Red Hatchet Falls

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  "Call an ambulance," Daria begged. "Hurry, blease."

  The sound of gunfire had roused people from the neighboring houses and a small crowd gathered around them. Porch lights turned on. A few families lined the street, craning their necks to see what had happened. Under the street lamp, a dark-skinned man held a video camera with a red light blinking.

  It was then Daria felt the first labor pain. She gripped her abdomen, the pain slicing through her like a knife. It was almost a month too soon.

  Badge 641 returned to his car.

  Still applying pressure with her right hand, Daria picked up Ahmed’s cellphone. Ahmed had placed a call to Detective Radhauser after Kareem was bullied. She hit redial and waited for him to answer, her back to badge 641. “A boliceman shot Ahmed.” She whispered into the phone. “Blease. I do not know who to call. Blease, Detective Radhauser. You must help us.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Grants Bass.”

  “Do I need to bring my female partner?”

  There were women gathered on the sidewalks. This was a public place. The Quran would not forbid her being with the detective. “No need. Hurry. Come fast.”

  “Has someone called an ambulance?” Radhauser asked.

  Before she could respond, the officer pointed his gun at her. “Hang up the phone,” he demanded. “Now. And open the trunk of your car. Hurry up.”

  Daria dropped the phone without hanging up. She was not about to let go of Ahmed now that the bleeding had slowed. Keeping pressure on the wound, she told Kareem to release the trunk. It was a game he liked to play and he knew where to find the release button.

  After the trunk popped open, badge 641 looked inside, his gaze rushing over the small blankets and the metal box of toys they kept there. He picked up his phone and placed a call. “There’s a man down at the corner of Washington and Hillcrest. He’s got a metal container in the trunk and I hear something ticking inside it. Send the bomb squad. I think I’ve pulled over a terrorist.”

  Badge 641 cleared the area, warned everyone on the sidewalk to back up and stay at least four-hundred feet away from the car.

  “Blease,” Daria begged. “What do you look for?”

  “I’ve been trained to look for explosive devices.”

  “We have no such devices. We are American citizens, not terrorists.” She stared at her hands on Ahmed’s abdomen. They were soaked with his blood. Some of it had splashed onto her clothing. Ten minutes ago, they were on their way to get an ice cream cone, about to take an evening walk along the Rogue in Riverside Park.

  Someone, perhaps Detective Radhauser, must have called for an ambulance because within minutes, a siren screamed and grew closer.

  Badge 641 stood in the middle of the road and waved his arms to stop them from coming closer.

  The driver, a woman, squealed the ambulance to a halt and leaped out. The passenger door opened and a man exited.

  "I'm waiting for the bomb squad," the officer said. "The contents of the Camry's trunk are suspicious. Something is ticking inside. You need to stand back until they've assessed and secured the area."

  The paramedics backed up, fear in their eyes.

  “No. Do not go away. You must help Ahmed,” Daria screamed. “He is bleeding too much. There is no bomb. It is Kareem’s toy clock that ticks. You must believe me. No bomb.” Another pain shot through her abdomen, causing her to bend at the waist.

  They looked at her, shrugged, then stood in the road several hundred feet from the Camry, waiting beside their ambulance.

  Chapter Twenty

  Radhauser turned on his siren and flashing lights. He drove as fast as he could safely drive, arriving in Grants Pass in less than thirty minutes. On the way, his police radio informed him of the shooting on Washington Boulevard and that the bomb squad had been summoned to the scene.

  When he arrived, the area had been cordoned off and two men from the bomb squad were suited up and searching the trunk of a 1998 gray Camry, he assumed belonged to the Azamis. He pulled his Crown Vic behind the ambulance and raced toward the body lying in the street.

  The police officer at the scene confronted Radhauser. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Radhauser showed his badge. “I’m an Ashland detective and this family is under my protection. A man from Ashland has been injured. I know the Azamis and they’re good people.”

  “I don’t care if they’re your parents,” the officer said. “This isn’t your jurisdiction and the bomb squad hasn’t cleared the scene. It isn’t safe.”

