Bark M for Murder

by An Anthology

  “Not as long as he doesn’t touch that tire iron. If he does, believe me, I’ll shoot him again.”

  By then, though, she could hear the distant wailing of sirens. Officers really were on their way. Minutes later two squad cars with uniformed officers arrived, followed shortly thereafter by an ambulance. While cops and EMTs clustered around Jamil, Maddy ended the 9-1-1 call and slipped the phone into the pocket of her jogging suit. Then she put the dogs on leashes and led them to the edge of the parking lot to relieve themselves. Aggie and Daphne were still circling on the steep hillside when an officer hurried over and pointed a flashlight directly into Maddy’s eyes.

  “Are you the one who shot him?” he demanded, and not very nicely, either. “Where’s the weapon?”

  “I left it on the car seat,” she told him, “along with my concealed-weapon permit and my driver’s license.”

  The officer’s name tag said his name was Wyatt. A. Wyatt.

  “The victim says he drove you around all day,” Officer Wyatt returned. “He claims that after he dropped you off at your hotel, you tracked him to his workplace, followed him when he left for home, and then shot him for no reason.”

  “No reason!” Maddy exclaimed. “He and his friend had me hemmed in. Mr. Mahmoud was threatening me with a tire iron.”

  “There was no one else here when we arrived,” Officer Wyatt countered. “And you do admit that you know Mr. Mahmoud. He says you were following him too close and that he felt threatened. Were you following him?”

  Maddy heard the question and realized that she was going downhill fast in a process that somehow was transforming her from victim to suspect. “Are you going to arrest me, young man?” she demanded.

  Years of bringing recalcitrant kindergarten students to order had given Maddy Watkins a peculiar tone of voice, one that brooked no nonsense and usually commanded respect. This time was no different. The young officer backed off slightly.

  “No, ma’am,” Officer Wyatt said. “You’re not under arrest, but we will need to take you in for questioning and to check out your weapon as well as your concealed-weapon permit.”

  “What about my dogs?”

  Another man stepped out of the darkness. Unlike Officer Wyatt, this one wore civilian clothing. “We could always call Animal Control,” he said. “They could look after your animals until we finish interviewing you.”

  “My animals, as you call them,” Maddy returned, breathing fire, “are not going to the pound. I’ll drop them off at the hotel until we finish up with this nonsense. If I have to, I’ll call my niece to come stay with them.”

  As the new arrival stepped closer, Maddy saw that he was holding her driver’s license. It would have been better for Maddy Watkins if the man hadn’t borne such a strong resemblance to her son Rex. He was about the same size, age, and build.

  “What hotel would that be, Ms. Watkins?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Watkins,” she corrected shortly. “Women’s lib is one of those things that passed me by, so don’t you go calling me Ms. I’ll have you know I was a very happily married woman right up until my husband died. As for my hotel? My dogs and I are staying at the Fairmont. Who are you?”

  “Detective Caudill,” he answered.

  “Well, Detective Caudill,” Maddy said, “it might be nice if some of you people stopped standing around asking me questions and started looking for the man who was here helping Mr. Mahmoud, the one who got away.”

  “And he is?”

  “I’m not sure,” Maddy replied. “Probably another driver from that London Cabbie place. The guy who left is the one who actually forced me off the road. They used that barrier there and their two vehicles to trap me so I couldn’t drive away.”

  “And this other vehicle would be… ?” Detective Caudill asked.

  “A Toyota sedan of some kind,” Maddy replied. “I saw that funny little Toyota insignia on the back of it. And part of the plate. SLU something. I do know it was from Washington, but I couldn’t see any of the other numbers. He was driving much too fast. Besides, I was busy keeping an eye on the guy on the ground.”

  “The one you shot,” Caudill said.

  Maddy took a deep breath. “I think maybe I’m ready to have an attorney now,” she said. “And somebody better be checking that tire iron for fingerprints. I don’t see any flat tires around here, do you? And isn’t someone supposed to be reading me my rights?”

  “We’re not reading you your rights because you’re not under arrest,” Caudill replied. “At this point we’re simply trying to get to the bottom of this incident. Now, if you would tell us why you were following Mr. Mahmoud—”

  “Detective Caudill,” one of the other officers called. “The ambulance is about to leave. Do you want to talk to them?”

  As soon as Officer Wyatt and Detective Caudill turned away, Maddy reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. For the first time ever, she was glad she had her son’s home phone number on a single-number dial. Expecting to talk to Gina, Maddy was gratified when Rex himself, already back in town, answered the phone, not that she really wanted to talk to him, either. Once Rex heard what was going on, Maddy was sure she’d never hear the end of it.

  “Oh, Rex,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re there. Do you know any defense attorneys?”

  “Defense attorneys?” he asked. “You mean as in criminal defense? What’s going on, Mother? You’re not under arrest, are you?”

