[2001] Public Enemy Zero Read online

  “All right,” said the detective. “They saw him yelling at the kid.” He pressed another button.

  For the first time, they got a good look at the man from the front as he sat at the end of the food court. Several tables away, the child was having a fit. To Rios it didn’t look like the crowd even noticed the child. They were just looking at the man.

  “Can you go back to when he sat down?” asked Simmons.

  Oliver clicked another button. On screen they saw the man hurry into the food court and stare into space. The mother spilled a drink and ran to get napkins. The man looked at his phone but otherwise just sat there. The child started screaming and then the man finally looked over at him but never said anything. He looked away when the mother came running and kicked the chair toward her.

  “I don’t see him yelling,” said Simmons.

  Brooks spoke up. He was still wearing his blood-stained shirt. “Whether or not he instigated this, he didn’t handle it in an appropriate manner and we need to speak with him.” He paused. “A lot of people were hurt today because of him. And someone has to answer for that.” Brooks turned to the room. “Do we have any leads yet?”

  Rios finally spoke up. “His name is Mitchell Roberts. He’s our guy from the assault on the parking officer earlier today.” He reached into his pocket for the photo on his phone he’d gotten off of Rachel’s Facebook. He handed it to Simmons.

  Simmons looked at the photo and nodded. “Well, that makes things interesting.”

  “Looks like we have a one-man rampage here,” said Oliver.

  “Let’s bring him in,” said Brooks. “Assault on an officer and ... and now this. Let’s put everyone we can on getting him sooner than later.”

  20

  It took 20 minutes from the time Detective Brooks said it was a priority they find Mitchell Roberts to when a uniformed police officer walked through the doors of WQXD where he worked. Meanwhile, other uniformed police were showing up at his apartment and back at Rachel’s house.

  Unmarked cars were parking farther out from his apartment to see if he came by on foot.

  Since it was normal business hours for the station, most of the daytime staff was still there. The station manager, Philip Dunlap, left his office in a hurry to meet the officer at the front desk. The afternoon news producer had already put an item on his desk about a person of interest with the same name as their late-night host. Odd, he thought, he’d always imagined that when the police came for one of his hosts it would be Rookman.

  “Mr. Dunlap?” asked the officer.

  “What can I do for you?” he answered, although he already had a pretty good idea what this was about.

  “We’re trying to locate one of your employees. A Mitchell Franklin Roberts. Does he work here?”

  Not anymore, thought Dunlap. One host fighting a cocaine rap was enough. “Yes. He’s our nighttime host on the weekdays. Would you like his home address?”

  The officer looked down at his notebook. “Is it 1221 Pass Ave., apartment 32?”

  Dunlap turned to the receptionist who was sitting at a desk next to a fake plant. “Kayla, could you check on that?”

  The dark-skinned young woman who was listening attentively pulled up Mitchell’s contact information on her computer. “That’s it.”

  “Do you have any other contact information for him?”

  Dunlap shook his head. “I don’t really know him that well. Let me see who else is here who might know. Kayla, could you page Mike?”

  Kayla called for the intern on her desk phone and then offered up, “I know he was apartment hunting a couple weeks ago.”

  The officer wrote that down. “Is he friends with anybody here at the station who he might try to go to for help?”

  “Like I said, I don’t really know him. To be honest, he’s a bit of a loner,” said Dunlap.

  The officer wrote down “loner.”

  Dunlap regretted calling Mitchell a loner. He’d written enough news items to know what kind of context people always put that term into.

  “He did have a girlfriend,” said Kayla. “Pretty girl.”

  The officer referred to his notes. “Yes, it looks like he beat her up pretty bad.”

  Kayla made a face. “Mitchell? Are you sure you got the right guy?” she asked with a high-pitched tone.

  The officer ignored the question.

  Mike the intern walked in, saw the police officer and almost pissed himself.

  “Are you Mike?” asked the officer.

  “Yes ....”

  “I just want to ask you a couple questions about Mitchell Roberts. Do you have any idea where he might be?

  Mike’s normally blank face went blanker. “His house?”

  The officer shook his head. “Besides there. Is there any other place he might go? A friend he trusts? Family that live in the area?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. When he broke up with his girlfriend, he didn’t have any place to stay.”

  “Do you think he might try to contact you?” asked the officer.

  “Gosh, I don’t think so. I don’t know him really well. He’s a nice guy and all.”

  The officer pulled some business cards from his chest pocket. “Some detectives will be coming by to ask some more questions. In the meantime, if anything comes to mind, you can call us here”

  He gave a card to each of them and walked toward the door.

  Mike looked down at the card. “Sure thing. I hope Mitch isn’t in trouble. He’s a good guy and all. When his girlfriend broke up with him, I tried to help him find a place to stay.”

  “Pardon me?” asked the officer as he turned away from the door.

  21

  Mitchell was in the attic when he saw the police pull up. He’d wanted to wait for nightfall before he moved on to his next hideout. The police were going to complicate things.

