I didn’t like the idea of not looking for the car myself, but Chad was right. There was something else that I’d intended to pursue but hadn’t had the time. “Thanks, partner; it would be a major pain in the butt to spend three hours in a helicopter seat. I’ll let you do the search. I want to look into the possibility that one of our murdered rangers called or e-mailed a friend or relative the evening before the Happy Jack fire started. I think they were targeted because at least one of them learned something.”
We spent a few more minutes discussing the search. There was almost no chance of spotting a person from the air. A helicopter could have flown directly above Zayd’s body in Cataract Creek without anyone seeing it. Our best shot was to look for their car, and then search the area around it on foot or horseback. Chad would look along the primitive roads in the Cataract Creek area first. In that almost treeless region, a car could be spotted from a great distance. After two hours of searching the treeless areas of the northern part of the county, Chad would try an hour of looking in the area of heavy forest southwest of Flagstaff. Since the Happy Jack fire blocked access to the southeastern part of the county, the car couldn’t be in that area. The whole project was a long shot, but I felt we had to do something to locate the Khans in case they were in a situation similar to Zayd Jabran.
CHAPTER 32
After Chad left for the airport, I e-mailed an update to Cabot Cameron regarding Zayd’s murder. I’d missed the one due the night before because of my trip to the emergency room, and I didn’t want him calling Sheriff Taylor or even the governor to complain about information being withheld. There wasn’t much new evidence. Most of my attention had been on the arson investigation, but I was still convinced the two cases were closely connected.
Next, I searched the motor vehicle records to find the make and tag number to the car Mohammad drove. It was a six-year-old tan Subaru. I added it to the list of vehicles to be detained and searched if it reached one of our forest roadblocks.
At 10:00, I called the Arson Taskforce office to get an update on the Happy Jack fire. When I got to work, the wind had been blowing from the east covering Sedona with a heavy blanket of smoke.
The news was bad. The fire had jumped over its western containment during the night. The incident commander had called for a noon closing of I-17 north of the Sedona/Highway 179 exit. That would divert traffic into Sedona and up the narrow 89A through Oak Creek Canyon. The route was impossible for heavy trucks because of switchbacks at the top of the canyon. The semis would be diverted onto Arizona 69 through Prescott and then up through Chino Valley, about fifty miles out of their way if they were heading east. The added traffic on 89A was expected to double the travel time between Sedona and Flagstaff.
I had lobbied for the closing of 89A because of the extreme fire risk in Oak Creek Canyon, and now with the burden of traffic from the Interstate, evacuation would be even more difficult if a fire got started. I called Major Ross and Sheriff Taylor to encourage them to continue to restrict traffic on 89A, but my arguments could not overcome the practical problems that closing both routes would cause, a three hour detour between towns only 25 miles apart. The governor and the incident commander had made the final decision. They did agree to prohibit parking anywhere in Oak Creek Canyon except at private homes and motels. Campgrounds would remain closed.
I was still convinced that the rangers at Happy Jack had been a deliberate target of the arsonist. So far, they were the only people killed in the Happy Jack fire or any of the other fires set by the Saturday Night Arsonist. Alva Schwartz and Randy Roberts had both been twenty-six, and Gus Blackman was thirty-two. I called Alva Schwartz’s parents. They had not heard from their daughter the day of the fire, but they gave me names of several people she might have called. That was a dead end, and I tried Gus Blackman’s family without finding anything useful about the ranger’s final day. His wife had talked with him after his shift on Saturday, but she hadn’t learned anything helpful to my investigation.
It was from the parents of Randy Roberts that I learned whose computer was found in the remains of the ranger station. Randy’s parents had given him the high-powered Dell with a phone modem and internet service though MSN so that he could keep in touch with them and with his many California and Arizona friends. Randy had sent e-mails almost every evening after work. His parents would forward their final e-mail to me, and they gave me a list of fifteen possible contacts in California and Arizona who might have also heard from him on his final evening. The family had lived in Flagstaff until Randy was twelve, and they now lived in Simi Valley, California. Randy still had friends in northern Arizona. I called everyone on the list and reached about half of the people, but I didn’t learn anything useful. For those I couldn’t reach, I left detailed messages asking if they had heard from Randy last Saturday.
