by Chris Culver
“I’m a police officer. If you can hear me, please don’t shoot me.”
The barn looked like something from a bygone era, but the farmer who owned it had retrofitted it with fluorescent overhead lights. Thick beams supported the roof structure and a hayloft to his left, while stalls for animals lined the walls to his right. It smelled musty, and dust particles floated in the air. The floor was bare dirt. Ash walked toward a worktable in the center of the room but stopped five or six feet away. A white sheet marred by brownish red stains covered the table, while a rolling stand beside it held stainless steel medical tools as well as an oversized pill bottle of something called cephalexin. It looked like an operating theater or a spot to torture someone. Either way, Ash felt vulnerable without a firearm.
He took a breath and continued searching. Two of the livestock stalls on the right side of the room stood empty. Judging by the accumulation of spiderwebs inside them, they had been for some time. Someone had enclosed the third stall with plywood. Ash walked to the enclosed stall, listening for movement from within.
Nothing.
“Anyone in here?”
When no one responded, he undid the latch and pulled the door open, exposing the interior. As soon as he did, he felt the strength go out of his legs and bile rise in the back of his throat. As promised, Palmer had taken him to Rebecca Cook. Her nude body lay huddled in the corner, her hands tied behind her back, her face locked in a visage of perpetual pain. He could see tear streaks through the dirt on her cheeks. Blood painted the boards behind her, while a thin, black pinprick of a hole adorned her forehead. Her eyes looked like those of a doll. They bore into him, and he felt himself being swallowed whole by the blackness. He fell against the door.
Palmer got everything he wanted and still shot her in the head. He could have just left her there and never seen her again. She wouldn’t have chased him; she wouldn’t have gone after him. Instead, he murdered her and left her alone in a stall built for animals. Ash stayed at the edge of the stall long enough for the scene to etch onto whatever remained of his soul.
“I’m sorry.”
The internal reservoir of strength Ash believed he carried disappeared quickly, leaving something dull and empty in its place. He left the barn and, as soon as he was far enough away that he wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, vomited on the grass. His stomach roiled, but no matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t stop seeing her. Ash had left so many parts of himself blackened and dead at crime scenes that he hadn’t thought they could bother him anymore, but this one did. Rebecca had a family; she had kids, parents, a husband. He retched again until nothing remained in his stomach.
A breeze blew across his skin, chilling him. He stayed there until his legs felt strong enough to support him. As far from civilization as he was, he doubted any passerby would stumble upon the scene and contaminate it, but animals might. He needed help. He went back to the barn and stared at the stall in which Rebecca rested.
“I’ll be back,” he said, shutting and latching the door. He left the barn and shut the light off behind him. He had seen lights on the drive over, so Ash walked roughly in their direction, carefully placing each foot directly in front of the other. Keeping his mind busy on even such a banal, stupid task kept him from thinking about Rebecca’s body.
After about a mile, the road transitioned from gravel to asphalt, and he saw buildings in the distance. He walked for another two miles or so before those buildings became identifiable businesses. Ash recognized the area, having stopped there on a recent trip to a Purdue University football game. Yellow Shirt had dropped him off near I-65, a north-south running interstate that connected Chicago with the Gulf of Mexico. Ash walked to the nearest building, a five-story hotel, and pulled open the front door.
The hotel’s lobby hadn’t been built to impress anyone. It was perhaps twenty feet square and had a coffeemaker on top of a folding table, newspaper racks, and a couple of chairs. A chest-high piece of oak built into a pass-through in the wall served as the front desk. A young man sat up and put a sociology textbook on the counter as soon as Ash walked in.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to use your phone.”
The sociology student frowned. “Sorry, but it’s for guests only. I think there’s a pay phone at the—”
Ash held up a hand before the student could respond. He took a couple of breaths. “I’m a police officer, and I just found a woman’s body. Give me your goddamn phone so I can call nine-one-one and get some help.”
He opened his mouth. “Is the body in the hotel?”
Ash breathed out of his nose. The clerk hadn’t done anything wrong, so Ash had no right to snap at him. His insides felt twisted. Something violent seemed to be building inside him.
“It’s not in the hotel. Just call nine-one-one and tell them to get a supervisory officer out here as soon as possible.”
“All right,” the clerk said, already picking up the phone and dialing.
“Do you have a bathroom?”
The clerk looked up from the phone. “What?”
“Do you have a bathroom?” asked Ash, his voice sharp and loud. “I want to wash off my face.”
The kid flinched. “Sorry. It’s for guests only, too.”
Ash took a step back from the desk, not wanting to start a fight. He tried to force the anger from his voice and face.
“I’m going to wait outside.”
The kid nodded, so Ash left the building and sat at a wood and wrought-iron bench out front. A breeze blew from the surrounding fields, and Ash could hear the interstate in the distance. He buried his face in his hands.
God, let this day just end.
