Flowers for All Occasions

"Three strikes and you're out!" I applauded and laughed. "Career felon, automatic life sentence! No wonder the prosecution didn't push an attempted murder rap! They got him for life, anyway! Oh, my God! That's one of the most beautiful stories I have ever heard!"

"With the possibility of parole, however", Danny added. "But no matter what, it is going to be at least 25 years before he ever sees the light of day again. So Daulton, Darla, the kids and even I, for that matter, don't have to worry about Randy Jones for a long, long time."

"That's great to hear, man. It really, really is."

Danny finished the story just as we pulled up to 832 North Monroe Avenue. The house was a simple brick one-and-a-half story home with large dormer windows on the second floor that gave the place an elegant New England look to it. Numerous people were bustling in, out and around the residence. As we got out of Danny's Explorer, we were greeted by none other than the Chief of Police for Red River Falls, Roy Banks, and one of his two Captains, Pete Sturgeon. Both had extremely somber looks on their faces and the levity that Danny and I had shared on the way here was short-lived and gone.

"Pat," Banks said as he extended his hand. I took it. "I speak for every last man and woman on my department when I say how deeply, deeply sorry we are. I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but in times like this we all gotta come together. If there is anything, and I mean anything, that my department can do for yours, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Chief. That means a lot."

I turned to my right and saw Pete Sturgeon extending his hand. I took his, also.

"I really don't have the words, Pat, so I'll just echo what Chief Banks said. Please do let us know if there is anything we can do to help. I hope you don't feel offended when I say that it feels like we lost one of our own today, too. At the root of it all, Pat, we're all on the same side."

"Those are very warm sentiments, Pete, and I truly appreciate it."

"Pat," Chief Banks said gesturing to his right, "this is Gregory Skerritt. He's the Agent-in-Charge from BCI. They're processing the house right now but he'll answer any questions you may have."

"Sheriff," Skerritt said, extending his hand, "I, too, want to say how sorry all of us at BCI really are. As much as we all want to do our jobs, we hate having to process scenes where an officer went down in the line of duty."

"Thank you, Mr. Skerritt. Can you just kind of give me the whole run down on what you know so far?"

"Absolutely, if think you're ready. I'm not gonna lie to you, Sheriff. It's pretty gruesome in there."

"I'm ready. I need to see it with my own eyes."

"Okay, then. Follow me to the BCI truck. I'll have you put on some non-latex gloves and some booties for your feet, as well as a disposable surgical gown. We're just about finished with the initial processing but we don't want to take any chances of cross-contamination between your scene on the road and this one."

"Very well. Understood."

A few minutes later and I was dressed out. Danny decided not to come in. He wanted to remember Tristan the way he was the last time he saw him.

I followed Skerritt to the front entrance. The stairway leading to the second floor met at a landing directly in front of the entrance. To the left was a dining room, which led to the kitchen in the rear of the home. To the right was a fairly good-sized living room with a fireplace at the rear. The walls around the fireplace, as well as the brick hearth and mantle, were all pock-marked from numerous high-caliber rifle fire. A yellow tarp covered the body, except for the right hand that stuck out from underneath it. There was an unbelievable amount of blood all over the walls and a massive pool of blood underneath and around the body - so much so it had been seeping underneath the sliding door that led to the back patio. The air was heavy with the metallic stench of blood and gunpowder.

"Okay," Skerritt said. "I'll get started. There was no sign of forced entry, none that we could find anyway. So we assume that the shooters were invited into the home, probably by the female."

"Miriam," I said.

"Who?"

"The female. She has a name. Miriam."

"Uh, I'm confused. I was told her name was Nazeem."

"She changed her name when she became engaged to Tristan and started going to church with him. She decided to convert and took on a more Christian name. It became legal about two weeks ago."

Skerritt looked at me for a moment, nodded his head, and proceeded. "So Miriam probably answered the door and invited her brothers into the home. We don't believe they were here for very long."

We walked closer to the body.

"Shortly after they arrived," Skerritt continued, "an argument ensued. One of the brothers was seen wearing a trench coat. He was almost certainly hiding the weapon when they entered. From what we could see, Tristan was blocking the female - uh, I mean, Miriam - and took several rounds to the abdomen. The shots put him down on the floor, of course. One of the shooters then proceeded to grab the girl and dragged her outside to their car.

