Was that where Kamal’s body had been? Yusuf could almost believe that the ground still carried the stain of blood though it was now several weeks and quite a few rains since Kamal’s murder.
“That’s all there is to see.”
Hakimi’s voice startled Yusuf, who had crouched on the ground over where Kamal’s body had been.
“Yes, there is nothing surprising. I just wanted to see with my own eyes.”
“Let’s go then. I don’t need the neighbors thinking the chief of police is giving Zeba’s lawyer extra help.”
“Of course. But I believe she’s innocent and in order for me to defend her, it’s important for me to gather information. You’re a fair person — I can tell.”
“I am,” Hakimi agreed, his hands on his hips. “And that’s why I have this title. It’s a big responsibility, but I take it seriously. Most people in my position don’t and that’s the problem.”
“I’m sure of that,” Yusuf said, nodding. “One question, Hakimi-sahib. What position was the husband’s body in when you found him?”
“He wasn’t moving. He was just dead.”
Hakimi’s tone made his unimpressed opinion of Yusuf quite clear.
“I know he was dead when you found him, but what position was his body in? He was here, correct?”
Hakimi pulled at his chin and squinted.
“He was. . he was on his belly. His head was turned to the side and facing us.”
“Where was the hatchet?”
“Over there,” Hakimi motioned to the back wall of the house, not far from the door Yusuf had just come through.
“And was there any other evidence? Anything else found here or in the house that seemed out of place?”
“It looked just like this. What you see here now is the same thing I saw that day, except for the dead husband, the wife, and the hatchet. You can’t make a simple thing into a complicated one just by asking a lot of questions.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do. I don’t have the benefit of having seen it with my own eyes so I’m asking you. Was there blood inside the house?”
“No,” Hakimi said, though the truth was that he hadn’t checked. What difference would it have made? If Zeba had tracked blood through the house, would that have made her any more or less guilty?
Yusuf sighed.
Forensic science had a long way to go in Afghanistan. Yusuf knew he wouldn’t have the luxury of DNA tests. Fingerprints might have been a possibility, but no one had bothered taking any.
“What’s been going on with the children? I know they’re living with their uncle. Have you heard anything from them?”
“What’s to hear? Poor kids lost their father and their mother, really. At least they had somewhere to go. Not every family would have taken in the children of a killer.”
“But they’re of the same blood.”
“Yes, but the circumstances are different.”
“I’d like to be able to talk to Khanum Zeba’s children. They’re the only ones who know what things were like between their mother and father. How can I get to them?”
Hakimi laughed lightly and shook his head, ushering Yusuf toward the door.
“You’re being ridiculous. They’re only children. They don’t know anything about their parents, and they weren’t there when their father was killed — thank God they were spared that much. There’s no way that Fareed is going to let you near his nephew and nieces. You’d better find someone else to talk to.”
ONCE HAKIMI HAD LEFT HIM, YUSUF DECIDED TO CONTINUE HIS investigation. He knocked on the door of the house to the left of Zeba’s. There was the patter of small feet before the door swung open. A young boy, no more than six years old, peered at Yusuf.
“Salaam!” he said brightly.
“Wa-alaikum salaam,” Yusuf replied, burying a smile. The sight of young boys had had a surprising effect on him since his return, as if he were stepping back in time and seeing himself as a child.
“Who are you?” the boy asked. It was unusual to have strangers at the door.
“My name is Yusuf. Is your father home?”
“No, he’s working,” he answered. Just then his mother appeared behind him, sliding her head scarf over her forehead.
“Sorry, who are you? What do you need?” she said abruptly, pulling her son aside and closing the door just slightly.
Yusuf took two steps back.
“Forgive me, Khanum. I am looking into the terrible tragedy that happened next door to you. I was wondering if you or your husband wouldn’t mind helping me. I just have a few questions and won’t take much of your time.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“No, I have nothing to say about it. This is something for the police to take care of,” she replied as she gently closed the door on Yusuf.
The next four homes gave him the same response. The fifth refused to open the door. Yusuf was beginning to wonder if he’d wasted his time in coming out to the village. He’d learned nothing from visiting the house. Why was everyone so reluctant to talk about Zeba’s family? Where was the gossip mill when he needed it?
Two blocks away from Zeba’s home, Yusuf’s luck changed.
She was a sprightly, gray-haired woman who shouldn’t have come to the door herself but she’d been in the courtyard picking peppermint leaves and was probably happy to have someone to talk to. Yusuf crooked his neck to speak to her.
“Yes, I knew that family. For God’s sake, we all know that family! We almost live close enough to know when they’ve burned their dinner.”
Yusuf smiled brightly.
“What was Khanum Zeba like? Did you speak to her often?”
“Who are you? You’re not a police officer. Why are you asking so many peculiar questions?”
“No, and forgive me for not introducing myself properly. My name is Yusuf. I’m a lawyer working on the case.”
Yusuf found it better not to say, straight off, whose interest he represented.
“Oh, a lawyer. You’re not from the city, then,” she deduced, taking a closer look at him. “Good for you. Are you married? Where is your family from?”
Yusuf felt his potential being assessed. He half expected a dark-haired young woman to emerge from the house and bat her eyes at him. Had he imagined it or had the window curtains just fluttered?
“You’re a kind woman. You remind me so much of my aunt,” Yusuf interjected in an effort to redirect the conversation. “She was always friendly with the neighbors as well. Everyone loves her.”
“Is she dead?”
“No, no. . God forbid. She’s very well.” Yusuf was thrown by her comment.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Why?”
“The way you talk about her. People only say nice things about the dead, so you never know what the truth is. You can be a brute in life, but the moment you die, all is forgiven. It used to make me mad, but now that I’m old and know what people say about me, I’m glad for it.”
“I’m sure people have only kind things to say about you,” Yusuf offered politely. “But what did you think about Khanum Zeba — since she’s still alive — was she a good person?”
“I saw her from time to time. Enough to know she was a good woman — always polite. She knew God.”