her.
“She usually wears a watch. It’s a Dolce & Gabbana knockoff. I bought it for her in Thailand—and she’s also got a ton of bracelets. You know, bangles, where each individual one is thin, but you can wear a lot of them at the same time.”
She used her index finger and thumb to indicate a width that Louise estimated at about four inches.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that she wears regularly, but she does have jewelry.”
“What about her clothes?” Louise asked instead.
“Just the usual. Jeans and T-shirts … a lot of times she’ll wear a top with a little blouse over it, and she has a beige jacket like they mentioned on the news on the radio.”
Louise glanced down at the girl’s feet and saw a pair of black Kawasakis. She pointed at them.
“Does she have a pair like those too?” she asked, knowing most of the girl’s friends likely had them. She couldn’t understand how the floppy little sneakers managed to stay in style. They’d been popular when she was the girl’s age, as well.
Dicta nodded.
“We bought them together; hers are white.”
The girl stopped, unable to think of anything else. Louise didn’t pressure her, instead saying, “Okay, I’ve got all this information written down. The last thing I’ll need is just your friend’s full name and address, and also how to get hold of you in case we want to talk with you again.”
“She usually always responds to text messages on her phone. I’ve also tried texting her, but she doesn’t reply,” Dicta said, instead of giving Louise what she had asked for.
“What’s her name again?” Louise asked before Dicta started talking.
“Samra al-Abd. She lives on Dysseparken, apartment 16B,” the girl said. She seemed to consider her words before continuing. “She comes over to my house a lot when her parents let her, but her father can be pretty strict; sometimes she’s afraid of him. And now she’s suddenly missing.…”
Louise tried to reassure her by repeating that there could be any number of good reasons why her friend had missed school or blown off their plans to get together.
“There’s no need to assume the worst,” she said. Louise knew that lots of people saw ghosts in broad daylight when it came to persecuted immigrant girls and their fathers. Still, she had to admit that many of the things Dicta had told her might well indicate this was the right girl.
“Could I get your friend’s phone number?” Louise asked, watching Dicta take her cell phone back out and browse through her contacts. Louise took down the number and also asked for her friend’s home number on Dysseparken.
The girl pressed the button a few more times and also gave Louise the parents’ phone number.
Once she had written down both numbers as well as Dicta’s, Louise nodded toward the cell phone and asked if Dicta happened to have a picture of her friend on it.
A moment later Dicta passed her phone across the table and told Louise she’d taken the picture outside of school the week before.
Louise quickly leaned forward and took the phone, but the picture was taken from so far away you could see only the long, black hair and a blurry face. There was a certain similarity between Dicta’s friend and the dead girl, but it was impossible to tell for sure if it was her.
“Unfortunately, this was taken from too far away for me to make her out properly,” Louise said, handing back the phone. “Do you think you have a better one?”
The girl shook her head and explained that she had had more pictures on her old phone, but she had lost it.
“I might be able to find one at home,” she offered, saying she would be happy to stop by with it the next day.
“It’s a deal. Then hopefully we can rule out your friend as the girl we found,” Louise told Dicta, thanking her for coming before walking her back out to the reception area. Then Louise quickly returned to the command center, but it was empty and the lights were off. She surveyed
“She usually wears a watch. It’s a Dolce & Gabbana knockoff. I bought it for her in Thailand—and she’s also got a ton of bracelets. You know, bangles, where each individual one is thin, but you can wear a lot of them at the same time.”
She used her index finger and thumb to indicate a width that Louise estimated at about four inches.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that she wears regularly, but she does have jewelry.”
“What about her clothes?” Louise asked instead.
“Just the usual. Jeans and T-shirts … a lot of times she’ll wear a top with a little blouse over it, and she has a beige jacket like they mentioned on the news on the radio.”
Louise glanced down at the girl’s feet and saw a pair of black Kawasakis. She pointed at them.
“Does she have a pair like those too?” she asked, knowing most of the girl’s friends likely had them. She couldn’t understand how the floppy little sneakers managed to stay in style. They’d been popular when she was the girl’s age, as well.
Dicta nodded.
“We bought them together; hers are white.”
The girl stopped, unable to think of anything else. Louise didn’t pressure her, instead saying, “Okay, I’ve got all this information written down. The last thing I’ll need is just your friend’s full name and address, and also how to get hold of you in case we want to talk with you again.”
“She usually always responds to text messages on her phone. I’ve also tried texting her, but she doesn’t reply,” Dicta said, instead of giving Louise what she had asked for.
“What’s her name again?” Louise asked before Dicta started talking.
“Samra al-Abd. She lives on Dysseparken, apartment 16B,” the girl said. She seemed to consider her words before continuing. “She comes over to my house a lot when her parents let her, but her father can be pretty strict; sometimes she’s afraid of him. And now she’s suddenly missing.…”
Louise tried to reassure her by repeating that there could be any number of good reasons why her friend had missed school or blown off their plans to get together.
“There’s no need to assume the worst,” she said. Louise knew that lots of people saw ghosts in broad daylight when it came to persecuted immigrant girls and their fathers. Still, she had to admit that many of the things Dicta had told her might well indicate this was the right girl.
“Could I get your friend’s phone number?” Louise asked, watching Dicta take her cell phone back out and browse through her contacts. Louise took down the number and also asked for her friend’s home number on Dysseparken.
The girl pressed the button a few more times and also gave Louise the parents’ phone number.
Once she had written down both numbers as well as Dicta’s, Louise nodded toward the cell phone and asked if Dicta happened to have a picture of her friend on it.
A moment later Dicta passed her phone across the table and told Louise she’d taken the picture outside of school the week before.
Louise quickly leaned forward and took the phone, but the picture was taken from so far away you could see only the long, black hair and a blurry face. There was a certain similarity between Dicta’s friend and the dead girl, but it was impossible to tell for sure if it was her.
“Unfortunately, this was taken from too far away for me to make her out properly,” Louise said, handing back the phone. “Do you think you have a better one?”
The girl shook her head and explained that she had had more pictures on her old phone, but she had lost it.
“I might be able to find one at home,” she offered, saying she would be happy to stop by with it the next day.
“It’s a deal. Then hopefully we can rule out your friend as the girl we found,” Louise told Dicta, thanking her for coming before walking her back out to the reception area. Then Louise quickly returned to the command center, but it was empty and the lights were off. She surveyed
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