I picked up the Saturday Night Arsonist files after my calls and tried to see who would best fit all of the known facts. Muhammad al-Mukhtar was my best fit. The taskforce had always been convinced that someone from the Phoenix or Tucson area was involved because of the timing of the crimes and because of their arsonist profile. I was convinced of a Flagstaff connection because of Zayd’s murder, because the use of his truck in the Happy Jack Fire, and also because of the purchase of paint at the Flagstaff Wal-Mart.
Muhammad had spent the last two summers in Phoenix but came home to Flagstaff most weekends. In addition, he had experienced so much conflict with his peers that he dropped out of high school in favor of home schooling. That fitted the loner part of the arsonist profile. He seemed very bitter about his treatment in Flagstaff after he converted to Islam and may have generated enough hatred to take revenge by damaging the forests of his home state.
Muhammad was also one of the few Muslims who might have know that Zayd was considering conversion because of their biweekly meetings to study Arabic. Ashley had mentioned that he saw her leave church with Zayd one Sunday. Since Zayd was killed in the manner of an outcast from an ancient Arabic tribe, that fit with my estimation of Muhammad’s fanaticism. I was convinced that Muhammad resented Zayd’s relationship with Ashley because he had once wanted her for himself. He had also been evasive when I interviewed him.
The problem with Mohammad as a suspect was his work schedule. Since he worked from 10:00 till 8:00 Tuesday through Saturday, he was at work when the green paint was purchased on a Saturday at the Flagstaff Wal-Mart. He was at work when Zayd truck’s was seen near sunset last Saturday, and he was at work when the truck was dumped on the Navajo Reservation. He was also at work when the Khans’ house was burned Friday evening. He had a complete set of alibis.
Ahmed Khan was a pretty good fit. He was in Flagstaff both summers, although he’d actually been in Afghanistan when two of last summer’s fires were set. The arson apparatus was discovered in his garage after a fire, which might have been set to destroy evidence as part of an escape plan. His wife was available to have picked him up on the reservations after Zayd’s truck was dumped. The garage of his rented house would have been a good place to hide the stolen truck and fire apparatus between uses. He and his wife had disappeared and might be on the run.
My problem with Ahmed was that he was too easy a suspect. It looked like he’d been setup. Why would he start a fire that would draw attention to his ATV with its trailer carrying fifty-five gallons of gasoline? We already had his fingerprints, as we do all international students from high-risk countries, so the fire wasn’t about destroying the record of who he really is. If he had set fire to his own house, why was there evidence that it had been searched before the fire?
Ibrahim, Hamad, and their four radical friends could be involved. They seemed to dislike America enough, but I had nothing definite to tie them to Zayd’s death, the arson wildfires, or the arson at Ahmed Khan’s house. They were rich jerks who loved to bitch about America’s corrupting influence while they skied, spent their father’s money, and enjoyed their time here. They were coasting through college by cheating and
taking easy classes, and they would probably never be productive members of society in Saudi Arabia or anywhere else.
Young, useless, unemployable men were the source of many Saudi radicals, but these guys didn’t seem to have much follow-through. Maybe I was underestimating them, and I was glad that the FBI was keeping an eye on them. I didn’t think they were truly dangerous, just inept punks in search of a cause they could support like a lot of rich American or European kids.
I had set aside the belief that Zayd’s family might have been involved in an honor killing because none of them were in the US at the time of Zayd’s death, and they seemed to have no connection to the wildfires.
