Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  “Think this place was robbed, sir?” the officer asked, taking in the large inventory of boxes on the floor. A bottle of glass cleaner lay on the floor with paper towels resting on a nearby shelf.

  “More like someone was cleaning,” Joe said. Intermingled with floral scents, the place gave off the dissipating smell of ammonia.

  The cop on the outside stood in the door. “No cars out back, and we’re running the plates on the 2007 white Toyota Corolla out front.”

  “Unnecessary to run plates,” Joe said. “It belongs to one of the employees.”

  “No windows broken and the rear doors are also secured,” the exterior cop added.

  Quelling panic and forcing objectivity, Joe said, “Well, something happened here. Front door’s unlocked and the woman who manages the place is gone. Keep a look out. And get a technician over here to dust for prints, and have him dust the Corolla while he’s at it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Joe moved through the shop. In the backroom, he found what must’ve been her station. A card listing a dental appointment for Luke was tacked to a cork bulletin board as well as a picture of Luke and Matt shooting hoops in the driveway.

  Joe’s stomach convulsed. He returned to the front area, forcing himself to swallow. He pressed a button on the cash register, it swung open. He found it empty, then recalled Matt’s comment that the co-worker said Mel had gone to the bank. He lifted the lightweight compartment that held change. Inside was a work schedule listing the store employees’ home phone numbers.

  Joe removed the list and exited the building. Reluctant to interfere further in what he suspected was a crime scene, he used the glow from a street light to dial the workers who’d been listed on the schedule for today.

  Thirty minutes later, he had an idea what had happened in the hours before closing.

  A car drove up, a young woman got out of a Mini Cooper, slammed the door and rushed forward. The patrolman stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am. You can’t go in there.”

  She attempted to sidestep the man two times her size. “Joe. Lt. Crandall, it’s me, Chloe. From the other night? Karlee’s going-away party? Remember?”

  A burst of hope shot through him. Joe nodded to the patrolman to let her pass. He met her halfway. “Chloe, thanks for coming.”

  “When my dad said you’d called from the shop, I came straight over. What’s wrong? Have we been robbed?”

  “I don’t think so. Did you see Melanie this afternoon?”

  She gaped at Joe. “Mel? Sure. I was with her a short time before we closed. It was dead, so she’d already sent everybody else home. Why? What’s wrong? Where is she?”

  Chloe’s story confirmed what his phone calls to three other employees had said. She’d given them time off. “You left her alone?”

  Chloe frowned. “Well, yeah, I mean, if it’s slow the managers send us home. We work in a safe area. Aaron or Karlee closed all the time by themselves. Now that Mel’s manager, it’s her job. You’re scaring me. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Chloe. Try not to worry. Let’s see if we can sort out the facts. Let’s go over here, shall we?” He led her to his Crown Vic and opened the rear door to get the flustered woman off her feet. Shaking, she wrapped her coat tight, sitting sideways and planted her feet outside the vehicle.

  For the first time all evening, Joe felt the cold. Notebook in hand, he squatted to meet her at eye level. “Did anyone enter the store while you were working?”

  “Absolutely no one. We were a little shocked. I mean during the holidays it was wall-to-wall customers, now this.”

  “Did you see anyone hanging around? A stranger, perhaps?”

  “No one. I’m sorry.”

  “Any phone calls for Mel? Did she seem nervous?”

  “Nervous?” Avoiding his gaze, Chloe worked at the hole in her jeans. “No, not nervous, if anything, she was upset.”

  “Upset?” Joe was grasping for clues and his pulse quickened. “Why’s that?”

  Chloe sighed. “Screw it. She’ll kill me for telling you, but she was upset... over you.”

  “Me.”

  “Yeah, you. Mel’s one of the most even-keeled women I know. She’s fun and likes to laugh. Today, you would have thought she was the Wicked Witch of the West.”

  Joe felt lower than the asphalt he stood on. “You’re certain it wasn’t some other reason?”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Her words were something like, ‘Lt. Crandall’s on his way up and he’s way out of my league.’ And then when I tried to talk to her about it, she told me to back off.”

  Shit. Having trouble meeting the pretty blonde’s gaze, he removed his card and handed it to her. “Thanks. If you think of anything else, give me a call?”

  “Sure.” She rose from the back seat, then hesitated. “She’s not, you know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Out of your league. Whatever you did to make her feel that way, I hope you’ll rethink your sorry attitude.”

  Joe’s eyes grew moist and he lifted his gaze to the night. “When I see her again, I’ll do just that. You got a key so we can lock this place up when we’re through?”

  “Yeah.” Removing a key from her chain, Chloe said, “Tell Mel to call me when you find her. I won’t be able to sleep until I know she’s safe.”

  As the perky young woman walked away, a knot formed in Joe’s chest. “That makes two of us, Chloe.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  “Are you out of your whacked-out, gringo mind?” Ramirez roared.

  When Drake had told Ramirez he’d located a new bank to hit, Ramirez had left Drake to it, then disappeared with his latest squeeze. Carrying a six pack into his sister’s house, he’d been in a decent mood until Drake announced that he’d brought home a package.

