AT APARTMENT NUMBER FOUR, Monica greeted a young mother who had identical twin girls clinging to each leg and crying. “We’re from the FBI.” She displayed her ID. “We’re talking to your neighbors about Parvin Shah. What can you tell us about her?”
The woman took a cursory look at their creds. “Miss Shah never spoke to anyone. I’d smile and say hi. But she had this rock-face thing going.” She touched the toddlers with each hand and quieted them. “I saw men come and go from her apartment. Made me wonder . . . you know.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “One man at a time.”
“Did she accompany them?”
“They were alone.”
“The same ones?”
“Pretty much.”
Monica thanked the woman. She and Kord moved on to the fifth apartment. Those they’d talked to previously reported the same thing: Parvin Shah was a loner, except for the men seen coming and going from her apartment.
Kord knocked on the door of apartment number five. An older man with a cane responded. After they showed their IDs, Monica asked about Shah.
He moved into the hall. “You folks alone?”
“Yes, sir. The police are at her apartment,” Kord said. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
“She must have been a prostitute ’cause I saw a lot of men comin’ and goin’ from her apartment.”
“Why do you think that?” Kord said.
“She wasn’t ever with ’em.”
“What did they look like?”
“About her height. She must’ve liked short men.”
Shah knew how to play the role of a man . . . or were there more involved? “Would you be able to pick out one of those men in a lineup?” Kord said.
“I’d try. Is she in trouble?”
Kord nodded. “She’s dead.”
His eyes widened. “Do you think one of them men did it?”
“We know who killed her.”
“Have you seen the manager?”
Kord smiled. “He’s on the first floor.”
“Right.” He grinned at Monica, revealing a mouthful of missing teeth. “Miss, I hope this man here appreciates his pretty partner.”
She wanted to laugh, but he was serious. “I’m sure he does.”
“You come back by yourself when you’re done, and I’ll brew us some coffee.”
“Thanks.” Again she swallowed her humor.
Kord took the man’s name and phone number, and the two took the stairs to the first floor, where the manager, J. D. George, lived and worked.
“You were being hit on,” Kord said.
“He simply appreciates the female gender.”
“I’m jealous.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“My heart’s breaking.”
“Superglue is amazing.”
“Do you talk like this to all your partners?”
“Just my current one.” Flirting was for kids, in her opinion, and here she was jumping in with both feet.
George’s office was in the front of the building, and the door stood open.
“Can I help you?” A balding man whirled around on a squeaky chair. “This must have something to do with the HPD and FBI investigation upstairs.”
“Yes, sir.” Monica’s turn to take the lead on this one. “We have a few questions.”
“Gave my statement to the officers.”
“We’re not HPD.” Kord whipped out his FBI ID.
George rubbed the back of his head. “I want to cooperate.” He pressed his computer to life and typed, bringing up Parvin Shah’s file. He stood and pointed to his chair for Monica. “Take a look. I have a spreadsheet with my renters’ payment records and how they paid. Hers was cash on the day due.”
Monica slid into the chair. Shah’s rental application had been completed in June 2011. But her entrance into Houston was February. Where had she lived during that time? The information was basic with nothing verified except her employment at Macy’s and proof of citizenship.
“She doesn’t list a previous address,” Monica said. “And it wasn’t an issue?”
“Told me she’d stayed at a Motel 6 until she found this apartment. Paid three months’ cash in advance, then cash on the day due like I already said.” He swore. “I neglected to check it out.”
Money talked. “She listed her supervisor at Macy’s as an emergency contact.”
“Claimed to have no family or friends in the US.” George’s face flushed. “Not smart in hindsight.”
“Did you ever see her with anyone?”
“My renters have rights, and unless I suspect one of them breaking the law, their activities are private.”
Monica gave him a smile. “But you have eyes. What did you see?”
“She had men friends. No women.”
Kord cleared his throat to take over the interview. “We’d like to see your security cameras.”
George nodded. “I have the footage already. When the police arrived and informed me she’d been shot in a takedown, I got nervous. It’s on the computer.”
Monica pulled it up. “How far does this go back?”
“I have the last three days pulled up here. Thought it would be easier for investigators.”
Kord peered over her shoulder. His breath tickled her neck. Whoa. No need for him to be so close.
“At 1:03 this afternoon, a man left her apartment and took a taxi,” George said.
The same person she’d shot and killed. She zoomed in on a camera positioned outside the apartment building and memorized the taxi’s license plate.
“Handling that now,” Kord said, again incredibly close to her neck. “Will check to see if she used the company or same driver regularly.”
As in the footage from Paramount High School, the person dodged the cameras.
“George, can we copy this footage and her payment records?” Kord said.
“Sure thing. Forget the legal paperwork stuff. If I had a terrorist in my building, I want it on my record about my cooperation.”
“We’ll get back to you about footage going back farther. The FBI will want to image your records.”
Monica reached into her pocket for a flash drive and copied Shah’s records and clips from the security footage. Moments later they thanked George and took the stairs to Shah’s apartment.
“Do you always carry a flash drive?”
“Like lipstick.” She paused and sent a text to the CIA for updates. “I wanted to review the footage over the last few hours before giving it to the big guys.”
“If we can get a facial on every disguise, then we can figure out where she fit.”
“Really?”
He chuckled. “Wishful thinking.”
Agent Richardson was speaking with Ali in the hallway of Shah’s apartment. Richardson waved at Kord and Monica.
“Find anything?” Kord said.
“Ali found another passport. Hidden behind the bathroom mirror.”
“Good one.” Monica smiled at the bodyguard before realizing it wasn’t appropriate. Strangely enough, he handed her the passport instead of Kord. Issued by the US. She opened it and memorized the contents. The photo of Parvin Shah stared back at her with glasses and longer hair. Name: Miriam Hosseini. US citizen. Birth date: September 3, 1983. Born in Michigan. Issued January 7, 2014. Expired January 2024. No date or country stamps to indicate usage.
“Already checked,” Richardson said. “Fake.”
Monica retrieved her phone and clicked a pic of the signature and the number.
“One more thing,” Richardson said. “We found three unactivated burner phones.”
Who was Parvin Shah?
How much info would the sweep reveal?
Would the taxi driver offer more insight?
Who hired her to kill?