Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (11 page)

“You write down
practically every license plate number you come across, but you didn’t get this
one?”

“Give me a break here,
Ellmann. We nearly shot an old man over a Leatherman this morning.” This earned
me a look from the kid behind the counter, who seemed to involuntarily scan my
hands and pockets for a gun. I tried to give him a reassuring smile then turned
away. “I’m pretty sure the last three of the plate were T-W-D.”

“I’ll run that, but I
won’t be surprised if the list of Cadillacs with those letters in the plate is
long.”

“It was a sedan,
sliver, I’d say ’05 or newer. And I’m almost certain I got the order of those
letters right. That should narrow it down.”

“I’ll work on it.
Listen, if you see that car again, get the full plate if possible and drive
straight to the police station, especially since you don’t have a phone.”

“Okay, I will.”

“How’s it coming with
Dillon?”

“No progress yet. But
I’m still working on it.”

I wondered if he knew
about Grandma Porter. I didn’t think he’d tell me if he did.

“Please, be careful.”

“I will. You know, you
could just tell me what’s got you so worried. I’ll find out eventually.”

“I always worry about
you.”

That meant no.

“Did your dad’s flight
get in yet?”

“It should have landed
twenty minutes ago. I just got here. I haven’t made it inside yet. My sister
should be here in about half an hour, then we’ll head back. Can you still meet
us for dinner?”

“I’m planning on it.”

“He made reservations
for Outback Steakhouse at six.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Be careful,” he told
me again.

I promised I would
then hung up.

I drove to the address I’d gotten
for Peter and Sonja Rice, hoping they really were Megan Rice’s parents. I was
also hoping they would tell me where Megan lived and that I’d find Dix there.
I’d cruised past his house again and found no sign of him. Since he didn’t have
to work, and since he was hiding from me, I thought it reasonable he’d gone to
his girlfriend’s house.

The Rices lived in a
nice, welcoming house in a neighborhood off Stuart and Shields, near Rocky
Mountain High School. There were ceramic statues on the lawn and along the
sidewalk and porch. There weren’t a lot of potted plants or flowers in the
flowerbeds, but there were a
lot
of ceramic figurines. I rang the bell
and waited.

A tall man with
graying hair answered. I gave him my card and spiel then asked him if he had a
daughter named Megan.

“Yes. Is she in some
kind of trouble?”

“No, sir. But I need
to speak with her. Could you tell me where to find her?”

“Is this about that
kid
Cory
? That boy is no good for her. We tried to tell her, but she
doesn’t listen. What she sees in him, I’ll never know.”

He gave me her address
and phone number. I thanked him and left.

Megan lived in an
apartment complex on Horsetooth and Shields, near Front Range Community
College. I found the building I was looking for and parked. Unfortunately, she
lived on the ground floor. Normally I’m grateful for little favors, like not
having to climb three flights of stairs, but I thought this would make it
easier for Dix to get away than, say, if she lived on the
third
floor,
because there were no giant trees near any of these buildings.

Operating under the
assumption Dix was in the apartment, I knew he’d bolt the instant he realized
it was me at the door. The key would be getting inside in time to catch him. My
chances of that would be greatly improved if he couldn’t get out.

I walked around the building
until I found Megan’s apartment. Then I rounded the corner, looking for a
second exit, finding it in the form of a sliding glass door between what I
guessed was the master bedroom and a small patio. Not ideal. Sliding glass
doors just can’t be barricaded from the outside like hinged doors can.

I cut across the
narrow strip of lawn and peered through the glass, searching the bedroom for
occupants. It was empty. The patio held a small charcoal grill and some patio
furniture. I didn’t see a broom or shovel or anything with a long handle on
Megan’s patio or that of her nearest neighbor. For a moment, I missed doing
this with a partner. When Blue had been showing me the ropes, I’d take one door
and he’d take the other. As expected, that cut down on incidents of running by
a hefty margin.

All I could do now was
work with what I had. I moved every object on the patio, relocating it directly
in front of the door. Knowing Dix’s determination not to be caught, I didn’t
believe for an instant this would stop him. I just hoped it slowed him down.

I returned to the
front door and knocked, pulling my unimpressive badge from my pocket and
holding it in one hand. A moment later, Megan answered.

I didn’t give her time
to say a word. The instant the door was open, I pushed into the apartment,
holding the badge in front of her face.

