Chain of Evidence (24 page)

Room by room, the team moved through the house. The kitchen was tiny. Gritch and Yates spent most of their three minutes there dusting objects and pulling tape in hopes of lifting latent prints. Dart checked the refrigerator and made mental notes: male food. Bacon, eggs, hot dogs, beer, Diet Coke, turkey sausage, English muffins, ice cream, orange juice, and a dozen frozen dinners. Yates swiped the toilet rim and bagged the tissue from the downstairs half bath. Gritch seemed to inventory the cleaning products, paying special attention to those that retained price labels.

All the while, a steady stream of communication flowed in to Dart and Schultz from the operations van. Mostly, this came in the form of a running time count: “one minute,” “two minutes thirty seconds …” These were punctuated by announcements of “traffic approaching” and “traffic clear.” This barrage instilled in Dart a sense of protection, of security; knowing that three plain-clothes street officers were working the immediate neighborhood and were in constant touch with the operations van.

They had been inside the building just over five minutes before Dart began to understand Schultz’s actions more clearly. Saddled with a team of six—concerned for the unit’s safety—the team leader was deftly deploying his manpower to avoid having more than three people occupy any one of the small rooms. Dart, Gritch, and Yates were orchestrated as a team, while Schultz and his three armed ERT men swept the next area and kept on constant alert.

Dart and the evidence team next found themselves headed down a narrow wooden staircase into an unfinished basement area that housed a washer/dryer, a clothesline, several cardboard boxes of storage, and, just to the side of the staircase, a workbench cluttered with fly-tying materials and hardware. Gritch signaled Dart, pointing to the side of the clothes washer, and to the shelves above. She shook her head no. Dart returned the gesture. Her message was unclear to him. She touched her communication pack and whispered, “No detergent, no bleach.” Dart saw then what wasn’t there, realizing, as Zeller might have once schooled him, that what was missing was as important as what was present, and that Gritch and Yates had been carefully schooled in such matters. Dart nodded, making a mental note.

Dart pointed out the fly-tying work area, and the team descended on it, furiously photographing, sampling, and collecting. Again, Dart found himself impressed, all their combined movements measured, coordinated, and productive. They left the basement within two minutes.

Schultz directed Dart and the evidence team to the second floor, where a narrow hall accessed two bedrooms and two baths. The main bedroom was larger than the guest room and had its bath adjoining. There was enough ambient light here that Dart could remove the annoying goggles, but Gritch and Yates kept wearing theirs.

“Seven minutes,” came the steady voice in Dart’s earpiece.

The evidence pair went about photographing and sampling areas of the room while the detective stood back, studying the layout. The bed’s headboard was centered between two windows that faced the alley. Across from the bed, a chest of drawers awkwardly spanned the corner, just clear of the door to the bath, to the right of which was a door to a closet. Something about the room troubled Dart, though he couldn’t put his finger on it—the neatness? the cleanliness? the lack of personality? He wasn’t sure.

It clearly had been lived in. He could make out a small pile of coins on top of the dresser, a Bic pen, and what might be a roll of antacids. Yates was already busy working these for latent prints. Dart edged over to the closet and carefully opened it, his hand sweating inside the latex glove. There were a dozen shirts on hangers, and a white wire rack that held folded jeans, socks, underwear, T-shirts, a sweatsuit and other clothing.

Gritch tapped Dart on the shoulder, moved him, and began shooting photographs of the closeted clothing, Yates training the special low-level flashlight on the contents.

“We have an unidentified male approaching on foot on Zion,” the voice in Dart’s ear announced.

“Heads up, people,” Schultz’s voice said into Dart’s earpiece. “Let’s rendezvous at the base of stairs immediately.” He paused. “Right
now,
people.”

Yates returned to the clothes dresser and wiped down the pen and several of the coins. Gritch prepared and then bagged the digital camera and said to Dart, “This was
closed
, correct?”

“Yes.”

She shut the closet door. “Fully closed?”

“Fully closed,” Dart acknowledged.

“Suspect is turning down Hamilton,” came the spotter in Dart’s right ear.

“Team leader,” inquired the male voice from the van, “do you copy that please?”

