Danger Comes Home (Kelly O'Connell Mystery) (20 page)

“They’re arguing about what to do with us,” Theresa whispered.

I didn’t know if this was a guess or if she was hearing more distinctly than I was…and right then I didn’t want to know. Gradually the angry voices diminished but no one threw open the trap door. Maybe Little Ben had bought us some time.

I think I actually dozed—or went to an alternative consciousness level—until the loud voices began again.

“They’re arguing about us again,” Theresa whispered.

I listened carefully. There was a new voice, one neither of us knew. This man was almost frantic, yelling, “It’s all over. They know where you are, where those women are. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but they’ll be here any minute.” I made a wild guess—the policeman who had propositioned Mona, in more ways than one. I listened as closely as I could. Man-with-a-gun wanted to kill us and leave, taking Mona and Jenny as hostages. Policeman argued hostages wouldn’t do any good if they killed us.

Little Ben spoke more softly, but Theresa could understand him with his heavy Spanish accent. She translated for me. “Little Ben argues for staying here, with us as hostages.”

I liked that plan. But above us the arguing continued. Theresa and I clutched each other in fear. A part of my mind was upstairs with Mona. If she spoke, it was so softly that we didn’t hear her, but she must be in agony worrying about Jenny. Then, I reminded myself she was a woman who would do anything for her child, including sacrificing me and Theresa.

I have no idea how long they argued. I’m sure not as long as it seemed. Every muscle in my body was so tense that when Theresa nudged me, I barely caught myself from screaming.

“Little Ben just said it’s too late. The police are outside.”

I said a prayer of thanks, but then I began to worry about what would happen. Once again, we were in suspense. An eerie quiet prevailed for what seemed forever. Then a loud rapping on the door and the bold cry, “Police! Open up!”

The desperate man yelled, “Go away! We have the women.”

Whoever was at the door answered in the negative.

“We got three women and a girl,” angry man said. “Let us go, give us thirty minutes, and we won’t harm them.”

Again a negative answer. I clutched Theresa tightly, and she dug her nails into my arm, so great was her fear. This back-and-forth bargaining went on for some time. I could tell the police had set up a bullhorn to communicate, and I knew they had probably cleared the immediate neighborhood. That accounted in part for the long delay. Now, the bullhorn was demanding our immediate release.

Man-with-a-gun bellowed, “No way!” followed by an expletive that made me cringe. And suddenly there was a burst of gunfire.

Now Little Ben’s voice was louder. “What the f— did you do that for? Now we’ll never get away.”

“I’m gonna’ shoot until they go away.”

“You stupid fool,” new voice said. “Cops don’t operate that way. The kid is right. We’re done for. We might as well put our hands up and walk out that door.”

Then I knew for sure he was the crooked cop.

“No way,” man-with-a-gun said. “I’m gonna die before I do that.”

The other man was calm now. “You may just do that. I’m leaving.” There was a scuffle, a muffled gunshot, and a cry of pain. Theresa and I grabbed each other.

Things happened so fast after that I could never be sure what was going on, but there were gunshots, lots of them, right above our heads, and yelling, and then it was suddenly, horrifyingly quiet. I heard men stomping around—police, I supposed, and yet I was afraid to cry out. Doors slammed inside the house, and sirens roared as they pulled up outside the house. It was safe to call out, I decided, and grabbing Theresa for support, I yelled as loud as I could.

“Mike! Mike! We’re down here. Theresa’s with me.”

The sound of furniture scraping, and then the trap door opened. Mike’s beloved, blessed face, lit by a flashlight, peered in. “You two all right?”

“I think so,” I said through chattering teeth. That blasted chill had over taken my body again.

“You’re safe, but I need you to stay there for a few minutes while we get the EMT people in here. Can you hold tight?”

I almost said, “If you get me a coffee can to pee in,” but instead I muttered, “Sure,” and Theresa echoed, “Yes, Mr. Mike. Is Joe up there?”

“No, but I’ll call him. He’ll be here in a flash. I am so glad to see you two. You don’t know how scared I was.”

Later, I would have a hard time reconciling scared with coming in guns blazing. But right then I didn’t even try.

It seemed like another eternity, but then Mike said, “Theresa, come up. Joe’s here. Kelly, wait just until she clears the ladder. Then you come up.”

Suddenly, I didn’t have to pee any more. I put a shaking hand behind Theresa to steady her and waited while she climbed. As I began making my way up the short ladder, I heard her sobbing and Joe muttering, but they were gone before I could even get to the top. Mike grabbed me, wrapped me in his coat, covering my head, and rushed me out the door, gently guiding me down the steps to the street. There was something he didn’t want me to see, and I guessed I didn’t much want to see it.
Please, Lord, not Jenny.

