Tripping on Tears (19 page)

“Impossible. Never would have happened. Never,” she said.

We sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Safia’s death, an honor killing, could that be true?” I finally asked.

Kareena looked at me intently; it was a little unnerving. I could tell that like myself, in her own way, she was still mourning the loss of her friend.

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Justice maybe. Just knowing.”

“Justice? What are you going to do? If it’s true and the police haven’t done anything, what do you think you’re going to do?” she asked. “As far as I can tell they got away with it; they killed the good daughter who grew up adoring them. They’re insane.”

I needed to get to the heart of the matter; the reason why I wanted to meet with her.

“You said it’s a rumor out there. What I really need to know is, is it just that, or is there any truth to it. People talk all the time; believe things that aren’t true; or rumors come about and they pick up a head of steam and are blown completely out of proportion. You’ve obviously heard them; you’re within the community, I assume, so how valid are the rumors in your opinion.”

Kareena just looked at me for a long time. I could see she was thinking, debating, whatever. Maybe she realized she’d opened up a can of worms by blurting it out to me that day we met in the book store; maybe she should have just made some inane small talk and got away from me as soon as she could have, but she didn’t. That day in the book store I had seen anger in her eyes; anger as she accused me of being responsible for Safia’s death; that’s why I had to meet with her today and confirm her beliefs, because to have that kind of anger towards me, she must think there’s some validity to the rumors – I just needed to know how sure she was.

“Even if I tell you what I think, what does it matter?” she finally said.

“It matters because it’s about Safia. It just matters.”

“I’d always joked with Safia that her parents could do something like this; it was meant to be an exaggeration, but I joked about it, and I guess deep down, having known them and seen how they raised their kids, I didn’t entirely think it was impossible. You know, they’re not heroes for this. The rumors started and in some circles the family has been praised and respected for doing the right thing, in others they’ve been shunned. I’d imagine there have been more Muslims who are outraged by the rumors, and if they’re true, Safia’s parent’s actions, those Muslims know they were wrong and don’t condone it. They wouldn’t be idly talking about it and spreading such a horrible rumor. That’s why I believe the rumors are true.”

I just looked at her.

“Why put them out there and risk falling out of favor with the community?” she said.

“But I thought by doing this, if they did it, it was to restore honor to their family?” I asked.

Kareena laughed again. “Stuff like this, it’s old school. Honor killings? Maybe if they’re back in the old country, where they had grown up, it is accepted and practiced, but not
here
; not for families who have built a life
here
and are raising their kids
here
; they know it’s wrong; there are a lot of Muslims who believe strongly in their faith and culture, but turning around and killing their own child, committing murder of any type, well they’d never even consider it. They’re peace-loving individuals. I know it can be hard for you Westerners to understand that, but peace-loving and Muslim do go hand in hand with one another.”

“So as far as her parents are concerned, they lost standing in the community because their daughter had moved in with me, so they killed her, and in doing so, have still lost standing in the community? Nothing was resolved?” I asked.

“That’d be the case. I mean there are some die-hards who celebrate what they did; that they took matters into their own hands and acted accordingly, so it’s not all bad for them. For some, their actions actually raised them in other’s eyes, for they were brave enough to do the right thing; but that’s a very small group within the community. It’s all insane, and at the heart of it, a beautiful, wonderful girl lost her life.”

“What do you think? Do you believe the rumors? Deep down in your heart, do you believe them to be true?” I asked, again.

Kareena smiled. “Safia’s gone. She’s never coming back. What’s done is done.”

She stood up, ready to go.

“For the record,” she said, “I’m sorry. It was wrong what I said to you in the bookstore. I don’t believe you’re responsible for my friend’s death. I know she was happy. Let it go.”

Kareena turned and started walking away.

“Kareena,” I yelled after her.

She stopped in her tracks and stood there for a couple of seconds, contemplating. Without turning around and looking at me, I heard her say, “I believe.” Kareena walked out the door of the coffee shop.

“I believe.”

The words echoed in my mind. Now what?

Kareena was right; armed with this information, what was I going to do? What could I do? I had no plan of action; all I had was a growing anger and hatred that was slowly taking over my being. It was like the cancer that had claimed my parent’s lives; it had no doubt started off as something small and insignificant; something that if I dealt with it quickly, it could be removed, and I’d be saved. I didn’t deal with it, instead I had allowed it to fester, and with conversations like the one I’d had with Kareena, I had even encouraged it to grow. I’d always been a peaceful man, but that was changing, and now I was learning and embracing the art of hating and hatred.

