Jones admitted he fired his .44 Magnum once--at a car full of I.G.s he thought were chasing him as he ran away. He told police he believed Cox shot Yarbrough because Cox thought Bobby had stolen the cocaine from Herasingh. "I guess they figured after they looked and looked for it that we just automatically had it," Jones said. "I figured if they would have found it, nothing would have ever happened."

Within hours after Yarbrough's death, Detective DeMott interviewed Cox's girlfriend, Tonia Young. Young, a well-spoken 22-year-old who worked at a manicure shop in Aurora, told DeMott she'd only been dating Cox for a few weeks, having met him through a friend of Cox's who lived at her apartment complex. She hadn't known any of the others at the party. She told DeMott she was scared to tell the truth about what she'd seen that night: "I'm afraid of what they might do to me."

After Young admitted she'd witnessed Cox and the others pummel McCullough, carry him off and then return to the apartment, DeMott stared at her for a moment.

"Did it ever dawn on you that maybe you should get in your car and leave?" the detective asked her. "And maybe call the police and maybe call an ambulance to find this guy? Did that ever dawn on you to do that?"

"Yeah," Young replied softly.
"Why didn't you do it?" DeMott asked.
Young buried her head in her arms and started to cry. "I don't know," she sobbed. "I don't know."

After the shooting, Sean Cox says, he fell into a dumb panic.
"I was real scared," he recalls. "I didn't know what I was going to do. I just took off running into nowhere." With Paul Martinez following him, Cox blindly ran west, crossing Interstate 25 and then plunging through the frigid Platte River. Soaking wet, the pair staggered up to a house where a party was going on. They asked to use the phone and called a taxi. "I don't know where I was going to go," Cox says, "but I called a cab to get me out of there."

In the cab, heading east on Alameda Avenue, Cox says he spotted Anthony Garcia, Sarah Osness and Tonia Young in Osness's car. He flagged them down and told the taxi to pull over, then he and Martinez got into the car as well. No one said anything at first, Cox remembers. Eventually, the group decided it would be best to take Cox and Martinez to a motel, and they drove to the Traveler's Inn on East Sixth Avenue in Aurora. Osness, the only one who had any identification, rented the two a room.

"My mind was empty," Cox says. "I couldn't think of nothing. I was thinking about killing myself, but I couldn't do it. I don't have it in me. I can't do suicide. You know, with my values, I don't ever do that."

Cox and Martinez spent most of the day cooped up inside room 245. As night fell, Cox began to feel ill. "I was just totally out of it," he says. "I started getting sick. I threw up like maybe twice. My head started pounding, I had a fever, my palms was sweaty, I was shaky. I just crawled into bed and was just laying there. A couple people came to visit us in the motel [to] bring us some Kentucky Fried Chicken, some alcohol and some weed and stuff. To try to calm us down."

Cox woke up early the next day after a fitful sleep. Martinez, he says, called Osness, who told him she and her mother had talked to an attorney and that she was cooperating with the police in their investigation of Yarbrough's death. Martinez, figuring the police would quickly learn where he and Cox were hiding, called a girlfriend and asked her to give them a lift to a different location, perhaps a motel in the Thornton area, Cox says. The girlfriend arrived, and the three got in her car and began to head down Peoria Street.

The police, though, had already staked out the motel. "I was in the backseat laying down, to avoid being seen," Cox says. "Because I'd read in the paper that morning that they had a warrant for my arrest. From what I understand, cops just came from everywhere. A couple cop cars were following us, and they just called everybody in. The reinforcements just swarmed us. They had plenty of guns out. I was scared to death.

Cox says the arrest was a lot different from his previous encounters with police. "Just the intensity of it," he says. "There must have been like 20, 25 cops there with guns. I ain't never seen nothing like that, except like on the movies."

A few years ago, Sean Cox remembers, he met a woman who was a student at Colorado State University. The woman was on the CSU track team. Cox, who'd excelled in track in junior high school as well as in his juvenile boot camp, told her of his interest in the sport. The woman encouraged him to apply to CSU and gave him the name of the university's track coach.

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