Red Hatchet Falls

by Susan Clayton-Goldner

  “Leave her alone,” Radhauser said. “Can’t you understand she’s just given birth and needs to rest? We’ll issue a statement on both Mr. Azami and the baby’s conditions later today.”

  “What is your relationship with the Azamis, Detective Radhauser?”

  Again, Radhauser ignored the reporter and cleared the way for Daria and Kareem.

  She hurried up to their apartment and unlocked the door. There was a note on the front door saying the keys to the Camry were in the apartment office. No new graffiti had appeared since Radhauser had left his warning and had the camera installed.

  He ushered Daria and Kareem inside, followed, then turned the deadbolt behind them. He helped her to the sofa. The answering machine on the end table blinked red.

  Daria allowed her gaze to meet Radhauser’s again. What did it mean? Was she beginning to trust him? Had she taken Ahmed’s statement about adopting more American ways to heart? Or had the events of the last few weeks caused her to abandon her faith?

  She pushed the play button.

  "This is Police Chief Donald Dennerson of the Grants Pass City Police Department. This message is for Mrs. Azami. I'd like both you and your son to come into my office as soon as possible and answer a few questions concerning the officer-involved shooting of Ahmed Azami on Saturday night. This is an urgent matter and in order to get to the truth as soon as possible, I need to hear your side. Please call my secretary and make an appointment for Monday." He left a phone number.

  Kareem looked up at his mother, his amber eyes wide. “I don’t want to go to police, Mama. What if they shoot us?”

  She touched his shoulder and turned him toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “You must rest now. Or read a book in your room.”

  Kareem headed towards his room with no argument.

  Once she heard the door close, Daria lifted her gaze to Radhauser. “Must we go?”

  “You don’t have to if you’d rather not. I can set up a meeting with him and tell him what I observed both at the scene and later in the ER.”

  “If I talk to this man, will it help us get justice for Ahmed? Will he make sure badge 641 gets some troubles for shooting my husband?”

  “It might help,” Radhauser said, though he doubted the chief would take Daria’s side against his officer.

  “Blease,” she begged. “You must go with me. I and Kareem. We very frightened of bolice.”

  Radhauser couldn’t leave a terrified Daria to fend for herself with the Grants Pass police chief. “Are you sure you feel up to it?”

  “Easier to go tomorrow than after Ahmed and Nadima come home from hospital.”

  “Call Dennerson’s office back and set it up for tomorrow after Kareem gets out of school, then let me know the time. I’ll go with you.”

  He knew exactly what Dennerson was up to. He wanted to clear Officer Jenkins and the Grants Pass Police Department of any wrongdoing. He wasn’t interested in the truth. But Radhauser was going to make damn sure he heard it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After another internal debate about whether or not to go to the hospital to interview Ahmed, Radhauser leaned toward waiting until after Heron had established a TOD for Bradford Baker. Ahmed was recovering from major surgery and a gunshot wound. No point in putting any more stress than necessary on him now. But the fact that Ahmed had been humiliated by both Sherman Parsons and Brad Baker ate at Radhauser. Once he had a motive, solving a crime always got easier. It was hard for him to believe that Ahmed could do something so heinous, but he couldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of his murder investigation. Still, another day wouldn’t hurt.

  He drove back to the station.

  Before heading into his office to start a murder board on Brad Baker, Radhauser retrieved the Parsons case file from the evidence room. He reposted Marsha’s photo on his board, along with other photos he’d taken at the scene. He added a photograph of Brad Baker and several from both his bedroom and the portable toilet at Thomas Flannigan Sports Park. Just as he was pulling out the team roster for Baker’s Little League team, the phone rang. It was Heron.

  “Do you have any preliminary information for me?” Radhauser asked.

  "Only that I'm pretty certain, based on body temperature, stomach contents, and rigor, our victim died between seven and nine last night. Give or take the usual hour on either side. The hand was likely severed with a similar hatchet, but it didn’t have the distinctive notch in the blade the weapon in the Parsons case had. This blade was smooth and sharp. Maybe new.”

