City of Saints & Thieves(23)

“Tina!” Michael says. “Would you just calm down?”

I stop struggling but stay ready to bolt. “Why would Mwika even want the footage, unless it was to . . . I don’t know, blackmail your dad?”

“Maybe there’s something else on there he didn’t want anyone to see. Maybe Mwika was involved.”

“You said security didn’t know about the tunnel. That means he wouldn’t have known about the camera.”

“They don’t know now, but Dad fired everyone after your mom’s murder. Before then, Mwika knew about it, and maybe he told the killer. Maybe he was the killer. Maybe that other footage of him playing cards was staged.”

I let my arm go loose. It’s true. Even if it wasn’t Mwika who killed her, he could have been involved somehow. If any of what Michael is saying is true, that is.

Michael slowly releases me. “It’s worth tracking him down, right?” he asks. “I’ve got money, and I have a feeling he needs it.”

“Why?”

“Because of where he is.”

“And where is that?”

Michael folds his arms over his chest. “Come on, Tina, how dumb do you think I am? I tell you now and you’re gone.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I think you’re pretty dumb. Do you really know where he is? Or did you get that info from Daddy too?”

“I know where he is,” Michael says. “Don’t worry. He’s just . . . hard to reach. But I’ll get in touch with him.” He walks back over to the bed and sits on it. “Come on, you made a deal. See it through.”

My brain tells me I’m an idiot if I listen to him. He could be totally lying. And if he’s not lying, his father’s almost certainly lied to him. Almost certainly. Stupid little one percent of doubt. It will not let my feet steer me out the door. What if Mwika really does have the video? What do I lose by staying until Michael can contact him?

Your head, if you don’t get Omoko his money on time.

Your pride.

I let out an enormous sigh. “Fine.”

Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, Tiny Girl. If he were anyone other than Michael, you’d be gone. But as much as I hate to admit it, other than me, Michael seems to be the only person in the world who’s ever been interested in what really happened to Mama that night. Even before we made this deal, he asked his father about her murder. That took some stones. Maybe he’s blind to believe him, but at least Michael bothered to wonder.

I slowly sit back down on the carpet.

“All right,” Michael says carefully, like if he gets too excited I’ll bolt. “Now, don’t go crazy, but I have a suggestion. While I’m working on Mwika, we can still do our own investigating. If we’ve only got a week, then maybe we should do this properly and lay everything out logically. Maybe the video shows the murderer; maybe it doesn’t. We can still go ahead and figure out who the suspects would be. Then if the video doesn’t show us what we need, we might have other leads to follow.”

I make a face. “You want to play detective?”

“Don’t you want to know why your mom was murdered, not just who did it?”

I bite my tongue before I can snap that I know pretty well who did it and why. It’s too late in the evening to start down that road again.

Michael picks up a folder from his bed and begins leafing through it. Despite myself, I edge closer, trying to see what he’s doing. “What is that?”

He pulls out a single document and holds it to his chest so I can’t see. “After I talked to the guards last night, before I came back to you, I went to make sure Dad’s office was in order. His computer had frozen and I found this still up on his screen. I printed a copy before I shut it off.” He finally hands it to me. “I, um, I thought you might want it.”

My mouth goes dry.

It’s the photo I had found just before Michael caught me. I stare at it hungrily.

“It’s your mom, right?” He drops his eyes. He knows it is.

See? Can you blame me for getting distracted? My mother and another girl smile back at me radiantly. They are young, in school uniforms, with their arms twined around each other’s waists. Flowers bloom behind them. I have no memory of my mother ever smiling like that. The other girl looks mischievous, like she’s flirting with whoever is taking the photo. An ache wells in my throat. Other than her old refugee ID, I have no photos of Mama.

“I tried to see what else was on the hard drive, but everything was password protected.” Michael waits. “Who’s the girl with her?”

I finally look up. “Everything on the hard drive is encrypted,” I say briskly. “My business partner is working on it.” I carefully fold the paper in half and then quarters and tuck it inside my bra.

“Hey, that was for the case!”

“I’m not throwing it away, Michael. And don’t call it the case.”

“You don’t know who the other girl is?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said I don’t know.” I feel the paper burning against my chest. It sounds like I’m lying, but I really don’t know. A friend? A relative? “What else do you have in that folder?” I ask.

Michael hesitates, but eventually picks the papers back up. “Not enough. I was trying to find someone to bribe so I can get your mom’s police file, but it sounds like you’ve already got it.”