by Alex Ander
“I will.”
“Thanks, Fay.” Devlin disconnected the call, stowed her cell, and bobbed eyebrows at Randall, “We may have gotten another break,” then hurried toward Daniels.
“Let’s hope so. I’ll start working on getting Faith a copy of that surveillance video.”
Devlin nodded without looking at him. “Miss Daniels, I’m sorry that took so long.”
The seated woman lifted a shoulder. “I don’t mind,” a tick, “as long as I’m still getting paid, that is.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 13
Abandoned Vehicles
9:59 P.M.
STARTUP, WASHINGTON
Squatting down inside the covered cargo trailer to get a closer look at the discarded tactical gear—Randall standing on her eight o’clock and FBI Agent Niko Tamura hovering on her four o’clock— “Has,” Devlin twirled an index finger at the pile of AR-15s and clothing, “this been checked for prints, photos taken...all that stuff?”
During Devlin and Randall’s drive to Everett, she had fielded a call from Faith who had told her the robbers’ getaway vehicle and a trailer had been found at the end of a dirt road near Wallace Falls State Park. Randall had then changed course and taken the turnoff for Startup, Washington.
Arriving an hour after sunset, Devlin and Randall had received an update from Agent Tamura on what had happened at the bank, as well as what witnesses had reported seeing. The marshals had then toured the site where the abandoned vehicles had been found before inspecting the van and trailer.
Black hair, brown eyes, his arms folded across his chest, the early thirties five-seven, one-sixty Agent Tamura nodded while eyeing the items the female marshal was examining. “Yes, ma’am. Investigators have logged the evidence and are just waiting on me to give the order to start gathering everything.” He shot a look at Randall. “I wanted you two to see it just as we found it before giving that order.”
Devlin stood. “Thank you, Agent Tamura. We appreciate it.” She turned to meet the FBI man’s gaze. “You said witnesses at the bank reported seeing four robbers dressed in tactical clothing and wielding rifles.”
Tamura nodded.
“And total time from entry to exit was around two minutes?”
“That’s right.”
Devlin and Randall tossed knowing looks back and forth, each one seeing the resemblances with the Eugene robbery as well as the one from a year ago.
“Then,” continued Tamura, “we got a tip from a couple of hikers.” His mind envisioning the woods around him, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the opening at the back of the trailer. “They reported seeing a motorcycle speeding through the trees with pieces of paper flying out from a bag on the rider’s back. They checked it out and discovered the paper was money...hundreds and fifties.”
“Later on,” Tamura clasped hands in front of his belt buckle, “when they heard about the bank robbery from earlier today, they put two and two together and turned the money they had found over to the police. The police contacted us. And with the hikers’ assistance, we were able to trace a trail of bills,” he lifted a finger toward the trailer’s wooden floor, “right back here. We think all of this was staged ahead of time.”
“Excuse me.” Devlin slipped by the agent and walked down the ramp, Randall on her heels, both surveying the surrounding foliage.
“My guess is,” Tamura gestured toward the nylon straps hanging from eyebolts attached to the trailer’s walls, “they had five vehicles waiting for them. After the robbery, they then,” he pointed, “ditched the van, unloaded the off-road vehicles, and took off. My men found five sets of tire marks going in three different directions...northeast, southeast, and due east.”
Devlin spied her partner. “That means a couple of them must’ve doubled up...taken the same path.”
Tamura agreed. “Tracks confirm two four-wheelers went northeast. The others were motorcycles; two headed east and a lone bike went toward the southeast.”
Devlin gave the darkened woods around her a long look. “Just like the others, they disappeared into the forest.”
Frowning, the FBI agent cocked his head at her. “Ma’am?”
She waved him off. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for your help, Agent Tamura. You can...”
The two shook hands.
“...pack everything up now. We’re going to poke around some more before leaving.”
The men shook hands.
Randall: “Thank you for your time, Agent Tamura.”
“You’re welcome. You have my card, Marshal Devlin, so...”
Devlin flashed a smile. “We’ll be sure and call if we need anything.”
Once Tamura had left, the marshals ambled away from the trailer, Devlin on Randall’s port side.
“So,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “we’re thinking the same thing, right?”
She glimpsed him. “If you’re thinking all three bank jobs were done by the same four outlaws, then, yes, we’re on the same page.”
He showed her a palm. “Five outlaws. They must’ve had a ‘wheel man’ who stayed outside during the robberies.”
“True.” Feeling her pocket vibrating, “We need to forward that information to,” she hauled out her cell phone, glimpsed him, and held the device a little higher, “Faith,” before taking the call. “Good timing. We just learned we’re searching for five robbers, not four.”
Faith: “I know. Detective Harker’s already filled me in on the details. Listen, Rebecca Daniels came through for us. She’s ID’d a man—”
“Hold on, Fay. I’m putting you on speaker, so Noah can hear this, too.” She tapped her phone’s screen. “Go.”
