Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

I leaned toward Fadi and said, "Look, you didn't contact the ATTF to report a missing brother-in-law. You obviously know who we are and what we do and this isn't family court, my friend. Capisce?"

"Sir?"

"Here's a direct question, and I want a one-word answer. Do you think your brother-in-law's disappearance has anything to do with what happened with the Trans-Continental flight at Kennedy Airport Saturday? Yes or no?"

"Well, sir, I have been thinking about this possibility-"

"Yes or no?"

He lowered his eyes and said, "Yes."

"You understand that your brother-in-law, your sister's husband, may have met with a misfortune?"

He nodded.

"You know that he thought he might be killed?"

"Yes."

"Is it possible he left any other clue-any other-" I looked at Gabe, who asked the question in Arabic.

Fadi replied in Arabic, and Gabe translated, "Gamal said to Fadi that Fadi should look after his family if something happened to him. Gamal said to Fadi that he had no choice but to take this special fare, and that Allah in his mercy would see him safely home."

No one spoke for a while. I could see that Fadi was visibly upset.

I used the time to think about this. In one way, we had nothing of any immediate use. We just had Khalil's movements from JFK to Perth Amboy, if indeed it was Khalil who was in Gamal's taxi. And if it was, all we knew for sure was that Khalil had probably murdered Gamal and then left Gamal's taxi and disappeared. But where did he disappear to? To Newark Airport? How did he get there? Another taxi? Or was there an accomplice with a private car waiting for him at the Park and Ride? Or maybe a rental car? And which direction did he go? In any case, he'd slipped through the net and was no longer in the New York metro area.

I looked at Fadi Aswad and asked him, "Does anyone know you contacted us?"

He shook his head.

"Not even your wife?"

He looked at me like I was nuts. He said, "I do not speak to my wife of such things. Why would you tell a woman or a child of such things?"

"Good point." I stood. "Okay, Fadi, you did the right thing by coming to us. Uncle Sam loves you. Go back to work and act like nothing has happened. Okay?"

He nodded.

'Also, I've got some bad news for you-your brother-in-law has been murdered."

He stood and tried to speak, then looked at Gabe, who spoke to him in Arabic. Fadi slumped into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

I said to Gabe, "Tell him not to say anything when the homicide guys come around. Give him your card and tell him to show that to the detectives and have them call ATTF."

Gabe nodded and spoke to Fadi in Arabic, then gave him his card.

It occurred to me that I once had been a homicide cop, but here I was telling a witness not to talk to NYPD Homicide and to call the Feds instead. The transformation was nearly complete. Scary.

I took my briefcase, Gabe and I left the room, and the ATTF guy went in. Fadi's statement would be reduced to writing, and he would sign it before he left.

Out in the corridor, I said, "Keep a twenty-four-hour stakeout on him, his family, and his sister, and so forth."

"Done."

"Make sure no one sees him leaving this building."

"We always do."

"Right. And send a few guys over to One PP and see if there are any more dead cabbies around."

"I already asked. They're checking."

"Good. Am I insulting your intelligence?"

"Just a little."

I smiled for the first time that day. I said to Gabe, "Thanks for this. I owe you one."

"Right. So, what do you think?"

"I think what I always thought. Khalil is in America and he's not hiding out. He's on the move. He's on a mission."

"That's what I think. What's the mission?"

"Beats me, Gabe. Think about it. Hey, are you Libyan?"

"No, there aren't many Libyans here. It's a small country with a small immigrant community in the U.S. " He added, "I'm actually Palestinian."

Against my better judgment, I asked him, "Don't you find this a little awkward? Stressful?"

He shrugged. "It's okay most of the time. I'm an American. Second generation. My daughter wears shorts and makeup, talks back to me, and pals around with Jews."

I smiled, then looked at him. I asked, "You ever get any threats from anyone?"

"Now and then. But they know it's not a good idea to whack a cop who's cross-designated as a Federal officer."

I would have agreed with that before Saturday. I said, "Okay, let's ask the NYPD and suburban cops to start running through the records of all car rental agencies, looking for Arab-sounding names. It's a long shot, and it's going to take a week or more, but we're not doing much else anyway. Also, I think you personally should go talk to the recent widow and see if maybe Mr. Jabbar confided in her. Also, start talking to Jabbar's friends and relatives. What we have here is our first lead, Gabe, and it may go somewhere, but I'm not real optimistic."

Gabe observed, "Assuming it was Khalil who killed Gamal Jabbar, then all we have is a cold trail, a dead witness, and a dead end in Perth Amboy. Dying in New Jersey is redundant."

I laughed. "Right. Where's the taxi?"

"Jersey State Police are going over it. Undoubtedly, we'll get enough forensic out of the car to use in putting a court case together-if we ever get that far."

I nodded. Fibers, fingerprints, maybe a ballistic match to one of the.40 caliber Clocks that belonged to Hundry and Gorman. Standard police work. I've seen murder trials where the physical evidence took a week to present to the jury. As I teach at John Jay, you almost always need physical evidence to convict a suspect, but you don't always need physical evidence to catch him.

With this case, we started with the name of the murderer, his photo, fingerprints, DNA samples, even pictures of him taking a crap-plus, we had a ton of forensic evidence to link him to the crimes at JFK. No problem there., The problem was that Asad Khalil was one quick and slippery sonofabitch. The guy had balls and brains, he was ruthless, and he had the advantage of being able to pick and choose his movements.

Gabe said, "We've been focusing on the Libyan community anyway, but maybe now with one of their people murdered, they'll open up a little." He added, "On the other hand, we may get the opposite reaction."

"Maybe. But I don't think Khalil has many accomplices in this country-not many live ones, anyway."

"Probably not. Okay, Corey, I got work to do. I'll keep you informed. And you'll pass this information on to the proper people, ASAP, and tell them a transcript of these interviews with Fadi is on the way. Okay?"

"Right. And, by the way, let's see that some of those Federal information bucks go to Fadi Aswad-for cigarettes and tranquilizers."

"Will do. See you later." He turned and went back to the interrogation room.

I went back to the ICC, which was still buzzing though it was past 6 P.M. already. I put down my briefcase and called Kate's apartment, but her voice mail informed me, "I'm not in. Please leave a cogent message."

So I left a cogent message in case she accessed her voice mail, then I called her cell phone, but she didn't answer. I called Jack Koenig's home number on Long Island, but his wife said he'd left for the airport. I tried his cell phone, but no luck.

I next called Beth Penrose at home, got her answering machine, and said, "I'm on this case around the clock. I may have to do some traveling. I love this job. I love my life. I love my bosses. I love my new office. Here's my new phone number." I gave her my direct number in the ICC and said, "Hey, I miss you. Speak to you soon." I hung up, realizing I meant to say, "I love you." But… anyway, I then dialed Captain Stein and asked his secretary for an immediate appointment. She informed me that Captain Stein was attending several meetings and press conferences. I left an ambiguous and confusing message, which even I didn't understand.