“I talked with the sheriff at 4:00. There are budget problems because of the Happy Jack fire. It’s very expensive, and it hurts tourist revenues. I don’t believe that any decision has been made to close the office. However, I think expense cuts are coming.”
“I turned down that job with the Cottonwood Police last year because you wanted me to stay. I’m not willing to drive up to Flagstaff every day,” she said. It was her mildest form of lobbying. Rose can be much more assertive when she wants. If the sheriff closed the office, I probably was out of a job too. Maybe I could come up with something that would include both Chad and Rose. “I promise to let you know where we stand as soon as I know myself.” Rose was one of the most competent people I’d ever worked with, and I wanted both Chad and Rose with me if I went into private detective work.
CHAPTER 17
Margaret, Pete, and Teresa were on the deck enjoying margaritas when I got home about 7:00. Dinner was in the warming oven waiting for my arrival. After the food was on the deck table, I asked if they’d enjoyed their hike up Wilson Mountain and their picnic on the top.
“I enjoyed the exercise, but the view was weird. Instead of the expected dramatic vista up Oak Creek Canyon to the San Francisco Peaks, we had an astonishing view of the Happy Jack forest fire. Flagstaff and the mountains were completely blocked by the smoke, but we could see the tankers drop their water and pink flame retardant east of Interstate 17. We saw the actual orange glow of the flames below the billowing black smoke. It was spread across a wide front south of Flagstaff. It was eerie but fascinating,” Teresa said.
“It was just scary to me. I’m sorry I saw it; I won’t sleep easily until the damn thing is out,” Margaret said. “We did have a nice picnic that we shared with a family from Connecticut and some newlyweds from Sacramento. They were on their first visits to Sedona. What a strange way to see it with smoke and a hint of panic in the air.”
“Any progress on your cases, Mike?” Pete asked.
I told them the news about the Navajo Police finding a dark green Sierra truck on the res. I described my interviews with the NAU foreign students, with Ashley Campbell, and with Zayd’s father and brother. You might think it wasn’t a fit topic for dinner conversation, but Pete had been in law enforcement as long as I have. Our wives both have had thirty years to get used to our shop talk.
We all had an interesting time speculating on the profile of our serial arsonist. Teresa took notes so that we could see who was closest when the man was caught. I described everyone I’d met in connection to the murder of Zayd Jabran in great detail. We talked about the family life of Ali Abdullah Jabran and his four wives and twenty-four kids. I was surprised he had time for a career. Mr. Jabran must have more stamina than I. Personally, I can hardly keep up with the one wife I have, and our only son was difficult enough to get through school and out on his own.
The sun set in a blaze of orange glory, and in the far west, we could see thunder clouds forming. Rain would be a wonderful help in fighting the fire, but the flashes of lightning in the late evening sky could bring more danger. Often these early summer storms brought thunder without rain. We sat watching the flashing lights in the western sky grow closer, as we discussed homicide, arson, and Islam until the phone rang at 9:45. It was Major Ross.
“When we ran the VIN of that GMC Sierra, your name came up as requesting the APB.” His manner was more abrupt than in my previous meeting, and he seemed slightly bewildered by the information he’d learned.
“Of course, I’d considered the possibility that Zayd’s truck had been painted green,” I said. “It was the same make of truck as seen at the arson site, and it’s been missing since Zayd was abducted in late May.”
“Yes, that was the registration, Zayd Ali Jabran. It listed a dorm at NAU as an address. What’s this about? Why haven’t you mentioned this Jabran to me?” He sounded annoyed.
Perhaps I should have brought the possibility to his attention, but it had seemed like a long shot. The taskforce was convinced that the arsonist lived in the Phoenix area and came to the mountains only on weekends. There was nothing in the file I read or in the profile that indicated a foreign student at NAU might be connected. The circumstances of Zayd’s death made me convinced that that he was killed in a personal vendetta. Now, Major Ross was suspicious that I was holding out on the other members of the taskforce, probably seeking personal publicity for solving the case.