18
Within fifteen minutes, two deputies from the Tippecanoe County Sheriff’s Department arrived at the hotel. They listened to Ash’s story and then retraced his steps to the barn, where he showed them the body. While one deputy called Mike Bowers to confirm Ash’s identity, the other called Lafayette, the nearest city, and requested assistance. Eventually, one of the deputies let Ash borrow his cell phone to call Hannah. Bowers had picked her up when the exchange went wrong, so she was downtown. She cried a lot, and he told her that he loved her and would come home as soon as he could.
The detectives from Lafayette arrived next. They’d probably end up working the case alongside detectives from Indianapolis, but from all appearances, Rebecca had died in their jurisdiction. They’d receive the blame if the case went awry, so they deserved to know everything he knew. Ash gave them an official statement and then sat on the grass outside the barn as more people arrived. He felt completely hollow, like his emotions had shut down for the day. Captain Bowers and two Indianapolis homicide detectives arrived within an hour, their lights flashing. Detectives Lupo and Pace would stay and work with the locals, but Bowers had come to give Ash a ride home. Thankfully, he didn’t ask Ash what he had seen; he wasn’t ready for that yet. They drove for about half an hour before either man said anything at all.
“Are you going to be okay to drive if I drop you off at your car, or do you want me to take you home?”
The outskirts of the city lay twenty miles ahead of them, but homes and businesses had already begun dotting the cornfields as the suburbs encroached on what had perennially been farmland. Ash rubbed his eyes.
“Just take me home. Hannah will take me to pick up the car tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
Ash looked out the window but didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I used to tell myself that this job would get easier the longer I stayed in it.”
Bowers looked at him for a moment. “It doesn’t. The memories accumulate,” he said. “They ought to put that in the training manuals they hand out at the academy.”
“Honesty probably wouldn’t be good for recruitment,” said Ash. He paused before speaking again. “Those assholes in the van took my wallet. Before we get to my house, can you loan me a few bucks and take me by a drugstore along the way?”<
br />
“Of course. What do you need to get?”
“Something that’ll help me sleep.”
“Sure.”
Ash directed Bowers to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy about two blocks from his house where he bought a pint of cheap bourbon in a plastic bottle. He felt dirty doing it, but he knew that without it, he’d break down. He didn’t want to see Rebecca when he closed his eyes that night. He didn’t want that pain or that memory. He wanted to feel numb. Bowers drove him back to the house, where Hannah sat on the front porch, waiting for them. As soon as Ash got out of the car, she ran toward him and squeezed her arms right around his chest, whispering the same phrase over and over again.
Thank you, God.
Bowers drove off without saying a word, leaving Ash alone with his wife. Her hair smelled like lilacs; he missed that when she wasn’t around. Hannah and the kids were the glue that kept him from falling apart. Whenever he had a bad day, they waited for him at the end of it. They saw past his faults and accepted him, bruises and baggage included. His cheeks burned, and the bottle in his hand felt heavier than the liquor inside ought.
“Sorry I disappeared.”
Hannah nodded and took a step back. “What happened to that woman?”
Ash swallowed a lump in his throat. “She didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” he said, looking at his feet. “We should go inside. I need to throw something away.”
For the first time, Hannah noticed his paper sack from the drugstore. “What is it?”
“It’s a mistake.”
She nodded and followed him in, not saying anything even when he pulled the bottle from the bag. He tried to put it in the trash, but she wouldn’t let him. She knew he’d just take it out later. Instead, she put her hand on his and led him to the sink. They poured it down together and then watched as the liquid drained away. Ash’s hands shook.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ve had a bad day.”
* * *
Ash didn’t go to work the next day. Instead, he got up early with Hannah. The kids were still at their aunt Yasmina and uncle Jack’s, so Ash and Hannah had the home to themselves. They had suhoor and dawn prayer before the sun rose and then went back to bed. Neither of them said anything; they just spent the morning together.
At a little before eight, they drove downtown to pick up his car, and then he drove to his sister-in-law’s house to pick up the kids. Kaden slept for most of the ride home, but Megan squirmed beside her little brother on the backseat, her eyes wide.
“Uncle Jack and Aunt Yasmina don’t pray in the morning,” she said.
“They’re not Muslims, honey,” said Ash, glancing in his rearview mirror. “They go to a Christian church.”
“Oh,” she said. “Does that mean they’re going to Hell?”
He looked in the rearview mirror again, trying to catch her eye. She had asked him about whether Kaden would go to Hell just a day earlier.
“Why are you asking me that, honey?”
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. Uncle Nassir said something about it. I was just asking.”
That explained it. Nassir was the only Muslim man Ash knew who actually used the word infidel; his beliefs tended toward the intolerant. Ash focused on the road ahead of him again.
“God gave the Christians a message just like He gave us a message. He’ll figure it out; that’s not our job.” Ash glanced in the mirror again. Megan started to say something, so he spoke before she could. “That means you don’t need to worry about it. And don’t listen to Uncle Nassir. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Okay,” said Megan, leaning her head against the seat behind her. Megan had apparently exhausted her theological questions because she remained silent for the rest of the ride. She ran into the house as soon as Ash helped her out of her seat. Kaden’s eyes opened and closed as Ash picked him up, but he didn’t seem ready to wake. He did manage to drool on Ash’s shirt, though. He rarely slept well in unfamiliar settings, so he had probably stayed up later than usual.
