Finding Nouf (6 page)

"But no," Othman admitted suddenly, "I'm not sure her death was accidental. The truth is, my brothers asked the examiner's office to classify it that way for the family's sake."

Nayir stopped walking. "They paid for a cover-up?"

"Tahsin did." Othman looked awkward for a moment. "He doesn't trust the police. And we all felt it would be easier for my mother if she didn't have to explain things to our relatives. It's bad enough for her with my father being ill."

"I understand," Nayir said, "but the cover-up makes your whole family look suspicious."

"I know. But I have someone in the lab who is collecting the necessary evidence. She's going to treat this as if it were an open investigation."

Nayir felt a strange coupling of relief and unease—relief at the family's interest in finding out the truth, even if it was done in an illegal manner, and unease because of the pronoun "she."

"Is it ... Miss Hijazi?" he asked.

"Yes," Othman said. "You met her?"

For a blinding moment Nayir couldn't understand why Miss Hijazi hadn't told him about her connection to the family. He'd suspected it, of course, but he remembered that she'd seemed upset about the cover-up—of which, apparently, she was a part. "She was there," he said. "How do you know her?"

"She's my fiancée."

If there was something more surprising he could have said, Nayir couldn't imagine it. The wedding had come up in conversation many times. Nayir knew, for example, that the bride's surname was Hijazi, but there were plenty of Hijazis, and Othman referred to her as "my fiancée" otherwise. He also knew that Othman met her privately; she came with an escort. The girl's mother was dead and Um Tahsin had taken a maternal role with her, helping to organize the wedding details, like the dress and the rings. But Nayir hadn't had the nerve to pry any further. He didn't know what sort of family she was from or what kind of personality she had, and he certainly didn't know what she looked like. He'd simply assumed that she was sweet and decent, a girl from a wealthy family. He had not guessed that she might have a job, especially one where she would interact with men.

"Oh, well...," he said, feeling flustered. "I'm sorry, I hadn't made the connection. Is she a cousin of yours?"

"No, she's not family." Othman seemed embarrassed. "We met through a friend. She didn't tell you who she was?"

Nayir shook his head. It was probably proper of her to keep her identity hidden, but he couldn't help feeling embarrassed. He wondered how well Othman really knew her. Certainly he would have noticed her boldness. Or was she less bold with him? She'd been too forward for Nayir's comfort, and he couldn't imagine Othman tolerating that sort of behavior either. He was curious to know his friend's thoughts, but he couldn't find a delicate way to broach the subject.

"Does it surprise you so much?" Othman asked.

"No, no. She's just—you didn't tell me she worked at the examiner's office."

Othman actually blushed. "Well, I didn't think it was necessary."

Nayir turned away, but he was intrigued by Othman's shame.
He must really love her,
he thought,
to tolerate her having a job.

"Congratulations," Nayir said finally, realizing he should have said it sooner.

Othman chuckled. "I mean it."

"Please try!" Othman was grinning. He continued walking.

"So I take it you're pursuing this case on your own?" Nayir asked, steering the focus away from Miss Hijazi.

"Yes." Othman stopped smiling. "Actually, I was hoping you would help. We've hired a private investigator, and he wants to see where she was found. We have a map, but I was hoping you could help him find the place."

Nayir felt another wash of dismay. A private investigator? The family should have asked him first; they knew how well he knew the desert.
But this is pride,
he told himself.
Forgive my pride.
"Of course I'll help."

"Thanks."

"The private investigator—was that your brother's idea too?"

"No, that was mine. My family has not decided whether her death was accidental or not." Othman shook his head. "I think we just want answers."

Nayir sensed a chance for transparency. "What about you? What do you think happened?"

Othman stopped walking. He sighed and crossed his arms. "Ever since I discovered she was gone, I've felt that someone took her. We've talked to her escort, Muhammad, but he said Nouf had called him that morning and told him she didn't need him that day, so he went out with his wife. Meanwhile, Nouf told my mother that she was going to the mall to exchange her wedding shoes."

"How did she manage to leave without an escort?" Nayir asked. "I mean, I'm just wondering why no one noticed that Muhammad wasn't here that day."

