Afraid of the Dark by James Grippando Read Free Book Online

“You don’t deny the fact that you were McKenna’s boyfriend, do you?”
    “I don’t deny that.”
    “So you knew you were the prime suspect in McKenna’s murder.”
    “Yes,” Jamal said. “I knew.”
    “And that never once came up in our conversation at Gitmo, even after we switched to English.”
    Jamal paused, then said, “That wasn’t my fault.”
    “Whose fault was it?”
    “Yours.”
    “Mine?” said Jack, incredulous.
    Jamal’s expression was completely serious. “I thought if I started speaking English to you that it would help build trust between us. The opposite happened. The way you reacted, you just shut me down.”
    Jack replayed the moment in his mind. The English had definitely come as a surprise, and in hindsight Jack probably could have handled it better.
    “I don’t remember shutting you down,” said Jack.
    “I’m not saying you did it intentionally. That’s just the way it played out. You mentioned your grandfather was from the Czech Republic, and I told you I’d been there.”
    “You told me in English ,” said Jack.
    “And from that point on, the whole conversation was all about my native tongue. We never followed up about Prague.”
    “What was there to follow up about?”
    Jamal gave him an assessing look. “That’s where I was when McKenna was murdered.”
    The words came over Jack like an arctic front. Before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. Neil opened it, and Swenson entered the room. The lawyers and their client looked at him with anticipation, and Swenson delivered the news without delay.
    “The test shows no signs of deception in any of the three areas of examination,” said Swenson.
    Neil was openly smug about it, and he couldn’t help summarizing: “He didn’t kill McKenna, he doesn’t know who did, and he was outside the country when it happened.”
    It was a bit of theater orchestrated by his old boss, but Jack had to admit that it was pretty effective.
    The examiner’s work was finished. Neil thanked him, and Jack did likewise, and when the door closed, Jack’s gaze shifted back to the young man seated at the table before him. There were definitely still signs of prolonged incarceration—the thin face, the skin tone a bit off, the unhealthy fingernails. But Jamal was becoming more of an enigma with each passing minute.
    “Something is missing here,” said Jack. “The police have a recording of the victim saying in her dying breath that you killed her, but you were in Prague?”
    “That’s right,” said Jamal.
    “Am I to believe that this case is as open and shut as handing over your passport to the state attorney?”
    “My passport won’t show that I went anywhere.”
    “Were you traveling illegally?”
    “You could say that.”
    “What about an airline ticket?”
    “I can’t help you there.”
    “Credit card statements or cell phone records?”
    “Nothing like that.”
    “Any photographs of you out of the country?”
    “No.”
    “Travel records of any kind?”
    “Unfortunately, no.”
    Jack puzzled for a moment, then asked, “Were you traveling with someone?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who?”
    “That’s not really clear.”
    “Are you being a smart-ass?”
    “Not at all.”
    “How did you get there?”
    Jamal glanced at Neil, apparently seeking a green light—as if to ask, Do you think Swyteck is ready for this? Jack followed the prisoner’s gaze toward Neil, who simply pulled up a chair for his co-counsel.
    “It’s a long story,” said Neil.
    Jack didn’t move. Then finally, he came to the table and took a seat.
    “All right,” he told his client, “let’s start at the beginning.”

Chapter Eight
    I was born in Somalia,” said Jamal, “my father’s homeland. My mother is a U.S. citizen, so I am, too. She and my father never married, and she took me to Minneapolis when I was a baby. Lots of Somali immigrants there.”
    “I didn’t know that,” said Jack.
    “Somalis, Scandinavians—who can tell the