He took a deep breath, his hands flat on the top of his head. “Do you know why they had to talk you into it? Because no judge will approve a search warrant. There’s not enough probable cause.”
“The police didn’t talk me into anything. They didn’t have to. The detectives asked and I agreed. They were actually very nice about it.”
“Of course they were nice!” he thundered. “That’s their technique. If law enforcement can’t get a judge to sign off on a search warrant, they sweet-talk someone like you into doing something that isn’t in your best interest.”
Someone like me. Stupid? Gullible?The kind of woman everyone assumed got cheated on.My temper flared. “Don’t tell me what is or isn’t in my best interest,” I snapped. “I want answers. About it all. Lizzie, the Xanax, what really caused the car accident. I can’t live with not knowing. It’s eating me up.”
“Don’t you see that this is not the way to get answers? They are looking for evidence in this house to hold against you. Don’t you get that I’m trying to do right by you?”
“Doesn’t it make sense to let them search? Once they don’t find anything suspicious, they’ll look for the real culprit.”
He blew out a breath. “Sometimes you can be very naive.”
I knew he wasn’t just talking about the police. But Nasser was wrong. I was done being lied to and taken advantage of. I might have been a gullible fool before. But that version of Amira no longer existed.
Jake called late the following afternoon while I was getting my van inspected. I’d noticed earlier that day that it was a month overdue. Ali used to take care of everything related to the cars, another chore that I’d never paid any attention to before. As annoying as the task was, handling the inspection gave me a sense of empowerment. Taking the reins, even on the most mundane tasks, made me feel less helpless.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Jake said, “but some old notebooks were found in Ali’s desk.”
“What kind of notebooks?” I envisioned pages filled with math equations even though I knew that wasn’t how accountants work.
“The kind you take notes in, with the spiral at the top.” Car horns sounded in the background. He must have called from the road. “I don’t know what they’re called.”
I got up from the sitting area, where a couple of other people were also waiting for their vehicles. “And he wrote in them?” I asked as I walked outside.
“It looks like it. Just notes that were jotted down here and there. I didn’t look at them too closely.”
“Who found the notebooks?”
He paused, clearing his throat. I sensed his discomfort. “The gentleman who, ah, now uses Ali’s office.”
Sorrow panged in my chest. A stranger had taken over Ali’s desk. His place at the firm. I shouldn’t have felt surprised or wounded by the change, but I was. “Oh.”
“Whoever initially cleaned out Ali’s desk left them in a bottom drawer,” Jake told me. “I guess they’re not technically part of Ali’s personal effects. But when I noticed they had Ali’s writing in them, I thought I should check to see if you want them. I mean, maybe you don’t—”
“I do,” I interrupted. “I do want them.” The pages might be full of inconsequential notes, but whatever he’d jotted down would be something new from Ali.
“I’m on my way home from work,” he said. “I can drop them by in a few minutes.”
“I’m not home right now.”
“I’ll leave them on your front doorstep.”
As soon as the van was ready, I drove straight home, eager to see the notebooks. There were three of them, nondescript with slightly worn gray covers. I sat at the kitchen table paging through them. I felt a pang to see the familiar writing, indiscriminate scratches that ignored the lines on the ruled paper. There were some formulas, jargon, that meant nothing to me. Short work-related to-do lists.
And then I saw it.
Lizzie. 2 p.m. Angelino’s.
I felt lightheaded. There it was.In writing. A meeting with Lizzie. I’d never heard of Angelino’s, but a quick search on my phone turned up a tucked-away Italian place by Lake Anne in Reston. A location that was just out of the way enough not to be seen by anyone we knew. I scoured the other two notebooks but found nothing else related to Lizzie.
When had they met? How long ago? I looked at the pages before and after the Lizzie notation to try to gauge when they’d gotten together at Angelino’s and why. There was no indication. I went to my laptop and pulled up the credit card records. I sorted through a year’s worth. And then the two years before that. No credit charge at Angelino’s. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything. If Ali wanted to be discreet about the meeting, he could easily have paid cash.
I went back to the notebook, to the page with Lizzie’s name on it. The name “Comstock” was scrawled across the top of the page. The notes suggested it was a client account Ali had worked on. I reached for my phone to call Jake but then hesitated. It would be easier for Jake to brush aside my questions over the phone. Maybe I’d get more answers in person.
The following morning, I showered and dressed with care, putting on slacks and a blazer, a uniform that made me feel more confident. Going to Ali’s office, knowing he wasn’t there and never would be again,wasn’t easy. I’d only visited the firm a handful of times over the years, because holiday parties and other work events were usually held off-site. Once I pulled up to the building, I sat in my car for a few minutes staring at the place where Ali had spent so much time.
It was no surprise that I didn’t recognize the young woman in reception once I entered Ali’s firm, and she obviously had no idea who I was.
