Isabel's Run

by M. D. Grayson

  She smiled.

  “I guess we can look at the bright side,” Richard said. “Even in finding nothing, we discover something. Since the house had a guest bedroom, it’s possible Isabel spent some time here when she first went missing. That could turn out to be a pretty valuable piece of information.”

  I nodded. “True enough. We’ll get another crack at it tomorrow. Tomorrow morning at eleven, I want to go into the house over on Brooklyn. It’s going to be tougher—more occupants, less certainty as to schedule. We’ll have to be nimble and stay on our toes.”

  Chapter 17

  I FIGURED THAT if Isabel was at any of the NSSB houses, odds favored the boys’ house on Brooklyn Avenue. Paola said that they moved Isabel out of the girls’ house, and I’d searched the big house yesterday. So my money was on the boys’ house. Unless these guys kept more than the three houses we knew about, in which case, all bets were off. I was anxious to get inside and have a look around.

  We hadn’t had time to study the boys’ house from outside other than briefly during our vehicle surveillance operation two days ago. Despite that, our entry plan was the same as yesterday at the big house—watch the house for a few hours, try to pick a time when it looked like everyone was gone, and then do a quick in-and-out. Hopefully, on the out part I’d be bringing Isabel with me. The big problem today was, unlike the big house, we didn’t know who lived at this one, so watching the people who left didn’t necessarily tell us much about who was still inside. And we had no sense of the rhythm of the house. With the big house, by contrast, we could tell that Martin left with Crystal every day around noon or twelve thirty, and they didn’t return until later in the afternoon. Here, we didn’t know anything. That increased the pucker factor several degrees.

  Toni and I pulled up and parked on Sixty-Second Street, perhaps seventy-five yards from the target. We had a clear view of the house across the corner of Cowen Park—a little extension of the much larger Ravenna Park.

  At twelve thirty, the white BMW rolled up and parked behind a black Chevy Impala. Crystal and Martin got out and went directly inside. Five minutes later, a maroon Ford Expedition with chrome wheels and darkened windows also pulled up. DeMichael Hollins got out and also went inside. Shortly thereafter, a third car—a silver Acura—pulled up as well. Two men got out and joined the others inside.

  “Crap,” Toni said. “We’re getting the exact opposite of what we wanted. Instead of everybody being gone, it looks like everybody’s here. Looks like they’re having a convention.”

  I nodded. “Maybe. We’ll wait,” I said. “Let’s just see what they’re going to do. Maybe they’re just meeting here. I imagine they eat lunch, same as everyone else.”

  Kenny was our northern scout today. He was parked three blocks north on Brooklyn, near the intersection with Sixty-Fifth. Doc was parked a couple of blocks south, near Ravenna Boulevard. While Toni kept watch on the house, I studied the map and pondered the approaches. Just as the unknown number of occupants increased the risk at this house compared to the big house, so, too did the physical layout of the streets around the home. The big house on Fortieth basically had two ways in and out—one from the north and one from the south. It was possible to station Doc and Kenny several blocks away because anyone approaching had no choice—they had to take either the northern or the southern approach path. Stationed that far from the home, the scouts would be able to give ample warning if they spotted one of the known suspect vehicles returning.

  This home, unfortunately, had multiple approach paths. We didn’t have enough troops to cover them all. In order to effectively screen all possible approach paths, I’d have had to bring Kenny and Doc in so close—less than a block north and south—that any warning they provided would come only a few seconds before the car pulled up to the curb in front of the house. So, instead, I did the next best thing. I picked the most likely routes and opted to station the two scouts far enough away that a warning from them would actually come early enough to be useful. And in the event that someone returned to the home by one of the routes that this tactic left uncovered, it would be up to Toni to sing out. I’d have only a few seconds to get out, but it was the best we could do.

  “They’re leaving. Vehicles exiting to the south,” Toni said into her radio.

  I quickly set the map down and picked up the binoculars. Martin and Crystal, along with two other men, got in the BMW and drove off to the south. DeMichael Hollins followed them in his Expedition, along with the silver Acura—now with three men. Only the black Impala remained.

  “Roger,” Doc called back. Toni quickly gave a description of the vehicles to Doc.

  “They’re in sight,” Doc called. “They’re all turning westbound on Ravenna Boulevard.”

  “I-5?” Toni said.

  “Could be,” I said. “Let’s watch for a few minutes. Let’s just see if we can spot any movement from inside.”

  “And make sure one of these guys who just left didn’t forget something,” she added.

  “That, too.”

  Two minutes later, the door opened and two men came out. The looked around and then walked to the black Impala. They got in and drove off.

  “Another one,” Toni said into the radio. “Black Impala, southbound.”

  A minute later, Doc said, “Got it. Turned west on Ravenna—just like all the others.”

  Five minutes later, we hadn’t seen anything else.

  “Think they went to lunch?” Toni asked.

  I looked at my watch. One thirty. “Could be,” I said. “Time’s about right for these guys. How’s the signal analyzer?” I asked.

  Kenny had instructed Toni how to operate his Wolfhound cell phone detector. She pointed the device toward the house. “It doesn’t look like there are any signals coming from the immediate area.”

