“I’m sure you are aware that I can’t talk about clients,” he said carefully. “That’s confidential.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m just askingwhenAli would have worked on that account. I don’t want to know anything about the account itself.” When he was silent, I added, “Please, Jake. This is very important to me.”
He relented. “Comstock is a relatively new client. Ali started working with them about two years ago.”
“I see.” That meant Ali had met with Lizzie sometime in the past two years. My phone buzzed. It was Nasser.
“The police want to see you. They have some pictures to show you.”
“When?” I asked.
“Can you do it now?”
Nasser was waiting for me when I arrived at police headquarters.
“What are the pictures of?” I asked as we walked into the newish building composed of sharp angles and reflective windows.
“I’m not sure.” He emptied his pockets, preparing to go through security. “All I know is they’re retracing Ali’s final interactions on the day he died and they have some questions for you.”
We’d agreed to meet at the police station because it was close to Nasser’s office and he had a packed schedule. “You didn’t have to come with me,” I told him after we got through security. “I know you’re busy.”
“They said it wouldn’t take long.” He pushed the elevator button for the sixth floor.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I tapped my foot, my nerves getting the better of me. “Especially since they might consider me a suspect.”
“I’m relieved you understand that we need to be careful. The last time I left you alone with the police, you gave them carte blanche to search your entire house.”
“It was my decision to make, and I still think it was the right way to go.” It was about time that I started making big decisions beyond purchasing a refrigerator. Looking back, I could see clearly how I’d automatically allowed Ali to take the lead in our marriage, ceding final say on all the major decisions. It’s not that he was some hard-ass who’d demanded complete control. I’d just automatically relinquished it.
Maybe that was because I’d never truly been on my own before now. I’d gone directly from my father’s house to my husband’s. Given that I lived at home during college, when would I have had the chance to develop my independence? If Ali’s secret house taught me anything, it was how badly I needed to take control of my life.
“I let them have Ali’s phone and tablet and they didn’t find anything fishy, did they?” I pointed out. The police had updated us that there was nothing of interest on Ali’s devices or among the things they’d taken from my house.
“I’m advising you the same as I would any client,” Nasser said. “I’m not the enemy.”
I flushed, feeling bad considering all Nasser had done for me and how much time he’d taken away from paying clients to help me. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“There’s something I need to tell you that just happened—”
The elevator pinged. “It’ll have to wait,” he said as the doors opened to a massive open-plan workspace with high ceilings and lots of curved desks and edges. About half the desks had people sitting at them.
Detective Fox met us at the elevator. She wore a dark pantsuit with a cream button-down blouse underneath. Detective Lloyd wasn’t with her, and she didn’t explain his absence. The detective escorted us to what looked like a standard conference room with gray chairs surrounding a glossy wood table.
“Thank you for coming,” Detective Fox said. She laid out a series of pictures. “These images were taken at Waterman’s Grill in DC. That’s the establishment where Channel Three threw the party for advertisers that your husband attended on the night he died.”
The photos were black-and-white surveillance images. Ali was in most of them, the last photos ever taken of him. Shots of him from the back, the side, full on. Sorrow blossomed behind my ribs as I drank in the sight of my husband. It was like unexpectedly seeing Ali again when I’d anticipated never having anything fresh or new of him. For an instant, he came alive and belonged to the present, rather than the past.
The images were grainy, but I could make out his smile. It was his polite smile, not a genuine expression, which was rare for my husband. In other shots, he listened intently to others but looked preoccupied.
What were you thinking, Ali? What was going through your mind?
“It’s hard to fathom that just an hour or so after these were taken,” I said, my throat aching, “Ali would be dead.”
“You OK?” Nasser asked. I met his gaze and registered the emotion in his eyes. Nasser had loved Ali too. I nodded.
“We’ve analyzed the security footage and identified almost everyone who was around your husband that evening,” Detective Fox said in a crisp voice. “The cameras don’t cover every part of the restaurant, so it’s possible that Mr. Abadi interacted with other people that evening that the cameras didn’t capture.”