Theresa and I were both taken to an ambulance. When Mike released me from the heavy coat that had been about to stifle me, I saw that the street was full of ambulances with one already hurrying away, sirens blazing.

“Jenny?” I asked.

“She’s fine. You need to be checked out.”

“I’m fine,” I protested, though my teeth were still chattering and I was shaking.

“Up to the EMTs to decide that,” he said tersely. This was not Mike my husband; this was all-business Mike the police officer. “Standard procedure. If you both check out, Joe will take you home. Keisha’s waiting with the girls. They’re terrified.”

Somehow I hadn’t thought about the girls being scared. I had worried about their safety but not their emotions. What kind of a mother was I? I comforted myself that I had had survival to think about.

The EMTs pronounced us both fit, although my blood pressure and pulse were both high. Though I shivered like I had a fever, I didn’t really. Theresa had no problems at all, and Joe drove us home in silence. None of us talked because we didn’t know what to say.

Joe and Theresa didn’t even come in—they just saw me to the door and retreated to the apartment. The girls flew all over me with cries of “Mom,” “We were so scared,” “Are you all right,” and the like. There were tears from all of us, including Keisha—and I’d never seen her cry, though that didn’t dawn on me until later. Finally I untangled myself from all those arms that encircled me and stood straight—it still felt good to stand up.

“What time is it?” I asked, expecting it to be midnight.

“Not quite nine-thirty,” Keisha said. “You hungry?”

Suddenly, yes, I was famished. She gave me chicken soup, heavy with chicken and gently spiced, along with crusty French bread, and a much-needed glass of wine. The girls sat and stared at me as I ate, as though they couldn’t believe I was real. Em finally asked, “What about Jenny?” and I told her Mike had said Jenny was safe.
Safe but how badly traumatized?
As soon as I was finished, Keisha announced bedtime—for all of us.

‘I…I have to shower,” I said. “I feel dirty from the inside out.” So while I showered, the girls got on their pj’s, brushed their teeth, and laid out school clothes for the next day. Then they clamored to sleep with me. I looked at Keisha, but she only shrugged. Since I had no idea when Mike would be home, I said okay.

Keisha had cleaned the kitchen and was ready to let herself out, but not before she said, “Maggie, you come set the alarm after I leave. Kelly, I’ll see you when I see you. Don’t even think about coming to the office in the morning.”

We snuggled into my bed, as my mom used to say, three “bugs in a rug.” Sleep was slow to come, even though the girls crowded close to me and soon slept soundly, everything in their world once again right. So much was wrong in my world I couldn’t even think about it. But I knew Jenny was safe. I’d have to wait on the rest of it.

Sometime during the night or in the early morning hours, Mike came home and gently picked up Em and put her in her pallet by Maggie’s bed; then he pulled Maggie to her feet and walked the sleeping girl to her bed—she was getting too heavy to carry easily.

We didn’t talk, and I slept but I was aware that he spent the whole night with his arms wrapped tightly around me, sometimes stroking my hair, and murmuring softly to me. I was home, and I was safe.

The next morning, Mike shushed me when I tried to get up. I heard him stirring about, dressing, getting the girls ready for school, and then they were out the door. His only words to me were, “I’ll be right back.”

He not only came back, he crawled back into bed with me and made tender, sweet, gentle love to me. Then we both slept for three hours. Finally, still in bed, we talked. Or, I asked, and he answered.

“Jenny?”

“With Mona. I stashed them in that apartment, with sleeping bags and a guard. Conroy was going to take them breakfast.”

“Is Jenny okay?”

“Physically? Yes. As for emotional scars…they’re bound to be there. She and her mom have a lot of recovering to do…and I’ll see to it that they get counseling.”

“Will Mona face charges?”

“Probably not. We see it as a sting operation.”

“What else happened? I heard all this gunfire….”

“The goon who was guarding Mona shot Grierson—he’s badly hurt, but he could talk last night, and he fingered the cop in our unit who was behind all this. Just who Conroy had figured. Name’s Ellerman, Gary Ellerman. Knew we were going on the raid and disappeared just before we did. There’s an APB out for him. So we’ve still got to protect Mona and Jenny and Grierson. I don’t think Ellerman will show up. He’s probably five states away by now.

“Joe’s old buddy, Little Ben, was hit in the gut, seriously wounded. He’ll live to face charges but he’ll have a long recovery and may never be healthy again.”

“I’ll testify that he tried to help us,” I said.

