He looked up from where he knelt by Jamsheed. I could read it on his face. “Blunt force trauma to the head resulting in a depressed fracture. Got some pretty severe damage to the cervical spine…” He let the rest hang.

I moved over and dropped to my knees by Jamsheed. His eyes were open, but they were bright and glassy with pain and one pupil was fully dilated, indicating a cerebral hemorrhage. Khalid’s eyes bored into mine and he gave a tiny shake of his head. I took a cotton square from him and dabbed at the blood and sweat on Jamsheed’s face.

Before I could say anything, Jamsheed spoke. His voice was hoarse, low. “You cannot stay here. The police…”

“I know, but we have to—”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted. “You can’t take me with you and still do what you have to do.”

“You don’t even know what we’re here for.”

He smiled faintly. “Does it matter? You work for the Mujtahid. He called me to say that I should trust you because he trusted you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded.

Jamsheed tried to lift his hand; I took it and his fingers curled as tightly around mine as he could manage. He looked into my eyes and saw the truth, but instead of panic I saw a peaceful expression settle over his face.

“I am so … tired … of war,” he said, and that said a lot.

I thought of the photos he had on his walls and the gentle way he had touched the frame of the one with the playing children.

“The little girl—?” I asked.

His lips formed the word “yes.” The hurt and loss was palpable.

“She’ll be waiting for you, brother,” I said.

He nodded and then hissed with the agony that it caused. When he opened his eyes he seemed farther away.

We regarded each other for a few moments, and then he squeezed my hand.

“Ma’assalama,” he said. Go in peace.

I returned his squeeze. “Fi aman Allah.”

Go with God.

Jamsheed died without another sound, a quiet man going silently into the shadows that stood between this ugly world of pain and the paradise he believed waited for him. I placed his hands on his chest and sat back, exhausted and defeated. Ghost came over and sniffed Jamsheed, then he whined and lay down as if in vigil.

From the storeroom behind me, Lydia snapped her fingers. “Got another live one.”