I hadn’t been saying that at all, but suddenly it made sense. Jake’s reaction when the car was found, the way his face went white. His satisfaction when Amanda got the full inheritance, his newfound solicitude toward her on the day of the funeral.
Michaela and I traded stares as it hit both of us.
“Shit fire!” she cursed as she ran for her cruiser. She tossed the stack of mail on the passenger seat and picked up her radio. “He’s at their house right now?” she shouted toward me. When I nodded, she began barking orders into the microphone.
“My damn deputy’s in the dentist’s chair over in Segundo right now. And I can’t get backup for at least another forty-five minutes from County.”
I paced near the rear end of her car. “He doesn’t have a vehicle,” I offered. “At least it wasn’t there when I arrived. Amanda was going back to work today, so she probably has it.”
Michaela lowered the mike. “That’s some relief,” she said. “But I don’t dare go up there alone.”
She saw the hopeful look on my face.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said. “My ass would be grass if I let a civilian go in with me.”
“Not even an armed one? Not even if I just stayed in the background?”
“And then what good would you be? Just forget it. We’re going to wait for backup then I’ll go up there and calmly interview him. The questioning will take place right in my office.”
I fidgeted, but couldn’t say much.
She started to get in the cruiser.
“Can I at least wait at your office until I know you have him in custody?” I know I sounded like I was begging. “He’ll know I’m behind this. I don’t want to sit alone in a motel room.”
I saw the slightest hint of surrender.
“You can sit in the corner, and only if you stay quiet.”
Like an obedient puppy I got into my car and followed her to the village hall.
Chapter 26
The plan sounded like a good one. Two state police officers would be here within the hour and they would accompany Michaela to the Zellinger place to bring Jake in for questioning. With that much armed muscle he wouldn’t resist and he’d shed some light on both of the open cases. The plan sounded like a good one until, fifteen minutes after we’d settled into Michaela’s office to wait, two calls came in.
The first came from one CJ Dettweiler, who lived two houses away from Amanda and Jake. He’d just walked out of his house in time to see Jake Zellinger driving one of his ATVs away, roaring off in a cloud of dust like he owned the thing. He’d shouted at Jake, “What the hell?”—a direct quote—but his young neighbor didn’t stop. CJ said he’d have loaned Jake the machine if he’d just asked politely, but now he was mad, by god, and wanted to press charges. He’d given it a lot of thought, ten whole minutes, and yes, ma’am, he wanted to press charges.
The second call came from the principal at Amanda’s school.
They had a hostage situation.
Details were sketchy but a young man with wild eyes came into Mrs. Zellinger’s class, screaming foul language and grabbing the teacher.
I heard all this over the police radio on Michaela’s desk, as the dispatcher relayed details from the 911 central number in Segundo.
Michaela had just finished assuring CJ Dettweiler that she was sure his ATV would be returned, while she was shooting an ‘oh shit’ look over at me. Now she had bigger matters to worry about. The dispatcher patched the call directly through.
I had to admire her composure as she told the school principal—I think I heard her call him Jeff—to calm down. She asked whether they’d locked down the school and he assured her they had.
“How many students are still in the classroom?” Her hand shook as she wrote down his answer. At least fifteen. They couldn’t be sure. And the teacher.
“We’ll be right there,” she assured him. She looked at me. “Jake knows you. And you’re close to Amanda. I want you to come, but—you’ll stay back at all times. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I couldn’t recall the last time I’d uttered that phrase, but it was the only appropriate response right now.
I rode over to the school in the cruiser with Michaela. Her deputy had been notified to “get your ass back here, cavity or no.” And we knew the state police were on the way. Now a hostage negotiator was also being flown in from Albuquerque, but that would take at least an hour. For now, all she could do was to keep the situation from becoming explosive.