  “Do you want to have a pissing contest? Or do you want me to help you avoid a murder charge? What’s your name?” Radhauser asked.

  “Officer Robert Jenkins.” He grabbed Radhauser’s arm.

  “How safe is it, Officer Jenkins, for that man you shot, bleeding out in the road? He has a seven-year-old son and a new baby on the way. He’s probably in shock by now. The Azamis are friends of mine and I don’t care what you say, I’m taking him to the hospital.” He jerked away from Jenkins, grabbed the gurney the paramedics had left beside the ambulance and pushed his way under the crime scene tape that cordoned off the area. He knelt beside Ahmed to assess the situation.

  From the dark pool congealing on the asphalt, it was clear Ahmed had lost a fair amount of blood, though Daria had done a good job slowing the flow. He lowered the gurney and, with Daria’s help, got Ahmed onto the stretcher. He instructed Daria to keep putting pressure on the wound and for Kareem to follow him, then pushed the gurney back to the ambulance. Paramedics took over, hooked Ahmed up to oxygen and an IV, then loaded him and his family into the back. Within minutes, they were speeding toward Three Rivers Hospital.

  Radhauser returned to the scene.

  Jenkins had taken off his hat. He held his head in his hands and paced.

  Radhauser stepped up to him. “What the hell happened here?”

  Officer Jenkins put his hat back on. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Just doing my job, sir.”

  “Since when does the job include shooting an unarmed man out for a ride with his wife and child?”

  The question hung, sharp as a blade, in the darkening air. It was as if Officer Jenkins had been stripped naked. His face turned ashen, and his breath came in short gasps. He gestured toward the Camry. “The man disobeyed my order. I told him…to…stay where he was. I told him to keep his hands on the roof of the car. If he had just done what I asked…I mean…I would never have…” He paused, puffed out his cheeks, then released the air slowly. “I thought he was reaching for a gun or into the back seat to set off an explosive device.”

  Radhauser cocked his head, gave Jenkins an incredulous look. “With his wife and child in the car?”

  One of the members of the bomb squad held up a child’s battery-powered clock. It was shaped like a cat’s face. “Here’s your bomb,” he said. “Still ticking.”

  A sheen of sweat broke out on Jenkins’ lower lip. “You know how those people are, sir. They don’t have the same reverence for life we have in this country.” The moment he said it, something else seemed to break inside him as if he’d recognized the false sound of his own words. He lowered his head.

  “Why did you pull him over in the first place?”

  “Routine traffic stop, sir. He seemed suspicious.”

  “Why? What exactly about him seemed suspicious?”

  Jenkins stammered. “It was…well…it was the way they were dressed, sir. Like those suicide bombers you see on television.”

  Radhauser walked away before he said something he might regret. He'd swing by the hospital and check on Ahmed, then head back to his ranch. Though he had enormous pity for the Azamis and their plight and didn't believe they'd done anything to warrant what happened, this case was not in his jurisdiction. Jenkins' gun would be taken from him while the Grants Pass City Police Department held their internal affairs investigation. Officer Jenkins would probably be suspended, with pay, until it could be determined whether or not th
e shot was warranted.

  * * *

  Daria checked her watch. Less than five minutes after leaving the scene, the ambulance arrived at Three Rivers Hospital in Grants Pass. A male attendant helped her and Kareem climb out the rear door. She grabbed Kareem’s hand and they hurried into the ER waiting room.

  Paramedics rushed the gurney carrying Ahmed through double doors and into the treatment area. Daria tried to follow them, but a nurse told her to wait. That someone would tell her what was happening as soon as a physician examined Ahmed.

  She took a seat next to Kareem and kept assuring him his father would be okay, but he did not stop crying. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Just like her own, his hands and knees were covered in his father’s blood. But as she stood to walk him into the restroom, another pain forced her back into the chair.

  When two more labor pains arrived, less than a minute apart, Daria stumbled up to the nurses’ station. “The baby. She is coming fast.” Just as she uttered those words, a wave of pain traveled down the length of her body, then crested and exploded in a gush. Her underwear was soaked and a trail of warm water cascaded down her legs and puddled on the floor.