Ashley Campbell’s father was a long shot possibility. Morgan Campbell had several ATV’s in his own garage, and he might have reacted strongly to any attempt that Zayd might have made to convert his daughter to Islam. His comment about Zayd finding God during his forty days in the wilderness tied in with the manner of Zayd’s death. It was possible that Morgan Campbell left Zayd chained in the wilderness and then failed to return in time to release him. I admit it would have been a bizarre way to try and convert someone, but there are a few people with sincere religious beliefs who feel the end could always justify the means. My principal problem with Morgan as a suspect was that he was very unlikely to be the Saturday Night Arsonist. He certainly didn’t fit the profile, and I could not come up with any motive for the fires.
I was now convinced that the arson fires were not the work of a single person. As I stood reviewing the files in the otherwise quiet office, the phone rang. I’m usually a pretty mellow guy, but I was concentrating so much that I nearly jumped a foot at the sound. I had a sense of foreboding as I reached over the stack of files and picked up the receiver.
CHAPTER 34
“Mike,” Chad said in a strange hollow-sounding voice, “we’ve found them.”
“Dead?” I asked.
“Very damn dead. They’ve both been decapitated with a sword. There’s more blood than a Red Cross drive. Can you come? We’re not far away. I’ll send the helicopter for you.” This wasn’t Chad’s first murder scene, but you don’t get a lot of experience with dead bodies in the quiet little Sedona office of the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department.
“I’ll be at the airport in ten minutes,” I said.
Steven Bradley was the only one in the office that Saturday morning. Most of the deputies were on duty at forest roadblocks, and the administrative people were off work. He drove me to the airport where the helicopter was already waiting. In a few minutes I was flying over an area south of I-40 about ten miles west of Flagstaff. As we approached the intersection of two forest service roads, I could see the Khans’ Honda parked under a large Ponderosa. An attempt had been made to conceal it, but its tan rear end stuck out from the branches a few feet. It had taken a little luck to find it so quickly. The helicopter let me off and headed to Flagstaff for the crime scene technician and Sheriff Taylor.
I walked through the woods to where I could see Chad standing in a dense grove of rather small trees. When I got closer, he pointed. A curved sword with an ornate handle was stuck in the ground near two bodies. From the rear, a man and woman appeared to be tied face down on a fallen tree. The fact that their heads were missing wasn’t visible until I got closer. When I reached Chad, I could smell death and see the flies swarming over the bloody necks. Two huge sprays of blood had been forced through the severed necks by their still beating hearts in the seconds after their heads were severed. The human body contains a lot of blood, and it was visible, dark brown against the dry grass and volcanic soil.
At first, I didn’t see the heads. Chad pointed. They were stuck on poles, which had been forced into the dry soil to display them as trophies. Their blank eyes stared at me from about fifteen feet away. These were certainly the bodies of Ahmed and Dehjat Khan. First Zayd Jabran, then three young forest rangers, and now the Khans; six young people who’d been murdered in Coconino County this summer. Twenty thousand acres of forest had been destroyed and the city of Flagstaff threatened. It was my responsibility to stop these crimes.
I called Sheriff Taylor with a description of the crime scene, and he said he would contact the FBI and Major Ross to see who would be in charge of the case. It was likely to be a jurisdictional hassle since the arson apparatus was found in the Khans’ garage.
Careful not to disturb anything, I walked a little closer to the bodies. From ten feet away it was clear that these were not clean single stroke decapitations. Both necks showed evidence of repeated cuts before the heads were completely severed. They had been bound to the fallen tree with a very common type of hemp rope. The Khans had been forced to kneel, and their arms had been bound under the tree and tied to their thighs.
I wondered how they’d been forced into these positions. Even with a gun pointed at them, it was difficult to believe that they wouldn’t have made a run for it once they realized their fate. It was very unlikely that a single individual could have controlled them as well as bound them. This was a crime scene where at least two murderers had coordinated their actions. They had not been killed and buried in the wilderness; we were meant to discover the bodies. These homicides were an object lesson for someone.
