“That’s better. Now, I’m guessing you called for a reason. Why don’t you tell me what that is.”
A chill bit through him as he glanced up, wondering where he went wrong, how something like this could have happened. He launched into the events of the past few days, from Mischa’s death to Melanie’s abduction and everything in between. He even went as far as to tell Aliyah about his last conversation with Landon. She remained silent, listening attentively, not asking any questions. The skilled social worker she was, she knew enough to just let him talk. When he reached a point where he didn’t know what else to say, he grew quiet. Seconds ticked by as he straightened his spine in anticipation of her reaction. He hoped this wouldn’t tarnish his company’s reputation, but none of that seemed to matter at this point. He needed to tell her everything. She could be the key to getting Melanie back.
“Well, I wish I would have known about your conversation with Mr. Tate several months ago,” she finally said.
“I understand it was selfish of me to keep that to myself. I honestly believed he wouldn’t actually follow through with his plan. He was upset I refused to use my connections to help him, but I figured, after he had time to cool off, he’d come to his senses. I never would have thought he’d find another way to get those girls out. I didn’t think he could without my help.”
“Do you have any idea where these women are now? Obviously, since it involves several Afghan women, the ministry is going to want to be involved with the investigation.”
“I wish I could tell you,” Alexander answered. “At this point, all I know is someone thinks I’m behind all of it.”
“And the death of Mr. Tate’s sister?”
“The only explanation I can come up with is perhaps they believed he may have confided in her. They were rather close, so it was entirely possible. I’ve combed through her background over the past few days and have found nothing to suggest she was involved.”
“This man you believe is responsible for taking your daughter… What is his name?”
“When he made the ransom call, he asked to be called Maleek.” The line was silent. “Does that ring a bell?”
“It’s a rather common name here, Mr. Burnham, like your Mark or Michael. I have several family members with that name myself. But, if memory serves me correctly, I believe one of the women who went missing from your shelter had a brother named Maleek whom she was in fear of.”
His breath hitched. Aliyah must have sensed his hope building over the phone. This was more than they had an hour ago.
“It could all just be a coincidence,” she added.
“I understand that, but over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve stopped believing that anything is just a coincidence. It could be nothing, but it could also be everything.”
“You say he was killed?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Gunshot to the back of the head. One theory is he wasn’t working alone and someone wasn’t happy his face was blasted all over the media, deciding to cover their tracks. Do you think you could send me information about the Maleek you’re thinking of?”
“I’d be happy to, as well as anything else I come up with that could be relevant. And I will await a call from your law enforcement over there to keep me apprised of the ongoing investigation.”
“Of course. Thank you, Aliyah.”
“No, Mr. Burnham. Thank you.” There was a click on the phone and the line went dead.
Alexander turned back toward the house and took a deep breath. This case was about to blow up with government involvement. Once he relayed his suspicion that this was about smuggled girls, Homeland Security was going to want to get to the bottom of how something like this could have happened. Yes, finding these missing women was important, but it wasn’t Alexander’s priority. There was only one missing girl he cared about. One missing girl whose chances of coming out of this alive dwindled with each minute that ticked by.
Entering the small dwelling, it was even more chaotic than when he had walked out, FBI agents snapping photos and bagging anything and everything that could be relevant.
“We found a bunch of IDs under the sink,” a voice said. Alexander turned to see Moretti and another FBI agent sorting through a tub of dishwasher pods at the dining room table. “Hid them in the bottom of this.”
Alexander strode toward him as Moretti placed over a dozen IDs on the table…all from different states, but bearing the exact same photo. He picked one up. Mark Drakos from California. Tilting it, he saw the hologram and whistled.
“It’s good work. It looks real.”
“Sure does. But here’s what we believe to be the real ID.” Moretti threw a bag marked EVIDENCE across the table toward him. He peered at the photo page of an Afghan passport, all the information provided in both Arabic and English. “That’s our guy. Maleek Abdar. Afghan national. I put a call in to Customs and Border Protection, but they didn’t have any record of that passport being used to enter the United States. So he either snuck in or used a different passport to enter.”
“Have you been able to find out how he was connected to Rayne?”
“Techs found a bunch of journals in his desk dating back months,” he answered. “They’re still going through them, but it looks like Maleek had been watching her for some time. Several months ago, Ms. Kilpatrick began going to a group therapy session at a church in the North End. He followed her there, gave her some sob story about how he lost someone he was close to, and was able to manipulate her.” He shook his head. “This guy is one conniving bastard, preying on someone already vulnerable like that.”
Alexander bit his lip and nodded, fighting off the guilt he felt about Rayne’s downward spiral.
“We found some other things that may be of interest to you.”
“Like what?” Alexander raised his brow, intrigued.
“This.” He shoved another evidence bag at him.
“What’s this? His wallet?”
Moretti shook his head. “Not his. I flipped through it. I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I found an employee ID for your security firm. Does the name Gregory Fisher ring a bell?”
Alexander pinched his lips together, wracking his brain. “I wish it did. I can call my secretary and find out—”
“No need, Mr. Burnham,” Moretti interrupted. “I already took the liberty of reaching out to your office. Mr. Fisher worked in IT. Apparently, he took a leave of absence about a month ago, claiming a family emergency regarding his sister.”
Alexander nodded, rubbing his chin. “I think I remember something like that.”
“His sister was Jennifer Fisher. Her body was found about two weeks ago stuffed in a barrel, fingernails ripped off, throat slashed.”
“Let me guess,” Alexander interjected. “Another victim of the Castle Island Killer?”