Page 102 of Gone Before Goodbye
That’s the Arabic name of the TriPoint refugee camp where Marc had been murdered.
She clicks into the username text box and types inThalalatha. She tabs over to the password and types inHududu. Her hands, she realizes, are shaking. Ray had written “when you’re ready” because he knew she wasn’t. She isn’t sure she is now. The pain is still so deep and raw. She doesn’t need to probe that wound.
But now there is a reason.
So with a deep breath, Maggie clicks the blue Sign In button.
Photo thumbnails quickly populate the screen, dozens of them, at least a hundred on the first page. On the bottom is one of those page count things. It reads:
1…17
Ray’s raw footage. This could take a while.
But it doesn’t.
Maggie doesn’t know exactly what she was looking for—but she finds it anyway.
Right there. On the bottom of the first page. She spends the next hour going through the rest of the thumbnails. Twelve photographs intotal tell the story. When she finishes, she realizes that there are tears on her cheeks. She sits back. She has answered one question, but it just leads to deeper ones.
There’s a knock on her door.
Maggie closes her laptop, gives her tears a quick sleeve wipe, and says, “Come in.”
Bob opens the door and steps inside. “Hell of a view, right?”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to see me?”
“I’m meeting a friend tonight at a club in the Burj Binghatti.”
He doesn’t like that. “What club?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Burj Binghatti is a residential building. It doesn’t have a club.”
“Not one that’s open to the public,” Maggie says.
“Oh, I see.”
“I need a ride or I can call an Uber or—”
“You’re doing surgery tomorrow.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re not here to go clubbing, Maggie.”
“And you told me this wasn’t a prison, Bob.”
“You’re being handsomely paid to be here.”
“I’m being paid to perform a service. I’ll perform it.”
Bob shakes his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t care,” she says. “I’m going.”