“Copy,” replied Schultz.

“Prepare to evacuate all personnel,” the operations van announced calmly.

“Roger.”

Over the communications device Schultz ordered, “Down here
now
, people. Get the lead out!”

As Dart headed out of the bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder to see both Gritch and Yates dash into the bathroom and then
back
out through the bedroom, their heads and the ungainly goggles sweeping left to right. During the briefing, Schultz had informed Dart that he wanted these two particular technicians because of their incredible photographic memories. He had told a story about Gritch returning from a raid and reciting forty-five tides of books contained on the study’s shelves—he estimated that Gritch had been inside there less than a minute. A later SID report had confirmed all forty-five titles.

“Report?” the operations van requested.

“Subject is entering Hamilton Court,” the male voice replied. “You’ll need to abort via the back route. Copy?”

How could the dispatcher sound so calm?
Dart wondered. His chest felt on the verge of exploding.

“Copy,” said the van.

“Back route. Copy,” replied Schultz.

Schultz and his two men were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“We have an abort situation,” Schultz announced over the unit intercom. “Unidentified subject approaching.” He tripped a button on his belt pack and said to the operations van, “Status?”

“The back is still clear,” Dart heard in his earpiece.

Schultz repeated this.

Schultz now addressed Dart directly, the night-vision goggles making him look like some kind of bug. “Your call, Detective. Do we apprehend or not?” This was first time Dart heard emotion override the man’s military manner—Schultz
wanted
to stay and apprehend the suspect.

Dart asked Gritch, “How did we do in here?”

“Well below what we might have hoped for.” Yates nodded his agreement. She was saying that they had
nothing.
No evidence of consequence.

In a flurry of activity, Dart then heard the operations van direct the field surveillance operatives.

OPERATIONS VAN
: This is Control. Shepherd, can we get a video of the subject with a drive-by?

DETECTIVE SHEPHERD
: Negative. He’s already in the alley. If you get a pickup you’ll be lucky. I’d advise the team to enter Pope Park. We’ll pick up at York Street.

OPERATIONS VAN
: Negative on Pope Park. We’re rolling. Team leader, acknowledge abort.

Schultz, off mike, said, “Well?”

Dart did not want to apprehend, given the lack of evidence. He
wanted
this suspect, but not yet. “Negative.” Then he immediately voiced a consideration to Brandon. “Can we get a look at him?”

Brandon, aware of the order of rank, looked to Schultz for the answer.

“We can get
anything,
Detective.” Schultz said. “It’s your call.”

PERSONNEL VAN
: What’s the call?

OPERATIONS VAN
: Team leader?

FIELD AGENT
: Suspect has passed target. He’s turning down the drive.

Schultz yanked the gooseneck microphone to in front of his mouth and said for everyone to hear, “He’s going for the back door. We’ll take the front.” He threw the switch on his communications device and spoke.

SCHULTZ
: We’ll need ten seconds.

OPERATIONS VAN
: You won’t get it.

Schultz placed his gloved hand on the doorknob.

Pointing at Brandon, Dart asked, “Can we leave the camera set up in here?”

“If we leave Brandon, we can,” came Schultz’s answer. “We don’t have the necessary warrants for wire surveillance, but we are allowed in here. If you want to record this guy, it’s going to have to be in person. Your decision.”

“But we’ll pick it up in the van?” Dart asked.

“In the
operations
van, yes,” Schultz answered.

“Brandon and I stay,” Dart said.

OPERATIONS VAN
: Suspect is inside the back gate. You better get out.

Dart heard a rattle at the back door as a key turned.

Schultz faced his crew and said, “We’re going to take him, people. Positions!”

“No!” Dart objected with a harsh whisper, his body in full sweat, the sound of the key in the lock somehow louder.

“We can’t make it.” Schultz countered, “We’re too late.”

Dart argued, “We hide. Ride him out. Maybe we get a shot to leave.”

Schultz and Dart faced each other, and despite the goggles, Dart felt as if he were looking directly into the man’s eyes and that they were locked in a battle of wills.

Schultz acquiesced. “Observation
only
until further notice. Go!”

The door cracked came unlocked and cracked open tentatively.