"We ended up getting video of the entire scene in the living room on video but the angles of the cameras didn't allow much to be seen at the front entrance. Were you aware, Sheriff, that there was a surveillance system in the home?"

"Yes, I was. Tristan confided to me that he had reason to believe his life was in danger, as well as that of his fiancée. So I recommended he talk to a friend of mine who now specializes in that sort of thing. Kind of surprised she overlooked the front entry way."

"There was actual video from the outside that captured the two men entering the home, as well as driving up to the house. It was just hard to see who actually answered the door, is all, but we're pretty sure it was Miriam."

"I see. Anything else?"

"Uh, yeah, there is. Tristan didn't die right away. The second shooter probably thought he was dead or else thought that he would be dead soon. Out of twenty-six rounds fired from the weapon, only 8 or 9 actually struck Tristan. Our ballistics expert, Lee Ireland, thinks the shooter was spraying back-and-forth as he shot; like something out of Hollywood. The final shot was fired point blank at close range and was a shot to the head. He ended up shooting Tristan just below the left cheekbone and it exited just in front of his right ear.

"That's significant, Sheriff, because he would assume Tristan to be incapacitated, if not killed. However, the shot missed his brain entirely. As the shooters left with the girl, he dialed 9-1-1 from his cordless land line. Even though he couldn't talk, he knew an officer would be sent to check out a 9-1-1 hang up. Then, he painstakingly typed a text message that was found on his smart phone when the PD arrived. He identified the shooters and even knew the make and model of the car. In a way, he captured his own killers. But by the time EMS arrived, he had already expired."

I knelt down by the body and proceeded to lift the corner back and started to expose his head.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that, Sheriff," Skerritt warned. "It's pretty gruesome under there."

I simply looked over my right shoulder and gave Skerritt a "back off" look.

"Okay, then. Have it your way. I'll be outside."

I pulled the yellow tarp back further and gazed one final time at Tristan's face. He was such a handsome man in life and was so thoroughly traumatized and violated at the end of it. His eyes, so utterly lifeless, seemed to stare at something thousands of miles away. His courage and willpower astounded me; to be able to be in such pain and agony after being shot by a large caliber weapon and still have the ability to call 9-1-1 and type out a message identifying his attackers. He was truly the very model of what a Law Enforcement Officer should be - even until the very end.

I placed the tarp back over his face, knowing that I was almost surely looking at him for the final time. Almost certainly, he would have a closed casket funeral, which was probably a blessing. Everyone could remember him the way he was in life and not in death.

"What can you tell me about Miriam?" I asked Skerritt after I went back outside.

"The two brothers dragged her from the home and took her back to the family's residence. She resisted the entire time, sounds like, even with a bullet wound to the leg. Apparently, when they got to the house, the mother tried to intervene on the daughter's behalf. The father held the mother back, and the two brothers started beating their sister within an inch of her life. Apparently, she refused to go back to Dubai with them. So they took her out back, doused her in gasoline and lit her on fire. Then, they hauled ass. We were able to determine that they planned on catching a United flight out of MSP. Fortunately, your Deputy's ability to identify the attackers kept them from getting too far. Absolutely unbelievable, if you ask me."

"Yes, yes it is," I agreed. "Thanks for giving me the walkthrough."

"Sorry it was necessary, Sheriff. Oh, by the way, the shooters; what exactly were they doing in Red River Falls? It's obvious they were quite affluent."

"Their father, Khalid Hammadi," I explained, "owns mineral rights to a number of oil shale tracts up north. He's been a key figure in helping develop some and has been a wealthy oil man most of his life. Until today, he and his family were well-liked and highly respected in Red River Falls. This is going to come as a huge shock to everyone."

"I see," Skerritt said. "Damned shame. It'll be interesting to see if the sons were somehow radicalized."

His remark caught me by surprise but also made sense. Did we have a terror problem on our hands? If so, what should we expect from the rest of the family?