“Bond enforcement
agent,” I said as I backed her into the house. “I’m looking for Cory Dix, and I
have reason to suspect he’s in this apartment.”

The front door opened
into an open living room/kitchen area. There was no sign of Dix. Down the hall,
I heard a crash then saw Dix streak past. I charged down the hall as an
enormous clattering sound rang out. I flew (again, I use the term loosely) into
the bedroom.

The sliding glass door
was open, and Dix was wading through the clutter on the patio. He’d pitched the
grill over, and there was charcoal everywhere. The chairs were toppled, and one
of the ceramic figurines Megan owned was lying in pieces on the concrete. 

“Shit!”

I shoved the badge back
in my pocket as I ran back through the house to the front door, passing Megan
in the hall. She looked concerned and confused. I sprinted past her (or, you
know, ran as fast as I was able) and out the door. I saw Dix on the far side of
the building, running through the parking lot. Man, he was fast.

I hurried to the
truck, backed out, and screeched forward. The speed bumps significantly slowed
my progress, but I was able to keep Dix in sight until the far end of the
complex. Several times, he looked back over his shoulder to see where I was,
and I noticed with enormous satisfaction that his face was even redder than
mine. The pepper spray hadn’t slowed him down, but he hadn’t escaped unscathed,
either.

He disappeared around
the last building and was gone.

“Damnit!”

Disgusted, I banged my
palm on the steering wheel and left the complex. This kid was starting to make
Tyler Jay look like an amateur.

I made a stop by
Safeway on my way to visit the friend I’d made in the County Clerk’s Office.
She’d proved to be very helpful since I’d started this bond enforcement gig. A
large percentage of county records is public information. But most of it isn’t
available online. It requires a trip to the courthouse, a few dollars for
processing and copy fees, and a week-long wait, sometimes longer. Unless you
have a friend like mine. Donna Gilbert not only helps me find what I’m looking
for in public records, but she also slips me private ones every now and again.
I know she likes chocolate, so I make a point of bringing her something when I
stop by. Today, I brought her a bag of Ghirardelli milk chocolate squares with
caramel centers.

The records office
isn’t usually packed with people, like the DMV always seems to be when I need
license plates or a new driver’s license. Since it was a Friday afternoon, the
office was totally empty. I smiled to the woman behind the counter and asked if
Donna was in. She went to get her, then Donna led me back to her office. She
opened the chocolate, and we ate some while we chatted.

“What happened to your
neck?” she asked.

“I was mauled by a
wild animal.”

“Really?”

Close enough.

She reached for
another chocolate. “You only visit me when you need something,” she said.

“That’s true, isn’t
it?” I said, realizing it for the first time. “I’m sorry. That doesn’t really
seem fair.”

“Oh, geez, Zoe,” she
said, waving a hand. “I only meant ‘get to the point.’ I wasn’t complaining.”

Donna and I had hit it
off the first time I’d come to the County Clerk’s Office. I thought she was a
hoot, and she gave it to me straight, a quality I appreciate in people.

I laughed. “All right.
I need to know about a criminal court case involving a woman named Martha
Porter. It would have been about sixteen, seventeen years ago. I also need
whatever you’ve got on a man named Wayne Dillon.”

She punched something
into the computer. After a moment of searching, she said, “Got it. What do you
want to know?”

“Why was she on
trial?”

“Murder. She shot and
killed a man named Wayne Dillon. The prosecution was going for second-degree
murder. The defense argued self-defense. The jury found her not guilty.”

“Are there details in
there about why she shot him?”

“Uh, let’s see … .”
She spent another minute searching before she found the information. “Her
attorney said Dillon broke into her house one night, drunk, and threatened her.
When she confronted him, he attacked her. She shot him.”

“Was it a random break-in
or a robbery?”

“Uh, no, they knew
each other. Let’s see. Looks like Martha Porter had two granddaughters, Danielle
and Desirae. The girls had been adopted by Wayne Dillon and his wife, Janet,
some time before. Janet was their aunt and became their legal guardian when
their mother was sent to prison for solicitation and drugs.

“The defense claimed
Dillon was sexually abusing the girls. Porter, their paternal grandmother,
found the girls after an estrangement of some kind and learned what Dillon was
up to. She got custody from the court. It was shortly after this Dillon broke
into her house and threatened her.”

