by Samson Weld
That’s when they surprised everyone by jumping into Ash’s Mazda and racing away.
“What the…?” Ash cried. “They’re stealing my car!”
“What’s wrong with you, Ash?” Bellucci cried, storming up to him. She glared at him. “I told you to stay out of trouble.”
Ash indicated the dead man with a bow around his neck. “You should’ve told trouble to stay away from me.”
Chapter 19
Lucky for Ash that Bellucci had come to the rescue, he decided. She vouched for him. The other cops wanted to arrest him. After the gunfight, they were highly agitated.
“Did they get away?” Ash asked.
Bellucci slanted a hostile look his way. She gave a single nod. “Would seem so.”
Two patrol cars had pursued, but it took them too long to turn around. The police didn’t have a helicopter in the air at the time, so they had no way of knowing which direction the assassins went. Ash knew cops were converging on the area looking for the blue Mazda from all the chatter on their radios.
“Get in the car,” Bellucci said, opening the rear passenger side door.
She stood by the door, looking determined. She’d pulled her hair back into a messy bun and wore a nice lavender sports coat, white shirt, and pressed blue jeans. His first thought was to suggest a black or brown sports coat. Lavender wasn’t a tough color.
“Where are we going?”
“Downtown,” she said. “I need to get your statement.”
When Ash hesitated, the uniform cop Bellucci came over with his head up, acting all tough. Truth was, he did look pretty menacing. The man wasn’t tall, but he was massively built. And he looked determined.
“Detective Bellucci said to get into the car, mister.”
Ash glanced down at his chest. His name tag read BOONE. Ash shook his head, Must be nice being so young and confident.
Feeling a little beaten down, Ash gave up the fight. For now. He got into the Dodge’s back seat. Front and back were separated by a steel cage. The rear doors couldn’t be opened from the inside. At least he wasn’t handcuffed.
Ash didn’t feel threatened despite being taken back to the station. Bellucci was Homicide so was probably investigating Eddie’s death. She’d probably be assigned the case, too. If he was lucky.
“Try and not get blood all over the seats,” Bellucci said after sliding in behind the wheel. “They’ll make me clean it up.”
Killing Eddie had proven a bloody affair. He considered himself pretty clean considering how much the assassin had bled before dying.
“I’ll clean it up if you want,” he said.
They left after Boone got in. Ash silently debated how much information to surrender in his statement. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to mention overhearing they wanted his old work hard drive, much less surrender the hard drive in his back pocket. He’d probably never see it again if the police ever got their hands on it.
Besides, I doubt they’d know what to look for on it, he thought. Hell, I’m not even sure what to look for.
Traffic proved thick as they approached downtown Dallas. The afternoon rush hour had started in earnest.
“Can we swing through the West End,” Boone asked. “I’d like to put eyes on Locastro’s. Just to familiarize myself with its location.”
“You’re on desk duty,” Bellucci replied. “I’ll probably be in trouble for taking you with me.”
“I’m fine. I received my orders to return to regular duty next Monday,” he said. “Unless I can convince them I’m needed in Homicide. You did speak to the captain and ask for my help, right?”
“I did, but he was non-committal about it.”
Boone turned to look out his window. Ash watched him. He looked worried. Then Boone covertly glanced at Bellucci, scanning her head to toe. Ash’s brow rose. Interesting.
Romantic? he wondered. Or really Jonesing to be a detective and her partner?
They finally reached the Jack Evans Police Headquarters building. Bellucci parked in the cops’ lot and led the way inside. Ash was just happy to be out of that mobile cage. The building’s temperature seemed a bit warm for his taste, making him wonder if they’d even started using the AC yet. It was eighty-five degrees outside. That should warrant turning the AC on.
Boone followed Ash, making him think the two cops were keeping him contained between them. And then he realized where he was and what he was carrying.
“Uh, Bellucci? No one asked back at the crime scene, but I have a concealed carry license… and I’m kinda carrying right now.”