  Overhead a police helicopter was hovering to provide support in case Mitchell ran. Up in the attic, looking at the street, he didn’t notice the thumping of the rotor until it grew louder.

  Two blocks over, a retired broker and his wife were ushered back into their house by the SWAT team leader when they went outside to find out why the large van was parked in their driveway. The SWAT team had been on alert since the crisis at the shopping mall. Once the officer got the address from the intern at the radio station, they got a warrant to arrest Mitchell at that location.

  There were five men on the SWAT team, plus their commander, who was in the van along with the driver. The plan was to send three men in through the back and have two approach the front door. They were going to do a “no knock” search in case Mitchell was armed.

  The three men assigned to the back of the house ran through the adjoining backyards and took up a position right behind the fence that separated the yards between the two houses.

  One man popped his head up and looked into the backyard and sliding glass windows.

  “Back yard clear. Back interior clear,” he whispered into his radio.

  From the van, the commander gave the command, “Go.”

  One man went left while the other went to the right. Their plan was to scale the fence at the far ends and then approach the house at a diagonal angle. That would put them in the blind spot if Mitchell looked out the window.

  Despite their gear and body armor, they both swiftly climbed over the fence and were at the opposite sides of the house in seconds. The third man climbed over the same spot on the fence as the man on the right had. He joined them at the corner of the building.

  He whispered into his microphone, “Back of the house.”

  The commander tapped the driver on the shoulder. Fast but not recklessly so, he drove around the block and brought the van to a stop in front of the house.

  Two men in the back jumped out and ran to the front door. One of them had a knocker, a heavy metal cylinder used for knocking doors open at the knob. He held it back at the ready. The other man gave the commander a hand signal.

  T
he commander spoke into his microphone. “Red team go.”

  The man with the knocker slammed it against the door handle. The door flew open, sending a shower of splinters from where the lock had been. Both men pulled their bodies away from the door frame.

  “Mitchell Roberts, we have a warrant for your arrest,” shouted the man to the left of the door.

  There was silence in the house. Red team leader gave a signal to the commander. He spoke into his microphone, “Red team proceed.”

  The two men entered the living room. As one man stepped in, the other would follow. Each one kept his gun trained on a different part of the room.

  “Living room clear,” said red team leader. “Proceeding to hallway.”

  The two men stepped into the hallway, keeping their backs firmly against the wall. From that position they could see the back sliding glass doors and backyard. Out of sight, but waiting, were the other three SWAT team members.

  “Unlocking the back door,” said red team leader. He darted over to the sliding glass door and unlocked it with a shim, faster than the original owners ever did with the key. He pushed the door open and then pressed his back flat against the wall to the side of it.

  “Blue team go,” said the commander.

  The three men in the backyard entered the house through the open glass door. The joint five-man team proceeded to check all the rooms and closets in under twenty seconds.

  “First level clear,” said the red team leader. “Checking the garage.”

  The blue team from the backyard kicked open the door that led from the kitchen. They entered with their guns pointed at all the corners.

  “Garage clear.”

  “How’s it look inside there?” asked the commander.

  “Like nobody lives here. There’s no sign of anyone having been there. What now?”

  “Proceed to attic,” said the commander.

  The red team leader pointed to the attic door. He pointed to another man and gave him a hand signal telling him to look for another entrance to the attic. The other man nodded and went back into the house with another member of the SWAT team following. They checked all the bedrooms and found another entrance in a hall closet.

  “Hall closet,” he said into the microphone.

  “Hold steady,” said the red team leader. He reached into his pack and pulled out a periscope that extended almost two feet. Since there was no way to open an attic door quietly, all three men stepped clear of the opening. The man closest to the rope handle pulled it down. It made the inevitable creak.

  “Mitchell Roberts! Surrender now.”

  Mitch stayed calm as he heard the team leader shout out his name.

  From below, the SWAT team could see the attic was completely dark. One of the men pulled several light sticks from his pocket and threw them into the attic. The team leader lifted the periscope into the attic and looked through it.

  The attic was filled with lots of dark corners but nothing was moving. Off to one side he could see several boxes and what may or may not have been a man lying down. He whispered into his microphone, “Blue team go.”

  Using a ladder from the hall closet, which saved one of them a trip to the van, the first man in the hall closet pushed open the hatch covering the entrance and threw in three more light sticks. He then ducked back down.

  The red team leader handed the periscope off to another man. He called out into the attic, “Mitchell Roberts, surrender now or we’ll gas you out.”

  Although that was an option, at this point it was meant as a means to intimidate him. If he was a known felon assumed to be armed, they’d go straight to tear gas and not risk it. In this situation the commander had the discretion to take him peaceably first. The last thing he wanted to do was to send one of his men into a dark space with a bad guy with a gun.

  The team leader spoke into his microphone. “No response.”

  “Proceed with tear gas,” replied the commander.

