Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Bourne Morris

  The other two approached the front of Al’s house, but stayed hidden behind a dumpster in front of the house.

  “I don’t remember that dumpster being there last night,” I whispered.

  “Probably a gift from Reno PD earlier today,” my companion whispered back.

  By five thirty, the light was staring to fade. In March the sun still set early. Duskiness fell on the dirty street. I strained to keep my eyes on the two men behind the dumpster.

  They emerged, crouching low and moving quickly along the side of Al’s house, their heads just below the front windows. As they neared the door a shot rang, followed by a series of shots flashing from an upstairs window.

  “Shit, they’ve been spotted.”

  The lead man took the porch in one leap and flattened himself against the wall next to the door. The sound of an automatic came from the back of the house. The other two officers must have made it into the backyard.

  “Hang in there, Red. This could get messy.”

  “It’s not just Joe. There are children in that house.”

  “The police know that.”

  My hands were sweating and I realized I was shaking. My imagination was going crazy. I could envision Joe lying on the floor of that dirty house while Big Al and the others fired at the police. The flashing stopped in the upstairs window but the sound of shooting continued. The fight had moved to the back of the house. The man who was flattened next to the front door motioned to his partner, who sped up and joined him on the other side of the front door. The partner shot at the lock and kicked at the door. Then the door sprung open and both of them disappeared into the house.

  Chapter 21

  We sat in a silence broken only by the sound of our breathing. Minutes passed. It was unendurable. I strained against the car window. After a few minutes a light went on in one of the downstairs rooms in Big Al’s house.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” whispered Wynan.

  “Are any of the cops dead?”

  “I don’t know. Stop talking.”

  A patrol car moved in front of the house, red and blue lights flashing. Two uniformed policemen, guns drawn, made their way across the parking area, crouching low. Another patrol car swung in behind the first. Two more uniforms ran toward the house.

  One gun shot from inside the house. A shout.

  A man appeared in the open door and motioned the uniformed police into the house.

  The sound of a girl screaming pierced the air and sent chills through me.

  It was almost dark, but the patrol car headlights illuminated the concrete parking area in front of the house. A uniformed policeman emerged and stood on the porch, talking on his phone.

  “I think the police are in control,” said Wynan, reaching back and putting his hand over mine.

  “But we still don’t know if anyone’s been killed.”

  “We’ll know soon enough. Be brave, sweetheart, be brave.” His tone reminded me of Joe. The cap on my head became too much for me and I wrenched it off and used it to blot the tears that were starting to flood my eyes.

  An ambulance and a large dark police van moved down the block and parked, blocking off the street to any other traffic. Two uniformed officers emerged from the house. A man, obviously in handcuffs, staggered between them as they headed toward the van. The man was stocky and dark. Not Joe.

  The paramedics from the ambulance stopped, spoke briefly to the police and then hastened into the house.

  I could barely breathe.

  Two more handcuffed men came out with police guiding them to the van. One struggled and fell to his knees, only to be yanked up again and dragged to the van. None of the handcuffed men resembled Big Al or Joe.

  “Where’s Joe?”

  “Be patient.”

  The paramedics ran out and went to the ambulance. A moment later they wheeled a gurney up the concrete space and through the door. We could hear the sound of men talking in loud voices but the screaming had stopped.

  The paramedics wheeled the gurney out. A figure was strapped to the bed. Long hair, small body.

  “Too small to be Joe,” said Wynan, “Probably one of the girls.”

  My hand found the handle and I opened the back door. My foot was on the pavement when Wynan’s hand gripped my arm. “Back in the car, Red. That was our deal.”

  I tugged at his grip. “I’m going in. Joe’s still in that house. He could be hurt.”

  Wynan was stronger than I realized. With one pull he had me back in the car and the door slammed shut. Then he locked the car doors. He turned around to face me. His voice was iron. “You can’t do this. If you go in there you’ll blow Joe’s cover. Some of these pimps are likely to post bail and if they think Joe tipped off the cops, when they get out they’ll come after him and kill him for sure.”

  I slumped back into the car seat. “I’m sorry,” was all I could manage. “You’re right,” I gasped through my heavy breathing.

  “And cut out the hyperventilating.” His voice was still cold. “You wanted to do this, remember.”

  Courage, my father’s voice said in my head. Courage. You can handle anything. Nell had promised Wynan I could do this.

  “I’m sorry, Wynan. I promise I’ll get hold of myself.” My heavy breathing was replaced with a stone in my ribcage. Joe might be dead. I had to face that.

  The whoop of the ambulance startled me and I watched it pull away, sirens screeching. Another dark van pulled in to replace it.

  Three of the police emerged, herding what looked like a dozen girls toward the new van. The girls, dressed in shorts and flimsy blouses, staggered in high heels and kept their hands pressed to their sides. They walked in a ragged line, some upright and looking straight ahead, others with heads down. One tiny girl who could have been no more than four foot five brought up the rear. She was crying, her face upturned and her mouth open. It was hard to be sure, but I guessed her to be about eleven years old.