  “One of my rules is no women,” Ramirez shouted. “The cops will be all over this. My boys will tear her apart. If my sister was here, she’d have my head and your nuts. I can’t believe you brought the broad here.”

  “What’d you want me to do, leave her outside? And your sister’s not here, she’s on a fucking airplane.”

  Ramirez’s eyes narrowed. “I should cut you into little pieces for knowing that. You’re out of control, Max. First Sanchez, now this.”

  “You did Sanchez,” Drake argued.

  “You pushed the mother into me on your crazy rampage. Dude went berserk, turned on me. It was him or me. We’re onto some serious money, Max. Don’t blow this. You kidnapped the piece. Get her out of here.”

  “Not yet. I’ve thought it through, we can use her.”

  “I ain’t into rape, hombre. Know what bros in the joint do to cons who take women and children by force?”

  “I’ve heard,” Drake said dryly. “You talk like we’re going back. She owes me, Ramirez. She sent me up. I almost killed her tonight.” Drake held a thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I came this close, then thought of a better way. If I shot her, she’d get off too easy. She’d never know.”

  Ramirez shook his head. “Know what, asshole?”

  “What she took from me.”

  “Damn, Max, you’re one screwed-up dick. How are you gonna let her know?”

  “She’s gonna do the bank job.”

  Ramirez reached for a beer. Twisting the cap, he said, “Say what?”

  At Ramirez’s confusion, Drake did something he didn’t know he could do anymore. He out-and-out grinned. “No shit, man, it’s doable. I’ve been worried about security, and all we have is a couple of minutes to do the job. There’s no guard at Assurance Bank, the new place I scoped out today. Each teller pushes a panic button, which alerts an alarm company. Melanie will buy us time. She banks at this place. The tellers know her by name. It’s perfect because they’ll identify her. And by the time she’s in
custody, we’ll be in a different vehicle and long gone.

  “With her prison record, the cops will never believe she had nothing to do with it, and she’ll be the one doing time.”

  “So we just tell her she’s gonna do the job for us?” Ramirez scoffed. “She’ll walk in and scream her bloody head off. She’ll yell for help, tell them she’s been kidnapped. Max―”

  Hadn’t this dude ever heard of Patty Hearst? Drake sighed. “Cool it.” He walked to the counter and grabbed Melanie’s purse. Tossing it on the table, he said, “She’ll do the job, and she’ll do it willingly. We’ll be waiting outside. We get our hands on the dough, take off and leave her behind.”

  As he voiced his plan, the scheme became better than a horny dude watching porn. He’d dump her on the Interstate just like the trucker had when she was seventeen. Of course, Drake would kill her if he had to, but sending her back to the pen would be the ultimate revenge.

  For the first time, the gang leader seemed to consider it. “I don’t know, Max,” he said, staring down at the handbag. “What makes you so sure this will work?”

  “Leverage, man. Leverage. Our soon-to-be partner has a weakness.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Mel stirred, awaking to pain. Mind-numbing, head-shattering pain. Arms tied behind her back, ankles bound, duct tape over her mouth, she lay face down on a thin sheet covering a mattress.

  Oh, God. Her heart beating wildly, she rolled onto her side. Where was she? From the looks and smell, it appeared to be some kind of a basement. A single light bulb illuminated the dark unfinished space.

  To her right, she could make out the edge of an appliance, probably a washer or dryer. From overhead she heard voices. Loud, angry, arguing.

  Then everything came back to her. She couldn’t count herself lucky to be alive―yet. She was Drake Maxwell’s prisoner.

  As bile forced its way up her throat, she did her best not to retch. With the tape binding her mouth, she could aspirate. The knots binding her hands, cut into her wrists, and her shoulder blades ached from being kept in such an unnatural position.

  She had to get out of here. Her gaze caught on four tiny windows near the ceiling. If by some miracle she could get free, could she climb up there, squeeze through one of them and call for help?

  The door above her opened and what sounded like an army of footfalls descended into her version of hell.

  Too late.

  Bile rose in her throat yet again as the army proved to be Drake and another man. They moved close, Drake holding back, the stranger standing directly over her. He shook his head. “Max, Max, Max, what have you done?”

  Mel glared up into the pitch-black eyes of a Hispanic man who wore confidence like his T-shirt and jeans. He wasn’t as tall as Drake, but he was fit.

  Squatting beside her, he said, “Hello, amiga. What can I say? You’ve made a serious enemy. I extend Max my hospitality, and this is how he repays me. He involves me with a woman he plans to let bleed all over my floor.”

  Mel squeezed her eyes shut. This guy was just as bad as Drake, toying and menacing.

  “Open your eyes, chica.”

  She obeyed to find he’d drawn a switchblade. Eyes wide, she tried to scream, but any sounds emerged muffled and useless as she struggled to get away.

  He rolled his eyes. “See, Max, you’ve scared her to death.” Holding the blade between his straight white teeth, he gathered her by the front of her shirt and pulled her upright. Then, in one quick tug, he ripped the tape from her mouth, untied her ankles and cut the bindings from her wrists.

