Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft

by Catherine Nelson

  Desirae must have learned some of the same grifter skills Danielle made a living with, because she’d gotten in and out of the Burbanks’ house with none of them being the wiser. Mrs. Burbank thought she was there having an affair with Mr. Burbank. Mr. Burbank thought she was working in the house with the other staff. The housekeeper thought she was there as a decorator, at least at first.

  “Where is the painting now?”

  “With a collector in Georgia. Why?”

  “I spent a little time with the McKinnons,” I said. “I kind of liked them. It’d be nice for them to get their painting back.”

  She smiled. “I love the south this time of year.”

  24

  I escorted Danielle inside and handed her over to the booking sergeant. She gave me a hug then told me to take it easy and rest up. Then she disappeared behind a heavy door with a uniformed guard.

  For the first time, I had mixed emotions about an FTA going back to jail. It felt right, but also very wrong. I knew this was the first step for Danielle, so I clung to that thought. The sooner she got this behind her, the sooner she could get back to her life, and to her son. She deserved that and a lot more. Her and her son.

  No one at the detention center made any attempt to arrest me. So I went home. Ellmann was already there when I arrived. He was busy straightening up. Danielle had said “someone appeared to have been looking for something.” What she really meant was, “your home has been ransacked.” Which was the perfect ending to my day.

  Ellmann looked out from the kitchen when he heard the door. He had an arm full of stuff that belonged in the drawers.

  “Everything go okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. And with Natalie?”

  “Fine. Of course, my father’s pissed, and Susan is upset, but that seems normal. So you got your woman.” He pulled open a drawer as I came into the kitchen.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

  It was almost hard to take credit for this capture, because I hadn’t done anything. This will have to be a small detail between you and me, though. I have a reputation to uphold.

  “Any idea who did this?” he asked, indicating the mess.

  “Yeah. Lyle Young, the bastard. He also stole my gun.”

  “So you’ve put the pieces together.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “Of course, my conversation with Desirae and Lyle helped clear up a couple things.” I went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice, then I went to the open cupboard and got one of the only remaining glasses. “You thought you and I were looking for the same person, didn’t you? You thought Danielle Dillon was the one committing the murders.”

  He nodded as he put things back in the drawers. “We didn’t figure out the part about a twin until we found a fingerprint at Caroline Marks’s house. I expected it to come back to Danielle, but it didn’t. It tied to a sealed juvenile file for a Desirae Dillon. There was nothing on her after she turned eighteen, but then we knew she and Danielle were twins.”

  “That’s why you were worried about me. You thought I was chasing a woman who had tortured and murdered dozens of people across the state.”

  “Across the globe, it’s turning out. And yes, that’s why I was worried. You have an uncanny ability to find the people you’re looking for. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find her first. I was even more worried when I found out they were twins.”

  “Did you really think there was a bug on the truck, or did you have Amerson plant one?”

  “I couldn’t easily explain how the Cadillac kept showing up. I thought it was possible a tracker had been planted. I did want Amerson to check. I also asked him to plant one. While you were with Natalie, I had someone tracking the GPS in her phone. But, knowing my sister, that was temporary. You’d eventually want to dump her. In the end, the tracker did help. It led us to Lyle Young’s place.”

  “Aaron Shelton, like Andrew Dyer, is one of Lyle Young’s aliases,” I said. “I wrote down a plate number for a car registered to Dyer outside Eric Dunn’s house the first time I went there. I think that’s how Desirae and Lyle knew I was looking for Danielle in the first place. Since they were looking for her, too, they decided to stick close to me, see what I turned up.”

  “What were they doing at Eric Dunn’s house?”

  “Eric Dunn is the father of Danielle’s baby, Rusty. I think they were sitting on him in case he could lead them to her.”

  “And Eric Dunn is how Priscilla fits in.”

  I nodded. “She was at Dunn’s house when Natalie and I went to see him yesterday afternoon. I think she and Dunn were seeing each other. They’re both lawyers, and I’m guessing they work for the same firm.” I looked to Ellmann. “Am I right?”

  He nodded.

  “And is Dunn a partner in that firm?”

  “Yep.”

  “Geez, Priscilla, how predictable. Anyway, Priscilla mentioned we know each other, and she made it sound like we’re closer than we really are, like she always does. I don’t know if Dunn sold her out or if Desirae figured it out simply by seeing us talking, because the front door was standing wide open, but somehow it got out that Priscilla knows me. Desirae took her because she thought it would lead to me. Priscilla had met you. I think she told Desirae your name, and that’s how they got onto Natalie, figuring Natalie could lead them to me.”

  “So that’s how they found your house.”

  “And yours. Desirae said she followed me, and that’s probably true. But they were looking for Danielle and the art she stole—allegedly stole—from them, and they thought I knew more than I was telling. They probably saw Natalie and me together at Dunn’s and figured she was privy to more information than she really was. I’m really sorry I got her into trouble. I mean, it’s one thing for me to get myself into trouble, but another to drag your family into it. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate that. I don’t blame you. And neither does Natalie. She swears you saved her life, hers and Priscilla’s.”

