STORY

A fictional series based on real events that happened in Iran known as the "Spider Killings". [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21]

PART 16
Roxanne went straight to Peyman’s house after checking in at her hotel in Mashad. Though she had telephoned Ramin from Tehran about her friend’s disappearance, she found that she could not sit by the telephone, idly awaiting news from the Brigadier-General. She must be there in person. There had been another row with Manou but Roxanne was used to that. What she was more upset about was leaving Setareh again. She would tell her daughter about everything once she got back to Tehran. It was high time she knew the details of her mother’s work. It would help her to understand.

When she reached Peyman’s home, the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and walked in. No sign of Peyman. As for his place, it looked not too dissimilar to how she had left it about a month ago. Messy, bachelor’s pad with mismatched furniture and mounds of paper, magazines, newspapers and books scattered on the tables, bookshelves, on top of the television, even on the kitchen counter.

She sat at the table where they had had their makeshift dinner the last time. A cup of tea still full, a plate with some half-rotten watermelon slices and feta cheese that had been lying there god knows how long. Ants had made their way to the food from some nook or cranny behind the kitchen cupboards. There was a neat, proper line of them marching straight from the floor, up the table leg and towards the plate. Roxanne shook her head. Was this just Peyman being Peyman, or was it something else? It looked as though he had left the house in the middle of his meal, or worse, maybe he had been forced to leave.

She called Ramin’s cell and got his voice mail. She left him a message that she had arrived and where she was staying, to please get in touch with her. After she hung up, she made her way to the basement, opening the door to find… emptiness. Her hand, still on the doorknob, started to tremble. Her suspicions were finally confirmed. Something had happened to her friend. They had taken him away and ransacked his basement, taking everything, every piece of furniture, every sheet of paper, even the armoire that served as a decoy for Peyman’s hiding place. The trap door had been removed and there was nothing more in the space beneath the flooring.

As Roxanne grabbed her cell phone from her purse to dial Ramin again, it was violently knocked out of her hand. She screamed from fear and instinctively closed her eyes and put up her hands in protection, only to feel them being grabbed at the wrists. When she opened them, a pair of icy blue eyes were staring back at her. It was Majid.

* * *

Ever since the 1994 bombing of the Imam Reza Shrine, security had been beefed up at the landmark. It was during that time that Hossein had been hired as an extra security guard there. Lately though, his mind preoccupied with the disappearance of Babak, the little boy whom he considered his own son, and with things at home worsening between him and Mahin, he had been less than adept at his job. His superior had reprimanded him a few times for being late, forgetting to check that certain gates and doors had been properly locked and not meddled with, and other infractions that were starting to add uncomfortably up.

So this early morning, while doing his rounds prior to the opening of the Shrine to the public, he was almost not surprised to see that the door to the mausoleum where the Imam was buried was open. Damn, he thought, I am going to have to report this and it will be now how many strikes against me? But his thoughts were interrupted by a sight that gave him pause.

There was a woman kneeling against the mausoleum. He could only see her back, clad in her floor-length black chador. Her face was pressed against the grid. She was probably deep in prayer. Though the door to the mausoleum was unlocked, Hossein still wondered how she got in, before the main gate of the shrine had been opened to the public.

-- “Madam. Ma’am” Hossein called out.

No answer.

-- “Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” Hossein barked, “How did you get in?”

As he approached her, he suddenly stopped. The woman was kneeling in a pool of black liquid. There was no doubt about it. It was blood. Hossein, without thinking, grabbed the woman and turned her around, then just as suddenly he dropped her in fright. She collapsed to the floor without a sound. That’s because she was dead.

Someone had propped up the body against the grid of the mausoleum in a macabre offering to the Imam. But how? When? Why? Hossein knew he should go ring the alarm this instant but his feet refused to move. His eyes were fixated on the body lying before him. The woman, a young girl actually, had fallen backwards after Hossein had inadvertently knocked her out of her position, revealing her naked body beneath the chador. It had been mutilated beyond belief.

Multiple cuts marked her body from her face, which had been lacerated down the middle, to her feet, which were missing several toes. One of her breasts had been so savagely butchered that it hung off to the side, attached to the body only by the thinnest of threads.

The most gruesome part that Hossein could see was a piece of skin, yes, it was human skin, that had seemingly been glued to her eyes, like a mask. Hossein could make out the words “your deceiving eyes have killed me” tattooed on them. The guard looked down and saw that the skin around one of the girl’s ankles had been peeled off meticulously, perhaps the original place of her tattoo.

