CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED and FOURTEEN
(part two)
Friday morning — 9:45 a.m.
Yvonne followed her short, pregnant lawyer into the depths of the Denver Police Department. They twisted this way and that way until they came to a small conference room. Two impossibly young women and an equally young man dressed in street clothing were sitting around the conference table. Reading copies of her journals, their heads were down.
“She’s here,” the uniformed police officer said when they entered the conference room.
The young people stood from their chairs. One at a time, they introduced themselves. But the bigger they smiled, the more uncomfortable Yvonne felt. Her caramel colored Homeland Security agent shifted toward her. She, her lawyer, and the Agent stood in the doorway.
They’d been duped.
These young people had neither the experience nor the rank to do anything about the crimes reported in her journals. The Denver Police weren’t planning on doing anything with the information in her journals.
“Not a damn thing,” Yvonne said under her breath.
Samantha grabbed Yvonne’s forearm.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Samantha said. “We’ll be leaving.”
They turned in place to see the door close.
The lock clicked.
They were trapped.
When they turned back, the young man had a handgun pointed at them.
“Your weapon, Agent Rasmussen,” the young man said.
Yvonne watched the fight work its way across the agent’s face. When he looked down to take a gun from his side holster, his eyes flicked to her.
He’d known this was going to happen.
He set a gun on the table.
“Your telephone,” the young woman closest to them said. “Ms. Hargreaves, we need yours too.”
“You will open this door immediately or I promise you, you will suffer the consequences,” Samantha said.
There was something about the depth of power of her lawyer’s voice that made Yvonne look at her. Samantha hadn’t known this was going to happen, but she’d expected it anyway. Her lawyer might be pregnant. She might be small. But she was clearly tough as hell.
“We’re terrified,” the other woman said. “Telephone?”
The first woman grabbed Samantha’s briefcase and the second woman took her purse. The women rifled through her briefcase. They gave her telephone and laptop to the young man. One at a time, he took out the batteries to disconnect the GPS and stomped on the phones.
“Now what?” the Agent asked.
“We wait,” the young man said.
The lights flickered. It was almost imperceptible. In fact, Yvonne didn’t think Samantha noticed. Since her brain injury, Yvonne was very sensitive to changes in light. She knew the lights had flickered. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Agent’s eyes shift to look at the clock. He knew the lights had flickered as well.
They might not have their phones and gun, but they were not alone.
“May we sit down?” the agent said. “Ms. Hargreaves is pregnant and Mrs. Smith has had a difficult few days.”
“Have a seat,” the young man smiled. “It’s going to be a while. I’m sure he’d want you rested.”
The young people looked up at someone beyond the glass wall of the conference room. The young man held up a thumb. Samantha turned in her seat to look.
“Police Chief,” she said under her breath.
“Interim.” The Agent dragged a chair out from the table to cover his voice. “Mrs. Smith?”
Yvonne sat in the chair. He helped her lawyer into a chair next to her.
“I’ll stand,” he said.
“Suit yourself, you stupid fucker,” the young man laughed. The women chuckled.
“It’s going to be a while,” the woman closest to them said.
The Agent nodded in acquiescence.
“We don’t mind waiting,” Samantha said.
The young people’s attention turned to her. She gave them a bright smile. Yvonne’s looked from her lawyer’s smug smile to the young people’s confused faces. She glanced at the agent. He was staring straight ahead as if he was watching something outside the window. Yvonne swallowed hard.
“Anyone mind if I crochet?” She asked in her sweetest, most nonthreatening voice.
The young man gave her a “stupid woman” look. The young woman snorted a laugh and sat down across from her. The other woman gestured for her to go ahead.
Yvonne smiled. She took a ball of yarn and a crochet hook from the back pocket of her borrowed jeans. Humming a tuneless song, she joined her lawyer and the agent in their pretense.
She only hoped they knew what they were doing.
Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…
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