The ERT crew scattered and disappeared instantly. Brandon and Dart raced up the stairs. Dart didn’t see where the others went, only Schultz, who stashed himself into the front coat closet. As he reached the landing, following closely on Brandon’s heels, Dart heard something like static in his right ear and realized it was Schultz, barely whispering over the intercom:

SCHULTZ
: I want location reports. Check in ASAP.

Give me suspect’s position, people.

ERT AGENT PHILGIM
: Philgim. I’m in the kitchen.

ERT AGENT DONALDSON
: Donaldson. Basement stairs.

ERT AGENT BRANDON
: Brandon. Upstairs bedroom.

DART
: Dartelli. Upstairs bedroom.

SCHULTZ
: Split it up, up there.

ERT AGENT YATES
: Yates. Basement with Donaldson.

ERT AGENT PHILGIM
: He’s inside.

Silence over the intercom. Dart heard a floorboard creak downstairs, and he prayed it was the suspect, not one of Schultz’s commandos. He didn’t want a dead suspect, and these ERT types were weapons-sharp. Brandon, following orders, motioned for Dart to enter the closet and that he, Brandon, would take up a position in the bathroom.

To Dart, it felt as if several minutes passed before another voice came over the intercom.

ERT AGENT GRITCH
: Gritch. Living room. He’s heading for the stairs. He’s using a
flashlight.

The idea of a flashlight didn’t sit well with Dart. The resident would certainly use the lights—
unless
, Dart thought,
he wanted to disguise his coming and going.

Perhaps hiding in the closet affected Dart, so much of his youth having been spent hiding in places like this. Perhaps it was that even all these years later by imitating his actions as a child, he was suddenly a part of those emotions. A surge of frustration, anxiety, and anger swept through him, stealing control of the rhythm of his heart. He realized that he was not standing inside this darkened closet by choice but because someone else had directed him here. Brandon. Schultz. It didn’t matter who. He had done this not by choice, but necessity. Adrenaline filled him with panic. He felt claustrophobic, as if this tiny space were shrinking in on him. He heard footsteps coming up—and he could actually smell his mother’s cheap perfume, could hear the
woosh
of her dress. He knew where he was, a cop standing in a darkened closet, that it was their suspect coming up the stairs, not his mother. But nonetheless, he smelled her. No mistaking that perfume. He yanked the goggles down over his eyes and wondered if the beating of his heart could be heard through the closet door.

SCHULTZ
: Suspect is at top of stairs. Donaldson, Philgim, provide backup.

Schultz was seeing to it that Dart and Brandon—an HPD cop and a techie; the lowest of the low in his opinion, no doubt—had some ERT support, something Dart could do without. He mustn’t lose this suspect or find himself in a firefight.

He heard breathing on the other side of the closet door, and it was everything he could do not to imagine his mother.
I’m a grown man!
he told himself. And yet the past remained. He held his breath—he could hide better than the best of them. He reached down and fingered his weapon. If that door came open, there was going to be hell to pay.

He could picture the two ERT men ascending the stairs delicately, not emitting a sound despite the old planks. Trained to be weightless. Trained killers. He wondered what their nightmares were. What demons possessed
them?

The sound of the suspect’s heavy breathing passed by the door, grew faint, and then disappeared.

ERT AGENT PHILGIM
: Suspect is inside the bathroom.

Dart heard a sweep of fingers on the outside face of the door, like a faint scratching, and realized that the ERT men were signaling him, warning him they were in the room. They didn’t want Dart firing on them.

SCHULTZ
: I don’t want Brandon at risk. Apprehend suspect. Repeat: Apprehend.

ERT AGENT PHILGIM
: Apprehend. Copy.

Dart gently eased the closet door open. Philgim’s goggles swung to face him. The agent nodded, pointed toward the bathroom and then to the weapon in his hand. Dart slipped his sidearm out. Philgim pointed to Donaldson, who was also facing Dart. Donaldson held a phosphorous grenade up for Dart to see and indicated for Dart to remove his goggles—the bright light would be blinding. Dart nodded, lowered his head, pulled the goggles up onto his head, and covered his eyes.