  “And how does Priscilla feel about it?”

  “She blames you for being in that situation in the first place. If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t have been tortured, blah, blah, blah. The usual lawyer stuff.”

  I sighed and shoved aside some mess on the counter, making room for the glass. Then I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I will lie if you ever repeat this, but … she’s right. I am the reason this happened to her in the first place. And, really, Danielle was the one who saved her life. All of our lives. If she hadn’t gotten there when she did, things would have been very different.”

  Ellmann dropped the rest of what he was carrying and came over to me, leaning against me.

  “Then I’ll be forever grateful she had perfect timing.”

  He kissed me. In that kiss, I felt his fear of losing me and his relief at finding me. Surely he felt the same from me.

  “You scared me to death,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry. But you could have just told me what was going on. I would have put it together sooner.”

  He stepped away and stared at me.

  “Zoe, I’m a cop. I crossed a line with you once, a big one. You were my main suspect, my only suspect, actually, and I got close to you, pursued a romantic relationship. If that case had ended any differently, I’d have been bumped back down to patrol for years, maybe permanently, maybe fired altogether. The truth is, I shouldn’t discuss any of my cases with you, ever. I break that rule too often.

  “This time, I knew you’d put it together if I said anything. Once we got onto the pattern, we started making huge progress. We were closing in. I thought I could close the case before you got into trouble. I realize now there really is no hope of keeping you out of trouble. I just need to accept that.” He smiled faintly.

  I chuckled lightly.

  Sometimes I forget Ellmann is a cop. I mean, I don’t forget what he does, but I forget what it means. He was right; we crossed the line when we first met. The repercussions of that could
have been huge, for both of us, but especially for him. Looking back, knowing how important Ellmann is to me, I wish we’d done it differently, wish I had never put him in that predicament. Why, then, was it so hard for me to remember that now? I shouldn’t ask him about his cases. I shouldn’t ask him for favors or information. Not only did he have a right to keep it from me, but he also had a professional obligation. I couldn’t be mad at him for doing so.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right, you could have lost your job. You still could by giving me information. I’m going to work on that.”

  He carefully took my right hand in his again and held it.

  “Let’s be clear about one thing, though,” he said softly. “As shitty as it would have been to lose my job, I have no regrets. If I had to do it over again, I’d cross the same line.”

  I smiled.

  I did have regrets, but none about meeting Ellmann, or letting him into my life. I was beginning to understand that if I lived to be a hundred, nothing about my life would ever be as right as Ellmann. And I was going to start taking that more seriously.

  Holding his hand, I led him upstairs, hardly noticing the mess that continued up there. We shoved the clutter from the bed and lay down. We came together and everything fell away—not just the mess, but the whole world.

  Sometime later, I was showered, dressed, freshly bandaged, and back to tackling the mess in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

  I pulled it open to a short, mostly bald man in an ugly brown suit flanked by two uniformed officers, one of whom was Brooks. He beamed at me.

  “Hi, Zoe,” he said.

  “Brooks.” I looked at the suited man. “Detective Simmons, I presume.”

  “I am.” He held up a document. “And I have a warrant for your arrest.”

  I nodded and held the door open for them. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  __________

  I was arrested on a Sunday afternoon. Fortunately, in Larimer County, arraignment hearings are held on Mondays and Thursdays. As it happened, Danielle Dillon and I wound up sharing a cell after all. Which almost made jail tolerable.

  The following morning, we were both arraigned and released on bail. Free to identify herself as Melissa Conrad now, she posted her own bail. I did the same, since mine wasn’t very high.

  My first hearing was set for a week later. I’d contacted Clifford Essinger, the lawyer I’d used when I was a teenager. Essinger might not have been the priciest attorney, or the best, but he was the only one I’d found willing to represent a sixteen-year-old girl and not ask too many questions about where her parents were. He’d been the best I could afford then, since I was paying out of pocket, and he’d agreed to a payment plan.

  And whatever else Essinger was, he always answered the phone when I called. We sat together behind the defense table. He was about five-seven when he stood, slight of build, dressed in a tan suit, white shirt, and red bowtie. He had gray hair and glasses.

  Two prosecutors, a man and a woman, sat at the other table. Both were dressed in suits and had briefcases open in front of them. They were conferring with their heads together while we waited.

  The gallery wasn’t very full, though Vandreen was seated behind the prosecutors, his arm in a sling and his knee in a brace, with Eric Dunn beside him. I’d been vaguely surprised to see Dunn with Vandreen, given what had happened between them, but apparently Vandreen paid well enough for Dunn to forget their history.

  Behind me, Ellmann sat beside Amy. The rest of the spectators were lookyloos who’d wandered in, someone from the press, and people waiting for the next case.

  The door behind the bailiff opened, and he turned to greet the judge, a fat man swimming in a black robe. Then he addressed the court, instructing us all to rise. We stood while the judge huffed up to his seat and then arranged himself in it. He gave a quick nod to the bailiff, an averaged-sized, forty-year-old white guy dressed in a tan uniform, who then addressed us again.

  “Be seated. The honorable Judge William Thornton presiding.”

  Everyone sat.