  “Good. Kenny,” I said into my radio. “How we looking?”

  “Clear,” he answered.

  “Doc?”

  “Clear,” he said. “They all exited the area to the west.”

  “Roger that. I’m going in.”

  Toni looked at me. “Be careful,” she said.

  I smiled. “Of course.” I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Keep an eye out in case someone sneaks back in.”

  She nodded.

  * * * *

  I knocked and rang the doorbell. I counted to thirty while straining to hear the sound of movement inside. I heard nothing. When I reached thirty, I did it again. Still no answer, so after another thirty seconds or so, I decided to get started.

  “Seems like nobody’s home,” I whispered into my radio. “I’m going on around back.” I walked to the side of the house—the side gate was open. I checked for dogs, found none, and started walking toward the rear of the home.

  The home was big—much larger than the one on Fortieth. Great, I thought. That much tougher to search. There were two windows on the side of the house—both locked, along with an access door, also locked. I kept going and reached the corner of the house. I looked into the backyard. There were more windows, and a patio facing the backyard. I had two choices. I could either pick the lock on the side access door, or I could risk exposure to someone in a neighboring yard and try the windows and the door in the back. I walked back and had another look at the lock on the access door and decided to go in there. The door fit poorly enough that I was able to slip my knife between the door and the strike plate and wiggle the latch open—I didn’t even have to pick the lock.

  I found myself looking into what appeared to be a home office. There were two old desks—each with a computer. There were two doors to what appeared to be closets on the opposite wall. A large filing cabinet sat in a corner. There was a telephone on each desk. Was this ground zero for the NSSB business operations? Maybe.

  I strained to listen before I left the room. From somewhere in the house, a television was playing. It effectively masked any other noise I might have been able to pick up. That was bad because I couldn’t
hear if anyone else was home. Then again, it was good, too, because it also meant that it would be that much harder for anyone who was home to hear me. I walked on in and closed the door behind me.

  “I’m in,” I said quietly into my headset. I slid a window back to where it was closed but not locked. If I needed to get out in a hurry, I’d be able to do it here.

  “Clear,” Toni said.

  “Clear,” from Kenny.

  “Clear,” Doc said. Good.

  I had a tiny inspection mirror—one of those little round mirrors mounted on a handle. I used it to peek around the corner before actually stepping out. Satisfied it was clear, I carefully made my way out of the office and down the hall. When I reached the end, I mirrored around the corner into the family room. It was empty. I stepped out and did a quick scan. A large flat-screen TV sat at my end of the room. A dining area, separated from the kitchen by a low counter, was located at the other. In the middle was a sliding glass door to the backyard. I walked over and unlocked this door and tested it. It slid silently, so I closed it but left it unlocked as a secondary escape route. The stairway upstairs was located next to the dining room.

  The plan we worked out was for me to spend no more than five minutes on the main floor followed by five minutes upstairs, and then two more in the basement. I needed to be in and out in under twelve minutes.

  Satisfied that no one was in the family room, I searched the remainder of the main floor. In addition to the family room/dining room, kitchen, and office, which I’d already seen, there was a living room and a guest bedroom that, judging from the mess inside, was clearly being used. In fact, in stark contrast to the squared-away appearance of the big house on Fortieth, this place was a pit. It looked like a frat house. The place reeked of marijuana—an ashtray held the remains of half a dozen joints, and a glass bong sitting nearby was still full of smoke. Must have been an appetizer before lunch. Beer bottles and half-full ashtrays littered the tables.

  CDs and DVDs were strewn everywhere. Magazines were tossed here and there. Judging by the covers, it appeared as though the most popular subject was sports, followed closely by pornography. I quietly made my way around the main floor, taking a number of pictures on my cell phone as I went.

  When I was finished with the main floor, I went upstairs. I didn’t think anyone was home, but still, I tried to step on the sides of the treads closest to the walls in an effort to minimize squeaking. There were six bedrooms upstairs, three on either side of a long hallway. My intent was to first, do a quick blitz and make sure I was the only one up here. After that, I would work my way down the hall and inspect each room more carefully as I went. It was unlikely that I’d see any of Isabel’s personal property here, but I did hope to locate some ID-type things—mailing addresses, magazine labels, package labels, that sort of thing. In fact, I saw quite a bit and photographed all of it. A bedroom at the far end of the hall had been turned into a photography studio. It had a camera mounted on a tripod with a couple of photographic lights, complete with umbrellas. I took more pictures with my phone. I had just finished and stepped back into the hallway when suddenly, my radio crackled to life.

  “Danny—the black Impala just pulled up!” Toni said urgently. “You gotta get out now!”

  Shit! They must have used one of the uncovered side roads. I immediately started back down the hallway to the stairs. The hallway was long—this was going to take a few seconds. I hurried, but I didn’t run, fearing that even if someone was standing on the porch outside, they might be able to hear someone my size running down the upstairs hallway.

  I reached the stairs and started down.

  “They’re at the porch,” Toni said. “Get out.”

  “I’m moving,” I whispered back.