Embracing hate does not provide you with a game plan, however. You know you want to do something, but you don’t know what to do, and that just makes you angrier.

They had killed her

They’d killed Safia.

Every time my mind thought that, the hate within me grew just a little bit more. If I’d thought about it, it was like the process of having fallen in love with Safia; where interest and attraction slowly grow into love, with love overwhelming your senses and being. The new circumstances of Safia’s death were having the same effect, but instead of love, it was hatred that was winning the day.

Without even consciously planning it, I ended up outside Safia’s parent’s grocery store. I didn’t know what the hell I thought I was going to accomplish there, but that’s where I ended up. For the longest time I sat in my car, at the back of the parking lot, staring at the store. This was the place. This was where Safia breathed her last breath. It just didn’t seem fair; this pathetic little place was too insignificant a place for someone as special as Safia to lose her life; even in death she deserved better.

After a time, I got out of my car and started making my way towards the doors of the grocery store. I had no idea what I was doing or what I hoped to accomplish by being there. I entered the store.

As I looked around, the anger in me continued to grow; here I was in an ethnic grocery store, the shelves carefully stocked, the place cleaned, and it was pissing me off. The place looked like it was well taken care of; I couldn’t help wondering if Safia’s parents hadn’t worried about taking better care of their store than they did of their daughter. Would they dare sacrifice it, their living, on a principal? I was angry, and then I saw her – Rijja.

When Rijja looked up and saw me standing there, in the store, a look of surprise and then worry crossed her face. She looked a little panicked as she rushed over to me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, all the while looking around, as if she was expecting someone to appear. “You have to get out of here. Please.”

“Where’d she die?” I asked.

“You have to go.”

“Did your parents murder Safia?”

I’d caught Rijja by surprise. She took a few steps backwards, as if the very words themselves had pushed her back. It was then that I knew it was true; the look on Rijja’s face said it all. Safia’s parents had arranged her death.

“You have to...,” she started to stay, but stopped, a fearful look on her face, as she looked past me.

I turned to see a man in either his late forties or early fifties standing there a few feet behind me. I was looking at Safia’s Father, and he was staring right back at me. And that’s what we did, we stared at one another. I had no idea what was going on in his head, but in mine I was contemplating many scenarios, the most prominent being my rushing him and beating him to death. My fists were clenched, my chest tight with anger, as I stared at the bastard. Rijja said nothing, no doubt just watching the two of us and wondering how bad it was going to get.

Finally I moved closer to her father. I really wanted to lash out at him; I
desperately
wanted to lash out at him, but I knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything; no, I had to retreat and start considering my options; only then could I act.

Safia’s Father and I were still locked in our stares, even as I got close to him. He wasn’t moving away, or looking worried.

“You have your traditions, and we have our own over here. We know how to deal with murderers,” I said quietly to him, when I was close. And then, before I lost control of my senses, I turned and made my way out of the grocery store, never looking back.

I was sure my questions had been answered, but my training, well it called for multiple sources; to try and verify every fact before I wrote anything; this was important, I wanted to be armed with the truth before I decided what I was going to do. My next stop was the police – to see what they had investigated. I knew, however, they wouldn’t just tell me, especially if the case was unsolved and an ongoing investigation. No, I’d have to try and be a little craftier than that.

One aspect of having been a journalist is the knowledge that many organizations have a public relations department – someone assigned to handle requests and questions from the media. Definitely the police departments did, as they often had a lot of questions thrown their way. I decided to make a call. The plan was simple; I’d call the division that would have handled Safia’s investigation, request to talk to a public relations officer and tell them I was an author working on a book about honor killings. I was wondering if I could speak with any Detectives who had worked on just such cases or suspected they had worked on just such cases. I’d leave the public relations officer with my agent’s number and a contact at my publisher, if they wanted to check out my credentials, and wait. I knew everything would check out all right, and it would just hint to my publisher what my next non-fiction book was going to be about. It all seemed so simple, but the police were on to me.

“You were Safia’s boyfriend, is that not so?”

Sitting across from me, on my couch was a fifty-something Police Detective named Irons – Detective Irons. He had shown up unexpectedly at my front door in answer to my request to talk with a Police Detective about honor killings. I’d let him in and we made a bit of small talk, before he cut to the chase. He and a couple of other Detectives had been approached about talking with me as research for my upcoming book, but Detective Irons had taken it one step further and looked me up, realizing I was the boyfriend of the woman slain in one of his more recent honor killing cases. He put two and two together and figured I was on a fishing expedition for information – and he was right.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” I asked.