The parking lot looked like a parade ground, minus the floats and bands and festivity. Groups of students stood in clusters with a teacher hovering over each, like mother hens counting their chicks. A man in a short-sleeved dress shirt, white with faint gray stripes, and a blue tie with a dot of catsup near the tip, greeted Michaela’s car the minute we rolled to a stop.
“We’ve evacuated all the classrooms but the one,” he said breathlessly. “The teachers are taking count now to see who’s missing. My secretary is watching over the ones from Amanda’s class, the few who got out.”
“So some of them did?” Michaela asked.
“At least ten. A few of them were quick thinking enough to run when they first spotted the knife.”
“Is that his only weapon?” she asked.
“As far as we know. It’s all the kids have mentioned. They’re over there.” He pointed to a tall, blond woman in a flowered dress and white cardigan. “Mrs. Whiteside is my secretary.”
Michaela walked toward her and I trailed along, obediently quiet. The thought crossed my mind that I was probably in violation of at least twenty state and federal statutes by having the Beretta with me on school property, but I wasn’t going to let it or my purse out of my sight.
“Mrs. Whiteside? Michaela Fritz.” For some reason the introduction came as a surprise to me. I guess I assumed that everyone in a town this size knew absolutely everyone else.
Michaela nodded Mrs. Whiteside off a few feet away from the children. “Do we have a roll call done yet?”
“Mrs. Zellinger has twenty students in her class. Ten of them got out. I’ll keep them under my care until we know what to do next.”
Like magic, or as if tribal drums were rumbling an inaudible tone, word had gotten out and anxious parents in cars began to arrive. As each teacher accounted for his or her pupils, they were allowed to leave with their parents.
“No sense in keeping anyone in the vicinity who doesn’t have to be here,” Michaela said.
“Mrs. Zellinger’s class is in the east wing,” Jeff said. “She apparently has a cell phone and we’ve had one demand call already. During that call we ascertained that the subject and hostages are still inside the one room.”
Interesting how everyone adopts television cop talk when something like this comes up.
Michaela didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes darted in all directions, watching the parking lot begin to empty, eager parents clutching their kids tightly when they learned their own were all right. I noticed that she kept scanning the horizon, hoping for that helicopter with the hostage negotiator.
As soon as the deputy arrived she put him to work parking a barrier of vehicles and stringing yellow tape a safe distance from the building so police could watch the scene while they tried to talk Jake out of the building.
I thought of Amanda inside, a knife to her throat, probably, her students scared to death. If my seeing the news article set Jake off to the this extent—and I knew now with sickening certainty that I hadn’t hidden the folder well enough—then the man was crazy. Who knew to what extent? He’d implanted himself with the youth formula. Was this thirty-something man now the equivalent of a hot-headed teenager? Had it affected his judgment and reasoning abilities? Or was he simply desperate to get away, to avoid facing the consequences after setting up the explosive fire and killing two people?
I stuck by Michaela’s side as she took a position behind one of the parked cruisers. She’d told me to stay at the back, but she did
n’t object when I hunkered down beside her.
The radio at her belt crackled and she responded into the mike on her shoulder.
“I have a call from Jake Zellinger, from inside the school,” said the dispatcher. “Shall I patch it through?”
Michaela gave an affirmative and the radio crackled once more. “Jake?” she said.
“I’ll let the kids go if you let me and Amanda out of here, unhurt, and if you don’t come after me.”
The sheriff closed her eyes for a moment, as if in prayer. “Let the kids out now, Jake, and we can certainly talk about the rest of it. I think we can work something out.”
“I’m not going to prison for this,” Jake shouted. “He deserved it. Double-crosser!”
Michaela looked worried. “Calm down, Jake. Let’s talk about it.”
His voice became shrill. “He got what he deserved! I should have had that money!”
The sheriff fumbled for words. “What’s he talking about?” she whispered to me.
“I think I know. Want me to try?”
She handed me the mike.
“Jake, it’s Charlie.” I forced my voice to stay low and calm. “I’m out here with the sheriff. Is Amanda okay?”
