One Night in Tehran: A Titus Ray Thriller

by Luana Ehrlich

  The detective must have been thinking the same thing. As we walked up to the front door together, she said, “Your friend lives in a nice neighborhood.”

  “Yes, I’ve always loved their place.”

  The detective unclipped her badge from her waistband and held it in her hand as she rang the doorbell. As we waited, I noticed we were both looking around, observing the passing cars and other houses on the block. A minute went by with no answer, and she rang the bell again.

  Another minute passed.

  I suggested, “Maybe we should check the back.”

  “Wait here,” she ordered and walked around the side of the house.

  I gave her a few seconds and then followed her through the gate and into the back yard.

  By the time I reached the rear of the house, she had already drawn her weapon and was entering the house through the back door.

  I followed directly behind her.

  She caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t turn around. “I told you to remain at the front door,” she said harshly.

  Her body was taut, spring-loaded for whatever she might encounter in the house.

  I drew my Sig, but kept it out of her sight. “Should you call for backup?”

  She sounded impatient. “I just did, but I need to make sure Mr. Karimi isn’t in here needing medical attention.”

  As she went from room to room, she called out, “Police. Mr. Karimi, are you here?”

  When it was obvious no one was in the house, I holstered my weapon. Finally, she turned around and faced me, lowering her gun to her side.

  “That wasn’t very smart,” she said sharply. “You should have stayed outside.”

  I ignored her reprimand. “Bashir seems to have left in a hurry.”

  We both surveyed the family room. There was a suitcase on the floor with several items of clothing spilling out of it, and a can of soda had been dropped on the carpet, but no one had bothered to clean it up.

  The detective headed for the front door. “Let’s go outside and wait for the other officers to arrive,” she said. As she unlocked the front door, she said, “In fact, I believe you could leave now. I’ll call you if I have any further questions.”

  While following her over to my Range Rover, I looked down the street and saw a black Nissan.

  The car was exactly like the one I’d seen in the church parking lot earlier in the morning. It was slowly approaching Bashir’s house from the west, about two blocks away.

  “Detective Saxon, I’d like to show you a very important clue to Farah’s murder,” I said, opening the passenger’s side door of my car and motioning her inside.

  She hesitated.

  The Nissan drew within a block of the house.

  “What kind of clue? Could you wait for the other officers to—?”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  I practically shoved her inside the Range Rover and ran around to the driver’s side door, sliding in just as the Nissan cruised by.

  I looked directly at her. “Don’t show any interest in the car approaching Bashir’s house. Just look at me as if I am the most interesting man on the planet.”

  She gave me her full attention. “Right now, you are definitely the most interesting man on the planet.”

  I started the car. “Okay, he’s leaving the neighborhood. We’re going to follow him.”

  “What? No.”

  “Put your seatbelt on.”

  “Mr. Ray. Titus, wait. You can’t be serious.” She sounded frantic. “I have two patrol cars on the way here. Why are you following that car?”

  “Are you able to make out the license plate?”

  Despite her agitation, she strained to see the plate. However, by that time, the Nissan was almost a mile ahead of us. It stopped briefly at a red light and turned right on State Highway 9.

  “No, I can’t see anything.” There was a note of anger in her voice now. “Tell me what you’re doing before I have you arrested.”

  As we came to the intersection, two patrol cars, with their lights flashing, turned in our direction.

  When they passed us, she warned me. “My car’s at Mr. Karimi’s house. When those officers can’t find me, they’ll issue an alert.”

  As the Nissan cleared a set of railroad tracks just before the guardrail swung down, I shouted, “Oh, I can’t believe this.” A train whistle sounded in the distance. “Call your dispatcher,” I said. “Tell them you’re checking out the neighborhood or something.”

  Since the guardrail prevented any oncoming traffic, I quickly made a U-turn and returned to the Eagle Cliff neighborhood. Detective Saxon didn’t say anything until I pulled in the driveway at Bashir’s house. Then she unsnapped her seat belt and turned to face me.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? What did that Nissan have to do with Farah Karimi’s death?”

  To say she was angry would be an understatement.

  I held her gaze for several seconds. Finally, I replied, “If you’d like to interview me about your case, you can come out to my house around seven tonight. I’ll give you the full story then.”

  She looked away from me and stared out the window at Bashir’s house before replying. “I’m might take you up on that, Titus, because I definitely have a few more questions for you.”

  After getting out of the car, she leaned back inside and said, “In fact, I’ll probably start with this one: Why are you carrying a concealed weapon?”

  CHAPTER 23

  At seven o’clock, Stormy and I were sitting in my living room waiting for the detective to arrive. The dog was looking up at me with his head cocked to one side.

  His expression seemed to say, “What are you doing?”

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I told him. “But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t think she’s coming.”

  Ten minutes passed, and then I heard a voice on the gate intercom.

