The Trouble With Murder (30 page)

Bad guys neutralized, I moved
toward the door, took a breath, and left the cellar.

_______________

One set of keys I’d taken from the second guy fit the cellar
door. I locked it then pocketed them. I paused long enough to pull on the black
ski mask I’d taken. I was already wearing the black sweatshirt. It wasn’t a
complete costume—my jeans were blue—but I thought it might be enough to cause
even a small amount of confusion. Which I would then exploit to the fullest.

I listened for any sounds around
the stairs but heard none. Of course, my pulse was pounding so hard in my ears
I probably couldn’t have heard anything else anyway. Trying for casual, I
simply climbed the steps, holding the gun at my side. I moved slowly, taking in
everything as I emerged out of the ground.

I had been right about the cellar
stairs leading to a backyard. From what I could see in the dark, it was
expansive, with no visible fence. The temperature was significantly lower and
it was chilly. I thought this was weird, but I couldn’t settle on why. Big,
dark, heavy-looking clouds had settled over the area, and I could hear the low,
deep rumblings of thunder. It was going to rain, and it was going to rain soon.

The cellar was directly under the
house, which rose behind me. To the left of the cellar stairs were two steps
leading up to a backdoor. The light beside the door was on, but the dim bulb
did little to penetrate the darkness.

I shivered against the cold (maybe
the exhaustion and blood loss, too) then hurried up the last few steps and out
into the yard. The house stretched in both directions from the cellar, with
most of it sitting to the right. I hurried that way, cautiously rounding the
corner away from the backdoor.

Now that I was really thinking
about it, there were a lot of evergreen trees here. With the pinecones covering
the ground, the absence of nearby neighbors, the drastic drop in temperature, I
now suspected I was no longer in town. I was in the mountains somewhere. Great.

I stopped and leaned against the
house, pulling out the second confiscated phone. No bars. I waved it up and
down through the air in front of me several times, then checked it again.
Bingo. Now it was roaming. Of course, I didn’t care; it wasn’t my bill. I
started to dial Ellmann’s number until I realized I wasn’t sure what it was.
I’d programmed it into my cell phone and just selected his name from my contact
list when I called him.

Shit.

I closed my eyes against the tears
and took a ragged breath, trying to steady myself. I was on the verge of
falling apart. I was tired, I was in pain, I was cold, I was scared, and I was
feeling very alone. The monotonous life I’d had a few short weeks ago suddenly
seemed very appealing. Obviously, the fatigue and panic were affecting my
perception.

A door banged shut, then there were
voices. Color me surprised; there were still others here.

“Where’s Paul?”

I slipped the phone back into my
pocket and took up the gun again. I eased back over to the corner I’d just come
around and peered through the dark at two black-clad figures approaching the
cellar stairs from the backdoor.

“I don’t know.”

They drew their weapons and
descended the stairs, pounding on the door and calling Pezzani’s name.

I saw a huge flaw in my bad-guy
neutralizing plan. These guys could simply unlock the door and free Pezzani and
his friend.

“Hey, man, you got a key?”

“No. Don’t you?”

“No. Why don’t you have a key?”

“What? There are only three keys.”

Perfect.

So far my luck was holding.

I didn’t hang around. These guys
didn’t seem like great problem-solvers, so I thought I would maximize my head-start.
Mindful of my step, I worked my way along the side of the house, which seemed
more like a cabin, toward the front. I squatted down then rolled my head around
the corner.

It had started to rain big, fat
drops that fell slowly at first. I’d found the front of the house. The yard
here was equally as expansive. At the edge of the yard, a gravel driveway sloped
to the left and away from the house. It was too dark and there were too many
trees to see beyond the edge of the yard.

To the right, vehicles were parked
randomly in front of a large three-car, unattached garage and into the grass. A
sidewalk led from the front porch to the garage and driveway. There were lights
mounted beside the front door and on the garage, but like the one on the back
of the house, they provided very dim light.

From what I could see, there was no
one standing guard, no lookouts, no one around at all. Wincing, I struggled to
get my left hand into my pocket and dig out the keys I’d taken. Pezzani’s key
ring held several dozen keys, one of which I imagined was for the cellar. There
was also a remote-entry keypad for a car. I pointed it at the cars and hit the
unlock button, as I didn’t recognize any of them as belonging to him. A Volvo
station wagon parked on the far side of the driveway chirped and its lights
blinked.

Next I tried the keys I’d taken
from the other guy. This time a Chevy Tahoe parked in front of the garage
beeped in response. As I took in all the vehicles, I guessed them to have one
thing in common: four-wheel drive. And I had a feeling four-wheel drive would
be an important feature before all was said and done. I pocketed Pezzani’s
keys, choosing the Chevy, not because I thought it was superior in four-wheel
drive or off-road capability, but because I’d driven a lot of Chevys in my time
(which I suddenly realized was too shot) and couldn’t recall ever having been
in a Volvo. I would be familiar with the Chevy. It was a safe bet I was going
to be pretty distracted; I thought one less thing to figure out was a good
idea.