“Ah, Kelly, always charging in to help the bad guy.”

“He’s not a bad guy like the man-with-a-gun,” I protested. “He kept them from killing us.”

“That will probably help. But it won’t clear him. The man-with-a-gun, as you call him, was killed too. I don’t like things that end with that much death.” He shook his head as though trying to clear it. “So useless. And it wasn’t for that much money. They were a small potatoes operation as drug things go. We found lots of pot, and some crack cocaine, but we’ve made bigger busts in this city. It’s really all a horrible waste of lives, our time, taxpayer’s money, you name it.” In frustration, he got out of bed and said, “Let’s go to the Grill. I’m hungry.”

Once there, I found that I was hungry too. Even though it was past lunchtime, Peter said they’d fix us breakfast because things had slowed down.

And then, together, we went to pick up the girls and try to resume our lives.

****

A week went by with relative calm—the girls’ last week of school. We were back in the routine, and they were enjoying end-of-the-year parties and asked for a sleepover, which I promised for the following Saturday night.

“Can Jenny come?” Maggie asked.

Jenny and her Mom had moved into the apartment on Magnolia, though Jenny had not returned to school. Susan Smith said she would pass fifth grade and could graduate with her class, a ceremony coming up this Friday. Meantime, she and Mona were in counseling, Mona was meeting with lawyers, and Jenny was, so Mona told me, afraid to return to school. All agreed that next year, in middle school, when the story was old and not everyone knew it, she could have a better chance.

Later, Mona said to me, “I can’t believe I let this get as out of hand as I did. I should have called Todd’s bluff and left years ago. He wouldn’t have come after Jenny. He didn’t care about her. Now the child is scarred for life.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “With help, she may lead a perfectly normal life. It will be hard for her to trust people, though.”

“She trusts you,” Mona said, “and that’s an important step. But still, she’ll never put her early childhood or this trauma completely behind her. Neither will I.”

I didn’t realize that I, too, would suffer permanently from this episode, but there was more to come.

****

Em had moved back into her own room and announced she was “profoundly grateful” to be in her own bed. The night she said that, much later, Mike asked me, “Where does she learn things like ‘profoundly grateful’?” I could only shrug.

As to the slumber party, I said, “Maggie, do call her. She’ll be pleased to be invited. But don’t be surprised if she says no thanks. She may not be ready.”

“Okay, Mom, thanks,” and she was off to make the phone call. Between them Maggie and Em would have six friends—plus themselves. Mike groaned every time he thought about it.

At my direct invitation, almost an order, Mona brought Jenny for supper one night. I didn’t gather everybody but I included Keisha and Theresa…Joe was back to his evening shift at the YMCA. He’d gone to tell them he had been cleared of all charges and the bail dropped. They were glad to have him back, because they hadn’t found anyone to replace him, and Joe was glad to be back. Gone were the nights when Theresa hid in our house until he came home.

We had a chicken and broccoli and mushroom casserole—one gourmet cooks frown on because it had cream of mushroom soup in it—but it was good, and all three girls ate enthusiastically. Jenny was a little quiet, but she went willingly off to Maggie’s room for I don’t know what kind of chatter. I hoped my girls would steer clear of that bad night…and they told me later they did.

Mona announced she planned to stay in Fort Worth, hold her head high, and proceed with her plans for Bun Appetit. That she would get some reward money for her undercover work was a boost to those plans, and she said going back to planning her big opening was the best therapy she could have. We cheered and promised to help with the planning.

“You know that hot dog buffet we were going to have on Sunday before all this happened?” she asked. “Let’s do that as my ‘soft opening.’ I’ll try out all my dishes on you and your friends. Maybe in a month or so.”

While we all thought that sounded wonderful, Keisha groaned. “And I got to bring Ms. Lorna to eat hot dogs?”

“You got yourself into that one,” I said. “Be sure to bring the Scotch.”

Mona didn’t get the joke, but she said, “You’ll have to bring your own beer and wine. I won’t have a license yet.” She looked at Mike. “Will that be a problem?”

He shook his head. “You’re out of my territory, but we’ll do what we can to help.”

Since Joe had been cleared of all charges, his bail revoked. Mike had his money back, and, much more important, Joe had his reputation and his conscience—he worried a lot more about Mike’s money than Mike did. Peter had reluctantly but joyfully excused him from the Grill, making Joe promise to come back any time his staff got overloaded or he was short someone. Joe promised…and I knew he’d keep that promise. Theresa went back to work at Polly’s Pretties, and they both enrolled for summer school at Texas Wesleyan. Mike gave Joe the bail money, over Joe’s protests, to get books for the semester.