Ash took him to the living room and sat down still holding him. Eventually, the phone rang and Hannah traded him it for the baby. Ash glanced at the caller ID before answering. Captain Bowers. Ash allowed himself to sink into the seat before answering.
“Mike, what’s up?”
“I’m calling to see how you’re doing. This has been a tough case.”
“Yeah,” said Ash, sighing. “This one’s going to stay with me.”
“I know, and that’s why I don’t like asking. I’m going to request that you’re given a week off with pay, but before I do that, I need you to come in this afternoon and give an official statement about the operation last night. The administration’s in cover-their-ass mode and wants to move. You know how that is.”
With Rebecca’s death, the case was over. Some time off could do him good.
“Yeah, I do know how that is,” he said. “They’re not gunning for me, are they?”
“No, but even if they were, I wouldn’t let them. If anybody goes down for this, it’s going to be me. I’ve got enough years on the job to retire with a full pension.”
“I appreciate that,” said Ash, genuinely surprised.
“You might want to put your union lawyer on standby just in case.”
“I’ll give her a call,” said Ash, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
“Before you go, Ash, you did the right thing with Eddie Alvarez. His lieutenant told me about his girl in Mexico.” Bowers sighed. “That was messed up.”
It took Ash a moment to remember the story about Alvarez’s murdered girlfriend and what it had made him want to do at the home off Shadeland Avenue.
“It affected his judgment, so I thought somebody needed to hear it.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. We put him on administrative leave, but I doubt he’s going to be back.”
“You think he’s going to quit?” asked Ash.
Bowers paused. “He didn’t mention the story during his psych evaluation when we hired him.”
“So?”
“Aside from the very real questions about his fitness for duty, lying during the hiring process gives us grounds for termination.”
“He didn’t lie. He just didn’t mention it.”
“It’s a lie by omission. Any way you look at it, he should have told us.”
“If you’re worried about his mental health, move him to a less stressful beat. Hell, put him in Community Relations. We don’t even carry guns. He’d fit in better than me.”
“I appreciate that you’re looking out for him, but I’ve already sent in my recommendation to the Disciplinary Board of Captains.”
“Don’t you sit on the board?” asked Ash.
“I’ve recused myself. And that’s the end of the discussion. I didn’t like making the decision any more than you liked forcing Alvarez to turn himself in. You did the right thing, though, and so did I. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Then get some rest and come by at two this afternoon for our meeting.”
“I’ll be there.”
Bowers hung up the phone, and Ash looked at Megan. She cocked her head to the side and squinted at him.
“What were you and that man talking about?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, honey.”
“You sounded mad.”
“I’m a little upset, but I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Can I play on the swing?”
“Sure.”
Ash watched her disappear into the backyard before picking up his phone again. He didn’t know what to say to Eddie Alvarez, but he felt like he needed to say something. He dialed the detective’s number, but it immediately went to voice mail.
“Eddie, it’s Ash Rashid. I need to talk to you. Give me a call back.” He paused. “It’s about work. Just call me.” He tried to think of something else to say, but little sprang to mind. “I’m, uh, so
rry. Okay? Just call me. We’ll talk, and maybe we can figure something out.”
As if he had any pull with his department at all. He felt like a schmuck. Ash slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. As soon as he saw Megan in the backyard, he remembered someone else he needed to call. The Hancock County Sheriff’s Department and the FBI would take care of the girls he found in the Dandelion Inn, but Sadia Tahir deserved a personal thank-you for her help with the Urdu-speaking girl.
Ash searched through his phone’s memory for the Tahirs’ number. Leena Tahir, Sadia’s mother, picked up. A TV blared in the background. Ash didn’t talk to her long, but she sounded upset. He couldn’t figure out what had upset her, though, because she kept slipping into Urdu, her native tongue. Eventually, she put Sadia on the phone.
“Hi, Sadia, I’m Detective Ashraf Rashid with the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. Is your mother okay?”
“No, she’s mad. I am, too.”
Ash inhaled. He hadn’t meant to step into the middle of a family fight.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m calling to thank you for your help yesterday. I’m sure you made it a lot easier for that Pakistani girl.”
“Did they tell you to call, Mr. Rashid?”
“Did who tell me to call?”
“Those men who kicked us out of the hospital. My mom and I went to the hospital this morning so we could have Fajr with Amina. They wouldn’t even let us in to see her.”
Salat al-Fajr, dawn prayer, is performed between dawn and sunrise. Sadia and her mom had probably been turned away because they came before regular visitation hours.
“I’m sure they didn’t mean anything. They were probably afraid you’d wake up the neighbors or something.”
“That wasn’t it. We made arrangements with the head nurse the night before, and she said we could come in for prayers if we were quiet. As soon as we got on Amina’s floor, though, an FBI agent told us to go away.”
Amina must have been the Pakistani girl. Unfortunately, the story made sense. The Hancock County sheriff had told Ash he planned to bring in the FBI. If they took over the case, they probably brought in their own Urdu speaker to translate for Amina. It sounded like they had tightened security, too. Ash rubbed his eyebrow.