The Tahoe was a few years newer
than the truck I’d once owned, but the dash arrangement would be identical.
Holding the keys and trying to think several steps ahead, I stood. The car
alarms beeping off and lights flashing hadn’t seemed to call any attention. I
hoped that was true and that they weren’t just lying in wait. Although, I did
still hear banging on the cellar door, so I wasn’t convinced they even knew I
was missing yet.

I took a fortifying breath and
moved around the corner. Keeping my eyes peeled and my ears open, I marched
across the lawn toward the Tahoe. I shot a glance back at the house; the front
door was closed and the curtains drawn. Now I heard more voices from the back,
including a woman’s. Their focus was on the cellar and the absence of someone
they called Paul. (Probably the guy I’d boot-laced to Pezzani.)

I reached the Tahoe and pulled the
door open with my left hand, but just barely. As expected, the dome light came
on. A quick look at the dash confirmed it was a familiar arrangement. I hit a
button and the light blinked off. Using the running board, I climbed inside and
closed the door. I tossed the flashlight onto the passenger seat and placed the
gun in my lap while I started the car.

The radio came on, blaring. I
jumped and immediately punched it off. I made quick work of the heating
controls, then put the Tahoe in gear and hit the gas pedal, angling the nose
around the cars that had blocked it in the driveway and cutting across the
front yard. I struggled with the controls, trying to move the seat forward,
then with my seatbelt. I was just about back on the driveway when several
figures—some in masks, some not—came flying around the corner of the house,
guns drawn. I saw one face clearly, and I felt the tickling sensation vanish
after recognition bit me.

I ducked down, trying to keep an
eye on the road, as the bullets started spraying. The sound of glass shattering
was all I could hear for a moment. The passenger-side mirror ruptured and then
banged against the door, dangling by the control cabling. The rear window
shattered, and several bullet holes appeared in the front windshield. Several
more shots bounced off the Tahoe and hit the trees around me. Then I was far
enough down the slope I was out of range. For the moment.

Must have found Pezzani and
Paul.

As the Tahoe barreled forward, down the unfamiliar road, with
the windshield wipers working against the rain, I harbored no illusions the
reprieve was temporary. Pezzani’s cronies were no doubt piling into their cars
and giving chase. And, they had every advantage. They knew where they were.
They knew the terrain. They were greater in number. I suppose this was a
note-to-self moment. The next time I find myself in a life-and-death situation
where bad guys are going to give chase, I should spend a little time
incapacitating their vehicles.

I took a corner a bit fast, and the
SUV drifted on the gravel. I flipped the switch to 4H and regained control.
Keeping my eyes open for pursuers, I pulled out the cell phone and checked for
service. Mercifully, it was still roaming. I dialed a number, my best guess as
to Ellmann’s number, then put the phone to my ear. The line rang three times
before it was answered.

“Hello?”

It was a sleepy-sounding older
woman. The connection wasn’t that great, I noticed.

“Is there a Detective Ellmann at
this number?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Who? No, I’m so—”

I wanted to apologize, but every
second counted. I punched the
end
button and tried again, dialing my next best guess of Ellmann’s number. This
time there was no answer. When the machine picked up, I heard a man’s voice I
knew was not Ellmann’s tell me through the periodic crackle of static I had
reached the Wright family.

Giving up, I dialed the police
station. That is one number I know by heart.

“Dispatch. Do you have an
emergency?” The dispatcher, a woman, was calm, with an efficient way of
speaking.

It was tempting to say yes.

“No. But it is urgent. I need to
speak with Detective Ellmann.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Zoe Grey.”

“Is he expecting your call?”

“Yes.” More or less.

Behind me, in the mirror and
through the shattered window, I saw the first flash of headlights.

In the light of the high beams, I
judged the road in front of me. Deciding on distance, I switched back to 2H and
toed the gas. The SUV picked up speed, and I worked to avoid and then
compensate for any loss of traction.

I heard nothing to indicate I was
on hold and frequently checked the display to ensure the call was still
connected. After what felt like a lifetime, the dispatcher came back on.

“Ma’am? I’m sorry, I can’t reach
Detective Ellmann. Would you like to leave a message?”

Not good.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a
pain in the ass, but I’m in more than a little trouble here. Did you try all
his numbers?”

“What did you say your name was
again?” she asked. I heard some shuffling.

“Zoe Grey.”