  “Not yet, but I probably will be,” she told him. “As soon as the ambulance leaves, that rude detective from Seattle PD will probably be taking me in for questioning. And I’ll most likely need you to come get Aggie and Daph. I’m not sure the Fairmont will let them stay there if I’m in jail instead of in my room.”

  “In jail!” Rex exploded. “Mother, what the hell is going on?”

  “Just find me an attorney,” Maddy said hurriedly. “Have him call me back on this number as soon as he can.” Just then the ambulance’s siren growled to life. “I have to hang up now,” she added and ended the call.

  Detective Caudill sauntered back over to her. “All right now, Mrs. Watkins,” he said, verbally underscoring the Mrs. part. “Maybe you’d like to tell us what this is about. And, since it’s chilly out here, why don’t we do this down at police headquarters? My car’s right over there.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself,” Maddy said. “The driver’s window may be blown out, but at least it’s not raining.”

  “You don’t understand,” Caudill returned. “Your vehicle is going to have to stay right where it is until we finish the crime-scene investigation. When that’s over, we’ll have it towed to our impound lot.”

  “Crime scene?” Maddy repeated.

  “Yes, crime scene. Assault at least, maybe even assault with intent to commit murder,” the detective answered, speaking slowly and at such a high volume, that it sounded as though he was convinced Maddy was both stupid and hard of hearing.

  “Officer Wyatt,” he added. “Would you please come take charge of these dogs? As for you, Mrs. Watkins, if you’ll just step over here and place both hands on the trunk. I’m going to need to search you.”

  “Search me,” Maddy echoed. “Whatever for? You already have my purse and my Glock. What more do you want?”

  With her face flushing scarlet in the darkness, Maddy relinquished the dog leashes to Officer Wyatt and then assumed the required but extremely undignified and uncomfortable position demanded of her by Detective Caudill.

  “You don’t have any needles on your person, do you?” he asked.

  “Needles? Of course not,” she sniffed, regaining a bit of her gumption. “I’ve never done drugs. I don’t even crochet.”

  Caudill had barely removed Maddy’s cell phone from her pocket, when it rang. He answered it and then handed it to Maddy. “I believe it’s for you,” he said.

  Maddy took the phone, fearing that the caller would be Rex and that he would have disregarded her desperate request for he
lp. “Madison Watkins?” a strange male voice asked.

  “Yes,” she answered uncertainly.

  “My name is Ralph Ames. I’m an attorney. Your son Rex suggested I call. Are you about to be detained by officers from Seattle PD?”

  “That’s my understanding,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “All right, then. I’m advising you to say nothing at all until I arrive and can assess the situation. Now put whoever’s in charge back on the phone.”

  Maddy returned the phone to Detective Caudill who stood listening in silence for the better part of a minute. She could tell from the way his jaw clenched that he wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

  “All right,” he muttered at last. “We’re at the bottom end of Jackson Park, just off Beacon Avenue South. Send the car here. Once the dogs have been picked up, we’ll meet you down at Seattle PD. If you get there before we do, have them escort you up to an interview room.”

  Detective Caudill ended the call and then turned to Maddy. “Your attorney is sending a car service to pick up the dogs and take them to your son’s place. Then Mr. Ames will meet us downtown.”

  “Thank you,” Maddy murmured.

  For the first time in her life, she was supremely grateful that Rex, in a time of crisis, was exactly who and what he was—a chip off the old block— his mother’s son.

  Detective Caudill’s pat-down search uncovered nothing beyond the cell phone and Maddy’s single lace-edged handkerchief. When the humiliating process was over, Maddy went over to the dogs and held them close, drawing courage and strength from their sturdy warmth. She wondered how Aggie and Daphne would fare with Gina’s all-white furniture and carpeting, but it had been very thoughtful of Rex to provide for someone to come get them.

  To Maddy’s surprise, the car service arrived within a matter of minutes. As the driver came to collect the dogs, Maddy suddenly realized that it was well past their dinner time and there would be no suitable food for them at Rex and Gina’s high-rise condo.

  “Please,” she said, to Detective Caudill, “if I could just write a note to the hotel, perhaps this nice man could stop by my room and pick up the dogs’ food and their dishes.”

  Shaking his head, Caudill pulled a notebook and a pen out of his pocket. “All right,” he said. “Write away, but I’m going to want to read it.”

  Maddy had to think a moment before she wrote: “Manager, Fairmont Hotel. I have been unavoidably detained. Please give my driver Aggie and Daphne’s food and dishes so they can stay elsewhere. In the meantime, I wish to keep my room. You may put the additional charges on my bill.” Signed: “Margaret Anderson.”

  Caudill took the note from her hands and scanned its contents before handing it over to the driver.

  Aggie and Daph were happy to scramble into the backseat of the big Lincoln Town Car. They were not nearly as happy when the door closed behind them without Maddy climbing in as well. As the Lincoln nosed out of the parking lot, hot tears stung Maddy’s eyes. The whole time the girls had been with her, she had never once spent a night away from them. This would be a first.

