The Flight Attendant(55)

“On my counsel’s advice, I am invoking my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer.” It took courage to say those words—not Fearless Girl bravery, not a righteous refusal to be bullied—but it was still a kind of valor she wasn’t sure she had. She wanted to lie. It was just easier to lie. So much of her life was lying. Oh, she would have moments of candor, especially when she was forced to face who she was after a particularly deep drunk or when the postcoital revulsion was stifling after a romp with a stranger. But usually she lied. Now she watched Hammond look quickly at Ani, who was absolutely stone-faced, and then back at her. He smiled.

“Really?” he said, his tone almost light. “How could that question possibly incriminate you?”

She said nothing.

“So the last time you ever saw Alex Sokolov was as he was leaving the airplane after you touched down in the Emirates?” he pressed.

“On my counsel’s advice, I am taking the Fifth.”

Hammond said to Ani, “I’m not sure what you think we’re looking for here, Ms. Mouradian, or why in the world you would give Ms. Bowden that advice.”

Ani glanced down at her nails and then up at Hammond. Her legs were crossed, and her skirt had ridden up a few inches on her thighs. Her pantyhose were black and sheer, and Cassie recognized the color as one of the shades the airline approved with the uniform. “What are you looking for, Agent Hammond?” she asked him.

“We’re just trying to learn all we can about the death of an American citizen in Dubai. We’re trying to see what he did there the night before he was killed. A courtesy for another country. A courtesy for a grieving American family in this one. Maybe Alex Sokolov said something to your client that will help us find out who murdered him.”

“Why not ask her that?”

He nodded. “Okay.” Then he turned back to Cassie: “Did Alex Sokolov say anything to you that might help us find out who murdered him?”

“No,” Cassie answered.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Ani asked the agent. He ignored her.

“Did Sokolov tell you where he was going when he landed?”

Ani jumped in: “Agent Hammond, surely you have already asked Unisphere Asset Management that question and they have told you. For the life of me, I can’t see why you keep coming back to this line of questioning with my client. I’m sure you know exactly who Alex Sokolov was meeting with in Dubai. I’m sure you know exactly why he was in the city.”

“And do you know, Ms. Mouradian?”

“No. Do you care to tell us?”

He looked irked, but he said nothing to the lawyer. Instead he turned back to Cassie and said, “Let’s make it easier: did he tell you the name of the hotel where he was staying?”

Ani jumped in again. “We all know that, Agent Hammond. It’s been in the newspapers, for God’s sake.”

“Ah, but did he tell your client? That’s my question.”

“I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer.” Cassie noticed that Washburn was writing even that down.

“Do you honestly believe that we or the police in Dubai think you’ve done something wrong, Ms. Bowden?” He was, Cassie supposed, trying to sound at once astonished and hurt. She might have believed that he actually felt that way if Ani hadn’t warned her.

“I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question,” Ani said to the case agent.

“It’s not. I’m trying to help solve a crime. I’m trying to help a family get justice. And, just maybe, I’m trying to save other lives by catching a killer.”

“All noble goals. I want you to succeed,” said Ani.

“And there are flight attendants, passengers, and an air marshal on Alex Sokolov’s last flight who are quite clear about this: your client was talking to him. A lot. And in their extensive conversations, it is at least remotely possible that he may have told Ms. Bowden something that could be useful.”

“So you don’t believe she has done anything wrong?”

Cassie was struck by how everyone was suddenly referring to her in the third person, as if she weren’t there. She. Ms. Bowden. She wanted to raise her hand and remind them that she was here, she wasn’t invisible. She recalled a line from an old Beatles song: I know what it’s like to be dead.

Hammond’s brow grew furrowed. “Why would we? Because she went by Unisphere’s New York office late yesterday afternoon?”

And then, as if it were only a game of high-stakes poker, no one said anything. She could see that Ani and Hammond were trying to surmise each other’s tell, that almost imperceptible behavioral tic that would allow them to gauge their opponent’s hand and sense their advantage. It was actually Washburn, the scribe, who broke the silence.

“I just want to confirm,” he began quietly, looking at Cassie, “you said Sokolov didn’t tell you at which hotel he was staying, correct? You only learned where he was staying from the newspapers, well after the fact.” Then he put his head back down and seemed to be staring at the tip of his ballpoint pen as he held it an inch or so above the yellow paper with the thin blue lines.

“I took the Fifth,” she said, the words timorous and momentarily caught in her throat. She clasped her fingers together in her lap because otherwise they would be visibly shaking.