  Behind the girls came another policeman with a man in handcuffs. The man’s face turned toward the light.

  Joe. Thick hair rumpled, satin shirt torn at the shoulder.

  A thin girl with white-blond hair walked out. She was shown to the backseat of a patrol car while Joe was hustled into the van that held the other men.

  Joe and Snowbird.

  I sank back into the backseat. I was able to breathe normally again. “Thank God he’s okay. And so is Rosie’s cousin. Let’s go. I’ve seen enough.”

  Wynan started the car and slowly moved backward until he turned out into another street.

  A cup of hot tea at a delicatessen revived me and relieved Wynan’s worries about my health.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about freaking out in the car,” I said.

  His fine features relaxed into a grin. Wynan had the sort of good nature that let him forgive easily. No wonder Nell was thrilled to marry him.

  “You’re in love, babe. I get that. But I couldn’t let you out of the car.”

  “I know. I’m just sorry I panicked. I mean, this was my idea, not yours.”

  “Right. Ready to go home now?”

  “No chance of seeing Joe?”

  “No, Joe has to go through the same routines as all the other men in that gang and, sorry to say, may have to spend the night in a cell. But we still have another problem, I think.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I didn’t see the cops arrest anyone who looked like your description of Big Al. He may have been somewhere else or maybe slipped away. So Reno PD has to make it look like Joe was one of the gang just to be sure his cover is protected. They’ll probably take Joe into an interview room to debrief him and then throw him right back into the cell and keep him locked up with the other men until court opens for arraignments tomorrow.”

  �
��And the blond girl? I think she might be Snowbird.”

  “Locked up too. There’s nothing more to do here tonight except congratulate yourself on helping the two of them get out of that shithole.”

  My cell phone rang just as we hit the highway back to Landry. It was Joe. At last.

  “Hi, honey. Sorry I haven’t called for a while, but I’ve been too closely watched the last few days and I only have a few minutes now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in an interview room at Reno headquarters, but I’ll have to leave soon so they can put me back in a cell with the others. The chief here says he wants me to thank you for helping them set up the raid this afternoon. It went well. No police were injured.”

  I decided to wait until another time to tell him that Wynan and I had witnessed it all. “When are you coming home?”

  “Sometime tomorrow, I hope. I have to go through arraignment in the morning with these other thugs just to keep my cover intact.”

  Tomorrow. Thank heavens. A hot meal and a shower and then he would be at my kitchen table and I could tell him everything.

  “Joe, did you get Cathy out? Snowbird?”

  “We did, although she was a tough sell. She expected to be locked up with the other girls and still doesn’t understand why she’s in a separate cell and that she’s slated to be rescued and sent to rehab while the other girls are to be sent back to their home countries.”

  “Rosie warned us she might be stubborn.”

  “We may need Rosie to come to Reno and talk her into it.”

  “Rosie’s in the hospital.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She was beaten up and shot by a man wearing a ski mask. He left her for dead in the parking lot, but fortunately her wounds were not that serious and she’s getting better. But she can’t come to Reno to see Cathy.”

  “Jesus, that’s awful. Tell her I’ll do everything in my power to persuade Cathy to go into rehab.”

  Rosie’s full story and her theories about Danica would be another news item I’d save to tell Joe tomorrow. “I’ll tell her Cathy is safe and we’ll take it from there. She’ll be thrilled to know that.”

  “And I’ll be thrilled to see my girlfriend again.” There was noise in the background. “They’re here to take me back to my cell. I love you. See you tomorrow.”

  It was nearly seven when Wynan dropped me off at my house. I splashed some water on my face, changed my clothes and combed my hair back into a respectable bun.

  I was exhausted, but I wanted to give Rosie the good news before another night passed. So I fed Charlie, washed down a piece of toast with a glass of milk and headed straight for the hospital.

  The evening air was cool but mild and slightly scented with the trees that were budding around the parking lot. The hospital was brightly lit against the dark blue sky and my tiredness left me as soon as I entered the double doors and walked to the elevator.

  I was eager to see Rosie and watch her eyes brighten when I told her that her cousin had been rescued.

  Young Officer Donovan was sitting on the chair at the end of the hallway near her door. One leg crossed over the other, he balanced a laptop on his knee. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading on his screen.

  “Evening, Officer.”

  He looked up and smiled. “Evening, Dr. Solaris. Come to see our patient?” He rose and knocked on the door for me.

  No answer. “She may be asleep.”

  “I’ll just leave a note on her bedside table,” I said, entering the dark room. I switched the bedside lamp on and looked at the lump under the bed coverings. A queasy feeling came over me. I pulled back the covers, revealing two pillows end to end, but no Rosie. “Where is she?”

  His face paled. “I don’t know. She was right here half an hour ago.”

  “Did you leave at any time?” I demanded.

  “Only to take a call at the nurses’ station down the hall.” He indicated the station twenty yards away. “But I kept my eyes on this part of the hallway the whole time. I swear.”