She stopped to look back at him as if he was crazy. Boone’s hand went to his pistol. Ash lifted his shirt to reveal the holstered weapon located at the small of his back.
“I thought it would be prudent to inform you before someone noticed and popped a cap in my ass,” he said.
“Pop a cap? You watch too many movies,” she said.
“I know. It’s a problem. I’m working on it.”
“Are you?”
“I’m in a program. Twelve steps and everything.”
Rolling her eyes, Bellucci asked for the pistol and he handed it over. She avoided touching it with her hand. Bellucci wrapped a handkerchief around it as she accepted it from him.
“I hope you realize this pistol is evidence, so I have to keep it,” she said.
“I didn’t,” he said. “I will get it back, right?”
“Probably.”
That wasn’t reassuring. The Glock 19 was his legal weapon. He’d purchased it at a local gun store, filling out all of the required paperwork. It was even the same weapon he’d taken his test with to get the concealed carry permit.
Ash looked around when they reached Homicide. The room was mostly empty. Bellucci immediately tagged and bagged his pistol, before shoving it into a desk drawer. Then she sat him in the empty cubicle in front of hers to fill out his statement.
“Coffee?” she asked. “It’s great if you like it strong and bitter and don’t mind the Pennzoil aftertaste.”
“Sounds enticing, but no thanks. I just want to fill out this statement and go home,” he said. “Someone will take me home, right?”
He hadn’t realized how uncomfortable he’d be here. Ash felt like the fox in the henhouse. Or more accurately, the hen in the fox’s den.
“Sure. You live close to my place so I can drop you off,” she said. “Maybe at the Beer Shack?”
Boone cleared his throat. “Do you need me to do anything, Bellucci? My shift’s about to end, so I’ll be free to do anything you like.”
Ash slanted a curious look at the rookie cop. Volunteering to work overtime for her?
Bellucci was a very attractive woman and he knew she was single. Boone wasn’t wearing a wedding band, either. On the other hand, Boone looked awfully young. More interestingly, Bellucci seemed to be clueless.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it because I’m a randy pig of a man.
“I think we’re good here,” she said. “Besides, you have reports to fill out, too.”
Boone hesitated. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Then I’ll see you tomorrow. And I really hope they let me work on the case with you, Bellucci.”
She nodded, already typing on her computer. Boone reluctantly left.
“Nice little puppy you have there, Bellucci,” Ash said. He grinned at her. “Isn’t puppy love beautiful?”
“What? You think he… No!” she said, shaking her head. “Boone is just a rookie eager to prove himself. And he really wants to be a detective.”
“Maybe,” Ash taunted. “He definitely wants something from you.”
She did a double-take on him and then frowned. “Men. Hurry up and finish those statements. I want to go home.”
Bellucci made him write two statements. One for the abandoned TI factory shootout and another for the Tarpley Family Storage incident. It grated on Ash’s nerves to be officially associated with any gunfight. That meant every time there was a shootout in Dallas, his n
ame would come up as a possible suspect.
I really need to move out of Dallas now, and maybe back to the farm.
The problem was Deanna. He didn’t want to live so far away from her. Maybe he could find a place in Richardson, even closer to her complex. But he’d made himself a life there. He had a local gym, a favorite bar, and had made a few friends. It felt good to have actual friends again.
Boone returned to ask Bellucci some questions about the gunfight at Tarpley’s. Ash caught her eye, grinned, and returned to his statements. They spoke softly for a few minutes about their reports when Boone’s cell rang.
“Hello? This is David,” Boone answered. “Really? Thanks, Jimmy. That’s very helpful.” He looked excited as he turned to Bellucci. “Miguel Gaytan just arrived at his grandmother’s house, not ten minutes from here.”
“Really?” Bellucci said, looking impressed. “Okay, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
“What about me?” Ash asked. “Who’s going to drive me home? You know I don’t want to be left behind here.”