  “I thought your name was Madison Watkins,” Detective Caudill observed, taking Maddy’s arm and leading her toward his own vehicle. “So why are you registered at your fancy, schmancy hotel under an alias?”

  “My attorney told me not to answer any questions until he’s present,” Maddy said tartly. “And I’m not going to.”

  And she didn’t, either. The twenty-minute ride from south Seattle to the police headquarters building in downtown Seattle was conducted in utter silence. For her part, Maddy was supremely grateful that she hadn’t been handcuffed. She worried how her hair, crushed flat by wearing the Tilley, would show up in the photo if they ended up taking a mug shot. In addition, she was busy grappling with what she would say when Detective Caudill finally got around to asking his questions. If she admitted that she had been worried that Jamil bin Mahmoud was after Gennie’s money, then Caudill would no doubt assume that Maddy had been following him either to threaten the man or to do him some kind of bodily harm.

  When they pulled up in front of the building at 5th and Cherry, a well-dressed man stepped out of a car parked at the curb across the street and hurried toward them. “How’s it going, Mort?” he asked, nodding curtly at the detective. “I’d like a moment alone with my client.”

  Maddy was taken aback to think that her attorney already knew the detective.

  “I’m Ralph Ames,” he said, holding out his hand to Maddy. “What’s going on?”

  With Detective Caudill standing nearby but out of earshot, Maddy gave Mr. Ames a quick rundown of events. By the time she finished, Caudill was tapping his foot impatiently.

  “So you did shoot him, but you claim it was self-defense,” Ames summarized when she finished.

  “That’s right. Self-defense.”

  Ames turned back to Caudill. “All right now, Mort. I think we can go up now.”

  Once in the small interview room, Maddy was relieved when Ralph Ames took the ball. “Has any effort been made to track down the second vehicle?” he asked.

  Caudill shook his head. “We don’t know that there was a second vehicle,” he said. “The victim says there wasn’t—that there were just the two vehicles, his Grand Am and Mrs. Watkins’ SCRV.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t take Mr. Mahmoud’s word for it. I’d start looking for that Toyota,” Ames said smoothly. “And you did collect the tire iron?”

  “Yes, of course,” Caudill answered, audibly gritting his teeth. “We do know our business around here, Ralph. We’re not all of us amateurs.”

  Maddy knew that last part of Caudill’s statement was aimed directly at her, but she didn’t mind. After all, she was an amateur. She wasn’t even a private detective, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to keep Gennie from having a broken heart as well as a broken bank account.

  “I still want to know what this is about,” Caudill persisted, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “My client told me that she believes Mr. Mahmoud was after her money,” Ralph Ames said. “Would you please tell Detective Caudill what you told me?”

  Maddy looked at Ralph Ames uncertainly. That was part of what she had told him, but it wasn’t the whole story.

  “When Mr. Mahmoud drove me around this afternoon, I confided in him that my husband had died recently. At first he was very sympathetic. He told me that his wife’s name was Fatima and that she had succumbed to some kind of cancer some time ago—within the last few months, I gathered. Then later on, during lunch, he started asking me about my husband’s investment properties in a way that made me very uncomfortable. And so, when he dropped me off at the hotel, I decided to try to follow him.”

  “To what purpose?” Detective Caudill asked.

  “To see where he went and to find out if he had told me the truth,” Maddy answered. “I wanted to find out whether or not he had a wife.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been more to the point and safer just to ask him?” Caudill asked. Clearly the detective wasn’t buying Maddy’s story.

  “It’s easy to ask those kinds of questions if you’re a young, healthy male and capable of defending yourself,” Maddy pointed out. “I’m none of those things. I’m an old woman and not nearly as spry as I used to be. And if you had seen the murderous look on that horrible man’s face when he came after me with his tire iron…”

  “I wouldn’t characterize you as helpless since you were armed to the teeth, but someone else, your son possibly, could have asked him,” Caudill pointed out.

  “My son is a very busy man,” Maddy returned.

  “So what happened?”

  “I waited for Mr. Mahmoud outside the place where he works—the London Cabbie Company down in Columbia City. When he left, I followed along behind him. Then, all of a sudden, this other car came barreling up behind me and stayed right on my bumper. When Mr. Mahmoud turned off into the parking lot, the second car—the Toyota—pulled out
into the other lane and then turned into mine, forcing me off the road behind Mr. Mahmoud’s car. When I stopped, he came over to where I was, carrying and brandishing that tire iron. It scared me to death. When he ordered me out of the car—”

  “That’s enough now, Mrs. Watkins,” Ralph Ames interrupted. “I believe Mr. Caudill gets the gist of it. Are Mr. Mahmoud’s injuries life threatening?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Detective Caudill answered. “At least the EMTs didn’t think so. They said he’d most likely be treated and released.”

  “Good,” Ames said. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “You said Mr. Mahmoud was your driver today,” Caudill continued. “You mind telling me how that came about?”

  Maddy considered. Should she tell the truth? Sort of, she decided.