The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Without any evidence other than the wife’s statement, the husband wasn’t held. His wife, however, asked for asylum the next day because she knew her husband was going to punish her for telling the police about him. She still insisted that he killed the woman, even though he had not intended to harm her to that extent.

  Checking in at his and Maude’s desks, Joe saw the growing mound of paperwork in the tray. Picking the first one from the pile, he saw the report from Interpol identifying the murder victims on East Avenue. The women had been sisters, the oldest was twenty-five and her younger sister was twenty-three.

  They were identified by the coordinator at the local soup kitchen where the women ate on several occasions when their money ran out. They were working girls who made a few bucks each day giving blow jobs and doing whatever servicing the johns were willing to buy. Pretty girls, most people would describe them, Cubans with a few English words in their vocabulary.

  The victims had been reported missing by two other women, part of a foursome who split the rent on a one-room flat in downtown Madison. The rent had come due and the two weren’t there to kick in their share.

  The next report was done by the officer who questioned Medawa Farouk about Giselle Farouk’s statement concerning the Diane Jones murder. Joe would have been surprised if Farouk had confessed to the crime of murder by strangulation. What was needed in the case was hard evidence connecting the murder to him. Giselle Farouk was being held in the women’s unit of the jail and was due to be released on her own recognizance within twenty-four hours.

  Leaving the pile of reports for later, he headed outside to pick up Maude’s car, intending to drive across town to the jail to visit Farouk, and pay a visit to the sheriff’s office at the same time. His partner had mentioned about jurisdiction at her rent house, and how the sheriff was demanding to be part of the investigation because it was his turf outside PD lines where the body was found,

  The situation was touchy. Madison County had a small sheriff’s department consisting of several street deputies and a jail that was maintained by corrections officers. As far as Joe knew, there was a shortage of county investigators, other than the sheriff. The best thing he and Maude could do was to stay in the good grace of the county law enforcement official and offer to keep the sheriff in the loop.

  Giselle Farouk was a mess. She had an acne breakout on her forehead which she said was from stress. Her fear of her husband had her skittish as a deer in a lion cage.

  “He will kill me Detective Allen, and then he will leave the country and take my children to live with savages. What can you do to protect me?” The woman’s plea was sincere, touching Joe with its raw truth.

  “We have to find some evidence against your husband, Giselle. Can you think of anything that might connect him to Diane Jones, the woman you say he murdered.”

  “No...unless he still has the bracelet. If he does, would it help?” Giselle was reaching for anything that could lessen the chance she would have to face Medawa.

  “It might, if we could find someone who had seen Diane with the bracelet,” Joe said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, the man at the thrift store knew she had the bracelet,” Giselle interjected.

  “How do you know?” Joe countered.

  “Because he called me about it. The thrift store man said that woman Diane had been in his store, and said she bought the bracelet from me. I told him the truth. She stole it, and ran with it from my store.”

  “But what made her think that anyone would believe she bought the bracelet from you and decided to sell it to someone else?” Joe doubted what Giselle said, remembering the denial made by the tic man at the Thrift for Profit store.

  “She needed money and who can say why she would do such a thing. She stole the bracelet, Detective Allen. There was no money from her to me!” Giselle exclaimed.

  “How can I find the bracelet?” Joe asked.

  “I know where he would hide it,” Giselle said, nodding vigorously. “You take me to my home when he is not there, and I will get it for you! Find for sure the woman had her fingers on it, and Medawa will go to prison. Yes?” She asked, with a pleading expression.

  “We’ll see. If we get the bracelet, I can talk to the district attorney and see if there is enough evidence to bring your husband to trial. Then you will testify against him?” Joe asked.

  “YES,” she yelled.” I will do it.”

  “Okay, after you get out of here today, call me and leave a message. I’ll call you back,” Joe said. “Then we’ll both go to your house, and you can find the bracelet.”