In listening to Donna
recount the family’s history, it struck me she could have just as easily been
talking about mine. Suddenly, I felt a kinship to Martha Porter for what she’d
done. I also had a better understanding of her motivations now. I wondered what
had happened at her house, why the police had been there earlier, and if she
was dead. I really hoped she wasn’t dead. She’d been protecting her
granddaughters sixteen years ago when she stopped Dillon, and she’d been
protecting Danielle yesterday when she refused to help me. I needed to figure
out what was going on now and find Dillon. And I noticed I was starting to feel
pretty protective of her, too.

“You wanted to know
about Wayne Dillon?” Donna asked, hitting some keys.

“That answered my
questions. What about the girls he was abusing, Danielle and Desirae? Is there
anything on them?”

She did a bit of
searching then nodded.

“Their name was
changed to Dillon when they were adopted. Their legal names were Danielle and
Desirae Wright. Born to Patricia Wright and Jonathan Porter. Both girls were
arrested as adolescents, but there was nothing after they turned eighteen,
aside from Danielle’s assault charge a few months ago.”

“All right. What can
you tell me about Jeremiah Vandreen?”

She hit a few more
keys.

“He’s the victim in
Danielle’s assault case I just mentioned. His name only comes up on a marriage
license, some property records, and on some foster care paperwork. He and his
wife have been foster parents for the last ten years. From what DHS has here,
they’re good parents.”

“He’s never been
arrested or in any kind of trouble?”

She shook her head. “I
don’t see anything here. Why?”

“Why did Danielle
Dillon attack Jeremiah Vandreen? Why beat the snot out of a stranger at random?”
And risk exposure to do it.

Donna shook her head
and shrugged. “No idea. There must have been a reason.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

I thought Danielle
Dillon had a very good reason for attacking Vandreen. At this point, I also
believed she was in hiding—from something more serious than a bond violation.
Something serious enough Grandma Porter was willing to lose her house. And
whatever her reason for the attack, it was motivation enough to risk exposure.

Once I figure
that
part out, the rest would come together.

__________

I left Donna’s office and made it
halfway through the building before I ran into Priscilla Casimir.

“You’ve gotta be
kidding me,” I hissed.

I eyeballed the door
and made a beeline for it. Anticipating my escape, she strode over, calling my
name and waving, the
click, click, click
of her expensive heels echoing
off the walls. She cut me off a foot away from freedom.

“Zoe, fancy meeting
you here.” She smiled—with sick satisfaction, I thought.

I rolled my eyes.

“Ew, why’s your face
all red?”

“Priscilla, you were
here a whole month, and I barely remembered to hate you. Now, I’ve run into you
twice in the last two days.”

“You’re just lucky, I
guess.” She was still smiling. I wanted to choke her.

“I used to be.”

I started to move
around her, reaching for the door. She stepped in front of me.

“Are you here often?”
she asked.

I stopped and looked
up at her. She must have rethought her position when she saw my eyes, because
she took a step back.

“We’ll probably be
seeing quite a bit of one another around here,” she said, though the energy
behind her words had dimmed slightly.

“Let’s hope not,” I
said, pushing through the door. 

I checked the time as
I walked back to the truck. Just after two. Dinner with Ellmann’s family was
several hours off, and I had time to chase down a few more leads. I considered
swinging by Dix’s house again but ultimately scratched it.

I needed a new plan
for Dix. My problem wasn’t finding him; it was capturing him. He seemed to have
the advantage because he was a good runner and wasn’t afraid to jump out of
second-story windows onto tree branches.

But I had advantages
of my own. And until I figured out what to do with him, Dix was on hold.
Danielle Dillon was the more pressing issue, anyway. And on that front, I
wanted to stop by First National Bank.

With my latest
encounter with Priscilla Casimir still burning fresh in my mind, I made a
detour before hitting the bank.

Amy Wells lives with
her fiancé in a nice two-bedroom, two-bathroom house on the north side of town.
Amy and Brandon had been dating for more than two years when he’d proposed last
October. I made a point of getting to know Brandon the minute she’d mentioned
him, and he’d proven himself to be an okay guy. Plus, it went a long way with
me that he seemed to respect my position in Amy’s life; he’d asked me for
permission to marry her. I gave him my blessing because he’s good for her, and
he’s good to her. And she’s crazy about him.