  Radhauser made a note to check with Home Depot and other area hardware stores for recent hatchet purchases. Baker’s car was parked in his apartment lot. That had to mean he’d returned there sometime after the ball games and someone, probably the murderer, had transported him back to the park. Had he gone of his own free will? Or was he already unconscious from the chloroform?

  As if reading Radhauser’s mind, Heron added, “I’m awaiting gas chromatographic results on the chloroform concentration in his tissues. But I’m pretty sure that was your cause of death. Chloroform poisoning.”

  “Why would the perp set up that bedroom scene, so similar to the Parsons’ dining room, if he hadn’t planned to use it? Is he messing with us?” He told Heron about Landon coming home somewhere around eight or eight-thirty that night. “Do you think our killer was interrupted in the act?”

  “I don’t know,” Heron said. “I handle the how. The why is your territory.”

  “Was there any evidence of sexual trauma?”

  “I found no tearing or bruising around the anus, no semen. I’d have to conclude there was none. I’ve sewn him up and he’s ready for the next of kin to make a positive ID.”

  “I’ll ask his wife, Evelyn, to come by.”

  “I’ll be here for another hour.”

  He placed a call to Evelyn Baker, gave her the address for the ME's office and asked that she meet Heron there in a half-hour.

  With Heron establishing a time of death for Baker between seven and nine, it looked like Radhauser couldn’t put it off any longer. He needed to talk to Ahmed. Maybe he’d lied to Daria and hadn’t gone to Klamath Falls. Maybe he’d waited somewhere intending to confront Baker and make good on his earlier threat.

  On his way out, he stopped by McBride's desk and handed her the baseball roster for Baker's team. "Call and set up appointments to interview the parents. All of them except Ahmed and Daria Azami. See if you can get one or both parents to meet with you here tomorrow. Fifteen or twenty minutes with each should be enough time. Ask them about Baker. Find out how the kids related to him. Was he popular with the parents? Does anyone have any beefs with him? You know the routine." He paused and glanced at his watch. "I'm headed over to the hospital to talk with Ahmed now. Once you've set up the appointments, go home, McBride. It's been a long Sunday and tomorrow is another day."

  “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  To give himself time to think about how to proceed with Ahmed, Radhauser drove the back way, through Jacksonville, down Route 238 and past the many vineyards that were cropping up all over southern Oregon.

  A sudden wind shook the remnants of the earlier rain from the big-leaf maple leaves. Large drops splattered on his windshield. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine Ahmed as a killer. The man had been a pediatrician in Kabul. A man who had saved lives, not taken them away.

  But Ahmed Azami was connected to both victims.

  That was a fact Radhauser couldn’t ignore.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, Radhauser stood in the hospital room doorway. The corridor smelled like ammonia and rubbing alcohol. Ahmed sat in the bed with pillows behind his back, watching a television game show. He wore a pale blue hospital gown. An IV was taped to his right arm with a line running to a plastic bag hung from a pole beside the bed. A cardiac monitor behind him gave a continuous analysis of his EKG and periodic blood pressure readings. It was easy to see the toll the last t
wenty-four hours had taken on him. His amber eyes were bloodshot and large brown crescents hung beneath them.

  When Radhauser tapped on the doorframe, Ahmed flipped off the television and smiled. “Detective Radhauser. Please come inside. Thank you for your help last night and for taking care of Kareem and Daria. You may have saved my life by getting me to the hospital. I am in your debt.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Radhauser said. “I think my wife has turned Kareem into a cowboy.”

  “Daria called earlier. She said he got to ride a horse. And that your wife even gave him a pair of cowboy boots and a hat he insists on wearing now even inside our apartment.”

  “Kareem is a fine boy. Did you get to see your baby daughter?”

  His smile brightened the room. “Yes. I see her. She is beautiful, like Kareem as baby except so little.”

  “I also have a daughter,” Radhauser said. “Her name is Elizabeth, but we call her Lizzie. She is the same age as Kareem.”

