Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (8 page)

By the time I made the
corner, Dix was gone.

I slowed to a walk and,
holding a stitch in my side, made my way back around to the front of the
building. People were staring at me, and I noticed they were moving out of my
way now—giving me a wide berth, in fact. I looked down at myself and could
guess why. I sort of looked deranged. The mop had struck me in the chest, and
my entire shirt front was soaking wet with dirty brown water. Under the dirt,
though, the color had faded. My jeans, wet from the cuffs to mid-thigh, were
also faded. There had been bleach in that water, the little bastard. My clothes
were ruined.

Ellmann came out of
the coffee shop as I neared the door, Priscilla close on his heels, much to my
disappointment. She was staring at me openly with wide eyes, eyes that seemed
happy. Man, I hated her. Ellmann looked concerned.

“Are you okay? How’s
your shoulder?

I nodded. “It’s okay.
He got away.”

“How many times have
you found him so far?”

“Twice.”

He shrugged. “You found
Tyler Jay three times. Dix doesn’t stand a chance.”

“These were my
favorite jeans,” I said.

He chuckled. “They
were great jeans.”

“So this is what you
do?” Priscilla asked, her nose decidedly upturned. “You chase people, allow
them to elude you and ruin your clothes, not to mention embarrass you in front
of dozens of people?”

“Priscilla,” I said on
a sigh, “it’s really too bad you moved back here.”

“Oh, really? And why
is that?”

“Because I was here
first, and you’re gonna find it’s too small for the both of us.”

My evening plans had been to have
dinner with Ellmann, grab Dix and take him to the pokey, then drop in on Danielle
Dillon’s grandmother where I would discover some clue as to her current
location. The only part that had gone according to plan was dinner. After
Ellmann and I left Priscilla standing on the sidewalk outside Starbucks, he
walked me to my truck and I drove home. I stripped my clothes off in the
doorway and deposited them in the garbage can. After a shower, in which I
scrubbed and washed everything twice, I found clean clothes and set out again.

If I’d had more time,
I would have called it a day and picked up the search tomorrow. As it was, I’d
already lost most of the day and had nothing to show for it. And I still
believed Grandma would be the key I needed.

I had the sides of the
top up on the Scout, and I cranked the music as I drove. I sang along with
every song I knew, and some I didn’t. I didn’t want time to think. I knew if I
had it, I’d compare myself to Priscilla. Really, I know there is no comparison.
I mean, this is
me
I’m talking about here. And
her.
No
comparison. But that didn’t stop me from comparing us all the same. And comparing
us made me feel bad. I didn’t have time to feel bad. I had things to do.

Dillon’s grandmother
lived in a fifty-five and older community off Timberline, north of Drake,
across from the police station. The houses—all patio homes—are rather small,
with cookie-cutter designs and obnoxious colors like crayon blue, orange-juice
orange, and grass green. Grandma lived in a green one near the edge of the
community. I took a moment to write down plate numbers then went to the door.

It was getting late,
but I could see the blue light of the TV through the window. I rang the bell
and waited. When the door opened, a seventy-year-old woman with a hunched back
leaned on a cane and stared out at me. Her steel-gray hair was twisted back in
a bun, and a chain dangled from both sides of her glasses. She wore a sweater,
despite the weather, and mauve trousers that came up to her breasts.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Porter?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

Unlike every other
house somehow associated with Dillon that I’d visited today, this one seemed to
boast no art. In fact, from my position on the porch, I could see no pictures
or knickknacks of any kind.

I handed her a card.
She took it but she didn’t look at it.

“My name is Zoe Grey.
I work for Sideline Investigations and Bail Bonds. I need to talk to you about
your granddaughter, Danielle.”

“What about her?”

The old woman didn’t
budge; she stood in the open doorway as if she grew there. Her demeanor wasn’t
any more helpful.

“She missed her court
date. I need to find her so she can reschedule.”

“That court date was
weeks ago. Why are you only just now interested in finding her?”

“I’ve only been
assigned her case today. Ma’am, if I don’t find her and get her back into the
system by Sunday morning, you’ll lose this house to the bond company. Do you know
that?”

“Some things are more
important,” was all she said.

“There isn’t any
reason why that needs to happen. If I can find Danielle, it will be a simple
matter to get her rescheduled.”