  He left the women’s unit of the jail, said his thanks to the officers for allowing him extra time with the inmate and then walked to the sheriff’s office. He missed seeing the man in charge by about five minutes.

  Joe returned to Maude’s car, hoping that when the Farouk woman called, they could find the bracelet together and put her husband in jail, possibly preventing further crimes. Joe wasn’t convinced that any of what the woman said was true. Women would sometimes file charges against their husbands, accusing them of spousal abuse. When it came time to take the man to jail, everything changed, and the women would withdraw their complaint.

  Domestic quarrels were the worst calls, according to what Joe had seen happen to his friends. Seldom did the officer involved come out on top. Joe hoped this case turned out okay, but he just didn’t know what to expect. He had a bad feeling about it.

  The office was busy with several people going in and out, dressed in their best police garb. Joe had forgotten about the promotional ceremony during the afternoon. Several sergeants in the police department were being promoted to lieutenant, and were gathered in the Watch Commander’s office, shaking hands, and giving each other back slaps and congratulations. Joe felt pressured by so many extra people around and decided to go to the small back office normally used for storing of old files. He knew he could work there without interruption.

  The office was also used frequently by visiting cops who needed a place to write a report. Gathering up the stack of papers that had grown since he left the desk, Joe headed for the peace and quiet of the back room. Once there he began to sort the reports from the ‘in’ tray in hopes of getting most of them looked at before Maude returned the next day.

  Joe worked diligently for a long while before looking up to check the time. Three hours had passed since he sat down. After reaching in his shirt pocket for his cell phone, he quickly realized it was missing, and he had been out of touch for too long.

  “What did I do with my phone?” He asked of the empty room.

  The detective’s offices were empty, the ceremony was over and done with, and most of the staff had gone home. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. Joe couldn’t believe he had been so absorbed that time had gotten away from him. He walked to his and Maude’s desk and saw that his phone was laying there, the flasher on the top corner of the phone’s face blinking to tell him he had a message. He was tired and not thinking straight, and decided to check his messages when he got home for the day, the promise he made to Giselle Farouk forgotten in his exhaustion.

  Two hours later while sitting in his kitchen, drinking a beer, Joe’s phone rang and he saw a number he didn’t recognize. He answered the call and took a swig of beer as someone asked for Detective Allen. The person on the phone was young with the changing voice associated with masculine puberty.

  “Yes, this is Detective Allen; who’s calling?” Joe was a little concerned that a kid would be calling him.

  “Detective, my mother told me to call you. She came home from jail today and tried to call you! She said you were supposed to call her back. Mother told me to tell you she was going to the house and find the bracelet, that she couldn’t wait any longer.” the young person said frantically.

  “Calm down, kid. What’s your name?” Joe asked, his beer forgotten.

  “My name is Rashad Farouk and I am twelve years old.”

  “How long ago did your mother
leave to go to the house?” Joe asked.

  “Two hours ago. My father was on his way to a jewelry auction, and my mother knew she would have enough time to find the bracelet. But it has been too long. My mother should already be back.” the boy’s voice was shaky. Joe could tell the kid was scared but he didn’t have time to soothe him.

  “Give me the address Rashad. Have you heard from your father?” Joe asked. Busy looking for a pen to write with, he finally found a red one and scribbled the address across the palm of his hand.

  “No,” the boy answered. “He has not called or come to the shop. My sister and brother are waiting here. My father told me that we must stay here today. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You got any relatives? Grandmother, uncle, anybody?” Joe asked, pulling his shoes on after checking his weapon and speed loaders.

  “Yes. We have Grand-mere, my mother’s mother. She lives in a house near the airport,” Rashad explained. “We can go there if my father does not return soon.”

  “Then call a taxi and leave your father a note. Lock the building and go to your grandmother.”

  Joe was already in the city car, driving as fast as he could away from his house in the direction of Giselle and Medawa’s home. A premonition of bad things ahead was heavy on his mind combined with a huge load of guilt for forgetting the woman’s desperation.