“It seemed like a coincidence that both cases involved GMC pickups. I couldn’t see any other connection. Let me brief you and anyone else who’s interested in the Zayd Jabran murder investigation tomorrow. He was a young NAU student who was killed in a remote place south of Tusayan,” I said. What I didn’t say was that I hate coincidences and never accept them without a lot of research. A possible connection had been nagging at me since I learned that Zayd drove a white GMC pickup.
“I’ll arrange for a 9:00 briefing here at headquarters. Is there anything else you haven’t mentioned?” His tone indicated that he was not pleased. I assumed he’d call Sheriff Taylor with a complaint about sharing information.
When I described the call, Margaret said, “I know you well enough to be certain that you’ve suspected a connection, but what is the connection? You’ve already guessed something. Come clean, Sweetie.”
“It occurred to me that Zayd loved the forest. That was why he was in Flagstaff majoring in International Forestry. If he learned anything about the arsonist, he’d probably have turned him in even if he was a friend. The idea of systematically burning the Arizona woodland would have been abhorrent to him. This information seems to let Zayd’s family off the hook. They haven’t been here to be connected to the fires. Someone who knew he wasn’t going to be missed felt comfortable in painting his truck and then using it for several months. Our arsonist is an acquaintance of Zayd Jabran. Before the truck was identified, this was all wild supposition, one of many possible scenarios.”
“Mike, we saw that monster of a fire very clearly today. This break brings you much closer to preventing the next one,” Teresa said. “I’m sorry we’re due to leave tomorrow. I’d like to see you catch him while we’re still here.”
“It’s a decent lead, but we won’t have him tomorrow. We must get the bastard before Saturday night and the next fire. He’s gotten too damn good at setting them.” Zayd didn’t have an unusually wide circle of acquaintances. It was a good starting place.
“Millions of dollars of property damage from a single person or a small group, the economy of Flagstaff disrupted, the residents facing possible evacuation, and the whole state terrorized by the fire risk from a diabolical arsonist, does that remind you of anything?” Margaret asked.
We all knew the answer. I’m personally religious, but I never let my faith interfere with treating people of other faiths with respect. I didn’t believe that it was a coincidence that almost all of Zayd’s acquaintances were Muslim. I didn’t believe that it was a coincidence that he was killed in the manner of an ostracized Arab tribesman of the seventh century. Tomorrow, I’d get the names and addresses of every Muslim student at NAU from the Bursar’s Office and find out where each of them was spending the summer.
Margaret and Teresa served homemade cinnamon ice cream on walnut brownies topped with hot caramel sauce before we turned in for the night. When we were alone in our bedroom, Margaret said, “There’s something else you haven’t told me. Something is bothering you.”
“There’s a rumor that the sheriff might close the Sedona office to meet his required budget cuts. This fire is costing the county a lot, and tourists are not coming to a smoky town threatened with evacuation.”
Margaret kissed me and said, “This may be the time to start the PI agency you’ve been thinking of. We’ll be fine, but I worry about the others in your office.”
“Me too,” I said and turned out the light.
CHAPTER 18
I had a chance to say goodbye to Pete and Teresa over breakfast. This was the
second time we’d seen them in the past two years and both vacations had been interrupted by murder investigations. Maybe we were jinxed, but I thought we’d try a joint vacation again someday.
Chad asked what I planned for the day as we drove to Flagstaff for our 9:00 meeting with the arson taskforce. “I still wanted to discover how Zayd got to that spot on Cataract Creek. We can check horse rentals, but now that we know that his death was connected to the arsonist, it’s likely that the murderer used his all terrain vehicle to take him.”
“You think Zayd was just killed for his car?” Chad asked.
“Why go to all that trouble? Carjacking is easy, but this murder was premeditated and especially cruel. Our arsonist is someone who knew and hated Zayd. I want to concentrate on his school acquaintances who remained in Arizona this summer. If they left the state after school was out, they couldn’t be setting these fires. Also, since the fires began last year, the arsonist would have been in the state last summer.”