I walked closer to the sword while avoiding contaminating the immediate crime scene. It was stuck into the volcanic soil five feet from the corpses. The broad blade had an elegant curve, and it was encrusted with the brown of dried blood. Without touching it, I knelt down nearby to examine the ornate weapon. It had elaborate Arabic designs etched into the blade, and the black handle ended in an ornate bulb-shaped silver hilt with a red stone at the end. The sword looked old and valuable. It might be something we could trace.
“Creepy place,” Chad said. “Putting those heads on sticks is proof this was done by a real psycho.”
“This is the method of execution under Islamic Sharia Law. It’s how the Taliban and Islamic State execute people, except the Taliban did it in the Kabul soccer stadium in front of a crowd and the Islamic State makes videos of murdering people and puts them on the Internet. Both groups sometimes put their victims’ heads on poles for the public to see. The Saudis use beheading for execution too. They sometimes put the executed person’s head on public display in especially serious crimes like the terrorist who tried to capture Mecca more than a decade ago. I think I’m over my head in this case. I don’t understand their culture. This is a job for an expert.” I walked closer to the severed heads.
The poles were sticking up about six feet from the ground, and to be stable, they must have been in the soil more than a foot. They were milled white pine, not anything natural to the area. The poles were clear proof of premeditation. There was no other reason why they would have been brought to the crime scene. They also indicated that the murderers had a vehicle that would hold a couple of seven or eight foot poles because I couldn’t imagine they would have carried them strapped to the top of a passenger car where they would have been visible to anyone.
Chad and I moved to a clearing about a hundred feet away from the remains to wait for the helicopter to return. Within a few minutes, Chad’s satellite phone rang and he handed it to me saying, “It’s Special Agent Timber for you.”
“Detective Damson, the FBI has decided to take charge of the Khan murder scene. Please secure the area for us and don’t let anyone, and I mean anyone, within a hundred yards of the bodies. My team and I are flying from Phoenix and should be at your location within one hour,” he said in a manner that wasn’t open to discussion.
“OK.” What else could I say? I was interested in Sheriff Taylor’s reaction to this command. This was a double homicide in Coconino County, clearly our jurisdiction. Did Timber expect me to tell Sheriff Taylor not to get within a football field of the bodies?
“I’ve only heard they were beheaded. Tell me what you’ve seen,” he ordered.
“They were tied to a fallen ponderosa with ordinary hemp rope. Their heads were hacked
off using five or more blows to completely sever them. You can imagine the amount of blood in the area. The heads were fixed to seven foot poles. An ornate sword, a scimitar style blade with Arabic writing, was left near the bodies. Nothing has been touched or disturbed since we got here.”
“Good. Wait for me there,” he said and hung up.
“I gather that the FBI is taking charge,” Chad said.
“We’re supposed to tell Sheriff Taylor and Jimmy Hendrix not to get within a hundred yards of the bodies,” I said.
“Since you’re a short-timer, you tell him.” Chad grinned. “Seriously, have you told him you put yourself on the cut list? He’s going to be shocked.”
“I’m going to e-mail the proposals this evening from the office.”
The helicopter returned with Sheriff Taylor and Jimmy Hendrix. I mentioned that Special Agent Timber wanted us to secure the area for his forensic team. They should arrive within the hour. Sheriff Taylor just grunted acknowledgement and walked straight to the bodies ignoring the FBI request. He told Hendrix not to touch anything but to observe whatever he could without making direct contact with the remains. Chad and I secured the area with crime scene tape while Jimmy took photos and examined the torsos and the stakes that supported the severed heads.
Chad and I were standing by the helicopter when the sheriff walked up and asked, “Mike, what’s your opinion? It looks like the Saturday Night Arsonist is still on the loose.”
“Yes, but I’d say arsonists, plural. This was the work of more than one person. I’m confused as to why they were both killed, but the method represents Arab-style executions as used in Saudi Arabia, the Islamic State, and in Afghanistan under the Taliban. Ahmed might have been involved in the arsons and had a falling out with the others in his cell, or he might have been looked at as a potential informant. I don’t know why his wife was killed too. Maybe she just knew too much.”
The Arson at Happy Jack Page 16