Untitled Zoe Grey Novella
In case you missed it, read Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 2
Ellmann
arrived and parked his Charger at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, now crowded with
vehicles. He made quick work of stripping off his jeans and pulling on a pair
of BDUs from his bag in the truck. He stuffed his feet into boots, strapped on
his equipment and weapons, and hurried over to the Bearcat.
He squeezed my
hand on his way into the Bearcat, but was otherwise all business. I knew he’d
noticed my new injuries, but he didn’t even blink. He’d stopped doing that
months ago.
“Give me a
rundown,” he said.
Frye, Waller,
Tolliver, and Rollins took turns filling in the parts of the picture they had
so far. It wasn’t pretty.
“No,” Frye
said. “As you found last night, there are too many hits to narrow it down with
what we have now.”
“Any word from
victim services yet? I’d like to speak to whoever dropped Cheryl off here
today.”
“I’m still
working on that,” Frye said. “I think I’m getting stonewalled in light of the
current situation.”
“Go straight
to the top. Call Sharon personally.”
“On it.”
I didn’t know
who Sharon was. She must have been in charge of the victim services division.
“What about
the woman, Cheryl?” Ellmann asked. “Real name unknown.”
“Nothing new
on her, either,” Tolliver said.
An idea
suddenly hit me, so hard I stumbled back a step. “Oh, shit,” I said. “I’m such
an idiot. Ellmann, last night, she said Selena. I didn’t know who she was
talking about, but what if she meant herself? What if her name is Selena? Can
you run that with the name Devil and see if anything pops?”
Ellmann nodded
and turned to Tolliver, who had already disappeared back into the Bearcat.
Boots sounded
behind me and I turned to find Waller striding forward. He stopped and planted
his hands on his hips.
“Waller,
what’s the status?” Ellmann asked.
“We’re fairly
certain he’s upstairs, in one of the rooms at the back of the house.”
“Bedrooms,”
Ellmann said. “Master with the baby’s room next to it.” Noting Waller’s
expression he added, “Zoe and I were in the house last night, after the prowler
incident.”
Waller nodded.
“Ah. No one has direct line of sight on the suspect, and no weapons have been
noted so far, though he is believed to have one based on the 911 caller. This
guy, he’s moving around a lot. Last report had the baby in a highchair in the
kitchen. No one has actually laid eyes on the woman. We believe she’s upstairs,
but we haven’t confirmed.”
“I want to get
him on the phone,” Ellmann said. “When I do, get a look in those windows.”
Waller nodded.
Ellmann turned
to Rollins. “Any attempt been made to communicate?”
“Not since I
arrived. But we’re set up and ready to go. No landline on the property. Throw
phone is ready to go.”
“Hey!”
Tolliver called from behind Rollins. “Hey, I got something. I got several hits
for a search of the name Devil together with the name Selena, but I think it’s
the same two people, multiple incidents. Guy’s real name is Robert Downes. Goes
by Devil or Downey. Got a record as long as my arm. All violent offenses. Guy’s
a fugitive. Three outstanding warrants in Colorado, one out of Nevada. Hey,
Zoe, one of these is a bench warrant out of Denver; he failed to appear about
three months ago.”
“Any info on
the bond company?” I asked, leaning in a little.
“No. Oh, wait
. . . Yes. Found a note here. Uh, triple A Bonds. Know them? Not that it really
matters now,” he added. “We’re way past a bond violation here.”
“No kidding.
Still, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Guys, I also
got a photo of the girl. She look familiar?”
Ellmann and I
both climbed inside the vehicle and squeezed over to where Tolliver sat at a
computer. The screen displayed a photo of the woman we knew as Cheryl, bruised
and bloody.
“That’s her,”
Ellmann confirmed.
“Did Devil do
that to her?” I asked, anger and apprehension both rising in me.
Tolliver
looked grim. “Yes. Rape, assault, et cetera. This was about eighteen months
ago.”
Ellmann must
have sensed my reaction because he raised a hand and said, “Zoe—”
I nodded and
turned away. “Just get her out of there. I’m going to see if I can find
anything more on Devil.”
I jumped out
of the Bearcat, only remembering my broken rib when I hit the ground and the
impact rattled up and lit the injury on fire. Gasping, I banded my left arm
against my side and took a few stiff paces away, found the number I wanted, and
dialed.
Mickey Sands,
co-owner of Sideline Investigations and Bail Bonds where I did most of my work,
answered on the second ring.
“Don’t you
ever take a night off?”
“That was my
plan tonight, but it’s not going to happen. Know anything about triple A Bonds
out of Denver?”
“Which one?”
I rolled my
eyes. Bail bonds outfits constantly compete for top listing in the phone book, because
jails everywhere permit access only to a phone book and allow one phone call. They
almost all start with “A.”