  Five seconds later, I reached the bottom of the stairs—just as the front door started to open. My total warning had been maybe twenty seconds.

  I considered my options and decided to escape through the family room back door. I took a step toward the door when it suddenly dawned on me that this door was directly in the line of sight of anyone coming through the front door. I’d be seen immediately. Worse, the office where I’d entered was on the opposite side of the room—I’d again be in their line of sight. I was cut off from both of my escape routes. Dumb!

  I was fast approaching a dangerous situation—out of answers and out of ideas. This was bad. I looked around quickly and noticed a door at the back of the kitchen—apparently a pantry. Any port in a storm. I headed for the pantry door, hoping that behind it wasn’t just a stack of shelves, but instead would be a space at least deep enough that I could step inside. Maybe I could figure out a better answer there. Failing that, things were about to get physical.

  * * * *

  I lucked out. The pantry was maybe five feet square—not huge, but big enough for me. I stepped inside and pulled the door most of the way shut behind me, leaving just a little crack to look through. I was just in time because I hadn’t even taken a breath when I caught a quick glimpse of two men as they walked past my narrow field of view into the family room. I heard the sound of a set of keys landing on the kitchen counter.

  “Why’d he send us back, anyway?” one of the men said. “Don’t need to be here no twenty-four hours a day. This is bullshit, yo.”

  “Yeah, you think so? Why didn’t you just tell him, then?”

  “Fuck that,” the first man said.

  “That’s right. That’s what I thought you was gonna say.”

  There was silence for a few seconds, and then the first man said, “I can see his face when I tell him that.”

  Both men laughed, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking. Back to the bong, it appeared.

  “’Sides,” the second man said, trying to talk and hold in the smoke from a bong hit. He blew out the smoke and then continued, “he said they’d bring us something.”

  “Probably some cold, soggy shit,” the first man said with disgust. “Let me have that.”

  While the two of them proceeded to get stoned, I tried to take stock of my situation. The pantry had a very pungent odor that I recognized at once. I pulled out my Surefire pocket light and shielded it with my hand so that the light couldn’t be seen through the crack in the door. I pressed the button with my thumb and scanned the tight pantry. As I’d suspected. The shelves didn’t contain the items found in a normal kitchen pantry. There were probably a half-dozen cases of Heineken beer in familiar green bottles and another half-dozen cases of Pepsi. But the real intriguing item—the one I smelled—was the marijuana. There were ten kilo bricks—more than twenty pounds—probably worth close to $40,000. The bricks were wrapped in plastic, yet the pot inside was so aromatic that the smell emanated through anyway. I wanted to take a picture, but, unfortunately, there was no way my cell phone would take a decent photo in the darkness. Even though there was a light switch, I dared not turn it on.

  It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t noticed any weed on the table in the family room. If these two clowns ran out, they’d probably have to come to the pantry and get some more. What a surprise they’d get when they opened the door and saw me standing there, smiling at ’em. I might not even have to pull my .45—if they were stoned, the shock alone would probably do them in.

  But comical as this dilemma was, it was bound to get serious fast if other people started returning to the house. Then I’d really be up shit creek. I needed to get moving.

  I reached for my cell phone. Time to call in the cavalry.

  Chapter 18

  I WAITED. I could almost hear an imaginary clock ticking while the two men in the family room continued to banter as they passed the bong back and forth between them.

  “I need a Heinie. You want one?”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t see the man approach, but I heard him when his footsteps left the carpeted family room and stepped onto the tiled area in the kitchen. He walked over to the refrigerator.

  “Yo!” he calle
d out. “Last two.”

  “Go ’head and get another six-pack out the pantry and throw it in,” the man in the family room called back. Uh-oh. That quick, I was out of time.

  I reached down and silently drew my sidearm. When kitchen-man opened the door in about two seconds, the element of surprise would be all mine—at least for a few moments. I needed to capitalize on it. I made a quick plan. I would scream and burst out into the kitchen the moment the door opened. I’d shove kitchen-man back toward the family room with my left hand while covering both him and family room–man at the same time with my gun hand. Hopefully, I’d have them both covered before either of them had a chance to draw a weapon.

  I heard the clinks as kitchen-man set the bottles on the counter. My weapon was raised—I was ready to go. But the door didn’t open. Instead, I heard two phfft sounds as he removed the tops.

  “You want a glass?” he said.

  “No.”

  Now he turned to the pantry. I heard a footstep as he approached and then another when, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

  “Check it out,” family room–man said. “I got your back.”

  Kitchen-man’s footsteps receded as he moved to answer the door. Through the crack, I saw family room–man move into the kitchen, where he had a clear view of the front door. His right hand held a large-caliber revolver. “Who’s there?” he whispered loudly.

  “Damn,” kitchen-man said. “It’s some fine-looking bitch, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Lemme see,” family room–man said. He holstered his weapon and left my field of view as he made his way to the front door.

  My opening. I swung the pantry door open and silently crept to the end of the kitchen. I pulled out my mirror and looked around the corner. I could see one man looking out the window from one side of the door and the other man looking from the other side. The doorbell rang again.

  “I’ll get it,” family room–man said.

  I watched from behind as he opened the door.