warming her hands. Observing her from the couch, Gage wondered whether the chill she was fighting was internal or external.
“Those news articles made it seem like you never sleep in your own bed.”
Gage glanced at his watch. It was mid-morning in Asia.
She caught the motion, and asked with an edge in her voice, “You need to be somewhere?” “
No. I’m worried about my wife. She’s in China.
” Elaine’s eyes widened. “Not near the earthquake, I hope.”
“Too near, but she’s okay.”
“Why is she there?” She stiffened and cocked her head as if there was another question concealed behind the one she’d asked.
“She’s an anthropologist. She teaches at UC Berkeley.”
“Oh, I see.” Elaine’s body relaxed again. “I wondered whether she was working on this, too. Michael thought Ibrahim’s wife might be living over there. Not in the earthquake area. In an autonomous zone called Xinjiang.”
Gage now understood Hennessy’s call from China to Abrams. He must’ve been thinking that he could get to Ibrahim through his wife. The fact that he’d kept traveling suggested that he hadn’t.
“She’s a Muslim, too,” Elaine said. “They met in Boston when he was in graduate school.”
“How did you …”
She pointed upstairs. “I said I didn’t find anything that exonerated Ibrahim, but I once found some bits and pieces about her.” She smiled. “I spent a lunch hour or two at work trying to fit shredded pieces of paper back together.”
She lowered her voice as though not wanting Vicky to overhear.
“That’s the reason I let him keep using the bedroom as his office even after he moved out. So I could spy on him. I felt a little guilty about it because the kids thought I did it so he could spend more time with them.”
“Do you know whether he found her?” Gage asked.
“I don’t think so, but that part of the story didn’t make it into the shredder.”
“Did you save the material you rescued?”
Elaine smiled and said, “Like a squirrel preparing for winter, I folded them up and tucked them away.”
She walked over to the entertainment center, selected a DVD from the shelf, and handed it to Gage.
He flipped it open and turned it toward her. Her mouth gaped. It was empty. No papers inside. She grabbed a second one from the stack and opened it. Then a third.
She ran to the doorway and yelled toward the stairs, “Vicky. Come down here.”
Her daughter entered half a minute later and Elaine displayed an empty case toward her.
“Did you or your friends—“
“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”
Vicky smirked as she looked at the title. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mother. I haven’t watched that since I was ten years old.”
Elaine bit her bottom lip and lowered her hands, then said to herself, “I was in here when the FBI searched. I would’ve noticed. I’m sure I would’ve.”
“Not the whole time,” Vicky said, looking at her mother as though she was a grandparent edging toward Alzheimer’s. “Remember, they took us into the garage to point out which boxes were Daddy’s.”
Elaine’s head drifted down, “I guess that’s it.”
“Why’s that movie suddenly so important?” Vicky asked.
“No reason,” Elaine said. “You know how I am about keeping things in order, that’s all.”
Vicky glanced at Gage, then back at her mother as if trying to divine what course of events could’ve led to the opening of a child’s DVD. She scanned the shelf holding the others, then shook her head, and left the room.
Gage rose and led Elaine to the couch and took a notebook out of his suit pocket.
“Tell me what you remember about what was on those pages.”
Elaine leaned back and stared at the ceiling as though her husband’s notes were written there in invisible ink. She exhaled and closed her eyes.
“Ibrahim’s wife’s name is Ibadat. I looked it up. It means ‘devotion.'” She looked over at Gage. “It’s ironic because she stayed in the U.S. for a
“Those news articles made it seem like you never sleep in your own bed.”
Gage glanced at his watch. It was mid-morning in Asia.
She caught the motion, and asked with an edge in her voice, “You need to be somewhere?” “
No. I’m worried about my wife. She’s in China.
” Elaine’s eyes widened. “Not near the earthquake, I hope.”
“Too near, but she’s okay.”
“Why is she there?” She stiffened and cocked her head as if there was another question concealed behind the one she’d asked.
“She’s an anthropologist. She teaches at UC Berkeley.”
“Oh, I see.” Elaine’s body relaxed again. “I wondered whether she was working on this, too. Michael thought Ibrahim’s wife might be living over there. Not in the earthquake area. In an autonomous zone called Xinjiang.”
Gage now understood Hennessy’s call from China to Abrams. He must’ve been thinking that he could get to Ibrahim through his wife. The fact that he’d kept traveling suggested that he hadn’t.
“She’s a Muslim, too,” Elaine said. “They met in Boston when he was in graduate school.”
“How did you …”
She pointed upstairs. “I said I didn’t find anything that exonerated Ibrahim, but I once found some bits and pieces about her.” She smiled. “I spent a lunch hour or two at work trying to fit shredded pieces of paper back together.”
She lowered her voice as though not wanting Vicky to overhear.
“That’s the reason I let him keep using the bedroom as his office even after he moved out. So I could spy on him. I felt a little guilty about it because the kids thought I did it so he could spend more time with them.”
“Do you know whether he found her?” Gage asked.
“I don’t think so, but that part of the story didn’t make it into the shredder.”
“Did you save the material you rescued?”
Elaine smiled and said, “Like a squirrel preparing for winter, I folded them up and tucked them away.”
She walked over to the entertainment center, selected a DVD from the shelf, and handed it to Gage.
He flipped it open and turned it toward her. Her mouth gaped. It was empty. No papers inside. She grabbed a second one from the stack and opened it. Then a third.
She ran to the doorway and yelled toward the stairs, “Vicky. Come down here.”
Her daughter entered half a minute later and Elaine displayed an empty case toward her.
“Did you or your friends—“
“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”
Vicky smirked as she looked at the title. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mother. I haven’t watched that since I was ten years old.”
Elaine bit her bottom lip and lowered her hands, then said to herself, “I was in here when the FBI searched. I would’ve noticed. I’m sure I would’ve.”
“Not the whole time,” Vicky said, looking at her mother as though she was a grandparent edging toward Alzheimer’s. “Remember, they took us into the garage to point out which boxes were Daddy’s.”
Elaine’s head drifted down, “I guess that’s it.”
“Why’s that movie suddenly so important?” Vicky asked.
“No reason,” Elaine said. “You know how I am about keeping things in order, that’s all.”
Vicky glanced at Gage, then back at her mother as if trying to divine what course of events could’ve led to the opening of a child’s DVD. She scanned the shelf holding the others, then shook her head, and left the room.
Gage rose and led Elaine to the couch and took a notebook out of his suit pocket.
“Tell me what you remember about what was on those pages.”
Elaine leaned back and stared at the ceiling as though her husband’s notes were written there in invisible ink. She exhaled and closed her eyes.
“Ibrahim’s wife’s name is Ibadat. I looked it up. It means ‘devotion.'” She looked over at Gage. “It’s ironic because she stayed in the U.S. for a
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