  “Yes, we will go. Please find my mother.” the boy whispered before he disconnected the phone.

  The address the boy Rashad gave was located in the gated neighborhood of a subdivision built about ten years earlier. The property was well cared for: grass mowed, hedges trimmed, the look of prosperity on the face of neighborhood. Joe drove very slowly through the cross streets until he reached 12457, the house number on Beech Street where the Farouks lived. Two cars were parked in the driveway, the hoods cool to Joe’s touch. The front of the house had four large windows that looked out on the front lawn, beige and brown drapes pulled together to shut out the heat of the day were visible through the glass. A large tubular wind chime hung from a post near the entry, its music stilled in the oppressive heat.

  He had called for back-up when he got off the phone with the Farouk boy, his gut telling him that he needed others there before entering the house. A police car with lights on was making the bend, about to pull up in front of the address, no sirens, as he had had requested. The uniformed officer in the car quickly exited the front seat and pulled his weapon while the cop on the passenger side climbed out and used Joe’s car for cover. Joe motioned to both of the men to meet with him near the front entry to create a fortified assault on the door.

  “Giselle, are you in the house?” Joe yelled. “Giselle Farouk, open the door please. Your son is concerned about your welfare.”

  Turning his eyes to the uniformed officers, Joe nodded toward the back of the house and one of them broke away and stayed low under the windows, making for the back door. Joe yelled again, this time he got closer to the door, staying behind the solid barrier that the outside wall presented.

  Silence greeted them, the kind of quiet that bodes no good. Joe wasted no more time. Grabbing the door knob he pushed inward, creating an opening. There was neither movement nor the sound of voices inside, just the mewling of a kitten somewhere in the house. Joe entered the place with his weapon ready, using the training he had practiced many times in the academy. Somehow the real thing felt different, frightening, the knowledge that someone could be pointing a weapon at his head making him afraid, yet he was determined to plunge headlong into the unknown.

  The house was large, the front entry hallway leading into a great room where the family would gather, its array of couches and chairs presenting a warm welcome to guests. There was blood on the floor; a small puddle down the hall and several drops leading into another large room. The dark red drops on the grouted tile were smeared by drag marks into the dining room where massive furniture was prepared to seat a small army.

  In one of the heavy chairs pulled away from the table sat Giselle Farouk, her head turned to one side. Dried rivulets of blood streaked the side of her face, her left ear was slashed and a large gash was cut into her left foot. She was bleeding from both cuts. A dull expression was on the woman’s face as she pointed toward the small breakfast nook across the wide hall, adjacent to the kitchen.

  The officers, including Detective Joe Allen, moved with stealth toward the eating area with its cheerful yellow-curtained window. On a cushioned bench seat surrounding the highly-shined plank board table lay Medawa Farouk, his head bashed in above the eyebrows. A large aluminum baseball bat lay nearby on the floor, the dent in the metal coated with dried blood.

  One of the officers approached Farouk and checked for a pulse. He shook his head at Joe. No pulse.

  “Don’t touch anything.” Joe said then turned and made his way back to Giselle. He stared at her for a minute.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked. “You didn’t have to come here by yourself.”

  “This is the bracelet,” she said, ignoring the question. She extended a hand that held a bloody scarf. “I found it in his sock drawer. I have not touched it since the woman stole it from the counter. Medawa returned home early and found me in the bedroom. I ran from him, but he grabbed Rashad’s baseball bat and came for me, wanting the bracelet that I had wrapped in my scarf. He swung the bat at me, but he missed, and it flew away from him into the kitchen.

  “Again I ran away. Medawa cursed and followed me, chasing me into the kitchen. He drew a knife from the drawer and cut my ear before I could get away. Quickly I picked up the bat from the floor and when he again came at me, I swung the bat with all my strength.

