washed and wrapped the body in a shroud, a brief funeral service was held on Tuesday afternoon, and Jamal was taken directly to the cemetery and laid to rest (on his right side, facing Mecca) in Miami, the community in which he had last lived.
Jack could see in Maryam’s eyes that she had slept not a wink last night.
“Come in, please,” she said.
Jack was respectful of her loss, and he wouldn’t have come if Maryam had not extended an invitation. Her suite had a kitchenette and spacious seating area, but it was the kind of low-budget hotel that any last-minute traveler could pick up on the Internet for the price of dinner for four at McDonald’s: well within earshot of both the airport and the expressway, and last updated when fluorescent tube lighting and shag carpeting was all the rage.
Maryam introduced Jamal’s uncle as Hassan. His dress was not as Western as Maryam’s, and he had the full beard of a traditional Muslim male. It was Jack’s quick impression that he was more religious than Maryam, and that he’d been a tremendous help with the necessary arrangements.
“Your brother?” asked Jack.
“No,” said Maryam.
“I am the brother of Abukar,” said Hassan. “Abukar is Jamal’s father.”
The terrorist recruiter, thought Jack-and then he immediately chided himself about the whole guilt-by- association thing.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Neil, seeming to recognize that Jack was momentarily tongue-tied.
Maryam led them into the seating area and took the armchair. Jack and Neil sat on the couch facing her. Jamal’s uncle sat away from them on a barstool at the kitchen counter. He read in silence from the Koran, seeming to ignore the company.
“It wasn’t my plan to call you,” said Maryam. “But Detective Burton from MDPD came to see me this afternoon. He told me about a lead they were pursuing. A message of some sort that was written on a cocktail napkin from that club he went to.”
Jamal’s uncle looked up from his Koran. The mere mention of a cocktail napkin from a club on South Beach did not sit well with him.
“What kind of message?” asked Jack.
She opened her purse and handed Jack a paper. “Here, I wrote it down exactly as the detective described it.”
Jack inspected it, and immediately felt chills. “Are you afraid of The Dark?” Jack said for Neil’s benefit. “It’s identical to the one I got on the night Ethan Chang was murdered. Right down to the capital T and capital D. Also written on a napkin.”
“I know,” said Maryam. “Detective Burton seems unwilling to share his theories as to who wrote them. I wanted to hear yours.”
Jack again caught a glimpse of Uncle Hassan. He was clearly listening from across the room, and it bothered Jack that he was pretending not to.
“I honestly don’t have any ideas,” said Jack.
“Detective Burton also told me about the phone call you received.”
Jack had, of course, reported it to the police. “What did he tell you?”
“Everything,” she said. “Except where it came from.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes. He said he was not at liberty to say.”
Jack had heard of detectives keeping certain facts secret in an ongoing investigation, but he had another theory here.
“Were you alone when you met with Detective Burton?
“No. Hassan was with me.”
Jack wondered if Hassan’s presence had caused the detective to hold back-if Burton had given in to the same guilt-by-association prejudice that Jack was fighting now.
Maryam slid to the edge of her chair, her dark eyes like lasers aimed right at Jack. “I need to know where that call came from.”
Jack looked back at her, then shifted his gaze toward Hassan. It was purely instinct, but Jack sensed that Hassan wanted to know as much as she did.
“At the time, I didn’t know where it was coming from,” said Jack.
“But surely you’ve checked the number,” said Maryam.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Again Jack glanced across the room at Hassan. Jack could have lied and said he didn’t know, but in the end, the balance tipped in favor of a mother’s right to know.
“It was from a pay phone,” said Jack. “In London.”
Maryam froze. Hassan rose and crossed the room, no longer pretending to be an outsider. “Where in London?” he asked.
“Bethnal Green.”
Maryam closed her eyes for several seconds, as if to absorb the news. Finally, she opened them.
“Is something wrong?” asked Jack.
Hassan spoke up. “That’s where my brother and I parted company. Sixteen years ago.”
Only then did Jack pick up the hint of a British accent. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” said Hassan. “My brother is the only sympathizer of al-Shabaab in our family, though I suppose that, to you, I look like a terrorist, too.”
Jack suddenly felt small. “No, uh-not at all.”
Maryam said, “That area along the Mile End Road between Whitechapel and Bethnal Green underground stations is called Somaal Town. Lots of Somali ex-pats, and also some cool clubs and pubs. I met Hassan’s brother when I was visiting London one summer. He and Hassan were sharing an apartment, but they were never anything alike.”
“Still aren’t,” said Hassan.
“Are you saying that Jamal’s father is behind this phone call?”
“Who knows?” said Maryam.
“We do know this much,” said Hassan. “That area has changed over the years. It’s what some people would call eclectic, but you still have gangs, more crime. To be blunt about it, there are a lot of dead-end Somali teenage boys, which makes it a fruitful recruiting area for al-Shabaab. And there is one thing we all know about my brother.”
“He’s a recruiter for al-Shabaab,” said Jack.
“Exactly.”
“I still don’t see the connection to a panicked young girl who calls me in the middle of the night to tell me that she knows who killed McKenna Mays.”
“You haven’t looked,” said Hassan.
Maryam was suddenly emotional. She’d held herself together well, but it was all too much. Hassan went to her and gave comfort. Tears were in her eyes as she looked at Jack.
“Someone has to find out what happened to my son.”
“I’m sure the police…” Jack stopped himself. With the resistance he’d faced at every turn-the Department of Justice, the state attorney’s office, the CIA, the private security firms, even his own fiancee-he couldn’t peddle false hope that the police would get to the truth.
Hassan took her hand, and then looked at Jack. “Our faith teaches that when one dies, everything in this earthly life is left behind. There are no more opportunities to perform acts of righteousness and faith. But the Prophet Muhammad once said that there are three things that may continue to benefit a person after death. Charity given during life, which continues to help others. Knowledge, which grants enduring benefits. And third, a righteous child who prays for him or her.”
Maryam wiped away a tear. “I’ve lost my righteous child,” she said. “My only son.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Jack.