“Ah. I thought that sounded
familiar. Okay, Ellmann let us know you might call. He said if you did, we were
supposed to do whatever it took to get ahold of him. I’ve tried all his
numbers—no answer. I don’t have any word of him being out in the field, but let
me see if I can reach his sergeant. There is a
chance
he might know
where Ellmann is. Slim, but possible.”

I was back on hold. The headlights
flashed behind me, and this time they stuck. The first of my pursuers had
caught up.

I approached the first crossroad
I’d seen since leaving the cabin. The road I was on looked relatively
untraveled. By contrast, this crossroad, I could see even from a distance,
looked well traveled. I shot a glance left then right. I had absolutely no
bearings. It would have been more accurate to toss a coin. Holding the wheel
with my knee, I reached out and flicked the switch to 4H, then pulled right.
The rain was coming down fast and hard, turning the gravel roads to soup. But
the wheels bit and gripped, pulling the SUV around the corner.

I could see the other headlights
behind my nearest pursuer now. They were coming in force. The nearest, a
Subaru, slid across the road as the driver jerked the wheel to the right. There
was a momentary pause while the driver regrouped, and then the chase was on
again. The sound of several gunshots rang out, only one of them hitting the
Tahoe.

“Ms. Grey?” the dispatcher said.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“The sergeant doesn’t know where
Ellmann is. Not surprising. But I talked to another guy he works with.
Apparently Ellmann is working with Koepke. They had a lead on a kidnapping case
and went to check it out. I’m trying to reach them by radio. Unfortunately,
it’s not too difficult for the radios to get out of range, especially in areas
like the mountains.”

I had very little doubt
I
was that kidnapping case.

The Subaru was gaining, as were the
others. I studied the road ahead and made another decision. Gambling, I
switched back to two-wheel drive and hit the gas. I wanted to put as much
distance between us as possible on the straight shots. I saw several more
crossroads coming up, and I was calculating, trying to formulate a plan.

Several more shots rang out, this time
most of them hitting the Tahoe.

“Were those gunshots?” the
dispatcher asked. She managed to maintain her calm.

“Uh, yeah. Say, listen, is it
possible for you to trace this call?”

“Yes.” I heard some rapid-fire
typing. “Who’s shooting at you?”

“I’m not sure.”

Not complete truth. I had
recognized one face. But by far the shortest answer.

“Is it a cell phone?”

“Yes. And it’s roaming.”

“Okay, that just takes more time.
Do you know where you are?”

“No. The mountains somewhere, but I
don’t know anything more specific. I haven’t seen a road sign or a mile marker.
Did you leave messages for Ellmann?”

“Yes. Stay on the line. It takes a
couple minutes for the trace. I should ask if you’re okay. Except for the
gunshots, you sound pretty good.”

“I’m okay for the moment, but I
have no doubt my luck is about to run out.”

“We can work with that. Let me try
Ellmann again.”

The line was silent again.

I had watched as the other cars had
hurried around the corner, nearly all of them sliding as the Subaru had. This
could mean they were so excited about the chase they had forgotten how to
drive. It could also mean they had deliberately chosen speed over traction.
But, I hoped it meant at least some of them didn’t really know how to drive.

I chose the road I wanted and
shifted down one gear as I held the wheel with my knee and switched straight to
4H. Without touching the brakes until I was already into the turn, I pulled the
wheel to the left, the tires holding to the road. I shifted back up and
switched out of four-wheel drive, allowing the downward slope of the road to
pull me forward and increase my speed. I realized I was at incredible risk for
losing control, a risk that increased proportionately with my increase in
speed, but it was a risk I was willing to take. I had few options available to
me, so I decided it was time to go for broke.

In the rearview mirror, I watched
as the lights turned after me. I saw some sliding, but overall everyone seemed
to have learned their lesson. Except one. Someone near the end whipped around
the corner and slid off the road. The car started down the hill, back-end first,
and slipped out of sight.

One down.

“Ms. Grey?”

“Please, call me Zoe.”

“Okay. I left another message. No
word yet. The trace is—”

There was a crackling sound and
then nothing. The phone winked off. Cursing a blue streak under my breath, I
redialed. The damn thing kept blinking
no
service, no service
.

Shit.

_______________

The change in direction and elevation had caused me to shake
one pursuer but cost me my lifeline. I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Headlights drew nearer in the
remaining mirrors, and the rainfall was heavier, officially a downpour now.
Even on high, the wipers were basically useless. And this only contributed to
the fact that visibility was basically nil.

Holding the wheel with my left hand,
I waved the phone around, trying to pick up any cell signals. Finally, after a
minute, the thing was back in roaming. I quickly redialed.

“Dispatch. Do you have an
emergency?” This was a different woman.

“My name is Zoe Grey. I was just
speaking with a dispatcher. I didn’t catch her name.”