She looked around. Not a single homicide detective was there. Bellucci sighed, looking exasperated.
“Fine. Come with us.”
Boone objected, but she cut him off. “I guess I could leave you behind to take him home and go over to question Gaytan by myself.”
“I wouldn’t be comfortable with that,” Boone said. “You’re the detective. It’s up to you if you want Mr. Wexler tagging along.”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
They passed out of downtown and into the Deep Ellum Art’s District. Bellucci slowed down due to traffic.
In some ways, Deep Ellum reminded her of parts of New York City. Lots of young men and women filled the sidewalks, many dressed to impress. Others were decked out in hip hop clothes. It was too early for the bars and clubs, but all the small shops and eateries were doing good business. After dark was when Deep Ellum really came alive.
“You ever visit any of the clubs in Deep Ellum, Bellucci?” Boone asked.
She adjusted her rearview mirror, finding Ash grinning back at her from the back seat.
“Not yet,” she said carefully. “This isn’t really my scene.”
“I hung out here a lot before I joined the Marines,” Boone said. “Of course, I was too young to truly enjoy any of the clubs or bars.”
She changed the subject. “So, tell me. Why did your friend know to call you about Gaytan being at his grandmother’s place?”
“I told you I wanted to help,” Boone said. “I put the word out, made a few calls, called in a few favors.”
“I’m impressed,” she said.
They passed out of Deep Ellum and into a more residential area. The homes were mostly older, but looked renovated and well kept. That part of the neighborhood had pretty much become upscale and expensive.
Gaytan’s grandmother lived in that transitioning neighborhood northeast of Deep Ellum. Bellucci was still working on her knowledge of the various neighborhoods. It appeared a lot nicer than she’d expect a “transitioning” neighborhood to look.
She started to see more rundown homes. Smaller homes. There were a few new construction houses, looking out of place. The few people out and about included more minorities, mostly Hispanic.
“Kind of a shame what’s going on here,” Boone said. “Wealthy young white people are snatching up all the houses and pricing the poor folks out. Few can afford another house and will have to live in apartments.”
“It’s weird,” Ash said from the back seat. “Cities all across the country try to revitalize economically depressed neighborhoods by luring wealthy young white people back in, but gentrification inevitably leads to the displacement of the minority communities living there.”
“All to create a wealthier tax base for the city to feed off of,” Bellucci said. “Everyone wins, except the poor people.”
The homes were mostly two and three-bedroom cottages. The front lawns were well-manicured and there were lots of mature trees.
“Before I moved to Dallas, I thought it was desert,” she admitted. “I thought Dallas was like Phoenix, Arizona. Imagine my surprise.”
“That’s funny,” Boone said “We’re a long way from the desert. My father always said we were on the ass-end of the Great Plains.”
Ash snorted a laugh in the back seat. Bellucci checked the rearview mirror. The poor guy didn’t look happy. Mostly, he looked lost in thought. Of course, if assassins were trying to kill her she’d probably be preoccupied, too.
“Tell me, Ash, did Dallas meet your expectations when you moved here from California?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t really have expectation about the city. But I’d watched TV shows like Dallas and Walker, Texas Ranger. Seemed about right to me, but with more trees than expected.”
“That’s the Gaytan place on the corner,” Boone said.
Bellucci parked at the curb. Once on the sidewalk, she waited for Boone to open the door for Ash. Her eyes scanned the house and its surroundings.
The home was a two-story Craftsman with a deep porch. It looked well-maintained, with yellow paint and white trim. The roof looked a little old, but the lawn was mowed and the flowerbeds weeded and a riot of color. A 1994 Chevy sedan sat in the drive, looking old and tired.
In contrast, their neighbors had a new brick home, with a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon in the drive.
“This is his grandmother’s home?” Bellucci asked.
“That’s what I was told,” Boone said. “She raised him after his parents died.”