"Well, my mother doesn't follow her every time she leaves the house. Usually Nouf met Muhammad in back by the stables. She went to the stables by herself all the time, usually in the mornings. She liked spending time with the camels. When she was ready to leave, she'd call him and he'd drive around to the back gate and pick her up there."

Nayir nodded. "So she could have been gone long before anyone thought she had even left the house."

"Yes. Nouf told my mother she'd be at the stables that morning and meet Muhammad around noon. For all we know, she could have left right after talking to my mother."

"Did any of the servants notice her hanging around the stables?"

Othman shook his head. "They didn't see anything."

"Who discovered she was missing?"

"My mother. She expected Nouf back around five, and when she didn't show up, my mother called Muhammad. He told her what Nouf had said that morning. Instantly the house went into an uproar. My brother went down to check the stables; we questioned all the servants; my mother sent them to look for her jet-ski. Sometimes Nouf would ski around the island on her own, but the jet-ski was still at the dock. None of the servants had heard or seen anything unusual."

Nayir had learned of some of this before, but he wanted to hear it again. "She didn't leave a note?"

"No."

"And you don't have any idea where she might have wanted to go?"

"None. Honestly, she spent a lot of time shopping. She was preparing for her wedding. That's why I couldn't believe that she would have run away on her own."

Nayir nodded. "So it was natural for your mother to think that Nouf would spend five or six hours at the mall."

"Yes, certainly. It takes a good hour just to get downtown from here, and that's when traffic is good."

Nayir nodded reflectively.

"Believe me," Othman said, "she was eager to get married. I don't believe she would jeopardize her future." He shut his eyes and for a moment seemed overcome with exhaustion. He rubbed his forehead vigorously and let his hands slide down his face. Nayir waited for him to continue. "Even if she harbored a secret desire to escape this life, it just doesn't make sense. She was not that deceptive."

"I can't imagine anyone wanting to escape this life." Nayir motioned to the house. "She must have lived very comfortably here." The distant roar of an engine broke into their conversation. It sounded like a speedboat.

"When she first disappeared," Othman said, "Tahsin thought that she was frightened by the prospect of marriage. That she'd had a change of heart. Sure, marriage is intimidating for a sixteen-year-old girl, but we all believed that she wanted it badly and she wouldn't have spoiled her plans. At the same time, why would anyone kidnap her and then not demand ransom? Nothing makes sense."

The engine's roar grew louder and then abruptly receded. Nayir glanced idly at the ground. It was certainly a confusing situation, but his thoughts kept returning to the bruises on Nouf's wrists, and to the fact that she'd lost her camel.

Othman's cell phone jangled. Hastily he excused himself, answered the phone, and walked away, stopping beside a row of hedges out of earshot from Nayir. Nayir imagined it was Miss Hijazi calling, and he felt a stab of guilt. Having met her without Othman's being present now felt like a betrayal. It occurred to him that Miss Hijazi was probably at the house right now. A strange envy struck him when he thought of the women's sitting room and of Othman's ability to penetrate that room, even if it was only through the telephone. What would she say? Would she tell him what the women were discussing? Would they be talking about Nouf, as Nayir and the brothers had done, or would they try to avoid the subject for fear of upsetting Um Tahsin?

His thoughts circled back to the problem of her boldness, and he wondered if he should tell Othman that his fiancée had been so forward with another man. Othman glanced in his direction with what Nayir thought was a curious look, and with a touch of embarrassment Nayir turned away.
No,
he thought,
better leave the whole thing alone.

Beside him an iron gate led down a short path to a terrace overlooking the sea. Intrigued by the engine's roar, he slipped through the gate, walked down to the terrace, and stood at the edge of the balustrade. It was a breathtaking view. The sea spread to the horizon, oscillating between the cobalt of day and the soft red of twilight. The Shrawis were lucky to own property like this, far from the noise and dust of the city and its burgeoning suburbs. Jeddah was swelling rapidly, expanding up and down the coast and pushing its way deep into the desert to accommodate its two-million-strong population. One day it would become a suburb of Mecca, ninety kilometers to the east. The Shrawis, he knew, had grown tired of living in a metropolis of such monstrous proportions. Their island was paradise, close enough to be part of city life but far enough to provide a sense of privacy and calm. The royal family owned many of the habitable islands off the Jeddah coast; the rest were designated as natural preserves for rare bird species. This island had once belonged to the king's brother, but in a notable act of generosity, the crown prince had given it to Abu Tahsin for reasons that no one would tell.