“How many are
there?”
“Two. Maybe
three. I know Bruce. He started triple A way back in the eighties. He was triple
A Bonds. Then some hotshot he had working for him broke off and started triple
A Bail Bonds, which neatly put him
first in the phone book and confused people about who they were really calling.
Couple years back, I heard a third outfit had sprung up, a little further
south. Castle Rock, maybe. Why?”
“An FTA out of
Denver is holding my neighbor hostage. I heard triple A Bonds wrote the bond.”
“That would be
Bruce, then. But Zoe, you don’t want to get involved in that. Let the cops
handle it.”
“I will.
They’re here. I just offered to get some info on the guy. Got a number for
Bruce?”
He gave it to
me, and I dialed. Bruce answered on the first ring.
“Triple A
Bonds, where we get you out fast. Where you calling from?”
“Are you
Bruce? I got your number from Mickey Sands. My name is Zoe Grey.”
“No, shit.
Well, hell, girl, I know who you are! I’ll be! I never thought I’d be talking
to you. Tell me you’re looking for work. I’ll set you up better than Mickey,
guaranteed.”
“As tempting
as that is, that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling about Robert Downes.”
“Robert Downes
. . . Oh, Devil! No, way. You got a line on him?”
“Something
like that. What can you tell me about him?”
“Mean as a
snake. I never shoulda written the bond. Of course, if I hadn’t, the next guy
woulda. Way the business works, you know that. These dirtbags all belong behind
bars, but we ain’t got room for ’em all. World’s going to hell in a handbasket,
I tell you.”
“Friend of
mine says the same thing. What’s he up for?”
“Let me see. Got
his file somewhere around here. You know, it’s been weeks since he skipped out,
months, maybe. Haven’t been able to get a line on him. Doesn’t happen that
often, so this guy probably had some kind of plan in the works. Here we go.”
I heard the
shuffling of papers over the line.
“This time:
armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, aggravated assault, and rape, but
his sheet just goes on and on. Some drug charges, some traffic and alcohol
charges, some other theft, robbery, fraud charges, domestic charges, and multiple
weapons charges. You getting the picture here?”
“Yeah, I am.
Gang affiliations?”
“Nothing
concrete, but there are notes here about some Aryan motorcycle gang. Not sure
which one. I don’t see anywhere that the guy owns a bike. Only vehicle
registered to him is a Toyota Tundra. Tag number TGY-895. No house, either.”
I walked over
and tapped Ellmann on the shoulder, pointing to a black pickup truck parked at
the mouth of the cul-de-sac. “That’s his truck,” I said.
Ellmann nodded
and turned to the guys in the Bearcat.
“What’d he use
as collateral?” I asked Bruce.
“His mother
put up her house. I hate taking real estate as collateral. I mean, look what a
mess it is. Here we are . . . three
months out—Has it really been three months already?—and now I’ve got to start
proceedings to take this old woman’s house and boot her out. Not only does that
take forever, it makes you feel like a worm, let me tell you. I gotta quit
writing bonds with real estate, especially if it’s a parent’s house.”
“Where’s Mom
live?”
“Denver. Well,
Arvada, specifically. Want the address?”
“Yeah, and a
name and number.”
He gave me the
information, which I jotted down in my own notebook.
“Know anything
about a woman?” I asked. “Girlfriend, wife, ex-wife, anything?”
“Uh . . .
Let’s see here. Nothing listed, but let me look at the notes . . . Oh, got a
mention here about a baby mama. Back about six, seven months ago.”
“Got a name,
address, anything?”
“Doesn’t look
like it. Wait. Oh, shit. She’s the victim of the rape. And I see . . . three
separate rape charges over the course of a year.”
Anger flared,
edging out apprehension. And that was fine. I always worked better on anger
rather than fear.
“She was the
victim each time?” I didn’t really want the answer.
“Yeah, looks
like. Sick son of a bitch. I really gotta read this shit before I bond these
fucks out.”
“What’s her
name?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Selena
Torres. Want her address?”
“Yes, anything
you’ve got.”
He recited her
address, phone number, and employer, and I wrote it all down.
“Zoe, what’s
going on? You got a line on this guy or what?”
“Yes. He’s
currently barricaded inside my neighbor’s house, holding her hostage. Same
girl.”
The line was
silent for a long beat. “Shit,” was all Bruce could manage to say.
“If you’ve got
capture paperwork, email it to me. Can you do that?”
“Sure. Sounds
like a job for the cops, though.”
“It is, but it
might be helpful.”
“I’ll do it
now. Keep me posted.”
“Keep yourself
available for the time being, will you?”
He said he would,
and we disconnected.
_________________________________
Read Chapter 1
Read the background on the story
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