He complimented Daria on her beautiful daughter, updated her on Ahmed’s condition, then asked her to tell him exactly what happened between Officer Jenkins and Ahmed.
She did.
Radhauser kept his head down and took notes in an attempt to keep his anger in check. When she finished, he looked up at her. “It’s not my jurisdiction, but I promise you I’ll look into it. Ahmed didn’t deserve what happened. And I intend to get justice for him.”
“When you look like we do, you are hated here now.” Reality cast a dark shadow over the room. “We may make the news on the television, but we do not get justice.”
Radhauser hung his head for a moment, gathering his resolve. Perhaps he could help change that. Maybe he could make this one case turn out right.
Daria stared straight ahead, barely blinking. “We have no extra money. I am worried about our car. I am sure Ahmed left the keys inside. What if it was stolen? How will Ahmed go to work?”
“The police probably impounded the car. I’ll check with them and ask that it gets returned to your apartment tomorrow.”
“Doctor say Ahmed and I must spend night here. I do not know what to do about Kareem. Do you think is okay he stay here?” She nodded toward the extra bed.
"I suspect that would be against hospital policy. Is there someone I can call for you? Someone you trust who could keep him overnight?"
“Maybe the Islamic Center can help. I have no one close since Marsha…”
He knew he shouldn’t make the offer without first checking with Gracie, but he did it anyway. “I can take him home with me, if you want. I have a seven year old who is in his class at Mountain View Elementary. And I’ll be happy to swing by here and take you both back to your apartment whenever you’re discharged.”
Kareem must have been listening. He raced over to her bed. “May I go? Maybe I’ll get to ride a real horse.”
“I am sorry to be a bother,” she said. “I wish I had more friends, but—”
“It’s not a bother. My wife and I love kids.”
“You are very kind man.”
“I can go, Mama jan?”
Daria clasped her hands together and sighed. "Yes. You may go. But you must be good boy."
Kareem gathered up the coloring books and crayons. “Can I keep these?”
Radhauser nodded.
As he was leaving with Kareem through the emergency room doors, he spotted Barry Sinclair, one of the Grants Pass police officers Radhauser had worked with in the past. He stood with the other officers Radhauser had noticed when he entered the ER.
Barry hurried over. “What brings you to Grants Pass?” His gaze settled on Kareem.
“The Azamis are friends of mine,” he replied. “Mrs. Azami phoned me at home. She said they needed help. She went into premature labor after the shooting incident. The hospital is keeping her overnight, so I’m taking their son home with me.”
Sinclair glared at him. “Jenkins made a good shoot.”
An unpleasant sensation of heat spread through Radhauser’s body, accompanied by a cresting wave of doubt that insisted otherwise. “I’m not buying it. Mrs. Azami has her own story. And I plan to see that it gets told.”
“Damn it, Radhauser. We’re supposed to be a brotherhood that sticks together. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
Radhauser’s back muscles tightened. “The side of justice. Did Jenkins tell you why he pulled them over?”
“Routine. They looked the part. And you know as well as I do, we can’t be too careful these days.”
“What happened to their car?”
“It’s safe in our yard.”
“I’d like you to see to it that it gets back to the Azamis’ apartment by tomorrow night. And that the keys are returned to them.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
Kareem’s gaze shifted between Officers Sinclair and Jenkins several times before he looked up at Radhauser, his eyes big and terrified beneath the oversized cowboy hat.
Radhauser pointed to a kid-sized table stacked with books in the far corner of the waiting room. He bent and whispered in Kareem’s ear. “I’m going to walk you over there and you can wait for me until I finish talking with this policeman, okay?”
Kareen whispered back, his gaze darting over to Jenkins. “What if that bad policeman shoots you, too?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.”
When Kareem was seated and Radhauser had assured him everything would be fine, he crossed the room and stood in front of Sinclair, his back to Kareem. “Go ahead and say what you need to. I doubt it will change my opinion of what happened tonight.”
“Look, Radhauser, you gotta know it’s a frightening world out there for cops these days. Jenkins is young and pretty shook up. He only had a split second to act. He told Azami not to move. He heard ticking inside that vehicle. What if there had been a bomb in the back seat of that car? What if Azami was reaching for it? More people than your friends would have been injured. Maybe killed.”
“Officer Jenkins will get a chance to tell his story.”
“I already heard his story and I believe every word of it. Jesus Christ, Radhauser, I’d have done the same thing under the circumstances. Jenkins told Mr. Azami to keep his hands on the roof of the car where he could see them. Azami disobeyed the order and reached into the back seat. Jenkins came to a logical conclusion. You know how those people are. You can’t trust any of them ragheads. They’re happy to die for Allah as long as they take a few of us with them.”
“Those people?”
Sinclair said nothing.
“Did you witness the event, Officer Sinclair?”
“No, but I believe my fellow officer. He’s a good cop. Never had a citation.”
Maybe he was a good cop. But he'd made a big mistake and was now covering his ass and recruiting friends to help him do it. For a moment, Radhauser said nothing.
“I’m sure Internal Affairs will conduct a thorough investigation,” he finally said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m going to drive this little boy home and put him to bed.”