“Your name came up in the investigation,” he explained.

“I never heard from anyone.”

“You were never considered a suspect, nor did we suspect you had any relevant information to impart. Now you’re writing a book on honor killings? Is that what you’re trying to sell?”

“Been thinking about it,” I offered weakly.

“Your girlfriend’s death is still considered an open investigation; I really can’t say too much about it. I figure that’s really why you’ve made this request, right?”

I was caught; no need to continue the lie.

“It’s just that, well, Safia was forced to live two lives; one with me and the other with her family. When she was murdered, I was just out of the loop; I really wasn’t told anything by the family; she was just out of my life and that was it.”

He just looked at me carefully, sizing me up, I guess.

“Her parents had kicked her out of the house because of me; it was only for a short while before her death that they started talking to her again; welcoming her back into the family home,” I said. “Then she was dead, and now, well, I’m hearing rumors it might have been her family that had her killed. An honor killing. Which means all that time I was happy they were letting her back into their lives, accepting her, they were actually just setting her up to have her around so they could eventually kill her. You could understand why upon hearing that I wanted to know more, can’t you?”

He just nodded his head, not saying a word.

“Still, it’s an ongoing investigation.” He stood up. “I really can’t say anything.”

“Can you tell me this Detective; will anyone ever pay for her senseless death?”

He looked at me, thinking hard. I guess he had come over here out of curiosity; looking to see if I had anything relevant to say, although it seems they all ready knew that I didn’t. I don’t know exactly what drove him over here, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn’t to repeat to me the line about this being an ongoing investigation and he couldn’t say anything.

Detective Irons sat back down, still deep in thought. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I remained silent, watching him closely, waiting to see where his thought process was going to take him.

“We don’t get a lot of murders that would qualify under the title honor killing, here,” he finally said. “We see a lot in our line of work; a lot of senseless deaths. Safia’s was especially so, seeing how we had classified it under the heading of an honor murder.”

He took his time; he was clearly hesitant to say more, but I knew that deep down he wanted to.

“No one’s ever going to pay for her murder,” he said, “no one. Everything in our investigation points to the family. That’s what makes her death so senseless; her own family, her loved ones, took her life.”

“Have you investigated them?” I asked, although I believe I all ready knew the answer.

“Thoroughly,” he said. “Listen, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. The way I got it figured, you’re not really researching a book or anything like that. The other way I got it figured is that with no murder weapon, the family circling their wagons, and providing alibi’s for one another, and nothing else to go on, this case is always going to officially remain unsolved.”

“You really believe the family did it?” I asked.

“I thought the sister was going to break,” he said.

“Rijja?”

“Yeah, I believe that’s her name,” he said. “She seemed like the weakest link; we tried hard, but surprisingly, after all was said and done, she towed the family line and supported the story they were trying to sell us. None of it sounded right, but with no concrete evidence, there was nothing we could do, except let them all walk. I guess I came over here tonight because I was hoping that miracles of miracles you might have something or say, something that would help us break down the wall and bring those who did this to her to justice, but...I guess not.”

“You’re not exploring any other leads?” I asked.

“There are none,” he said, standing up again. “It all leads back to the family; I’m afraid, after all this time, and with them sticking together, we’re not even actively pursuing the case anymore; we’ve just got too much on our plates, unless something concrete comes up that will allow us to move forward and make some arrests.”

“But from what I hear they’re bragging about it within the community,” I said.

“We’ve heard the same; what happened to your girlfriend is common knowledge, but still just rumors; we don’t make arrests based on rumors. Listen, son, I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend; truly sorry, but what’s done is done. If anything comes up that allows me to move forward, I’d be all over it in a second; gets under my skin that the family could get away with something like that. Other than that, it’s one of those situations where you have to live with what’s happened, whether you want to or not. I don’t know why you’re suddenly poking around in it, but take my advice and move on. Remember this girl for how you knew her; who she was; remember the good times and let the rest of it go. If she had been a decent woman, I’m sure she probably would want you to do just that.”

Detective Irons left; he had satisfied his curiosity and I had had a chance to satisfy mine. I had hoped Kareena had been wrong, but it seems that all signs pointed to the family – to Safia being betrayed by the ones who said they loved her. The pain she must have felt in her heart as she realized what was happening to her and who was doing it to her, probably hurt her more than the knife itself. What she must have been thinking in those final moments of life pained me. For the first time in a long time, I broke down and wept once more.