  Ahmed smiled. “It is good for man to have daughter. He learns gentleness.”

  Radhauser laughed. “I don’t know about that. My Lizzie is as rough and tumble as they come.”

  “Have you arrested the man who shot me?”

  The knot between Radhauser’s shoulders hardened. He took the chair from beneath the window and pulled it closer to the bed. Once he was seated, he took off his Stetson. “I’m an Ashland detective. The shooting took place in Grants Pass, so it's not my jurisdiction. But I have an appointment to see the chief of police tomorrow afternoon and will relay to him what I saw when I arrived at the scene.” He didn’t mention that Kareem and Daria were going with him.

  Ahmed stiffened, then winced. “Please. You will tell him to arrest this man. He shoot me for no reason.”

  "All police officer-involved shootings are subject to a thorough internal investigation. The officer's firearm will be taken away and he'll be put on leave or desk duty until the investigation gets at the truth."

  Ahmed folded his hands over his chest. “But I tell you the truth. I do nothing wrong.”

  Radhauser was silent for a few seconds, trying to find the right words. “When a police officer asks a suspect to keep his hands visible and the suspect reaches into his car, it could be perceived the officer had reason to believe the suspect was reaching for a gun.”

  Ahmed threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous. Why am I suspect? I have no gun. I’m sure he search my car. He know I have no weapons.”

  “I’m not here to upset you, Ahmed. I’m here to help. But I think you already know I’m the kind of person who tries to see both sides of a situation. Officer Jenkins is pretty new on the job and he had only a split second to make his decision. He claims he feared for his life and the safety of the pedestrians who’d gathered on the sidewalk.”

  Ahmed stared directly into Radhauser's eyes. "You are good policeman. Would you have shot me?"

  Radhauser swallowed. “Probably not. It’s different because I know you and your family. I know you are a US citizen and that you work hard to make a good life for your family. I know you were a physician in Kabul and hope to practice medicine here. Officer Jenkins knew nothing about you.”

  “He knows I am Muslim man. And that is all he need know.” Ahmed’s laugh had an edge to it.

  Radhauser looked away, unable to meet Ahmed’s steady gaze. From what Jenkins had said in the ER about their Muslim clothing, Ahmed was probably correct. “I can only hope you’re wrong. But today I came to talk to you about something else. I need your help.”

  As if attempting to calm himself, Ahmed took a few deep breaths. “You must forgive me. Of course. You help us so much. I am happy to be of service to you in any way I can.” He glanced at the IV pole and monitor, then smiled. “But as you can see, I’m not in the best shape for ranch work at the moment.”

  The events of the past few weeks—Parsons’ false arrest, Kareem being bullied, Ahmed’s shooting, and now another dead victim with a missing hand—had gotten to Radhauser. He was heartsick and tired, his whole body a pulsing ache, but he had no choice but to question Ahmed.

  According to Daria, other team members' parents had witnessed Ahmed's argument with the coach. They were sure to report what they'd seen and heard to McBride in her interviews tomorrow. The fact that he not only knew but disliked Sherman Parsons wouldn't work in Ahmed's favor. A prosecutor could argue Ahmed framed Parsons for his wife's murder, then killed Baker because he'd humiliated Kareem and pushed Ahmed into the dirt for defending his son. What perfect payback to leave Baker stripped naked in a portable toilet.

  When the phlebotomist entered, carrying her tray of vials, syringes, and a rubber tourniquet, Radhauser stepped away from the bed and stared out the window. Once she'd taken her blood sample and left the room, he returned to his seat beside the bed.

  “Though I have been concerned about your condition and how the investigation into the shooting will proceed, this isn’t a social visit. I’m here on official police business. I need to ask you some questions about Bradford Baker, Kareem’s Little League coach.”

  Ahmed grimaced. And there was a palpable change in the weight of the air around them. “I tell you the truth. I do not like this man. He is a bully. And he is unkind to my son and the other children on his team. When I am well I will see if I can get Kareem moved to another team.”