The sound of the engine grew louder, and Nayir looked down. A sheer rock wall fell to the beach, and when his eyes grazed the shore, he spotted the source of the noise. A woman was riding a bright yellow jet-ski. She wore a black cloak, but it looked as if her headscarf had blown off and was whipping around her neck. A long, thick ponytail hung down her back.

She had to be a Shrawi. There were no other islands nearby, and certainly no woman would ski this far from the mainland by herself without a veil. It didn't seem likely that the Shrawis would let their daughters race around, especially on the evening of the funeral, but who else could it be? No servant could afford a jet-ski, and anyway he doubted that the servants would let their women expose themselves at work.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then he turned back to the woman with unguarded interest. She stayed close to the island, and the ski's loud roar echoed off the rocks as she headed around to the southern dock. Even from a distance he could see the controlled bank of her body as she ripped through the water, slicing up waves and churning foam in her wake. He imagined that Nouf had skied like this, and that if this was one of her sisters or cousins, the angry cavorting was a fitting expression of grief.

"What—?" Othman was behind him, staring down at the woman on the jet-ski. He looked horrified.

"What is it?" Nayir asked.

Othman continued to stare, unmoving, until the woman turned
back toward the island, exposing her face. Slowly his hand went to his chest. His other hand clutched the railing. He bent forward, shutting his eyes tightly and breathing with the deep, intentional inhalations of a man trying to keep himself from fainting.

Nayir stared at him. "
Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem','
he whispered.

Othman took a deep breath that seemed to shudder in his chest. Nayir turned away, feeling that his gaze was an invasion of privacy. He watched the jet-ski turn to the north and disappear beneath the overhanging rocks.

A few moments later Othman put both hands on the balustrade and pushed himself up. His skin was the color of sesame paste. "I thought it was Nouf," he said. His arms were shaking. "That was her jet-ski, but it was only Ab—one of my other sisters."

Nayir looked down; the engine was now a distant hum.

Othman's arms fell to his sides. "She shouldn't be out."

"Perhaps she's upset." Nayir gazed at his friend. The color was slowly returning to his cheeks. "People do strange things when they're grieving."

"I know," Othman murmured. "But it's going to upset my mother."

"Does your sister jet-ski often?"

"Yes. No." Othman checked his watch. The gesture seemed more like a nervous tic than a genuine desire to know the time. "Since Nouf disappeared, Tahsin won't let the girls go anywhere, and that includes riding on the water. If you'll excuse me, I'd better go straighten this out."

"Yes, go ahead. I can find my way ba—"

Othman turned away before the sentence was finished and hurried toward the gate.

Nayir left the alcove and walked along the gravel path, wondering what exactly had happened. Nearly fainting at the sight of a perceived ghost seemed normal. But in the little episode that had just played out, the look of perfect terror on Othman's face when he'd seen his sister's approach had struck a strangely dissonant note. It wasn't the terror as much as the sudden plunge into a suspended reality that was, for Othman, not natural at all.

I said it myself,
Nayir thought ruefully,
people do strange things in their grief.

Nayir arrived at the courtyard just as the outdoor lights were coming on. The camel keeper, Amad, was standing at the stable door, staring at Nayir with a myopic squint.

Nayir approached. "I recognize you now," Amad said, walking forward and stumbling on a shattered brick. He kicked it aside. "You're the desert guide. It's been a while."

"Yes, Nayir ash-Sharqi." He extended his hand for a shake. "It's good to see you again." He seemed to remember that the man was desert-born. He recognized something Bedouin in him, although he wasn't sure what. The firm cut of the jaw, the steady posture, a certain choppiness of speech. Or perhaps it was the man's incessant blinking.