“That should narrow the list. I’ll call my friend at NAU,” Chad said with a tentative smile. I wondered if he’d asked her out yet. He was building us a substantial debt to the young woman in the Bursar’s Office. “She can give us a list of foreign students and students who shared a floor in the dorm with Zayd. Men who were here both summers are probably juniors and seniors this fall.”
“Good. We’ll have a lot more legwork, but now that the case is connected to the arson, there are dozens of people on the taskforce who can help.”
“So how did this loner arsonist from Phoenix kill Zayd and leave the truck in a remote spot on the Navajo reservation two hundred and fifty miles from Phoenix? Maybe the taskforce’s profile is bullshit.” I smiled at Chad’s comment. Margaret had reached the same conclusion as soon as she read the profile.
“I don’t think this is a traditional maladjusted loner arsonist; in fact, I suspect that it’s not even a single person. It may be a group working together to damage our forests and our economy,” I said. “Someone probably went with Zayd’s killer when he dumped the pickup truck, and it would have been much easier for two or more people to subdue him when they chained him to that dead cottonwood tree.”
“You think it’s a terrorist cell, maybe even connected to those Islamic State crazy folks in Iraq and Syria,” Chad said, and I nodded.
We reached the Emergency Operations Center at the Flagstaff Law Enforcement Building about fifteen minutes before the briefing was to start. I saw Sheriff Taylor in the hall, and he asked to visit with me for a few minutes before my meeting. Chad went into the conference room to introduce himself while the Sheriff and I went into an empty office.
“Major Ross called me at home last night. I assured him that you’re a team player and neither of us had made the connection between the arson case and the Zayd Jabran case until the truck was discovered. Watch your step with him; he has important political connections in Phoenix.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“What I wanted to talk to you about is a little project,” the sheriff said. His manner was cautious as if waiting for a confrontation. “I’d like you to work on two proposals, one that you cut the expenses of the Sedona office by 25% and one by 50%. I know, it’s impossible, but before you tell me that, look at the alternatives. I’d like to keep us open down there, but we’ll be looking at major reductions in force if this fire continues. I need a plan already in my pocket for when the county commissioners ask for it. If I’m not ready ahead of them, they’ll push their own agendas in the cuts. There’s no money in our budget, and the county will not borrow while we’re still on credit watch by the rating agencies.”
A small procedural mistake that I’d made on a previous case had triggered an enormous lawsuit. It had been an attempt to intimidate us, and it was quickly dismissed. Unfortunately, the county had ended up on Moody’s and S & P’s credit watch as a result of the lawsuit.
“That credit watch is BS now that that lawsuit is moot; we should be off their lists already.” It was a frustrating situation, but completely outside of my control. “When do you want my proposals boss?” I asked with a straight face.
There was a good chance that I’d put myself on the headcount reduction list, but I didn’t want to give the sheriff any indication of that yet.
“I know you’re busy with serious cases, but I need it by Saturday afternoon.”
“You’ll have it,” I said, and we walked together to the taskforce meeting talking about the 10% chance of rain in the forecast.
It took fifteen minutes to get the meeting started because of the complicated process of hooking up six locations on the speaker phone. While we waited to begin, I introduced myself to those who I’d not previously met.
Major Ross began the meeting saying, “I think we have the best break in our case since we nearly caught the arsonist in the White Mountains last summer. Yesterday, the Navajo Police found an abandoned truck that fits the description of the vehicle sighted at the start of the Happy Jack fire. The State Crime Lab took the truck to Phoenix to look for trace evidence, but we’ve identified the vehicle as belonging to a Saudi national who was a student at NAU. The truck’s owner, Zayd Jabran, is a homicide victim. Mike Damson of the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department found the body last Saturday south of Tusayan. Mike has joined us today. Please tell us about the Zayd Jabran case, Detective Lieutenant.”