  Radhauser told Ahmed that Lizzie played on the Cardinals in the same age bracket and that he might be able to help facilitate the change. “She has Cooper Drake for her coach. He is a very gentle and patient young man.”

  “That would be most kind of you. My wish is for Kareem to play baseball so he is like normal, American boy.”

  Radhauser shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wishing he didn’t have to interrogate Ahmed. “I need to know where you were between seven and nine on Saturday evening.”

  Ahmed cocked his head. “Why do you need to know this?”

  “To establish an alibi.”

  A puzzled look spread across his face. “What is this word, alibi?”

  “It is an explanation—something that can prove you were somewhere else when a crime occurred.”

  He winced as though absorbing a punch. “A crime? I don’t understand. This crime is against me. I was shot by a police officer. And I do nothing wrong.”

  “I know. But this is about something else. Something that happened before you were shot.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Radhauser’s throat thickened. He cleared it. “Bradford Baker was found dead in one of the portable toilets at Thomas Flannigan Sports Park this morning. The medical examiner is ruling the death a murder and has determined it occurred between seven and nine on Saturday evening. Just like with Marsha Parsons, someone chopped off his hand with a hatchet. I understand you made some threats against Baker earlier in the day. And we have several witnesses who heard you say you were going to kill him.”

  Ahmed’s teeth ground hard against each other and his voice was raw with something that sounded like fear. “No, please. You must not think this. I was very angry. And I said something I did not mean. I threatened to kill him for what he did to Kareem, but I did nothing. You must believe me. I could not do this terrible thing to anyone.”

  “Just tell me where you were between seven and nine Saturday night.”

  “I was driving back from Klamath Falls. I go to the lake so I can become calm again. I go for thinking about what is best for my family. Our new baby. If we should return to Afghanistan or stay in USA. When I am feeling better, I drive home and Daria suggests we take Kareem into Grants Pass for ice cream and to feed the ducks in Riverside Park. I feel bad about my behavior at my son’s game. I want to make up to them. So we go. That is when police stop us.”

  Radhauser was inclined to believe him. Why would he be worried about getting Kareem transferred to another team if he knew Baker was dead? But after what McBride would uncover tomorrow during her interviews with the other team parents, and given
Ahmed’s combative relationship with Sherman Parsons, Ahmed was bound to be a prime suspect in both murders.

  “Did you see or talk to anyone while you were at the lake?”

  “I park my car, then sit on picnic table by the water. I see many people, but I do not talk to them.”

  “Did you buy anything at one of the stores in Klamath Falls?”

  "I have no lunch or dinner, so I stop at McDonald's for some salad, potato fries, and coke. I eat them by the lake."

  “What time did you make that purchase?”

  “I do not remember exact time.”

  “Did you keep your receipt?” With any luck, it would have the date and time stamped on it.

  “I throw the bag in the trashcan by the lake. The receipt is probably still inside.”

  “What time did you leave the lake?”

  “About six-thirty. I get gas, then drive straight home.”

  “Did you get a receipt or use a credit card?”

  “I use AAA card for all gas.”

  “Do you remember the station?”

  “Chevron Station on Highway 97, on the north entrance to the lake.”

  Radhauser knew the station, had gotten gas himself there after a Sunday drive with Gracie and the kids. "Were you dressed in traditional clothing?"

  “No. I have on jeans, a green T-shirt for Kareem’s game.”

  “Were you wearing a baseball cap?”

  “No. I leave it in car. I am more comfortable if I wear my white taqiyah with a black keffiyah wrapped into a turban.”

  In Oregon, customers were not allowed to pump their gas. The state believed those jobs were important to the local economy. Ahmed's turban might help someone remember seeing him either at the gas station, McDonald's, or by the lake. This could be the break Radhauser needed.

  Ahmed’s face was a mask of fear and desperation. “I make threat against Kareem’s coach. Others hear me. I am in very bad trouble, yes?”

  "You're a person of interest at this point. I'll do my best to prove you are telling the truth and were nowhere near the sports park when Bradford Baker was murdered."