  “When the bat hit him in the head, Medawa fell to the floor, reaching again for me with the knife. My foot was there and he cut me but I got away and fell onto my side. My husband then crawled to the bench and pulled himself there to lie down. He was cursing me all the time. I became weak and stayed on the floor. Later I woke from being unconscious and tried to walk, but I could not pick up my foot. I tried to crawl to the front door but it was too far. Here is where I came to sit and pray. I thought Medawa would get up from the bench and kill me. I have waited here for him, praying that he would not wish to kill me for our children’s sake.”

  Joe continued staring at the woman, wishing there was something he could say that would make it alright.

  “Your children are taking a taxi to their grandmother’s and you need to go to the hospital. Afterwards we’ll talk about what happened. I’ll take the bracelet and see if we can get fingerprints from it. I’m really sorry Giselle.” Joe said helplessly.

  The crew from the lab showed up shortly afterward and Joe watched the ambulance leave with the two bodies, one alive and one dead-the dissolution of a marriage.

  “I’m beat.” he told the other officers. “I’m going home. Tomorrow is soon enough to think about this. Who’s going to the hospital with her? Ask your sergeant. When you find out, have him call me at home. I need to know when to be in court for the inquest.”

  Chapter 25

  Unlike Joe’s trip from Philadelphia back to Madison, Maude had someone to meet her flight when she came off the plane. Her partner was standing there, looking good, green eyes twinkling, and a big smile on his face. She was really glad for a minute that no one else had been with her in George Grimble’s office. Never would have lived that one down. Joe had just enough foolishness in him that he would have used Grimble’s flirtation to get her goat for a long time. As it was, she was going to catch heck about Bill Page. If not today, then another day.

  After she had left the lawyer’s office, Maude had called Joe and talked to him about her discoveries in Oklahoma and he brought her up to date on the Diane Jones murder. Maude heard the guilt in his voice when he talked about Giselle Farouk, but she knew enough about men to listen and not make much of it. Instead, she congratulated him on his acute insight, his follow-up at the Farouk house, and the delicate line that he managed to
walk finding Diane Jones’ killer. She reminded him that their job was to get closure for the victim’s families and sometimes other people made bad decisions that they had to live or die with. Joe listened to what she said and sighed.

  “Thanks, partner. That’s what I needed to hear,” Joe said.

  “No problem,” Maude told him. “I’m glad to oblige.”

  The trip the next morning from the airport to the Cop Shop was strange for Maude to be riding with Joe driving. Seemed out of place for her to be sitting anywhere but the driver’s seat of her old car. Taking advantage of the freedom to sit, she pulled out one of her unfiltereds and lit up, savoring the smoke, her first cigarette in hours. She missed the old days when she could smoke on any public transportation, but with the new rules, most were smoke-free.

  “Back to Dawson,” she said after a few drags, “Lieutenant Patterson may throw a fit, but we have to go to Phoenix to get our man. Dawson’s a murderer, and I don’t believe for a minute that it’s going to be a cakewalk. He’ll make it as hard for us as possible. We’ll need to leave as soon as we can get packed. He has some kind of life there, and we need to know what he does besides killing and maiming people or peddling toilets and sinks.

  “Okay Maude,” Joe said. “I can get all of my reports done fast so I’m not the hold-up in leaving. And you aren’t leaving me and going alone. That guy may be fixated on you, but I think he will kill you as quickly as he has anyone else if he knows you’re on his trail. You told me that ego is usually what traps serial killers-let’s hope he believes he can’t be caught. Should we call Phoenix PD and get them involved?” Joe opened his window to get rid of the smoke as he waited for her answer.

  “Nah,” she said, shaking her head, “We’ll call Phoenix when we get there, and they might give us some help, but no sense in calling too early. They’ll want the collar if Dawson is in their town. Another thing to remember is this perp may have a large arsenal because guns and knives seem to be available to him when he needs them. If he operates out of a house, then he will have it protected, and we might easily be picked off.” Maude continued thoughtfully, “I hope to live another day or two, at least long enough to retire from chasing piss ants who want to turn the world inside out and make it to their liking.”