I got back to the BCI van and quickly tore off the gloves, gown and booties. Danny hadn't said a word the entire time since we got here. I could see tears in his eyes and knew that he was struggling with everything that had happened today. Tristan wasn't Danny's best friend in the world but the two of them had shared a genuine friendship and socialized often with other members of my department.

"You gonna be okay, Danny?"

"Yeah, Pat, I'm okay. I just wish we could have done more. I'm in awe of what Tristan did today. He went down fighting for his girl, ya know? Absolutely nothing more noble than that."

"Damned right he did. We may not have caught the bastards if it wasn't for him."

"If anything ever happens to me," Danny said, choking up, "I only hope that it means something like Tristan's death did."

I couldn't think of anything to say at that moment. Danny was expressing what every LEO inevitably thinks about and hopes for - that if we have to give our lives that it at least has some sort of meaning or purpose. Even in death, Tristan had managed to ensure that justice was served. All I could do was just reach out and bring Danny in for a hug. We probably embraced for almost a minute with everyone, including neighbors and other bystanders, watching. Of those who saw us, many started quietly crying.

"Pat?" a voice called from behind me. I turned and saw the county administrator, and my good friend, Mitch Monahan standing there.

"Mitch," I said, reaching out. Mitch ignored my hand and grabbed me for a hug also, though shorter, but equally as heartfelt.

"God as my judge, Pat, I don't have the words. I really don't."

"None of us do, Mitch."

"I was out on the highway scene for a while. I didn't want to bother you while BCI were questioning you. I can't believe what a beating your vehicles took today. Yours wasn't too bad, but Deputy Shoemaker's car was outrageous!"

"Yeah, that ballistic glass is something else, isn't it?"

"Hell yes it is, Pat. I'm sorry I ever questioned you about it. I feel like an ass now. One of those things you never know you need until you need it, right?"

"Well, Mitch, I just got to thinking one day about how many law enforcement officers are killed on an annual basis and I was struck by the numbers of them who were killed in their own vehicles. A lot of them get shot during car stops when a perp gets out of the car and starts shooting right away. The front windshields are especially vulnerable."

"It was a hell of an idea, Pat. You probably saved yours and Billy's lives today. Does the ballistic glass affect the vehicles much?"

"How so? Driving, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"It definitely adds a lot of weight but we made up for that with the heavier struts and shocks. Tires need to be watched more closely for additional wear and to make sure they stay rotated and balanced. Same thing for the front end alignment."

"How much weight does it add?"

"It varies on the type of vehicle. I didn't have driver and passenger side glass added to my and Ben Villanueva's vehicles, only the windshields. The rest of the Expeditions, Explorers and Tauruses all have both front and side ballistic glass. The glass weighs about 35 pounds per square foot, though."

"Wow," Mitch said, impressed. Then he changed gears a bit. "Have you talked to your fiancée yet, Pat?"

"Yes, briefly, when I was still out at the scene. She knows something big happened but doesn't know the enormity of it yet."

"I wouldn't bet on that. The local TV and radio stations have been flooding the airwaves for the last four hours, at least. Media are pouring in from all over. Somehow, word got out that a possible terrorist attack occurred here."

"Well, that's not exactly far from the truth now, is it?"

Mitch was shocked. "Jesus, Pat. You're not really gonna spin it that way, are you?"

"Well, let's see, Mitch. A beautiful Arab woman falls in love with one of my deputies. She's a Muslim, no less, and my deputy is a Christian. She decides to leave her faith and her family to be with and marry this man. The family, especially her oldest brothers, hate this idea and do everything they can to threaten them. When their threats fail, they spring into violent action and end up murdering the man and woman whom they discovered they couldn't control. Seems like the very definition of terrorism to me, doesn't it?"

"Pat, listen to me," Mitch said softly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. "We have a lot of Middle Eastern people who are living and working in this area because of the oil shale boom. Many of them, like the Hammadis, have been in this country for well over a decade and many more who are life-long citizens and love this country as much as you and I do. We can't afford to offend them and turn this whole thing into something it is not."

"What is this whole thing, Mitch, if it is something that it isn't? What the hell does that even mean?"

"I mean, Pat, that we don't need to blow this out of proportion."