I heard a whimper in the background.
“Jake, could I speak to Amanda for a second?” As if I were calling their house and just wanted a little girl chat. I hoped changing the subject would get his mind off the money momentarily.
“Charlie?” Her voice sounded quavery and small.
“Amanda, how are the kids? Are there ten of them with you?”
A short pause. “Yes, we’re doing all right.”
“Can you persuade him to let the kids out?”
“I’ve tried that.”
Jake’s voice came back as he yanked the phone away from her. “Enough, Charlie. The kids are fine, Amanda’s fine. I want those disks back, I want the money and I want Amanda and myself out of here.”
“We found the money, Jake. We’ve got it for you.”
“You did?” He perked up. “No, you didn’t. You’re making that up so I’ll come out.”
“No, Jake. It’s true. The money’s in some accounts in Albuquerque. We found out about them and I was going to ask you about them.”
I glanced at Michaela and she looked hopeful. She gave me a wrist-rolling motion, saying, go on, go on.
“David double crossed me,” Jake said, more reasonably this time. “He sold the patent without my knowledge. I found the paperwork, but not the money. I just wanted my share. I spent my life inventing the YA-30. It wasn’t his to sell. I just wanted my share.” His voice had become shaky and I was afraid of sending him over the edge again.
“Jake, it’s okay. Come out, we’ll get everything straight. You’ll get your money.”
Off in the distance the distinct sound of a helicopter began to work into my consciousness. I scanned the horizon and saw its tiny profile, five or six miles away. The sound grew louder and the dot bigger with each passing second.
“Charlie?” Jake’s voice edged upward again. “What’s that sound? Who’s coming?”
“It’s a negotiator from Albuquerque. They sent for someone to talk to you.”
“I’m talking to you. That’s no negotiator. They’re sending somebody to drop tear gas on me or something. They’re gonna bomb the building!”
Shit, how could this have gone so wrong? The helicopter was within a mile now, circling to get the lay of the land.
“No, Jake, they’re not doing anything like that.”
In the background, I heard Amanda shriek. Several tiny voices screamed.
“Jake, Jake, listen to me. You don’t want to hurt anybody in there. That’s not smart. You’re a smart guy, Jake. You want to get the money, don’t you?” I rattled on, saying anything I could think of. “Jake, the guy in the helicopter, he’s bringing the money.”
“That’s a lie, Charlie. There’s no way he had time to get it and bring it. You’re lying, you bitch!”
Oh, god, what have I done? I silently handed the mike back to Michaela.
“Jake,” she said in her most grandmotherly voice.
The pilot spotted our barricade and brought the ship down in a vacant field behind us. As the rotor wound down, a man in Kevlar gear stepped out. Ducking low, he ran toward us. The aircraft took off again, apparently to find a spot out of the range of gunfire, if it should come to that. When I could hear again, I noticed Michaela talking.
“Jake, Jake?” she said into the mike. She turned to the negotiator, who tersely introduced himself as Butch. “He’s not answering.”
He raised a bullhorn and aimed it toward the building. “Jake, my name is Butch. I’m here to help everyone get out of there safely.”
Michaela’s radio spewed forth some static. Amanda’s voice came through. “He’s gone,” she said, tiredly. “He took off out back.”
“What?” Michaela said.
“He got out the back of the building while it was so noisy. The kids and I are okay.”
“Stay in there, lock the room until we know it’s safe.”
The back of the building. I raised my head to get a look and figure out what she was talking about. The back of the building led to an open playground and I didn’t see anyone out there. But he could have crept around the side, toward the street. And toward the parking lot full of cars, and toward the people who were still milling around out there.
At that moment I heard a scream from the parking area. I bumped Michaela’s arm and pointed.