Aside from the cuts and scratches, bluish/purple marks on the girl’s throats suggested she had been strangled, an impression confirmed by the fact that her hejab had been tightly knotted around her neck. This last detail struck Hossein, even as he finally regained command of himself and went running to sound the alarm. When the police had announced Fati’s death to him and Mahin, they had been mum about the manner in which her murderer had done her in however Hossein’s mother, who had washed the body before burial, had confided in him that Fati’s neck had the telltale signs of strangulation.

Hossein shivered. Was he cursed that death and violence, misery and pain, kept visiting his life? Farti murdered, Babak disappearing (although he had no proof that she was lying, he could not believe his wife’s make-believe story that he had been repossessed by his father). And now this. What a scandal for the shrine, for the city, for the whole country. While he awaited help, Hossein bent down towards the mausoleum and began praying feverishly. The body of the young girl lay next to him as if she too, was imploring the Imam for a last mercy.

* * *

Around the same time, in a different part of the city, Roxanne was thrown out of a van onto the street, her face hitting the ground hard as they pushed her out. She had spent the night in a strange place. She had no idea where it was. After Majid had grabbed her at Peyman’s place, his cronies had tied her hands and masked her eyes, taped her mouth shut. She had been forced into their vehicle and taken in, without an opportunity to protest or call for help. Her broken cell phone lay on the floor of Peyman’s basement as they took her away.

The night had been the longest in Roxanne’s life. Not because of the slaps and kicks, the verbal abuse and the humiliation. No, she was privy to their methods and she stood strong. As much as Majid tried to pry from her how much exactly she knew of Peyman’s investigation, she continued to play dumb, even though she knew perfectly well he was asking her about the contents of that box they had unearthed from his basement.

Finally, towards the early morning, Majid led her to a room where she could see, through a hidden glass partition, a young girl lying on a bed, naked, her hands and feet chained. Roxanne watched as several officers came in. First, they kneeled down on prayer rugs and recited verses from the Koran. Then, one of the officers unzipped his pants and lay down on top of the girl on the bed.

The girl was helpless to move, she could only scream out, bone chilling screams as the officer penetrated her again and again. When he was done, each of the other men took his turn while the others watched. The screams stopped after a while. The girl had lost consciousness. Still, they continued, some of them even trying to slap her awake, presumably so she could enjoy the festivities.

-- “Am I next?” Roxanne asked Majid coldly.

He smiled at her and she wished that she were able to rip that smile off his face with her nails. But Majid shook his head no.

-- “No, not you, my dear.” He responded.

He took out a photograph from his breast pocket and showed it to Roxanne. It was a picture of her daughter, Setareh. She was standing next to a framed painting on the wall. The picture had been taken last year when Setareh had been honored with the first art prize at her school. The proud mother had sent copies of the picture to many family members and friends, including, now she remembered, Peyman.

-- “You better return to Tehran and watch over your family instead of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Khanoome Journalist.”

As he said it, Majid punched Roxanne very hard in her stomach causing her to double over in excruciating pain. She tried to speak, ask for help, for mercy, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she vomited the entire contents of her stomach right then and there on the floor.

When they finally dropped her on the street in the wee hours of the morning, she had only one idea in mind. Get back to her hotel, call Manou to warn him to watch over Setareh like a hawk, and return to Tehran on the first available train.

But when she finally reached her hotel, Ramin was there, waiting for her. He blanched at her sight.

-- “Roxanne Khanoom (suddenly, it wasn’t Ms. Joneidi anymore)… Roxanne Khanoom, what happened to you? Where have you been?”

Roxanne had gone from fright to rage. She slapped away the hand that had been offered in help and she marched past him. Ramin followed her into her room. She began to pack up the few effects she had bothered to take out of her luggage. It wouldn’t be long now before she was back home.

-- “Roxanne Khanoom, khahesh mikonam, I beg of you. Tell me what happened. Who hurt you? Was it…”

Ramin paused and Roxanne finally looked up at him bitterly.

-- “Stop playing your fucking games with me. Good cop, bad cop, right. He couldn’t get the information from me the old-fashioned way last night so they sent you this morning to cajole it out of me? Well, I know nothing. You hear me? Nothing! So get the fuck out of my room!”

She was hysterical now. Ramin just stood and watched. He had no idea exactly what information she was talking about but he knew whatever had happened to her last night, it had to have been Majid and his uncle, Ayatollah Kazemi, who were behind it.

-- “Roxanne Khanoom, you don’t have to believe me but, I… I came here to give you information, not ask it.”

-- “Oh yeah and about what?”

-- “Your friend, Mr. Hashemzadeh.”