  Slowly, she brought her arms forward and rubbed the feeling back into her hands. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name’s not important. What’s important is that you’re still alive.” He nodded over his shoulder. “But Max, he wants to kill you.”

  Her unwilling gaze drifted to her arch enemy. Drake stood leaning against the stairs, arms crossed, his mouth pulled into a furious scowl.

  She rubbed her still-stinging mouth. “He missed his opportunity.”

  “Don’t be a fool, chica. He could have killed you at any time and still may. If I’m not here to stand between the two of you, he will get rid of you.”

  What was this? A criminal’s idea of good cop/bad cop? “You want me to thank you, is that it?”

  “It would be a start. Who knows what Max has in store?”

  “I’ll thank you when you let me go.”

  “Ah, Max, you didn’t tell me she was a spitfire.” The stranger reached out to stroke her cheek.

  Mel jerked away and he laughed. “Es, muy linda.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. She couldn’t just sit by and play victim. It was time to develop a strategy. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “And hungry.”

  “Of course. What do you think, Max? Should we feed her?”

  “Let her starve.”

  His companion shook his head. “See there, so unfriendly. Max, play nice.”

  Keeping her face neutral, she studied him. Who was in charge here? Drake, or this man? It didn’t matter. Fifteen years ago, she’d sat in a sparse room much like this one. A gray-headed detective tried to be a father figure, to persuade her he was on her side, while the younger one tore the truth to shreds. Guess they didn’t know she didn’t trust her father. She didn’t trust cops, and she damn sure didn’t trust these guys.

  The Hispanic man held out his hand. “Come with me, chica, I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Reluctantly, she took his hand and tried to appear grateful. And with that she steeled her will to survive. All right, you bastards, let the games begin.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Joe had no proof he’d stumbled onto a crime scene.

  So when analyst Harriet “Harry” Landau responded to the callout, he was glad to have her experienced set of eyes and know-how. To anyone on the street, Harry could be someone’s grandmother. To forty-year veterans, she was a skilled professional; to rookies she was an embarrassing pain in the ass who caught what they missed, often reprimanding a FNG (fucking new guy) for botching a crime scene.

  Joe had gone over every inch of the shop, but admittedly Mel’s disappearance had skewed his objectivity. In a very short while, he might experience one of the toughest conversations he’d ever had as a cop, explaining to a fatherless, teenage boy that he hadn’t a clue what had happened to his mother.

  Observing no signs of violence, Joe had sent the assisting cops back on patrol.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, then shoved his hands in his coat pocket, visually skimming the area, while Harry dusted the counter, cash register, phones, work areas and knobs for prints.

  Even Harry’s phenomenal track record didn’t leave Joe with much hope. Pinnacle Creations maintained a steady stream of customers. Locating prints that matched the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Information System would be the proverbial needle in the haystack.

  Powerless to produce something that wasn’t there, he left the crime scene analyst and walked outside, past Mel’s car to the group of mail boxes fifty yards away. It wasn’t enough to escape the smell of flowers and greenery that were a constant reminder of Mel, but it was a start.

  “Joe? Got a minute?” Harry called from the door, then disappeared back inside the shop.

  Jogging back, he reentered the business a lot faster than he’d left it. “Harry? Where are you?”

  “Down here,” came her muffled voice.

  He rounded the corner to find the heavyset woman on her stomach, flashlight in hand, shining it into a small crevice beneath the counter.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “I don’t know. Something.” She slid her gloved hand into the space. “Damn these fat fingers. They don’t fit.” From over her shoulder she glanced up at him. “Yours won’
t either. See if you can find something long and skinny.”

  Joe entered the store room. He picked up a broom handle, determining it was too big for the space. Long and skinny. He scanned the room. On a back table next to the door was a helium tank with deflated balloons and a cylindrical tube next to it containing sticks. He grabbed one and rushed back to Harry.

  “Atta boy.” She handed him the flashlight. “Hold this.”

  With the woman’s stretched-out bulk, he did his best to squat beside her between the counter and the wall.

  Harry never said please, she rarely said thank you. Rank meant nothing to her. She was a civilian, good at her job. If she smiled, you were on her good side, a frown meant she had little use for you. Over the course of his career, Joe considered it a compliment he’d received more smiles than jeers.

  “Come here, you little dickens,” she said, huffing from the exertion.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s shiny.”

  “It’s under the cash register. Could it be dropped change?”

  “It’s not that flat. Shine the light over here.”

  Grimacing, Harry took the stick and swung back and forth under the area. Several attempts later, she cried, “Gotcha.”

  As she forced the object via the stick in her direction, Joe stood over her, narrowing his gaze as the remainder of a battered cell phone made its appearance.

  “Mind telling me what made you look down there?” he asked, helping the panting woman to her feet.

  “Same thing that makes you guys crawl through the sewers. It was there.”

  She turned the phone in her glove-covered palm. His heart sped up. It had obviously been crushed. It also was identical to the one Luke Norris owned.

  “Want me to bag it?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” He took a pair of tweezers from her kit, pinched the phone between the rubber-tipped ends and placed the phone on the floor. Then raising his foot he came down like he was going to crush it. “Someone stomped on this. He might have touched it.”