  Thornton banged his gavel a couple times. “This court will come to order,” he said. “We’ll begin with case number 12-9374, the State versus Zoe Grey.” Thornton looked up as both Essinger and the male prosecutor stood.

  “George Casey for the state, your honor,” the prosecutor said.

  “Clifford Essinger for the defense.”

  “Very good,” Thornton said, looking down at a file opened on the bench in front of him.

  Behind us, I heard the main courtroom door open.

  “We’ll begin with a reading of the charges,” Thornton went on.

  “Priscilla Casimir for the defense, your honor. We’d like to waive the reading of the charges at this time.”

  Everyone turned and stared: the judge, both prosecutors, Essinger, me.

  Priscilla strode down the aisle and pushed through the gate, stopping beside Essinger. She was dressed, as always, in a perfect suit, today black. She looked as healthy as I’d ever seen her.

  The judge banged his gavel and ordered everyone to be quiet, but no one was making any sound. Maybe, like me, they were stunned into silence. I shot a look at Amy and saw her staring at Priscilla with her mouth open, like a Martian had just beamed into the room.

  Then I noticed someone slip in the main door. She eased the door closed and slid onto the back bench, crossing one leg over the other. Danielle Dillon noticed me staring and smiled.

  I smiled back then suppressed a chuckle as I turned back to Priscilla, who was addressing the judge.

  25

  Ellmann and I were having dinner at CooperSmith’s in Old Town Square. My court hearing that morning had been brief. Priscilla Casimir had taken a seat at my table beside Essinger and proceeded to do all the talking. And I knew from her very short performance that she was a really good attorney. Plus, she seemed to have a bone to pick with Eric Dunn.

  With my case in good hands, thanks to Danielle, a trial date was set, and Priscilla went to work on shredding the prosecution’s case.

  “You won’t do time,” she had said to me as she’d snapped her briefcase closed.

  “Just to be clear, I’m not going to pay you.”

  She had waved a hand. “Pro bono. I’ll call you to set up a meeting. We need to go over what happened and the evidence.”

  Then she was gone, click, click, clicking out of the courtroom. When I looked for Danielle, she was gone, too. I could only imagine what she’d said to Priscilla, but I was grateful.

  Tonight, Ellmann was dressed in his typical jeans and t-shirt. I wore a sundress and sweater to cover the bullet-wound scar on my shoulder. We were laughing about Priscilla’s entrance that morning when his phone rang.

  He pulled it from his pocket then looked up at me.

  “It’s my dad,” he said.

  After what had happened to Natalie, the Ellmanns had extended their stay. Ellmann had permitted Susan, Courtney, and Natalie to stay in his house, which meant he’d temporarily moved into mine, but Susan hadn’t permitted Vince to come back. He was still exiled to a hotel and allowed short visits to Natalie.

  Of course, Amerson hadn’t left Natalie’s side since he heard about what happened. He’d given me an earful about going after her without him, had words with Ellmann, and a tense confrontation with Vince. But from what I could tell, Vince had warmed up to Amerson. Amerson was former military, more than capable of protecting Natalie, and so obviously head-over-heels, it seemed a safe bet he wouldn’t break her heart. Personally, I hoped he didn’t get his heart broken.

  Ellmann answered but said little; the conversation was over in less than a minute. He tucked the phone back into his pocket.

  “He wants to meet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My dad. He wants to meet us.”

  I looked at him for a beat. He just shrugged.

  “When?”

  “Tonight. Now. He’s at Elliot’s.”

  “W
hy?”

  “I’d only be guessing. What do you think? Want to go?”

  Really, it was a pointless question. My curiosity was always going to get the better of me. Of course I wanted to go.

  We finished dinner then left.

  Old Town was hopping. It was only a Monday night, but the weather was good, and that was cause enough to celebrate in our little college town. We walked over to the martini bar and found Vince sitting at a table near the back. The place was packed. The waitresses in their little skirts looked harried. Vince looked like he was not on his first martini.

  Our waitress sailed past our table long enough to take our order then was gone, lost in the crowd. Vince ate his olives and sipped at his drink, but he didn’t say anything. I was finding it hard to be patient.

  “So, what’s up, Dad?” Ellmann asked, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

  He had yet to make eye contact with me or look at me directly. He’d barely glanced at his son.

  A few more minutes passed.

  “What did you want to meet about, Vince?” I asked.

  He shrugged and drained his glass. “You know.”

  He didn’t elaborate.

  Our waitresses flew past again, dropping our drinks on the table as she went by. Neither Ellmann nor I were big drinkers. Tonight, however, Ellmann picked up his drink and took a long swallow. Guess I was driving.

  Vince tried to get another drop from his empty glass then scanned the crowd, no doubt searching for the waitress.

  “How many of those have you had?” Ellmann asked.

  Vince grinned. “More than one.”

  “Dad, we agreed to come because you wanted to talk. Start talking.”

  “I need another drink.”

  I opened my mouth to at least speak my piece and noticed over Vince’s shoulder a familiar, unexpected face part the crowd. Cory Dix, smiling and having a good ol’ time, was walking through the bar. And he was going to walk right past me.