"I think the two shooters did that when they blew away one of my deputies and then kidnapped, beat the crap out of and then burned their own sister to death."

"In their culture they consider it an honor killing. They felt their family was disgraced by her actions."

"Honor killing? Explain to me where the honor is in what they did, Mitch," I said, getting testy.

Mitch held up his hands. "Pat, truce, okay? Look, I'm your friend. I've always liked you and always admired the job you've done as a deputy and as Sheriff. You're a helluva lawman. But my one criticism of you is that you sometimes get too passionate about things and lead with your heart instead of your head. We have 45,000 people in this entire county who need you to lead with both right now."

"So, what are you saying, Mitch?"

"What I'm saying, Pat, is focus on the crime and not the culture. Focus on the actions of the men and not their religion. We have an awful lot of good people in this county we have to look out for. I confess that I don't know what it is like to be in your shoes right now having lost one of your own. But I do understand how angry you are. The bad guys are gone. Two families and our entire community are going to be devastated by this. Please, Pat. Don't put any targets on our citizens by blowing this up any further."

What Mitch was saying made a lot of sense. As Sheriff, I would have a lot of explaining to do in the coming days, weeks and months. He was right. I was extremely emotional right now. For the third time in my career, I had taken the life of another human being. For the third time, I had done it to protect others. Mitch was right. I needed to cool off. I needed to get my head straight. And I needed to get my anger under control.

"I'm gonna need you to help me keep my sanity in the next few days and weeks, Mitch."

"I'll be here for whatever you need, Pat." And then we hugged again. "In the meantime," Mitch said, as we broke our embrace, "I think I see just what you need."

I turned to my right to see Shannon running up the sidewalk. She had one hand over her mouth and a look of extreme pain and anguish on her face. She knew. She obviously knew. All I could do was just hold my arms open and swallow her in a hug that I never wanted to let go of. The warmth of her body was a welcome and soothing relief from the cold rage that I had been feeling. Sometimes, only the touch of the woman you love can soothe and calm the beast in a man and I needed her more than ever.

We probably held each other for close to five minutes, with Shannon sobbing profusely and me with tears streaking down my face. Police officers, deputies, BCI and other agents and civilians all stopped what they were doing and just stared at us. We were alone in our own universe, though, and couldn't care less. No one said a word. For most of them, they undoubtedly knew how we felt; understanding for me at the horror of having to take a human life, no matter how justified; empathy for Shannon being the loved one of someone who risks their life.

When Shannon finally composed herself, she took both of my hands in hers and led me to her vehicle. "Come on, babe. Let's get you home. You must be exhausted."

"Truthfully, sweetheart, I don't care where we go as long as you're there."

We rode mostly in silence. Shannon drove with her left hand and held onto my hand in a death grip with the other. She was trembling by the time we got to Rattlesnake Road to turn for home. Just hours ago I passed by the turnoff for my home while engaged in a high-speed pursuit of some really bad men and I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability knowing how closely they passed by the house where my soon-to-be wife and children and I sleep. The wolves are never really that far from the front door, I guess.

Shannon had sent Bridget and the boys to her parents, Jack and Suzanne Sullivan's ranch. They were only too happy to welcome them all in. Jack and Suzanne had become absolutely wonderful grandparents to my two boys, Nick and Jake, and treated them like they did Bridget. Nick, my oldest, really hit it off well with Jack and loved helping him do chores around the ranch and riding with Jack on his numerous tractors and other machinery.

Shannon led me upstairs to our bedroom. I locked my Glock 22 in its safe and set my equipment belt in its proper place next to the bed. I stripped down to my skivvies and headed for the bathroom where I hoped a good, hot shower would help relieve some of my stress. I dropped my boxers and stepped into the steamy stall and felt the water cascade all over my body. Suddenly, I was almost overcome by the sensation of all that adrenaline finally leaving my body. I had been so amped up and for so long that I now realized I was crashing hard.

I had been standing there in the shower for several minutes and didn't even notice when Shannon had slipped into the shower behind me. Suddenly, I felt her body melt into mine as she hugged me from behind. It was an overwhelmingly pleasant sensation with the hot water flowing over me with Shannon clinging to me, as well.