“Simple,” she spat.
“You bring her in, they’ll hold her until the court date. They won’t let her
out again because she ran once. I’m not stupid. I know how it works.”

“Under many
circumstances, that’s true. But not always. The reality is the jail is
overcrowded; there just isn’t room for everyone. Even people who skipped once
are being rebonded. There’s no way to know that won’t happen for Danielle.”

She sighed. “Look,
kid, I appreciate you got a job to do, but mine is more important. It’s also
more important than this house. I’m sorry, but I won’t help you. You can’t find
her.”

She moved back into
the house, closing the door.

My initial reaction
was to take her words as a challenge. But that didn’t feel right. There was
more desperation in her tone than defiance.

I reached out and put
my hand on the door, halting it. She looked up.

“Why can’t I find
Danielle? What will happen if I do?”

I saw something in her
eyes then, something I’d seen on more than one occasion in my own.
Protectiveness. I suddenly respected this woman and her determination. I didn’t
understand what was going on, and once I did, I might not like what she’s
defending, but I did respect her.

“It’s better not to
find out.” She tried again to shut the door.

I held it open. “I’ll
help her if I can.”

Then I stepped back
and let go of the door. Grandma Porter gave me one last look then disappeared
inside. The door closed, and I heard the deadbolt slide home.

I stood on the porch
for a beat, staring at the door. I had no idea what had just happened, but I
couldn’t shake the feeling it was significant. And I needed to figure it out in
a hurry. My deadline for finding Danielle Dillon was quickly approaching, and
it seemed now there was more going on that I’d originally suspected. But, then,
that was par for the course.

__________

One of my very first cases as a bond
enforcement agent had been nothing but a series of dead ends, questions with no
answers, and strikeouts. Blue and I had tracked that FTA for a week and a half,
chasing rumors and shadows, banging our heads against the walls. We were the
fourth to look into the case, and no one expected results; the bond company was
ready to take the loss. Even Blue threw in the towel, moving on to more
certain—and lucrative—hunts.

In the end, I found
him. Or, technically,
he
found
me
. I’d been doing some late-night
grocery shopping at King Soopers, the only twenty-four-hour option aside from
Wal-Mart (and I hate Wal-Mart). I’d been picking up toothpaste when I saw the
guy stroll by with his shopping cart. A chase (mercifully brief) ensued, and a
small spectacle (a tackle and quick wrestling match) transpired, but I brought
him in.

So far, I have not
failed to bring in an FTA. One way or another, I always pull it out. More often
than not, it’s because the people I’m looking for happen to walk right by me.
And I had very little doubt I’d find Danielle Dillon. What I seriously doubted
was that I could do it in two more days.

I spent an hour on the
computer doing more research, then I did some mundane housework and went to
bed. I lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, my brain busy. Thoughts
buzzed inside it like a swarm of bees. But I didn’t try very hard to quiet it
and go to sleep, fearing whatever nightmare this night had in store for me.

After an indeterminate
length of time, I sat up and switched on the light. I retrieved the handcuffs
from my bag and went down to the living room, flipping on a lamp and the TV. I
found a rerun of
MacGyver
and pulled the bobby pin out of my hair,
letting my bangs fall across my forehead. Then I cuffed my hands behind my back.

I had been something
of an unruly teenager. I got in trouble for a few things that weren’t exactly
legal, and I did a whole lot of other things I never got caught for. A lot of
these things usually began with breaking and entering. Lock picking became
something of a hobby. When I’d been kidnapped, my abductors had used handcuffs.
I’d freed myself, but it had taken longer than I would have liked. My skills
had gotten rusty.

Always one to learn
from the past, I’d taken to practicing. Because of my shoulder, I hadn’t been
able to cuff my hands behind my back until two weeks ago. Now, my breakout time
was once again respectable, nearing impressive.

A new episode of
MacGyver
had just started when headlights flashed through the front window. I quickly
freed myself then set the cuffs on the coffee table. Probably my visitor was
Ellmann, but on the off chance it wasn’t, I thought it best not to be
incapacitated.