“Rebecca Daniels ID’d the man who gave her the ‘hondo.’ I then uploaded his image and got a hit. His name is Dryden Barnes, twenty-nine, and he has an apartment on First Avenue in the Pike Market neighborhood in Seattle. Now, I know that area. It’s right next to where I live, and the apartments there aren’t cheap. So, I did a deep dive on Mr. Barnes and found out he moved in ten months ago...two months after the robbery in Redding last year. Can you say big influx in cash? Because I can.”
Devlin brought her phone a little closer to her mouth. “Do you know where he works?”
“He’s a mechanic at a small repair shop. The shop only has two bays, so it can’t be doing that much business,” a beat, “at least not enough to be able to afford to pay Barnes what he needs to rent a place in the Pike Market neighborhood.”
“Send us his address, and we’ll talk to him.”
“It’s waiting for you along with a picture of the guy and the make and model of truck he drives.” A tick. “On a related issue, I’ve been going over my notes from when I was working on that task force. And I may have found a common denominator among all three robberies.”
Devlin glanced at Randall then eyed her phone. “And?”
“All three are owned by a larger central bank, so I decided to compare employee lists at each one. I discovered one man was working at each bank around the time of each robbery. Now, I realize personnel get moved around within an organization, but this guy was senior management. So, I’m thinking he may have had access to sensitive information...such as delivery schedules, especially delivery schedules of large physical transfers of cash.”
Randall: “That would explain the robbers hitting each bank when it was in the process of a big money transfer.”
“Exactly. Bear in mind, though, this might be nothing. But I’m going to investigate from behind the scenes, nonetheless, while you two are questioning Barnes.”
Devlin: “Excellent work, Faith.”
Randall nodded. “Yeah. You really get around in a short period of time, don’t you?”
Cocking her head at him, Devlin raised an eyebrow.
Three seconds of silence ensued.
Faith: “Excuse me?”
He heard the implication in his word
s. “I meant you’re getting busy—” wincing, his thoughts jumbled, a rush of panic flooding his senses, he shook his head, “busy getting people, finding people, working the phones, tracking down the bad guys. You know? That sort of...”
Devlin got in his line of sight.
“...thing.” He saw her.
She sliced four fingers across her throat while mouthing, ‘Shut. Up.’
He drew a pinched thumb and forefinger across his lips.
Devlin: “Keep in touch, Faith.”
Randall planted hands on his hips. Great. We just started seeing each other, and...
“Will do, Jess.”
...she’s over there thinking I’m calling her a tramp.
Devlin clicked off and swatted her partner’s arm, a half grin on her face. “What the heck was that all about? If that’s how you sweet-talk a woman, I now know why you’re still on the market.”
Turning toward their rental car, he waggled his head at the ground. “I blame it on my being tired.” A moment. “And I’m still hungry, too.”
The marshals hurried to the Chrysler 300S.
He faced the woman beside him. “You don’t think she’s ticked at me, do you?”
Devlin sent a smile and a quick look his way. “No. She wasn’t upset.” A pulse. “In fact, when this case is finished, I’m sure we’ll all have a good laugh over it...at your expense, of course.”
Bobbing his head, he reached for the driver’s side door handle. “I suppose that’s only fair.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 14
Dryden Barnes?
11:11 P.M.
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
PIKE MARKET NEIGHBORHOOD
Having repeatedly pushed the button on the panel that corresponded with Dryden Barnes’ apartment number, Devlin and Randall exited the building’s entryway and stepped onto a raised deck just outside the door. Steps to their left and right went to ground level.
Devlin glanced around at the small parking lot located behind the housing structure. “I don’t see a truck matching the description Faith sent us.”
“Me neither. He might be at a bar or something at this late hour.”
She eyed him. “Or another poker room, handing out hundreds.”
Coming from the agents’ three o’clock, from around the corner of the building, headlights lit up cars parked in the lot on the marshals’ one o’clock.
Devlin and Randall turned toward the sound of the approaching vehicle.
A light blue truck came into view. It made two sharp lefts and stopped in the middle of the lot, its headlights shining on the back bumper of the Chrysler 300S parked thirty feet in front of the agents and a flight of stairs down.
A head and left arm emerged from the driver side window. “Hey!” A man addressed Devlin and Randall while pointing at the vehicle ahead of him. “Is that yours? If it is, then move it. That’s my spot.”
Devlin’s gaze alternated a couple times from her phone to the twenty-something man sporting light-colored hair, a goatee, and a squared-off jaw. “It’s him. It’s Barnes.”
Randall grabbed the wooden handrail in front of him and leaned forward a few inches. “Dryden Barnes? We need to—”
The man froze, his eyes growing wider in the beam from an overhead security light.
Randall spotted the look he had seen many times while working for the Drug Enforcement Administration. He’s going to...
The man ducked back into the cab.
Its tires squealing, the truck lurched backward.
“He’s bolting.” Randall rocked away from the railing then reversed course and vaulted into the air, throwing both legs over the horizontal barrier, and propelling his body into space.
Devlin ran down the stairs to her right.
Landing in a flower bed, narrowly missing a blooming rhododendron, Randall tucked, rolled, sprang to his feet, and sprinted for the fleeing truck, leaving behind a patch of decimated marigolds. He ran by the driver’s side of the agents’ rental car, smacking a key ring onto the hood, before shouting over his right shoulder. “Take the car, Jess. I’m going after him.”
