"They kick you out of the country again?"
"After three weeks in a Tehran jail this time."
"But you went back again?"
"The next time, I went in overland through Turkey and northern Iraq. It cost me ten thousand bucks to get smuggled through Turkey, another eight thousand to the fucking Kurds to get me across the border, and five grand to smugglers in Iran."
"Where'd you get money like that?" said Kurtz. What he was thinking was You're lucky they didn't rape and kill you . But she must have known that.
"This was the nineties," said Rigby. "I'd put everything I had into the stock market and did all right Then blew it all going back to Iran."
"But you didn't find Kevin?"
"This time I didn't get within four hundred kilometers of Tehran. Some religious-police fanatics had my smugglers arrestedand probably shotand I got questioned for ten days in some provincial cop station before they just drove me to the Iraq border in a Land Cruiser and kicked me out again."
"Did they hurt you?" Kurtz was imagining burns from lighted cigarettes, jolts from car batteries.
"Never touched me," said Rigby. "I think the local chief of police liked Americans."
"So that was it?"
"Not by a long shot. In 1998 I hired a mercenary soldier named Tucker to go get Kevin. I didn't care if he killed Farouz, I just wanted Kevin back. Tucker told me that he used to be Special Forces and had been in Iran dozens of timeshad been inserted into Tehran as part of the plan to get the hostages out as part of that fucked-up Jimmy Carter raid in April 1980"
"Not the best thing to list on a resume," said Kurtz. He'd reached Sheridan Road and turned left according to Rigby's instructions, then right again into a maze of streets with townhouses and apartments built in the sixties. Rigby didn't live far from Peg O'Toole's apartment and he wanted to go there next.
"No," said Rigby. "As it turned out it wasn't a good recommendation for old Tucker."
"He didn't succeed."
"He disappeared," said Rigby King. "I got a cable from him in Cyprus, saying he was ready for 'the last stage of the operation, whatever the hell that meant, and then he disappeared. Two months later I got a package from Tehranfrom Farouz, although there was no return address."
"Let me guess," said Kurtz. "Ears?"
"Eight fingers and a big toe," said Rigby. "I recognized the ring on one of the fingers, big ruby in a sort of class ring that Tucker seemed proud of."
"Why a big toe?" said Kurtz.
"Beats the shit out of me," said Rigby and laughed. She didn't really sound amused.
"So now you're ready to go back again, taking me with you."
"Not quite ready," said the cop. "Next summer maybe."
"Oh boy," said Kurtz. He stopped at the curb in front of the dreary townhouse that Rigby had indicated.
"And I'll help you as much as I can until then," said Rigby, turning to look at him. The smell of death still wafted from her clothes.
"Just trust me to hold up my end of the bargain when the time comes, huh?" said Kurtz.
"Yeah."
"What can you tell me that would help me with this shooting thing?" said Kurtz. He'd made his decision. He wanted her help.
"Kemper thinks that you're right," said Rigby. "That Yasein Goba didn't act alone."
"Why?"
"Several reasons. Kemper doesn't think that Goba had the strength to drag himself up those stairs in his house. The M.E. says that despite all the blood trail and the blood in the bathroom, Goba'd lost two-thirds of his blood supply
before he got to the house."
"So someone helped him up the stairs," said Kurtz. "Anything else?"
"The missing car," said Rigby. "Sure, it'd be stolen in that neighborhood, but if Goba'd driven himself from the parking garage, the seat and floor and wheel and everything must've been saturated with blood. Blood everywhere. That might give even the back-the-Bridge Lackawanna thieves pause."
"Unless the blood was all in the backseat," said Kurtz. "Or trunk."
"Yeah."
"Do you trust Kemper's judgment, Rig?"
"I do," said the woman. "He's a good detective. Better than I'll ever be." She rubbed her temples. "Jesus, I'm going to have a headache tomorrow."
"Join the club," said Kurtz. He made a decision. "Anything else on Goba?"
"We're talking to everyone who knew him," said Rigby King. "And the Yemenis are really clannish and close-mouthedespecially after that terrorist thing last year. But they've told us enough to convince us that Goba was a real loner. No friends. No family here. It appears that he's been waiting for his fiancée to be smuggled into the country. We're looking into that. But a couple of neighbors tell us that they'd caught glimpses of Goba being dropped off once or twice by a white guy."
"A white guy dropped him off once or twice," repeated Kurtz. "That's it?"
"So far. We're still questioning neighbors and people who worked with Goba at the car wash."
"Any description on the white guy?"
"Just white," said Rigby. "Oh, yeahone crackhead said that Goba's pal had long hair'like a woman's. "
Like the driver of the car that broke out through the garage barrier , thought Kurtz. "Can you get me some information on Peg O'Toole's uncle?"