Someone pulled the blinds down in an upstairs window. Bellucci couldn’t see a face, but motioned Boone over to the side of the house.
“Be alert. Gaytan might make a run for it. Stay next to the car, Ash.”
Bellucci headed up the sidewalk. Her eyes constantly on the lookout for any movement in any of the front windows. The detective strode across the porch, her footsteps loud. She knocked even louder.
“Who is it?” a female voice called through the closed door.
“Mrs. Gaytan? I’m Detective Bellucci with the Dallas Police,” she said, holding her badge up to the peephole. “Please open the door. I need to speak with you.”
A small, elderly woman tentatively opened the door. She couldn’t have been more than five foot even, and rail thin. Her steel gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
“Hello, ma’am, I’m Detective Anna Bellucci. I’m looking for your grandson, Miguel,” she said. “Is he home?”
The old woman nodded and opened her mouth, but they both froze at the sound of an upstairs window opening. Then the sound of feet pounding in the ground behind the house became unmistakable.
“Backyard!” Bellucci shouted as she spun around to race off the porch. “He’s running!”
She turned toward Boone on the sidewalk along the side street. That was the logical direction for Gaytan to run. Only halfway across the front yard, she heard Ash yell something.
Bellucci stopped and spun around to see a young Latino man coming out between the houses and taking off across the neighbor’s yard.
“No!” she shouted when Ash took off after him.
She’d be in so much trouble if a private citizen got hurt helping her apprehend a suspect. So both she and Boone took off after Gaytan. But Ash surprised everyone by how fast he ran.
Ash tackled Gaytan, rolled him onto his belly, and twisted an arm up behind the perp’s back. He waited for them with his knee between Gaytan’s shoulder blades.
“Is he an ex-cop?” Boone asked.
“I watch a lot of Law and Order,” Ash said. “And TJ Hooker reruns, back in the day.”
“Really?” Bellucci said. “You did kind of look like William Shatner’s stunt double taking him down.”
Boone quickly handcuffed Gaytan and forced him to sit before them. Bellucci squatted and looked him in the eyes. Gaytan averted his eyes.
“So, my friend, how’s life treated you since getting out on p
arole?” she asked. “Been staying out of trouble?”
“Yes,” Gaytan said. “I ain’t done nothing wrong, man. You got the wrong guy.”
“How do you know?” Bellucci asked. “We haven’t even discussed what crimes have been committed.”
“It don’t matter. I’m clean,” he said. “I don’t want to go back to prison. I have a job and go to church, and everything.”
“Where do you work? Just one job?”
“Yes. Just one job,” he said. “At a restaurant called Locastro’s, in the West End. And I go to church every Wednesday night and Sunday morning.”
“Where do you attend church?” she asked.
“St. Edward,” he said.
Boone pulled out his phone. “I know a guy there.”
As Boone stepped away to make his call, Bellucci studied her prime suspect. Gaytan was a small man, with a thick mop of curly brown hair. At the moment, he only wore jeans. His upper body and arms were covered with prison tattoos. Most looked quite amateurish.
Bellucci started questioning him. Asking Gaytan where he was on the nights of the brutal home invasions. He answered with, “I don’t know. At work or at home, I guess.”
“What? Are you on drugs or something?” Bellucci asked. “Why can’t you remember where you were on those nights?”
“All I do is work,” he said. “When I’m not working, I’m home.”
“Or at church,” Boone said, walking back up. “Check this out, Bellucci.”
She stood up and Boone pressed up close, holding out his phone. What looked like grainy security video was playing. She saw Gaytan in a nice shirt and pants entering a door.
“What am I looking at?”
“That’s security footage of Mr. Gaytan entering the church’s group counseling. Notice the timestamp.”
Bellucci frowned. That date and time put Gaytan at St. Edwards five minutes before one of the home invasions happened five minutes away. There was no way he was involved. Gaytan had an alibi.
“Well that sucks rotten eggs,” she said. “Back to square one.”