The four-door Toyota Tacoma surged forward while pitching to its left.
Randall cut to his right and came up on the vehicle’s starboard side. “U.S. Marshals!” His arms pumping, he ran alongside the four-by-four. “Pull over!”
Barnes jerked the steering wheel right.
The truck followed suit.
Randall slapped the approaching rear window and veered right. Five strides later, he faced forward, and his eyes grew bigger.
Three feet away, the first of two metal-framed, wood-slatted park benches sat end-to-end on the sidewalk outside the apartment building, a circular steel waste receptacle centered in the four-foot gap in between the two pieces of outdoor furniture.
The Toyota inched closer.
He jumped onto the first six-foot-long, green-and-brown bench.
The Tacoma side-swiped the pew’s metal trim.
Sparks rising near his feet, the deputy marshal hopped onto the backrest and leaped to his right.
The right-rear corner of the vehicle clipped the seating and sent it flying into the air end over end.
Tumbling to his right across a plush swath of grass, Randall came to rest on his backside. A tick later, he trundled back the way he had come, onto his belly, and covered his head.
The metal-and-wood seat crashed down beside him, slid sideways, and rolled a few times before stopping when one of its legs caught on the sidewalk.
The Toyota’s tires screeched, as the ride peeled out of the parking lot.
His heart pounding in his chest, Randall lowered his hands and lifted his head to spy the bench, and the three-foot-long gouge it had left in the pristine lawn, before he caught a glimpse of the escaping truck’s brake lights. He clenched his jaw and made two fists. “You son-of—”
A car skidded to a halt on his nine o’clock, its passenger door swinging open a tick later.
Her right arm outstretched, her upper body sprawled over the center console, “Are you on leave, or do you,” Devlin leaned back and sat upright in the driver’s seat, “want in on this?”
He clambered to his feet, poured himself into the Chrysler, and slammed the door.
Flashing the rental’s headlights, she eased into traffic, squeezed between two opposing cars, and stomped on the gas pedal.
Horns honked, and the two drivers cast obscene gestures.
Randall affixed his safety belt and went to work brushing grass and dirt from his black jeans and jacket. “I’m fine in case you’re wondering.”
“I know. I saw the whole thing.” Speeding by the Seattle Museum on her left, Devlin twitched the steering wheel left and right to bypass a Chevy Volt tootling along in the outside lane. “If that bench had hit you, I would’ve called the paramedics.”
He teetered left and right before craning his head and pointing. “He’s turning.”
“I see it.”
Randall faced her. “But would you have still gone after him?”
“Of course, I would have.”
“Huh.” He turned toward the windshield. “Glad to know where my health and well-being rank on your list of priorities.”
The driver tossed her passenger a quick grin then made a right onto Spring Street before wrenching the wheel back and forth to avoid a head-on collision. “This is a one-way street.”
Randall gripped his door and the center console, as the Chrysler raced along a downward-sloping roadway. “And we’re not going the right way.”
She negotiated her way around another potential crash.
He stuck out his finger. “He just turned left at that next intersection.”
With cross traffic stopped, Devlin made a sharp left onto Western.
The car’s rear end fishtailed outward, nearly clipping a couple trash cans next to a lamp post before straightening out.
Two streets down, the Tac
oma turned left onto Marion.
Devlin took the same route then banked right, onto First Avenue again, to continue the chase. “You can’t lose me that easy, Bubby.”
Randall gave her a sideways glance.
She noticed. “What?”
“Bubby? Isn’t that slang for booby...as in,” he paused, “boobies?”
“Really? I thought,” frowning, she swerved into oncoming traffic, zipped around a motorcycle, crossed back over the center line, and accelerated, “I thought it meant buddy...or fellow.”
Having dug heels into the floorboard and lifted his butt into the air at the sight of approaching headlights thirty feet ahead of the Chrysler’s front bumper, Randall now lowered himself into his seat again. “I think,” he let out the gulp of air he had taken, “I think you’re thinking of bub.”
She tipped her head from side to side, “Close enough” before shrugging in the next instant. “Besides, isn’t everything slang for boobies these days?”
Pursing his lips, he nodded twice at the Toyota they were gaining on. “They do seem to get more than their fair share of attention.” A moment passed. “Not saying that’s a bad thing, mind you.”
“No. No.” Sarcasm in her tone, her eyes glued to the truck’s taillights, Devlin shook her head once and let a thin grin come and go. “Of course, not.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 15
Our Shot
Heading south, Devlin and Randall had pursued Barnes down First Avenue, through Pioneer Square, before veering off Seattle Boulevard and onto Sixth Avenue. Now having gone under I-90, near the interstate’s western terminus at State Route 519, they bypassed a parking structure on their right.
The landscape opened around them, and the traffic thinned.
Devlin pushed her right foot to the floor. “This is our shot.”
Glancing at the speedometer and reading, 73...74...75, Randall tugged on his shoulder harness to make sure it was tight. “Our shot at what?”
The Chrysler drew up behind the Toyota truck.
“At stopping him.”