  “Did you look into her room when you came on duty?” I was starting to panic again.

  “I peeked in but the room was dark and I thought she was asleep. But honest to God, I was sure I saw her in bed.”

  “Who was on duty before you?”

  “A new guy. He was in uniform and in a hurry to leave, so I didn’t think to…” The panic I was feeling transferred to the young policeman’s face. “Oh Jesus,” he said, reaching to his shoulder to call in to the precinct.

  Donovan headed for the end of the hall to check the staircase. I searched the rooms on either side of Rosie’s. Both empty. I checked the broom closet nearby. Nothing.

  Ten minutes later, Norm O’Hare was thundering down the hall. “How the hell did this happen?” For a moment I thought he was going to smash the younger policeman up against the wall.

  The three floor nurses fluttered around us, faces filled with concern. All three claimed to have seen nothing. Then an intern showed up. “About an hour ago, I saw a policeman pushing a girl in a wheelchair toward the elevator,” he said. “They were laughing like they were going to a party or something.”

  Laughing? That didn’t sound like kidnapping. More like conspiracy.

  “What did the policeman look like?” The intern described a man who bore a close resemblance to the curly-haired young man on Rosie’s staff I had spoken to yesterday. The intern frowned. “And he wasn’t wearing a sidearm, which I thought was odd.”

  Norm’s eyes squinted. “If we assume the so-called policeman was a friend masquerading as a cop, and that Rosie Jenkins left on her own volition, where might she go?”

  We decided to split up. Norm and Donovan, still devastated by his error, would search the student newspaper offices and Rosie’s apartment.

  I had another idea. It seemed I was definitely going to hear Danica Boerum’s speech no matter how tired I was.

  Chapter 22

  I resisted the impulse to call Wynan and tell him about Rosie. The man had given enough of his time to my missions and deserved a quiet evening at home with Nell. Besides, I was sure I knew where I might find Rosie and her costumed conspirator, and I could do that without help.

  Bad enough I still had to get through one more night without Joe Morgan. Now I would have to cap off this terrifying day with a visit to the Purist tent and an evening of racist ravings.

  Driving to campus, I began to consider my lifelong convictions about freedom of speech. Was it really fair to defend that freedom even for “the thought we hate?” I had always believed so. But was I out of touch with today’s world where anyone could say any dreadful thing on social media and get away with it? Was it time for some restriction, some sense of propriety? Bullying online was already outlawed in several states. Some universities had adopted policies of using trigger warnings in classroom lectures and course syllabi. Was I just way behind the times by defending Danica Boerum’s appearance?

  Questions still swirled inside my head as I parked in a lot near the Purist house. Another car pulled in beside mine and Manny emerged, dressed in a three-piece suit and looking very distinguished. I was still wearing the clothes I had worn to the hospital.

  I walked over to him. “I didn’t know there was a dress code for tonight.”

  “I figured if I have to assert my authority, I should look like I had some.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  When Manny smiled his whole face lit up. It was impossible not to be charmed. “Good. I’m glad you’re impressed. But right now you look perturbed.”

  “For the last ten minutes I’ve been having an argument with myself about the wisdom of letting Boerum speak tonight.”

  “Great. Where were those ideas a few days ago when I was in a quandary?” He took my arm and we started to walk toward the Purist parking
lot. “It’s too late for your self-doubts. She goes on in twenty minutes.”

  “I hate ambivalence. I keep thinking that, by now, I should know my own mind and be able to stick to my original opinions.”

  Manny gripped my hand on his arm. “Changing your mind, occasionally doubting your own wisdom, is normal for people in management positions. Happens to me all the time, and the further up the ladder you go, the more it will happen to you.”

  I put my hand over his and matched his stride. “I think I have reached the top of my ladder. I love being Dean of Journalism. I don’t want more.”

  He stopped and turned to face me. “Well, you may be offered more, my dear. Stoddard wants to retire next year and he’s asked me to apply for the presidency.”

  “Great. You’d be wonderful.”

  “And if I get the job, I’ll need a new provost.” He paused and stared intently at me.

  Oh my God.

  “And you’d make a splendid one. So get used to the idea of climbing further, Dr. Solaris. I may need you to help me run this place.”

  On an ordinary evening I would have rushed home to tell Joe and we would have sat in front of the fireplace discussing the consequences to our lives if I became the university provost.

  But there was no Joe at home and no time to evaluate consequences. And sure as hell this was not an ordinary evening.

  The tent over the parking lot was little more than a large canvas roof. No walls restricted the movements of those looking for seats or standing on the sidelines. The crowd was neither as large as I had feared nor as small as I had hoped.

  A stage had been erected at one end of the lot and microphones stood waiting. I spotted a familiar figure standing off to the right of the stage. Big Al was dressed in a suit with a white shirt and tie, looking more like a corporate executive than an over-decorated pimp. Although I doubted he would have approached me in this setting, especially with Manny by my side, I put my hand up to my face, glad I had pulled my hair into a bun. A minute later I saw Al dart back behind the stage and out of sight.