you’ve been holding on to this?” I asked.
“A total of three years, although Ahmed asked for it back a few times. I figured it was to make some changes. Updates, perhaps. He’d always return a new envelope to me within a day or two.”
“Do you remember the last time Ahmed asked for it back?”
Al-Kazaz thought for a second. “Maybe six weeks ago?”
“And he never told you what was inside?” I asked. “Not even a hint?”
“No, nothing,” he said. “I was curious, of course, but there was also a part of me that wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Do you know what I mean?”
“Sure, I understand,” I said. “You’re an attorney. What you don’t know can’t be used against you, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Ahmed obviously trusted you, though. You were good friends?”
“Actually, no,” said Al-Kazaz. “We weren’t friends at all.”
“I suppose that makes sense. A friend might ask too many questions. Besides, sometimes it’s easier to trust a stranger.”
“You might be right.”
“Still, it’s not like you two didn’t have anything in common,” I said. “Saudis with British accents? I can’t imagine that’s a coincidence.”
“How did you know I was Saudi?”
“I’m assuming based on your last name.”
“Huh,” said Al-Kazaz. He looked impressed. “Most Americans wouldn’t have a clue.”
“Most Americans have never traveled outside the United States,” I said. Something like half, in fact. Accordingly, most don’t know the definition of xenophobia.
“Is that where you first met Ahmed?” he asked. “Overseas?”
“Yes, we were both students in England. Some years ago we made plans to meet up in Saudi Arabia, but they fell through. I think Ahmed had to attend some insurance conference in Geneva,” I said. “What about you? Have you been back there recently?”
“To Saudi Arabia? No, it’s been many years.”
“Of course, who could blame you, right? Your country hasn’t exactly put out the welcome mat for Benjamins, have they?”
He gave me a blank stare.
“Oh, my goodness, do you smell that? Actually, I hope you don’t,” I said suddenly, turning to Annabelle. “I’m sorry, it seems someone is in desperate need of a diaper change.”
Al-Kazaz took his cue. “I’ve already claimed too much of your time as it is,” he said, standing.
I scooped up Annabelle and shook