Roxanne had forgotten all about Peyman, she was so focused on her daughter and getting out of Mashad first thing. She sat down on the bed, still feeling sick to her stomach from Majid’s beating.

-- “You… you found him?” She asked, hoping against hope.

But Ramin’s look was telling of the truth.

-- “Oh god… God, no!”

It was too much to bear. She burst into tears and Ramin, without thinking, sat beside her and threw his arms around her. It seemed like an eternity but only a few minutes had passed before Roxanne could speak again.

-- “How did it happen?”

-- “They found his body floating in the Kashaf river. He… He drowned accidentally, it seems.”

Roxanne stood up.

-- “And you believe that?”

-- “Roxanne Khanoom, I am the chief of police here… I … I…”

-- “I… I…” mimicked Roxanne mockingly “I what? I am the chief of police so I can’t speak the truth? I am the chief of police so I am just another one of the Ayatollah’s henchmen?”

-- “No, no, please don’t put me in the same category as that weasel who… who dared to lay a hand upon you.”

Roxanne went back to packing.

-- “In any case, I am done with this hell you call your city. I am gone, you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

-- “Roxanne Khanoom, please don’t go.”

-- “And why should I stay?”

Just then, Ramin’s cell rang. Roxanne turned her back to him and continued with her preparations, as if he wasn’t even there. Ramin reluctantly answered his call. The tone of his voice made Roxanne turn around to look at him. Something had happened. Something that had the Brigadier-General lose his composure.

After Ramin hung up the phone, he told Roxanne:

-- “If you are still working on that story you told me about, I suggest you come with me. Something terrible has happened at the Shrine. On our way there, I will tell you everything you want to know about your so-called Spider killer, to show you my good faith.”

Roxanne was speechless.

-- “Come on, I won’t let you out of my sight, you will be safe with me, I promise you that.” Ramin firmly stated “And if you change your mind, my men and I will personally escort you out of Mashad until you feel safe.”

-- “Let’s go.” Roxanne replied.

When they arrived at the mausoleum, there were already hundreds of people there. The crowd was getting rowdier by the minute. The people were outraged. They wanted to blame someone for this unprecedented blasphemy and the only ones they could reach were the police officers. Curse words and slogans stormed down on the policemen who were trying to control the crowd and examine the crime scene simultaneously.

Roxanne, escorted by Ramin, looked around furtively to see if Majid or any of the men from the night before were present but to her relief, they were not. When they reached the body, the men, under the command of Asghar, Ramin’s highest ranking officer, had just finished taking the photos and collecting some evidence. The scene was so chaotic that Ramin bitterly envisioned how contaminated the evidence would be, with everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Although he had been used to the gruesome spectacle of the female victims of the Spider Killer, Ramin was taken aback at the brutality displayed on this latest girl.

-- “But I thought…” Roxanne murmured, also quite shocked.

-- “You thought right.” Ramin answered “This is the first time he has gone to such length. He had never mutilated them before.”

Turning to Asghar, he instructed him to pack up the body speedily and leave, since at any minute, the crown menaced to lose control and come down on them. But before they could haul the girl away, a piercing scream among the crowd, louder and more distinct than any of the onlookers who were busy booing the police officers, made everyone turn in that direction.

-- “YASSI!… YASSIIIIIIIIIII!!!”

A young woman, clad in a black chador, had pushed her way through the mob, and though two officers were trying to keep her back, she was using her whole body with a surreal strength to move forward towards the corpse, dragging the two men with her like they weighed no more than a feather.

-- “YASSIIIIIII…. Nooooooooo… Oh God, noooooooooooooooo.”

-- “Oh my god, I think I recognize that girl.” Ramin looked at her with amazement, remembering the mischievous girl that had locked gaze with him months ago at the police station during her arrest and asked him if he wanted to take her picture, when he had inadvertently rested his eyes on her.

-- “You won’t believe this, but I think I do too.” Roxanne responded.

There was no doubt about it. She could never forget that fiery young prostitute, so close in age to her own daughter, who had explained to her, tongue in cheek, the concept of retail and wholesale on their short car ride the last time Roxanne had been to Mashad.

Ramin ordered the men to let her go and he brought her near the body himself, holding her by the arm.

-- “You know this woman? Are you sure?” Ramin asked her.

-- “Yes, yes, oh god…” Azadeh answered sobbing “She is Yassi, my best friend. My sister.”

Before Ramin could prevent her, Azadeh kneeled down and embraced her friend. No one could make her let go.

* * *

In the crowd, Sharif was watching the whole scene unfold, fascinated. His eyes had narrowed and they were fixed on Azadeh. Already the Voice was telling him she was the next one>>>Part 17
Parts [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21]