  The woman at the station called for a wheelchair and Daria was whisked through the same double doors. "Kareem," she said. "Blease… someone watch over my son."

  “We’ll take good care of him,” the nurse said. “Don’t you worry about anything except having your baby.”

  “My husband. He is okay?”

  “They’ve taken him up to surgery to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding. The doctor will be in to see you soon.”

  Three more hard contractions and a long push later, before the on-call obstetrician arrived at the hospital, Daria delivered a baby girl. She weighed just over five pounds and was bustled off to the hospital nursery to be checked out by a pediatrician.

  About a half-hour later, a man in a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging from his neck entered her room. His name tag said Theodore Kincaid, Trauma Surgeon. "Mrs. Azami, I have good news regarding your husband. I was able to stop the bleeding, repair his spleen and remove the bullet from his abdomen. I've started him on a course of antibiotics as a prophylactic measure to prevent infection."

  “Thank you,” Daria said. “Is my baby okay?”

  Dr. Kincaid smiled. “That’s not my department. But I hear she’s doing fine. I imagine someone from the nursery will bring her to you soon.”

  “May we go home then?”

  “I’d like Ahmed to stay in the hospital another day or two. I suspect the doctor who delivered your baby, or your own OB/GYN will want you to spend at least tonight here, too.”

  “I wish to see my husband.”

  “As soon as he’s out of recovery and transferred to his room. I’ll ask one of the nurses to take you and the baby to see him. It shouldn’t be more than another hour. The nurse will let you know.”

  “What about my son? He is only seven years old and he is alone in the waiting room.”

  “The last time I saw him, he was sitting in the nurses’ station, licking a chocolate ice cream cone.”

  She smiled. Kareem had gotten his ice cream cone after all.

  "I'll get someone to bring him to you." Dr. Kincaid patted her shoulder. It was a kind touch and reminded her of the ones her father had given his patients.

  Daria released a slow breath, an attempt to calm her pounding heart. Burning tears gathered behind her eyes, but she ducked her head in an attempt to hide them. It was all too much—watching Ahmed get shot on the same night their daughter was born.

  * * *

  It was just after eleven and dark when Radhauser arrived at Three Rivers Hospital. As he parked his car, he couldn’t help noticing the four Grants Pass police vehicles already in the lot. Radhauser got out, hurried across the asphalt and through the sliding glass doors into the emergency room.

  As always when he was forced to visit a hospital ER, especially at night, his thoughts turned back to Tucson. To Laura and Lucas. He tried to shake off the memory of the long night he’d spent between their gurneys in the hospital morgue, but it wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Six uniformed police officers clustered around Officer Robert Jenkins, the man who’d shot Ahmed. What were they doing here? It was obvious Ahmed was no terrorist.

  Radhauser ignored them and headed for the nurses’ station where Kareem sat on a stool behind the counter.

  When he spotted Radhauser, Kareem jumped off the stool and hurried toward him. Kareem pointed to Officer Jenkins. “You must put him in jail. He shot my baba jan.”

  Radhauser stooped down to Kareem’s level. “The police will investigate what happened. But what are you doing here by yourself? Where is your mother?”

  The boy pointed to the double doors leading to the treatment area. “Is my baba jan okay? Please, he can’t be dead.”

  Radhauser took the boy's hand, stepped up to the nurses' station and introduced himself. He showed his badge to the woman behind the counter, an RN with the nametag Priscilla Harding. "I'm looking for Ahmed Azami. He was brought in earlier with a gunshot wound. Can you give me an update on his condition? This little boy is his son. And he's frightened."

  Priscilla smiled and glanced at Kareem. “I’ve been trying to reassure him. Doctor Kincaid took Mr. Azami to surgery, removed the bullet, and stopped the internal bleeding. He’s been given a transfusion and is resting peacefully in the recovery room now.”

  Again, Radhauser lowered himself until he could look into Kareem’s eyes. “Your dad is going to be okay. The doctor fixed him.”

  When Kareem smiled, Radhauser returned his attention to the nurse. “Is Mrs. Azami with him?”