Leaving Officer Sinclair with a bewildered look stretched across his face, Radhauser hurried toward Kareem. He motioned for the boy to join him, then took his hand and together they walked out into the night.
* * *
Sunday morning, Radhauser’s cell phone buzzed before his alarm went off. He opened his eyes. The bedroom was still dark and the red numbers on the dresser clock read five-fifteen. Outside their window, the first pink and yellow ribbons of dawn etched the horizon. He grabbed the phone from the bedside table and stumbled down the hallway into the kitchen to answer. It was Captain Murphy.
“They’ve found another one.”
“Who’s found another what?” He was still half asleep.
“Some park maintenance man, wanting to get an early start on chalking the fields, found another hand in Thomas Flannigan Sports Park, near the snack bar. I sent Corbin to check it out. He phoned a few minutes ago. It’s human all right, but this time it looks like a man’s hand. He asked the maintenance guy to wait until you got there. Corbin assumed you’d want to interview him yourself.”
“He’s right. But damn.” Radhauser bit back the need to remind Murphy that he’d been uncertain about Parsons’ arrest. “Do you think it’s a copycat?”
“I don’t know. But I sure as hell hope we don’t have a serial killer on our hands.”
Or, thanks to you, I’ve arrested the wrong man again. “Have you called Heron?”
“He’s on his way.”
Radhauser hung up the phone, headed into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face. No time to shave and shower. He hurried into the laundry room where he dressed, pulled on his cowboy boots, then unlocked the cabinet and grabbed his gun, holster, shield, hat, and backpack. He put in a call to McBride, started to leave a note for Gracie, then decided he'd best tell her in person about Kareem—asleep in the trundle in Lizzie
's bedroom.
He hurried into the bedroom and stood, watching her sleep, then ran his index finger down her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Good morning, beautiful. I have to go over to Thomas Flannigan Sports Park. They found another hand.”
She flipped on the bedside light, then sat upright in bed, eyes wide. “There was a murder on the Little League fields? I thought you had a man in custody.”
“At this point, it could be a copycat. We don’t know. I’ll have a pretty good idea after I see the hand.” They’d held back the detail about the drawing and hadn’t released it to the public and he hadn’t told Gracie about it either. If this hand was missing the line drawing, Radhauser would suspect a copycat.
She watched him as if waiting for him to say more. When he didn't, she added, "Okay then, you best be on your way."
“Before I leave, I have a little surprise for you.”
She smiled, showing off those amazing dimples. A sight that never failed to melt his heart. "Based on the sheepish look on your face, I somehow doubt it's that new breastplate I've been admiring for Mercedes.”
“No, but there is an adorable little seven-year-old boy asleep in the trundle in Lizzie’s room. I think you’ll like him a lot. He’s the same little boy who was terrorized on the school playground. And there is nothing he wants more in the world than to ride a horse.” He winked. “Think you can arrange that?”
“Maybe. But before I do, I’ll need a little more explanation.”
He told her about Kareem, the same little boy who’d been bullied in Lizzie’s class, about the police officer shooting his father and his mother going into premature labor. The birth of their daughter, Nadima Jasmine Azami. How Marsha Parsons, the first murder victim, had been Daria’s only friend and she had nowhere to leave her son.
Gracie shook her head. “My husband the Good Samaritan. Sounds like that little guy has been through a lot. But won’t he be scared, waking up in a strange place and finding you gone?”
“He knows Lizzie. So, she’ll be a familiar face. I’ll be back as soon as I can. There’s a good chance his mother will be released later today.” He told her the Grants Pass police had impounded the Azamis’ car and that he’d drive Daria home from the hospital.
She got a faraway look in her eyes, her whole face softening. “You’re a good man, Winston Radhauser. I predict a batch of blueberry pancakes and a riding lesson in that little boy’s immediate future.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're pretty amazing yourself. And I think you're about to have a lot more fun than I am. I wish I could be here to see Kareem's face when he rides a horse for the first time."
“I’ll take a photo. Go on. I can handle the home front. Your services are needed elsewhere.”
As dawn crept over the line of trees along the east side of their gravel drive, he ran toward his car. For some idiotic reason, he felt like weeping. At first, he didn’t know why, if it had something to do with the Azamis and what they’d been going through, but then it hit him. It was Gracie and the way she knew and understood him—the man she’d married. The man she’d committed herself to for life. And he never wanted to take that commitment for granted. He closed his eyes, said a silent prayer of gratitude, and a weight seemed to rise from his body.
Before Gracie came into his life, the deaths of Laura and Lucas had left him in a dark hole with sides far too high to climb out. But with her by his side, the light of hope had once again found him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun had made a valiant attempt at appearing by the time Radhauser arrived at Thomas Flannigan Sports Park, but the day promised to be anything but bright. Overhead, clouds as dark as bruises formed. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
The main entrance to the parking lot had been cordoned off and no one who wasn’t law enforcement or forensics was allowed inside. Radhauser stopped, showed his badge to the uniformed officer, and wrote his name on the sign-in sheet.