  “Mr. Ray, it’s Detective Saxon.”

  After keying in the code, I told her, “Drive on in.”

  When the detective arrived in the driveway, Stormy and I were there to meet her.

  She was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on earlier in the day, but for some reason, she looked different. I decided it was her hair. Several curly strands had come loose from her ponytail and were falling down around her face.

  She smiled as she got out of her car. “And who is this?”

  “I call him Stormy.”

  She bent down. “Hi, Stormy. You’re a handsome dude.” She turned to me. “I’m a dog person.”

  “We have something in common then.”

  She turned her attention from Stormy to the property. I saw her look at the road leading up to the barn and then glance back down to the lake and the forested area beyond the water. “When I took his class at OU, Dr. Ortega used to call himself a gentleman farmer. Now, I see why. This is a beautiful piece of property.”

  We climbed the steps to the porch and went inside. As soon as the detective entered the dining room, she gestured toward the bay windows facing the lake. “Oh, I love this view.”

  “The house also has a sunroom. The view of the lake from there is spectacular in the morning.”

  “That must be wonderful.”

  All of a sudden, I felt extremely awkward. Whether it was the banality of our conversation or the sheer normalcy of it, I wasn’t sure, but for several seconds, I couldn’t think of a single word to say. Then, as the silence deepened, I remembered the food.

  “Have you eaten anything?”

  “No, but I didn’t come out here to eat, Mr. Ray. I’m supposed to get some answers. Remember?”

  “I thought you’d agreed to call me Titus, Detective Saxon.”

  “Okay, Titus. If you’ll give me some answers, you can call me Nikki.”

  “Nikki, then.”

  She smiled.

  It was a beautiful smile.

  “Are you sure you won’t eat something?” I asked.<
br />
  “Oh … maybe.” She placed her hand across her stomach. “It’s been awhile, and I’m starving.”

  “I’ve grilled us a couple of steaks.”

  “You’ve twisted my arm then.”

  After the detective savored her first bite of steak, she pointed her knife toward me in a menacing fashion and said, “Talk.”

  At that moment, I was reminded of Carlton and his debriefing persona, and that made me question once again what I was about to do.

  Despite my misgivings, I said, “As you may have already guessed, Nikki, I’m not just in Norman to collaborate on a book with a professor.”

  She bobbed her head up and down. “You’re right. After seeing a woman with her throat slashed, you appeared way too calm for a think tank pundit. I’m a good detective, but even a lousy one could have figured that out.”

  I didn’t respond to her observation, and she took another bite of her steak and studied my face. After a few seconds, I said, “If I decide to tell you about my real job, I will need certain guarantees.”

  “Ummm …” she said, continuing to eat, “like what?”

  “First, this conversation has to stay strictly between the two of us.”

  She looked off in the distance. Then she nodded her head. “Okay, unless you’ve come to Norman with plans to break the law, I can go along with that.”

  “Second, whatever evidence you and your officers turn up on the Farah Karimi case, you have to share it with me.”

  “Whoa,” she said, putting her fork down and shaking her head. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “It’s the only way I can help you catch Farah’s killer.”

  “This isn’t my first case, Titus. I’ve been solving homicides for four years now, and I can certainly manage this one without any outside help.”

  “Okay then, let me ask you a question. Who looks good for this murder?”

  “I don’t have a suspect right now, but, since Farah’s husband has obviously disappeared, I have to assume he’s somehow involved in her killing.”

  “I don’t believe Bashir was responsible for his wife’s death, but he certainly might know who killed her.”

  She immediately jumped on that statement. “Was Bashir driving the Nissan we were following today?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I believe the person driving that car is connected with Farah’s murder. He may even be her killer.”

  Nikki’s eyes widened at my assertion, and I hurried on. “But I’m not telling you anything else unless you agree to my terms.”

  “Okay, I’ll agree to share whatever evidence we find, primarily because what you’ve just said confirms my theory of who you really are and what you’re doing here in Norman.”

  I was surprised at her statement.

  “You looked surprised,” she said, laughing.

  “Well, you did say you were a good detective,” I replied, “so I can’t wait to hear what you’ve turned up on me.”

  “I’d be happy to do that.” She pushed her plate away. “The steak was delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee before you tell me who I really am?”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She handed me her plate as I began to clear the table. “If you have some cream, add a splash to my cup.”

  “Done.”

  I told her to go make herself comfortable in the family room. Then I went out to the kitchen and brewed us each a mug of coffee. I had a small carton of heavy cream I’d purchased for making Alfredo sauce, so I opened it and poured some in her coffee.

  When I entered the room with our cups, I saw that she had slipped off her shoes and was sitting on the couch with her feet curled up underneath her. I sat down opposite her in a leather recliner.

  “Now I’m all ears,” I said. “Who am I?”

  As if suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her head for a brief moment.