  The three men in the garage put their gasmasks on. The team leader pulled a canister from a pouch and threw it into the attic. He heard it pop and hiss as the smoke started coming out, filling the attic. The three men stood back from the entrance to avoid getting attacked by any animals that tried to escape the smoke.

  The team leader was going to give it another minute and then climb into the attic himself with his night vision and compact assault rifle.

  After counting out a minute, the red team leader climbed into the attic holding his rifle in front of him as a shield. His night-vision goggles revealed the attic interior in bright green light. The shape that may or may not have been a man was just a pile of clothes. To confirm it, he pushed the barrel of his rifle between the boxes and pushed them apart.

  It was an old pair of slacks and some golf cleats that had spilled out of a box. He gave the attic another look and then hopped back down to the garage.

  “All clear,” he said into his radio.

  While he was relieved that his men were safe, it was frustrating not to get the guy. He hopped out of the van to take a look himself. He walked over to the front of the house and looked at the broken door. He called over to one of the men, “Do we have a temp we can fix that with?”

  With cooperative homeowners, they tried to fix things as best they could. In the van, they had kits to fix doors they had to break open. He looked through the back glass doors and was glad they didn’t have to break those. That was always a mess and a pain to have to fix.

  22

  When Mitchell saw the SWAT van, he knew his only choice was to wait it out. Besides the hovering helicopter, he would guess that there were several police cars at the entrance and exit to the development blocking anybody from entering or leaving. The entire neighborhood was on lockdown. Running or surrendering was suicide for him. He had to just lie still.

  He had an uneasy feeling about the house once he decided it was going to be his hideout. The problem was that it was the best choice he could think of but not the best possible choice. The difference being his total lack of experience in being a fugitive from justice.

  After he had put away the map and come up with a tentative next step, he decided the best place to wait was the attic. It was hot but tolerable. He could also look out through a vent and see the street outside.

  The SWAT van seemed inevitable to him once he realized how eager the intern was going to be to make the police happy. From there it was only a matter of time before they followed up on the lead and showed up on the doorstep of the house. Fortunately for Mitchell, his heightened paranoia paid off.

  While Mitchell was waiting for night to come in the living room, he kept obsessively checking the street in front. That’s when he noticed the house across the street. It looked a lot like the house he was in, as did most of the other houses in the neighborhood, but it also had several newspapers piled up on the porch. Someone lived there, but they had been gone for the last few days. To Mitchell, it seemed like a safe bet they were going to be gone for a while longer. At least the next few hours.

  It was impulsive, but he figured his odds were better waiting there than in Mike’s grandparents’ house. Plus, he could find things like food in there, as well. Mitchell decided it was a good idea to move across the street.

  He’d gone over there and did a quick check for a hidden key underneath a rock or along a ledge. When he couldn’t find one, he went around the back of the house and looked for a way to get into it from there. That’s where he noticed the sliding glass doors like his parents used to have. Whenever they would get locked out, his father would just grab one end of the door and give it a tilt. The door would slide open from there.

  Before trying the trick on the door, he did a quick search for an alarm system and found none. Few of the homes had them in that area since they were mostly summer homes with little in them or houses put up for sale.

  After he got the door open, he checked to make sure the garage was empty (it was) and moved the car and removed all traces of himself fr
om the first house. He then locked up that house and abandoned it for good.

  The new house was sparsely furnished, but he found some plastic cups of applesauce that he wolfed down. In the bedroom closet he saw several blouses and skirts. It looked liked an older woman lived there by herself. Remembering that old people tended to use things like calendars, he went back and looked at the kitchen refrigerator. Sure enough, there was one. There was a long line going from four days before to the day after tomorrow. Mitchell’s best guess was this was how long the woman would be gone. Although he didn’t plan on staying more than a few hours, it was comforting to know he wouldn’t be found out right away.

  Having accepted the fact that this was his second breaking and entering, he did a search for anything useful that he could take with him.

  In a drawer by her bed he found an old iPod Touch that was completely drained. While not as powerful as his iPhone, he was confident he could take it and it would never be missed. That way he could surf the web or make a phone call using Skype if he found WiFi somewhere.

  The mere possibility of being able to connect with the world electronically made him feel immensely better. The first thing he did when he climbed into the attic was look for a place to plug it in and charge it. It was only a few minutes after that when the SWAT van pulled up.

  Up there in the attic, he couldn't see much of what was going on because the SWAT van was blocking the front door. As he watched the masked men jump out of the van and enter the house, he got a perverse thrill. He knew they could only be seconds away from finding him but watching them go into the wrong house gave him the feeling on the back of the neck after you realize the car heading for you didn’t hit you or when you really were about to see her breasts. Mitchell was confused by the feeling to be sure, but it made him feel better knowing that deep down he could be motivated by something other than pure fear.

  His gut impulse to get out of the house had proven right and confirmed for him that he needed to move quickly when his instincts told him to. He knew that now was not the time to run, but as soon as the pressure slackened enough for him to leave, he’d have to get on it.