Page 33 of Azrael

The bathroom told the same story -- toothbrush in its holder, makeup scattered across the counter, a towel hung haphazardly over the shower curtain rod.Everything looked normal except for a small smear of something dark on the edge of the sink.I leaned closer.Could be makeup.Could be blood.Too small to tell for sure.

Back in the hallway, I gestured toward the kitchen.“Let’s check the rest.”

The kitchen was small but tidy, save for a coffee mug on its side near the sink, dark liquid staining the countertop.The dining area consisted of a rough-hewn wooden table with four mismatched chairs.One chair lay on its back.

That’s when I saw it.A single drop of blood on the linoleum floor, near the fallen chair.Dark.Dried.But unmistakable.

I crouched down, pulling my phone from my pocket to snap a picture.The flash illuminated the small red-brown spot, no bigger than a dime.“Blood,” I confirmed, glancing up at Havoc.

He nodded grimly, his face set in hard lines that emphasized every one of his sixty-eight years.Despite the gray threading through his once-red hair, Havoc’s eyes remained sharp, missing nothing.

“Recent?”he asked, moving closer to examine the spot.

“Probably happened when she went missing,” I replied, standing back up and surveying the kitchen.“Whoever took her knew what they were doing.Clean.Professional.No signs of forced entry means she knew them, they had a key, or they knew how to pick a lock without leaving evidence behind.”

“So what?You think she let them in, went to bed, and then they betrayed her trust?”Havoc asked.

Before I got a chance to answer, Gator appeared in the doorway, his usual easy charm replaced by business-like efficiency.“Checked the back door and windows.No sign of forced entry there either.”

“Any indication of where Zara might be?”I asked.“If anyone comes back here again, I want to make sure they can’t find her.”

Gator shook his head.“Other than the pictures we saw, there’s nothing.”

“Small mercies,” Havoc muttered, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.

I moved back to the living room, scanning for anything we might have missed.A stack of mail on the coffee table caught my attention.Bills.Advertisements.And a postcard from the Florida Keys with a picture of palm trees and white sand.I flipped it over, reading the brief message: “Thinking of you both.Stay safe.- C.”

“C could be Carter,” Havoc suggested, reading over my shoulder.“Wasn’t that her husband’s name?”

“Carter’s been dead for years,” I replied, tucking the postcard into my pocket.“This is recent.”

We stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the scene and its implications.Mazida Quadir -- a quiet, reserved widow who kept to herself -- was gone.Not by choice.And someone had sent her a warning to “stay safe” that she clearly hadn’t been able to heed.

“We split up,” I decided, tucking my phone away.“Havoc, check for any hidden spots -- false bottoms in drawers, loose floorboards, anything.Gator, go through her desk for any letters, cards, anything unusual.I’ll check the garage.”

They nodded and moved off to their assigned tasks.The garage was attached to the house through a utility room filled with laundry supplies and cleaning products.Nothing unusual there.In the garage itself, Mazida’s modest sedan sat undisturbed, dust collecting on its hood suggesting it hadn’t been moved in days.

I circled the car, checking under it, inside it, and around it.Nothing seemed out of place except for a small cardboard box tucked behind some gardening supplies in the corner.Inside, I found photos -- older ones, yellowed with age.A young Mazida without her hijab, smiling beside a handsome man I assumed was Carter.Some documents in Arabic that I couldn’t read.A small journal with entries dating back decades.

I tucked the journal into my cut on the off chance we needed it.The rest I left as found.Whatever had happened to Mazida, these memories wouldn’t help us find her now.

Back in the living room, Havoc and Gator had finished their searches.

“Nothing else of note,” Havoc reported, his voice grim.“No hidden money, no secret messages.”

Gator shook his head too.“Found her planner book.Mostly doctor appointments and emergency contacts.Her daughter’s cell number is in there.”

“Take it,” I instructed.“I don’t want them having a way to reach Zara, or track her.”

“You think she’s a target too?”Gator asked, tucking the small book into his pocket.

I shrugged, taking one last look around the disturbed home.“Don’t know.But whoever took Mazida did it clean and quiet.Professional job.Might be connected to her past, maybe something from the Middle East.Either way, her daughter could be next.”

“Or leverage,” Havoc added darkly.

I nodded, this new problem settling between my shoulder blades like a familiar burden.“Let’s bag any other evidence we’re taking.Blood sample and her phone mainly.I have the postcard and a journal.”

As we gathered what little evidence there was, my mind was already spinning forward to the next steps.Mazida’s disappearance wasn’t just another missing person case.The care taken, the precision -- it had the hallmarks of something deeper, something with tendrils that might reach all the way back to her life before America.If this place hadn’t looked like this when the police came, then it meant someone came back.I couldn’t think of a reason why unless they thought she had something important.Right now, I just had more questions than answers.

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