One night, Joe and Theresa knocked on the door after supper. “Mr. Mike,” Joe said. “I got something for you.” And he pulled out the Browning automatic. “I want you to keep this. I don’t want to carry, partly because I don’t have a license and am not sure I could get one, and partly just because I don’t. Theresa, she don’t want it in the apartment.”

Mike studied him. “Joe, if you think you might need this for future protection, I want you to have it.”

Joe shook his head. “No, sir. I think we’re finally going to move on now. And it…well, it reminds me of things I want to put behind me.”

Mike later took the gun to the office, where he “stashed” it, in his own words.

The only loose thread left dangling was the whereabouts of Gary Ellerman. Buck speculated that he had either killed himself somewhere in a deep woods, like East Texas, or he’d somehow made it out of the country, in spite of the blockade at airports, railroad and bus stations. He was philosophical about it. “I’d like to nail the son of a bitch, but if he’s gone, good riddance. I sure do hate a crooked cop though.”

On Friday, we all went to the graduation ceremony at the elementary school—Mike and me, Keisha and José, Mom, though without Otto, Claire, and Anthony who said he was representing Joe and Theresa. Following school custom, friends and family lined the hallway and the fifth graders marched between us to the auditorium; then we streamed in to find seats and grab programs that listed each graduate’s name. I was purely proud, and Mike leaned over and kissed me, right there in public. Keisha elbowed me and said, “You two stop being mushy.” But it was a landmark occasion for me, made all the more sweet by how close we had come to missing it.

We celebrated that night, just the four of us. Mike grilled tilapia—I had given him a fish-grilling basket, and when he experimented he found the girls liked grilled fish with lemon and butter. On the side we had the first of summer’s bounty—fresh corn on the cob, sautéed zucchini, and farm fresh tomatoes. For us, wine; for the girls, what they called “kid wine”—sparkling cider. We were festive and happy.

About nine, as we settled down, the doorbell rang. Mike threw me an exasperated look that seemed to ask, “Who could that be at this hour?” and went cheerfully to open the door. I didn’t recognize the man who stood there, and whatever he said to Mike was muttered, but Mike’s words were clear, delivered in that tone that demanded immediate obedience.

“Kelly, Mr. Ellerman and I have to talk. Take the girls into the bedrooms and stay there.”

Ellerman! At our front door!
I fought down all kinds of impulses, like the scream that was lodged in my throat, and shepherded the girls to our bedroom where, whispering, I delivered my own command: “Close the door and stay here, no matter what.” Then I handed Maggie my cell phone and said, “Call 911, but whisper, be quiet. That man will kill Mike if we don’t do something.” Then, with wits I didn’t know I had about me, I grabbed my handgun out of my bedside drawer—bless Mike for insisting I get it, learn to use it, and keep it handy—and slipped out of the room, closing the door. I checked the gun—loaded and cocked.

Kelly, you can do this. You’ve done it once before. Mike’s life is at stake. This is up to you.
Talking in my head, I inched down the hallway and stood sideways just inside the door. From there I could see Mike standing to one side—I would have a clear shot, but only one chance. It had to count.

“You’re my ticket out of town, Shandy. And you know what, I’m not even sorry about it.”

“Gary, you won’t get anywhere, and you know it.”

“If I don’t, neither will you. Too bad you didn’t say goodbye to your lovely wife.”

With that I whirled into the room, assumed that ridiculous stance, and fired. A terrible, gurgling, sound—like “Aaargh” echoed through the living room, as Ellerman crumpled to the floor, gun still in his hand.

Mike knew to loosen his clothing, give him mouth to mouth, try to save him.

“Did I kill him?”

“Not instantly. But I don’t know.”

“Maggie called 911. They should be here any minute.” And then we heard the blessed sirens. Mike and I stood back, while EMTs rushed to Ellerman and began doing all kinds of things I didn’t understand, quietly issuing orders and talking on their walkie-talkies. Another EMT appeared with a gurney, and they loaded him onto it. Then they were gone. Mike and I had about two seconds to look at each other, before Buck Conroy and about five other officers burst into the room.

“Good work, Mike,” Buck clapped him on the back. “I don’t know why he thought he could come here, but you got him.”

“It wasn’t me,” Mike said dully, “it was Kelly.”

He whirled toward me. “O’Connell, I’m hiring you for the force yet. Great shot.”

That old teeth-chattering chill had come back. “Will he die?”

Buck raised his shoulders. “Eventually. One way or another. From your shot? I don’t know. But you know the drill—we got to question you, go over every detail. Want a drink?”

You’d have thought he was the host at his own party.