I spent fifteen minutes relating the details of the Zayd murder and our progress (mostly lack of it) in finding his killer or killers. I asked for help in checking out horse and jeep rentals, but I explained that since we knew the arsonist used an ATV in starting his fires, it was probably also used to transport Zayd to Cataract Creek. Although I described why we believed Zayd’s murderer was an acquaintance, that part of the story seemed lost in the discussion that followed.
Everyone was still thinking of the arsonist as a man from the Phoenix or Tucson area who acted alone in response to a pyromaniac’s compulsions. They assumed that he had a long history of arson, that he was socially maladjusted, and that he set fires because of inadequate sexual success. They believed that Zayd was a randomly chosen carjacking victim.
It was hard for the members of this taskforce who’d been working on this case for over a year, to discard the flawed profile and consider a completely different arsonist. For twenty minutes, each law enforcement officer in the room or on the phone put in his or her comments. Most of it was repetitious and shallow, and I grew convinced that no one had listened to my point about the arsonist being an acquaintances of Zayd Jabran.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said in a brief pause in the lengthy discussion. “Perhaps we should rethink who’s setting these fires. We know that Zayd’s circle of acquaintances was mostly other international students, especially Muslim ones. These fires may not be the work of the single deranged arsonist in your profile. They may be the work of an organized group intent on causing economic disruption and fear.”
In the hullabaloo that followed my comment, only Sheriff Taylor and Chad supported my view. The unspoken assumption was that I was paranoid and prejudiced against Muslims and too newly involved in the investigation to have much to contribute. The next hour reinforced my distaste for wasting time in long meetings. Major Ross seemed more interested in making certain that everyone got to speak his mind and in developing a consensus than in finding an arsonist. By the time it broke up at 11:00, I was sorry that I hadn’t visited the men’s room before the meeting.
Major Ross concluded the meeting saying, “So, Coconino County will investigate any possible connections to the Tusayan homicide victim to our arsonist, and others on the taskforce will continue along existing lines of inquiry. Good meeting, we’ll reconvene next week at the same time unless there’s a need for an extemporaneous meeting. Thank you.”
I was standing next to Chad in the men’s room when he said, “Shit Mike, that was worse than the most boring class I ever had in high school or college. Can I be excused from the next taskforce m
eeting?”
“I was thinking of sending you and doing something else myself, but I think the only way out of these things will be to catch the arsonist before we have to endure another one.”
“Now the pressure is really on,” he said.
CHAPTER 19
We spent the next two hours in vacant offices using the phones to contact every horse rental place in the county. We asked if anyone remembered renting to Zayd or to any foreign students during late May, but we found no one who remembered Zayd. The chances were high that the murderer took Zayd to Cataract Creek in his ATV and the whole taskforce had been canvassing ATV dealers for weeks. We called every auto paint shop in Northern Arizona looking for one that had painted a white GMC pickup dark green. We had no luck. Chad had called his friend at NAU to get a list of all junior and senior students for the coming year who were foreign nationals or who lived on Zayd’s floor, and then we decided to break for lunch.
I called Ahmed Khan and invited him to join us for lunch to talk about Zayd’s case. Ahmed seemed to know almost all of the NAU Muslims because they’d elected him the president of their student association. I hoped he could provide a shortcut to any group of extremists who thought of arson in the National Forest as a political statement. Since Ahmed was from a country that America had assisted in freeing from Taliban domination, he might be more sympathetic to helping us. He was married and seemed more rooted in the Flagstaff community than many foreign students.
We met at Bun Huggers Hamburgers near campus. Ahmed was already seated at a corner table with his back to the room when we arrived. We greeted him and ordered chili cheeseburgers with fries. “I’m surprised you suggested lunch here Ahmed,” I said.
“No offense, but I’m not anxious to be seen with you in public. Muslim students don’t come here so I’m not likely to be recognized.”
“We’re trying to solve the murder of someone you knew. A nineteen year old man whose life was cut short in a sadistic and premeditated way,” Chad said.
The Arson at Happy Jack Page 9
