Page 76 of High Treason
“Thanks,” she said. “Investigators are searching the same info, but this helps us determine if Malik and Parvin Shah are connected.”
“Shah concealed her identity today and likely other times too,” Kord said. “But we have no idea why or who’s calling the shots. Except she has evidence in her apartment.”
“Can’t get there fast enough,” she said.
Kord drove on to the FBI office. They’d learn more about Parvin Shah’s phone in a few hours. Until then they had work to do at her apartment in the Montrose area. “The bottom line is the betrayal happened while the prince was in Saudi Arabia.”
MONICA WOULD NEVERget used to the boys’ club game. While Kord was inside the FBI office delivering Parvin Shah’s cell phone, Ali asked Monica about her family and the coffee business. One of the two times she’d seen or heard a light side of him. Odd. And she felt uncomfortable. Could be the persistent headache.
Within fifteen minutes, Kord returned and drove to Parvin Shah’s apartment building.
“Monica, where are you on this?” Kord said.
“I want to visit with her neighbors. I’ve requested her work record at Macy’s. And we need to know names of friends and how she related to others.”
“Have you requested footage in and around her apartment?”
“The request was made while I was at the hospital.”
Ali chuckled.
Kord parked outside the apartment building, and the three walked to Shah’s door on the second floor. Two HPD officers wereposted outside. After Agent Richardson vouched for Monica, Kord, and Ali, they stepped inside with those working the investigation.
“How’s the suspect?” Richardson said.
“Didn’t make it,” Kord said. “Looking for the sweep to give us answers.”
Monica studied the assortment of nefarious photos covering the living room walls, just as the texts had indicated. Not just one each of Prince Omar, Fatima, Yasmine, and Princess Gharam, but several, often with familiar bodyguards. Even Malik. She snapped pics. Prince Omar could offer additional info on where they were taken.
“Kord, figured you or Ali could read this,” Richardson said.
Kord pointed to each image and the Arabic words. “‘Kill, destroy, murder.’ The woman had a definite agenda.”
“Take a look at the kitchen wall,” Richardson said.
Monica stood closest to the small area and turned to view a three-by-three-foot calendar held in place with red pushpins. Prince Omar’s arrival was noted and circled as well as dates, times, and addresses that matched the prince’s original schedule for his time here. Even Princess Gharam’s room number and the names, as well as contact info, of her doctors in Riyadh and at MD Anderson. Each piece of evidence seemed to confirm the phone being infected with a virus or an insider’s betrayal.
Monica walked into the bedroom, where bombs were laid out on a desk: toggle switches, 9-volt batteries, ball bearings with nuts, a spool of wire, soldering iron, black electrical tape. All neatly arranged.
She stared around the room. Nothing feminine about where the woman lived—or rather, existed. Drab gray. A single bed. A chair. Nothing on the walls. Her artwork had been handled in the living room. How did one decorate an apartment with hate?
Kord stood in the doorway. “They’ve gone through every inch, but not the—”
“Baseboards, plumbing.”
“And light fixtures.”
She smiled, but the sadness for a woman ready to blow herself up was still there. “Don’t you think the layout of the bomb parts is peculiar? All the FBI needs to do is tag and bag.”
“Fastidious, or she was set up.”
“Looks that way to me too.” She took a couple more pics. “Unless she’s OCD, this doesn’t follow a terrorist’s pattern. Have you conducted an investigation like this one before?”
“Each one’s different.”
“We’ll learn more as we study her personality and work habits.”
“I’m ready to end this case.”