  "No. She was taken upstairs to OB/GYN. She delivered a baby girl about a half-hour ago."

  Radhauser’s shoulders tightened. The baby wasn’t due yet. “Are they both okay?”

  “The baby was on the small side, but last I heard, both are doing fine.”

  He placed his hand on Kareem’s head. “Looks like you’re a big brother now. How would you like to go meet your baby sister?”

  Kareem looked up at him. His amber eyes were still wide and a little too bright. He clutched Radhauser's hand and again pointed at Officer Jenkins. "That policeman pointed the gun at me. And he shot my baba jan.”

  Radhauser put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know you’re scared, but Nurse Harding said the doctor took great care of your father and he’s going to be good as new.”

  When Kareem burst into tears, Radhauser scooped him up, then turned back to Nurse Harding. “Can you give me a room number for his mother? I think this little man needs to see her.”

  She entered something into her computer. "Room 325. But check in with the third-floor nurses' station first."

  He gave the boy a tight squeeze, then set him back on the floor, took off his cowboy hat and put it on Kareem. “What do you say we go see your mom and baby sister, Cowboy?”

  Kareem presented Radhauser with a two-dimpled smile that would no doubt break a few hearts someday.

  Radhauser nudged him toward the elevator. They got off on the third floor and headed for the nurses’ station. He introduced himself and Kareem. “I’m looking for Daria Azami. I understand she is in Room 325. Is she ready for visitors?”

  “I’d give her another few minutes,” the nurse said. “They’re cleaning her up.” She knelt in front of Kareem. “And you must be the big brother.”

  Kareem grinned. “I’d like to see my baby sister now, please.”

  “She’s just been moved into the nursery. You should be able to view her at the window.” She pointed. “It’s down this corridor. First hallway on your right.”

  Once they arrived at the glass-walled nursery, Radhauser lifted Kareem so he could see the two rows of plastic bassinets. Radhauser scanned the names until he found one in the second row with a pale pink card inserted in the front.

  Baby Girl Azami was swaddled in a pink flannel bl
anket. A few tufts of very black hair stuck out beneath her pink knitted cap. She had her brother’s golden skin.

  Kareem pressed his nose against the glass for a closer look.

  A girl of about nineteen, wearing a pink, candy-cane-striped uniform, stood on the other side of the window. She smiled and motioned to the bassinet with the tiny caramel-colored girl inside.

  When Radhauser nodded and set Kareem down, she picked up the baby and brought her to the glass wall and crouched low so Kareem could get a closer look.

  The baby’s eyelashes fluttered and one tiny hand escaped the swaddled blanket and reached into the air. She opened her eyes and appeared to stare directly at Kareem. Her eyes were very dark, like her mother’s.

  “She’s looking at me.” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, unable to hide his delight. “Does she know I’m her brother?”

  “Maybe she does,” Radhauser said. “Or maybe she thinks some famous cowboy has come to see her.”

  He quickly took off the hat and held it carefully in both hands. “It’s me. Your big brother, Kareem Jamil Azami.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Kareem had his fill of his baby sister, Radhauser walked him down the hallway to Room 325. Just outside the door, Kareem put Radhauser’s cowboy hat back on.

  The room held two beds, but the other one was empty. Daria appeared to be dozing. She wore a printed hospital gown. Her blood-stained niqab covered everything except her eyes.

  Radhauser nudged Kareem closer to the bed. “Mama. I saw my baby sister.”

  Daria opened her eyes, took both her son’s hands. There was a smile in her gaze. “Kareem jan. She is very beautiful, yes?”

  He grinned. “She looked at me.”

  “She is Nadima Jasmine Azami. Do you like her name?”

  Kareem smiled. “I will call her Yara because she is small and beautiful like the butterfly.”

  Radhauser excused himself, went back to the nurses’ station and returned with a coloring book and crayons for Kareem. He settled the boy, still wearing the Stetson, at a small desk in the corner of Daria’s hospital room, then pulled a chair close to her bed and sat, his long, jean-clad legs angling out sideways into the room.