Kingdom of Strangers by Zoë Ferraris

the doctor.”
    Katya gave a soft snort. “Is that how you met Sabria—in Undercover?”
    “Yes.” He studied Katya in the rearview mirror, stared straight into her eyes. “We worked together. Our relationship developed later, after she quit.”
    Ibrahim had called Katya early that morning to ask if she would be willing to lift whatever forensic evidence she could find from Sabria’s apartment. It was Wednesday, and he was eager to do it before Thursday, the beginning of the weekend, when most of Sabria’s neighbors would be home.
    She told herself she was going along because if something bad had happened to Sabria, she would feel terrible knowing that she’d done nothing to help. But she was really doing this because Ibrahim was in charge of the serial-killer case, and if this was what it took to get in on the investigation, then she’d do it.
    On the seat beside her was a duffel bag that held a mobile forensics kit. She’d tended to the black bag lovingly for weeks, filling it with new stackable plastic containers, baggies, syringes, all the gear she could pilfer from the lab. She’d been anticipating using it for an urgent situation when the department finally called her into the field. Instead, this morning was its debutante ball.
    “Did you have a chance to look at Sabria’s employment application? The one I left in your box?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he said. “It looks like her handwriting.”
    “So she filled out the form,” Katya said, “but someone else took the position?”
    “That’s my best guess,” he replied, “although I couldn’t tell you why.”
    From the way he pulled into the spot beneath Sabria’s building, Katya had the feeling he’d done it a thousand times before. He offered to carry the kit but she held on to it herself, and they took the elevator to the fourth floor.
    “I still think you should report her missing,” Katya said. “Anonymously, that is.”
    “The police won’t do anything I can’t do.”
    “Why not get some help with it then?”
    “I am getting help,” he said.
    Ibrahim let them in with his own key. Sabria’s apartment was small, with bright white carpets and simple furnishings. The first thing Katya noticed was an almost complete lack of anything that seemed personal or nostalgic. No photos of family members or friends. No books or knickknacks. Nothing but a pair of two-seater sofas and a television on a cabinet. Some empty cups littered the coffee table. Katya wandered into the kitchen, the bedroom, and bathroom. That was the extent of the household, and aside from a few toiletries and the clothing in the closet, there was nothing distinct about the apartment at all. Anyone could have lived there.
    “Didn’t she have any photographs or personal items?” Katya asked.
    They were standing in the kitchen. Ibrahim looked around as if the absence of these items had only just occurred to him. “She doesn’t own a lot of things,” he said. “She keeps all of her photos on her computer.”
    “And where is that?”
    He led Katya back to the living room and opened the doors onthe cabinet beneath the television. There was a folded-up prayer rug, a bottle of perfume, and some old videocassettes.
    “It’s gone.”
    “Was it a laptop?”
    “Yes.” He stood up, looking shaken.
    Katya sat on the sofa and began dusting the coffee table for fingerprints.
    “Sabria didn’t come to Jeddah with a lot of stuff,” Ibrahim said. “And everything she did have was lost when she left her first employer.”
    “Who was that?”
    “She worked as a housemaid for a year. It was an abusive situation, so she ran away.”
    “But that was a few years ago, yes?”
    “About five years ago.”
    “She’s had plenty of time to accumulate more stuff since then,” Katya said.
    “She wasn’t much of a shopper.”
    “How was she paying for the apartment?”
    “I pay for it,” Ibrahim said. “I pay for everything. Including the phone and food and… whatever she