“Let me check. One moment.”

My anxiety ratcheted up several
notches as the silence stretched on. I worried the call would be dropped again.
Finally, someone came back on the line.

“Zoe? Is that you?”

“Yes. Was I talking to you before?”

“I can barely make you out. My name
is Rita, in case that happens again. I’ve restarted the trace, but it still
needs time.”

“How much time?”

“Two minutes, give or take.”

“You hear back from Ellmann?”

“Not yet. I’m still trying. Hang in
there.”

The Subaru had the same idea I did and
was closing the distance between us at a frightening rate. I thought I knew his
plan. I rolled my eyes.

“I have to put the phone down,” I
said quickly. “If I get disconnected, I’ll call back. Keep trying Ellmann; it’s
urgent.”

I didn’t hear her response. I
dropped the phone into a cup holder in the center console and switched back to
4H, the motor crying out in response to the sudden change, but immediately
slowing the SUV. It was a split second before the Subaru smashed into the rear
bumper. The impact threw the Tahoe forward, and I jerked hard against the seat
belt, wincing at the strain on my shoulder. But the car clung to the road. I
saw the Subaru pulling back for another run, and I waited. Choosing the right
time, I let off the gas and stomped on the break. The Subaru plowed into the
Tahoe, the back end beginning to fishtail. I steered a little in the other
direction, the battered bumper pushing the front of the Subaru in the wrong
direction, exacerbating the fishtail. Then I hit the gas, putting some distance
between us.

I watched in the mirror as the
driver tried in vain to regain control. Ultimately, the car spun off the road
and down a small embankment where it stopped against a line of trees.

Two down.

I snatched up the phone.

“Rita, still there?”

No answer.

I started to redial, until I saw
something new bouncing on the passenger-side floorboard. I shot a look at the
mirrors then chanced a longer look. It was a handheld microphone on a curly
black cord—a radio mic. I wanted a better look but couldn’t look away from the
road just then.

I got back on the line with
dispatch and, a moment later, with Rita.

“Are you okay? I heard crunching.”

“A quick game of bumper cars,” I
said. “I won. Any luck with that trace?”

“Some. We’ve got a general idea. We
still need time. How are you doing?”

I glanced down at my shoulder. Even
in the dark, I thought I could see the bloodstain had spread to my neck and
halfway down my arm; the area was shiny and wet-looking on the black cloth of
the sweatshirt. I was feeling the damage more profoundly now.

“I’ve been better.”

The road straightened out, and I
took a better look at the passenger-side floorboard. A small CB radio was
mounted under the dash, the microphone having bounced off the hook during the
impact with the Subaru.

“Hey, I’ve got a CB radio here,” I
said.

“I still need the cell phone for
the trace, but maybe that radio would help eliminate the interference in the
line.”

She gave me a channel to try.

I hit the speakerphone button then
dropped the phone into the cup holder again. The static on the line had been
horrible, and I could only hope the call wasn’t dropped. Holding the wheel with
my left hand, gritting my teeth against the pain, I leaned down and fiddled
with the buttons on the radio. Without any light, and only a second here and
there to look at it, it was difficult to find the right knobs. Finally, I got
the damn thing on. The display on the right held two little red numbers
indicating my channel. I found the knob I needed and rolled over to the one
Rita suggested. Then I picked up the mic and tried calling out.

“Oh, no,” Rita came back over the
speakerphone. “That’s no good.”

She gave me another channel, and I
tried again.

“Better,” she came back over the
radio. “How is it for you?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good. Oh, Zoe, hang on. I’ll be
right back.”

With the Subaru gone, the next car
in line raced up and closed the gap. The road ahead began to slope upward. I’d
passed several crossroads, but none had seemed right. I didn’t pretend to know
where I was going, but I was operating on intuition, which almost never steered
me wrong. I’d had no strong feelings about changing direction. That is, until I
got to the top of the next hill.

The crossroad stretched out on a
fairly flat plane for as far as I could see. The car behind me raced ahead. I
did some mental math, and when the timing was right, I switched back to 4H and
pulled the wheel to the right. Again, without much hesitation, the wheels
gripped and held the road as they pulled the SUV around the corner, propelling
it forward. I flipped back to two-wheel drive for a bit of distance. The car
behind me had been racing ahead, intending to follow me on a straight path. My
sudden detour came as a surprise, and the driver was unable to compensate. As
he reached the top of the hill, he pulled right, trying to make the corner, but
the car spun off the other side of the hill and out of sight.

Had none of these idiots driven
before?

“Zoe? Come in, Zoe.”

Rita’s voice crackled over the CB
radio.

I picked up the mic from my lap and
pressed the button.

“Yeah, I’m here.”