Ellmann and I have
only been dating about two months. Actually, we’ve only known one another for about
two months. In the big picture, two months isn’t very long, but near-death
experiences tend to speed up the getting-to-know-you process. And Ellmann
continues to prove I can trust him. He knows some of my secrets, and he has a
key to my house. He also keeps a toothbrush and some clothes here. The same is
true for me. This is all very strange to me, but I’m slowly adjusting.

Ellmann, carrying a
stack of files, let himself in then looked from me to the cuffs.

“What’s your time?” he
asked as he closed and locked the door.

“From retrieving the
pin to breaking out, about five seconds.”

He nodded as he came
toward me. “Impressive.” He kissed my cheek then went to the kitchen,
depositing the stack on the table.

“Thanks. What’s all
this?”

“Work. The FBI arrived
a few hours ago. The place is a madhouse. I couldn’t get anything done.”

“How’s the case
going?”

I moved over to the
cupboard and pulled down a couple glasses, filling them with water.

“We’re making
progress,” he said, accepting the glass I handed him. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” I pulled out a
chair and sat, my feet crossed under me.

Then his demeanor
changed ever so slightly.

“I did a little
looking into the Conrad thing,” he said.

I’d heard this tone of
voice before. He used it when he believed me to be in very serious trouble. I
could only assume he thought the same was true now. What did he know that I
didn’t?

“What did you find?”

“Mitchell and Melissa
Conrad,” he said, pulling a file toward him. “I told you their name sounded
familiar.” I nodded. “That’s because I remember their case.”

“From the papers?”

He shook his head.
“No, from around the station. Apparently it was pretty brutal, and the
detectives working it couldn’t ever find any solid leads. The case is still
open.”

“Okay, so, what
happened?”

“Mitchell and Melissa
Conrad were killed in their home, like you heard, and like I said, it was very
brutal. But what I discovered when I went back and looked at the case file was
that they were tortured before they were killed, especially Mitchell.”

Tortured? Perfect.

“The neighbor left
that part out.” 

I wasn’t sure why it
made such a difference. Being brutally raped and murdered in front of your husband,
who was then also killed in such a horrible fashion that people refused to live
in the house again, seemed bad enough. Being tortured, though, that was somehow
worse.

“The neighbor didn’t
know. Details of the torture were never released to the press, by some
miracle.”

How was Danielle
Dillon connected to the Conrads? Did she know something about their deaths?

“When I looked over
the case file,” Ellmann went on, “I noticed some things. The murders were
different in a lot of ways, but the details of the torture are almost identical
to those in the cases I’m working now.”

“Wait,” I said. “What
do you mean? You said Caroline Marks was murdered. You didn’t say she was
tortured first.”

Whoever tortured
Caroline Marks would be found guilty and sentenced to the death penalty in a
minute flat. If the guy ever made it to court. Caroline Marks was beloved by
her fellow citizens. If she had ever run for an elected position in this city,
she would have gotten in by an almost unanimous vote.

“She wasn’t,” he said
gently. “But her case is connected to a dozen others, and some of those others
were. We don’t know what’s going on yet, what the connection is between
everyone, why some were tortured and others weren’t, but we’re working on it.”

“A dozen others?” I
repeated, my voice little more than a whisper. “There is a serial killer in
Fort Collins? Fort Collins doesn’t get many serial killers.” Rapists, yes.
Serial killers, no.

“Thank God for that.
Unfortunately, it’s got one now. But it isn’t just here; there are cases in
multiple cities in the state, including Denver, Aspen, and Vail. Which is why
it took so long to put the cases together. And there are likely incidents
elsewhere. We just put the word out nationally and already have possible hits
in California, Florida, and Georgia. And we expect to find more.”

“Are there any leads?
Any suspects?”

“There’s a lot more
information to work with now; we’re still sorting through it. The task force
just came together. Things will start moving faster now. I need to know what
you know about the Conrad murder.”

“Nothing more than
what I told you. I was looking for Danielle Dillon, running down her old
addresses, or addresses she’d been associated with somehow in the past. One of
them was a place off Highway One. The place looked abandoned. A woman a few
houses down, the neighborhood busybody, told me no one had lived in the house since
last August, when the couple living there was murdered. She told me their
names, how they died—which was wrong—and that their next-door neighbor had
found the bodies when she heard their eighteen-month-old son screaming. I
wasn’t sure it was connected to my FTA, but I wanted to check.”