Like so much of southern Oregon, the park was speckled with Douglas fir, ponderosa pine, and incense cedar. Black oak, madrone, and big-leaf maples were scattered among the conifers. With the Siskiyou Mountains in the background, the park looked as beautiful as a postcard of paradise.
He spotted the line of about ten blue portable toilets brought in for the baseball season. The last two were family size and included a baby changing table. Okay, so maybe not paradise. But they were a necessary eyesore because the park restrooms weren’t large enough to accommodate Little League season and the increased summer traffic.
Even so, Thomas Flannigan Sports Park was not the type of place you’d expect to find a severed hand.
Radhauser parked near the snack bar.
Heron and Officer Corbin had already roped off the area on the south side of the building.
Using his wide-angle lens, Radhauser shot his usual photographs of the entire scene from every angle.
Corbin stood beside the man whom Radhauser assumed had discovered the hand. The words Park Maintenance and Security were embroidered on the crown of his tan baseball cap. He wore khaki pants, a matching shirt, and a pair of work boots that laced up the front. The beginnings of a belly hung over his belt.
Radhauser introduced himself and showed his badge.
“I’m Ronald Parish,” the guard said.
“I understand you’re the person who discovered the hand. About what time did you find it?”
“It must have been about five. I got here extra early because I’m taking vacation next week and wanted to get the fields ready for the weekend games.”
“What drew you to the snack bar? Did you hear something suspicious or see anyone loitering nearby?”
"Checking the snack bar is part of my daily routine. We've had a couple of break-ins over the years. Usually kids stealing popcorn and candy bars—maybe a little petty cash. I make a habit of walking around the entire building. I check to make sure the padlocks are all in place and for anything that strikes me as being a bit off. I spotted a small mound of pine needles with something that looked like a finger sticking out. I figured it was a prank, but decided to check it out.”
Just like at Lithia Park, the hand was found partially buried, but this time in pine needles instead of dried leaves. “Did you touch the hand?”
“I crouched down and moved some of the pine needles away. It was then I realized the hand was real and called the police. I didn’t intentionally touch it, but there’s a possibility my fingers may have brushed against it.”
“You did the right thing.” Radhauser jotted down Parish’s name and contact phone number, as well as a number he could reach while Parish was on vacation, then handed him his card. “Call me if you remember anything else. I may have additional questions for you as the investigation goes forward.”
“Is it okay if I chalk the fields now? We’ve got some senior-league games scheduled for later today.”
If this crime was committed by the same perp who killed Marsha Parsons, it was unlikely the body would be discovered at the park. Radhauser gave his permission, asked Parish to notify him immediately if he saw anything suspicious, then slipped on a pair of latex gloves and shoe protectors, lifted the crime scene tape and stepped under it.
As soon as he looked at the hand, Radhauser tensed. His palms started to sweat beneath his gloves. This hand had the same type of line drawing that was found on Marsha Parsons’ hand. Except this was a left hand and depicted a man tenderly holding a child. He clenched his fist and pounded it into the ground. Damn Murphy. The drawing told Radhauser he’d arrested the wrong man. Despite all the evidence that pointed to him, Sherman Parsons hadn’t murdered his wife.
He looked at Heron.
The ME raised his eyebrows. “At the rate we’re going, it could turn out we have a serial killer on our hands.”
After taking a couple of deep breaths to get his anger under control, Radhauser put in a call to Murphy. "Could you get someone to work on arranging Sherman Parsons' release? Who
ever murdered his wife is still out there."
“What are you talking about? The man’s fingerprints are all over the murder weapon. He has no alibi. His butcher apron was stained with his wife’s blood. There is an eyewitness who heard him threaten his wife on the very day she was killed. And the grand jury has already concluded we have enough evidence to hold him over for trial.”
“His fingerprints don’t mean anything. It’s the hatchet he uses to split firewood. Of course his prints are on it. If the perp wore gloves, as I’m sure he did, he wouldn’t have left any prints. Parsons said his wife had nose bleeds and may have been leaning over the hamper when one happened.”
“If you ask me, that sounds like the excuse of a desperate man.” Murphy’s voice held a little less conviction.
"For all we know, the perp could have planted the blood on the apron to frame Parsons."
“Could have. Could have,” Murphy said. “The evidence in that crime points directly to Sherman Parsons.”
“I don’t care what you or the grand jury think, he didn’t murder his wife—” Radhauser stopped, for a moment unable to speak.
“Give me one convincing reason.”
“The line drawing on this hand is a match for the one on Marsha Parsons’—except this time it's a man holding the child. We never released that detail to the press.”
“You’re no artist. How can you be so sure? That tidbit could have leaked out.”
“The drawings are identical, Murph. It doesn’t take an expert to see that.”
Murphy was silent for a moment, then let out a string of profanities. “I’ll get someone right on it. And, Radhauser...”
“What?” he barked.
“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to postpone the arrest. I’ll take the heat on this one.”
Stunned, Radhauser gripped the phone a little tighter. Murphy had always been more apt to pass the buck than take the heat. This was the second time the boss had insisted Radhauser make the arrest before he was ready. Both times the suspect turned out to be innocent. But this was the first time Captain Murphy had apologized. "Thank you, sir, I'll keep that in mind."
Red Hatchet Falls Page 17