A car, which had been casually driving toward the exit, now picked up speed and careened onto the street, narrowly missing a little girl and her mother. As the tires hit pavement, it squealed. Horns blared as it apparently came to the intersection with Main Street. I couldn’t tell; I was running toward the hub of excitement in the parking lot.
Jeff, the principal stood there, gripping a hysterical woman by the shoulders.
“What happened?” I asked, my breath coming out in giant huffs.
“My car! He grabbed— Aaron’s in there! The backseat!”
Jeff looked around helplessly.
Michaela and Butch had seen me take off and they arrived and began drilling questions at the woman. She collapsed in sobs and Jeff walked her to an open car door where she could sit down.
“Jake stole a car and there’s a little boy in the back seat,” I said, working to keep my voice steady.
“You handle the ground chase, we’ll keep him in sight,” Butch told Michaela. He took off at a dead run toward the helicopter. He barked orders into a handheld radio and I could hear the pilot bring up the rotor speed.
For the first time, I noticed two State Police vehicles near the school gates. They must have just arrived. I pointed them out to Michaela and she gratefully ran toward them.
I found myself standing alone in a tiny island of calm while pandemonium went on around me. Then I spotted Amanda, a diminutive mama bird surrounded by her brood, coming out of the building. A trickle of blood ran from her jawline and disappeared inside the collar of her sweater.
Tears welled in my eyes as I watched her herd the little ones to the sidewalk. An outcry erupted as moms whose kids had been in the midst of the horror rushed to pair up with them. Amanda made sure each child was safe before she tried to take in the rest of the scene. When she spotted me her face began to quiver. I walked over and put my arms around her and let her lean into me.
The helicopter rose, kicking up a dust cloud, and making a smooth pedal turn to locate the speeding car. They headed east, roaring over the school yard. I noticed that both state patrol cars had headed out in the same direction, where Main Street would lead him out of town, or to the numerous side roads which climbed into the mountains. I had no idea at this point which way Jake would go, and only hoped he would feel some measure of care for the little boy in the backseat.
Michaela had moved her cruiser to the school gate, where she parked to form a barricade and was telling
everyone to calm down and stay put. They were safer inside the gates than out on the road where anything could happen. I steered Amanda to a grassy spot in front of the building and offered a clean tissue, which did little to remove the blood trail. It had pretty well dried in place.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked. I knew her concern was more for the child in the car than for her husband.
Chapter 27
Collectively, we the crowd watched the helicopter, our only point of reference by now, as the pilot followed a straight course along the highway, toward the lake. I wondered, in one of those fleeting thoughts that zips through your mind, whether Jake might just drive off the boat ramp, burying the car as he’d done with David’s.
But the aircraft kept circling, working its way farther south as Jake apparently went off on side roads. After twenty minutes or so, it hovered over one place. The chase was over.
I left Amanda sitting on the grass, where other teachers, kids and parents who hadn’t gotten off the school grounds earlier, formed a little cluster. Amanda actually got them to playing word games, taking their minds off the drama on the other side of the valley.
Jeff kept Aaron’s mother isolated, an incoherent mass of fear and uncertainty. I wanted to offer consolation of some kind, but had no clue what I might say that could make the situation any better. I walked over to Michaela who stood at the open door of her cruiser, one foot on the running board, microphone at her mouth.
“They’ve stopped the vehicle,” she said when the voice at the other end paused. “Jake’s in custody.”
“What about the little boy? His mother is frantic.”
She held up a hand and listened to the fuzzy transmission. “He’s okay. Shaky and crying, but unhurt.”
“Shall I?” I nodded toward the mom.
“Please.”
I walked back to Jeff and gave him a thumbs up. When the woman saw this she collapsed again in fresh weeping.
“I’m sure they’ll bring him down very soon,” I told her.
She grinned broadly with her red, watery face. Two other women, who’d been huddled nearby, saw this and the word soon spread. Relief spread like a visible blanket over the crowd.
Obsessions Can Be Murder: The Tenth Charlie Parker Mystery Page 20