  Seconds later, she looked up and said, “I believe you’re part of some kind of federal security detail that’s been guarding Farah and Bashir Karimi. Maybe they were defectors or they were being threatened by the Iraqi government for helping the United States, something like that. I believe they were given a house and maybe even a salary while Bashir completed his studies at OU.” She paused and gave me a quizzical look. “Am I right?”

  She seemed very pleased with herself.

  At that moment, I realized all I had to do was go along with her suppositions, and then not only could I protect my real identity, I could also stroke her ego at the same time. Before I decided how to reply, however, she rushed on with her theory.

  “I’m guessing other members of your security detail have taken Bashir to a place of safety, because whoever killed Farah might go after him next.”

  She took a sip of her coffee and studied my reaction to this fantasy.

  As she did so, I came up with two good reasons—or rationalizations—for telling her the truth and not going along with her suppositions. First, Nikki was a law enforcement officer, and, if I had to do so, I could probably justify my identity disclosure on that basis. Second, I desperately needed to find out if Ahmed had murdered Farah and, unless I told Nikki who I really was, I seriously doubted she would let me get anywhere near the murder investigation.

  “I can understand why you’ve come to those conclusions, Nikki, but they’re just wrong.”

  A moment of fear passed over her face. However, I couldn’t tell if she was afraid of me or simply afraid of losing her job.

  Maybe it was both.

  I knew she had probably broken departmental rules by coming to see me on her own. She may have thought the rules didn’t matter because, according to her conjecture, this was a federal case and the FBI was really in charge. Now that I’d denied her theory, however, she could be thinking she was in big trouble.

  On the other hand, she might be afraid of me. If I wasn’t a federal officer, then who was I? She knew I had a gun, and with my size advantage, I could easily overwhelm her small body in a physical struggle. To make matters worse, she was locked in an isolated house behind a security fence. Besides that, she might not have even told anyone she was coming to see me.

  She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, waiting for me to continue.

  I thought she looked very vulnerable.

  And extremely attractive.

  Seeking to reassure her and return the smile to her face, I said, “However, there’s one detail you do have correct. I am employed by the federal government.”

  Her dark brown eyes reflected confusion.

  “But you’re not with the FBI?”

  “No, my agency primarily operates overseas.”

  She sat very still and thought about my answer.

  I enjoyed watching her as she grappled with the possibilities.

  Her eyes brightened. “You’re with the CIA?”

  I smiled at her. “Thank you for guessing correctly. Now I can always deny I ever told you.”

  “Really? CIA?”

  When I nodded, she shook her head as if she didn’t believe me.

  “Well, forgive me, Titus, but I need more proof than just your word on that.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Would a character witness help?

  She hesitated. “Yeah, maybe. Who?”

  “You know Danny Jarrar, the Deputy Director of OSBI?”

  “Jarrar? Yes. Well, no, I don’t really know him. I met him at a terrorist conference in Oklahoma City once. I’ve also talked with him on the phone a time or two.”

  “Danny can vouch for me. I’ll give him a call.”

  Earlier in the day, after I’d left Bashir’s house, I’d called Danny and updated him on the situation. I’d asked him to see what he could find out about the Nissan, and I’d told him I thought the last letter on the license plate was either K or H.

  “Was the driver a foreigner?” he had asked.

  “Yes. He had definite Arab
ic features.”

  “Why do you think he was cruising by the house?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he was coming to meet Bashir, or maybe he was planning a hit on him too. If we can locate Bashir, we’ll know a lot more.”

  “What’s happening with the detective?”

  “She’s coming out to my house tonight for some answers.”

  “What?”

  “I probably should have mentioned she saw I was carrying a gun.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’m considering telling her the truth.”

  “Sure, go ahead. Then I’ll recommend you for one of our job openings here at OSBI.”

  “If she needs verification of my status, will you give it?”

  “Think carefully before you do that.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  “You know I’ll vouch for you, Titus. I’ve always got your back.”

  I left Nikki in the family room and went back to my bedroom for my Agency satphone. Danny answered on the first ring, and I briefed him on what I wanted from him. He agreed, and then I walked back to the family room and gave the phone to Nikki.

  Her conversation with him was short.

  When she hung up, she looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye.

  “Okay, he confirmed you really do work for the CIA, but that’s all he would say. So tell me, what’s a CIA officer doing here in Norman?”

  “Danny Jarrar and I have been good friends for a long time, so when I had to have surgery on my leg, Norman seemed as good a place as any for me to have some R & R.”

  She deliberated about my explanation for a few seconds, and, by the look on her face, I thought this story was going to satisfy her. Since I’d given her such minimal details, I also felt I could justify myself to Carlton later—if that became necessary.

  “In your statement, you said you’d only known Farah Karimi for a few weeks. Was that true?”

  I nodded. “That was true.”

  I explained about my decision to volunteer at the ESL class to keep myself from becoming bored during my medical leave.