Текст книги "Personal Justice"

Автор книги: Rayven T. Hill

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 24

Wednesday, 12:01 p.m.

ANNIE TOOK the last bite of her sandwich, put the plate in the sink, and started a pot of coffee. She put together a lunch for Jake and slid it into the fridge; he’d be hungry when he got back. She poured a cup of coffee, went into the office and sat, staring blankly at her notes and sipping her drink. She didn’t have a whole lot of ideas.

She was startled out of her thoughts when the phone on the desk rang. The caller ID was unknown and she picked it up. “Lincoln Investigations.”

The caller hesitated. She heard light breathing, then, “This is Michael Norton.”

Annie spun her chair around and looked at a piece of electrical equipment on a shelf behind her. The glowing red light assured her the call was being recorded. She turned back to the desk.

“This is Annie Lincoln.” She fumbled for words, unsure what to say. “Where are you, Mr. Norton?”

Another hesitation. “I can’t tell you that, but I … I’ve been watching the news. They’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a murderer, Mrs. Lincoln.”

“Then why don’t you turn yourself in and clear your name?”

“Because I wouldn’t last a day. I’d be killed like Werner Shaft was.”

“Killed? By who?”

“I can’t tell you that either. I can only tell you I’m innocent and I want you to prove it.”

“If you’re innocent, Mr. Norton, my husband and I will do whatever we can, but we have nothing to go on. I’ll need your complete participation and you’ll have to tell me everything.”

There was a pause on the line, silence for so long Annie thought the caller hung up.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“I’m here.” A deep breath, and then, “I can tell you this. Werner Shaft, his brother Rocky, and I, were involved in a heist a few months ago. It was drug money. Rocky got wind of a big deal going down, so we teamed up and intercepted the money. We agreed to put it away for two years. Not touch it until everything blew over.”

“So you think they found out who did it and they’re after all three of you?” Annie asked.

“No. They had no idea who it was.” Norton sighed. “But I believe Rocky got antsy for the money. He was impatient and was always after us to split it up. We refused. I believe he killed his brother and now he’s after me. He’s greedy that way. He wants it all for himself and he doesn’t want to wait.”

“But to kill his own brother?” Annie said.

“Worse things have taken place over money.” He sighed again. “I wished I’d never gotten involved with those two. They were both bad news from the start. As you probably know, Werner and I did some time in prison together. It was through his carelessness we got caught, and I should’ve stayed as far away from both of them as I could.”

“Mr. Norton, someone hired a hitman to kill my husband and me. Was it you?”

“Why would I do that? I want you to prove my innocence. I’m tired of running for my life. If it means going back to prison for the heist—fine, but I’m not going down for murder.”

Annie came to the only possible conclusion. “Do you think Rocky Shaft is out to kill you?”

“Probably. He killed Werner Shaft and he’s after me. And now he’s after you to keep you from finding out the truth.”

“What about the evidence against you?” Annie asked.

“What evidence?”

“A shell casing with your prints on it.”

Norton chuckled. “Planted. It wouldn’t have been hard for Rocky to get ahold of that at one time or another. Probably took it right out of my gun. We hung around from time to time. Had a few beers together, things like that. He had a lot of opportunity.”

“There was a witness that identified your car.”

“Again, not so hard. My wife was babysitting that night and I was at home. My car was parked in the driveway. He could easily have borrowed it without me knowing. Did the witness get the license plate number?”

“No, just the make and model.”

“Then it could’ve been another car the same as mine. Possibly picked it up somewhere. Or borrowed it for the occasion from an unsuspecting person.”

“Why didn’t he kill you as well, or at least attempt to?” Annie asked.

“That wouldn’t serve his purpose. He was using me as a patsy for Shaft’s murder. Kill two birds with one stone, and then grab the money.”

“What about your wife?” Annie asked.

“Tammy doesn’t know anything about this at all.”

“We talked to Tammy, Mr. Norton. She finally admitted you assaulted her on occasion.”

Norton sighed. “We argued a lot and sometimes things got physical. I’ll admit that, but there’re a few marks on me as well.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“You don’t have to. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Fair enough,” Annie said. “But how am I going to prove your innocence?”

“By proving Rocky Shaft’s guilt.”

“Of course, but all the evidence is stacked against you. Nothing against him.”

“There has to be something.”

“Mr. Norton,” Annie said. “At the beginning of our conversation, you said you feared for your life. But if Rocky only wants to frame you for murder, why the fear?”

“Because, like you said, all the evidence is stacked against me. With me dead, and perhaps my body buried somewhere forever, the case will be closed, and my guilt will be proven as far as the police are concerned.”

“So Rocky frames you, you disappear, and it’s game over. Case closed.”

“Exactly.”

Annie had a lot to think about now. Assuming Michael Norton was being totally truthful with her, she needed to find some evidence against Rocky Shaft. That was like fighting an uphill battle, with everyone convinced Norton was the murderer.

“Leave it with me,” she said. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“One favor, Mrs. Lincoln?”

“Yes?”

“Leave my wife out of this. I don’t want her to be concerned for my safety.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll pay your fees once you clear me. Don’t worry about that.”

“We’re already being paid by Maria Shaft to look into this.”

“Yes, I know. I saw that on the news, but it’s worth it to me if you clear my name.”

“I’ll do my best,” Annie said.

Norton thanked her and hung up. She put the phone down thoughtfully. This was an interesting development indeed.

She picked up the phone again and called Hank’s cell.

“Detective Hank Corning.”

“Hank, I got a phone call from Michael Norton. He claims he’s innocent.” She gave him a brief rundown on the conversation. “I recorded it and I’ll get a copy to you immediately.”

Hank whistled. “That could put a whole new light on things. Hold onto it and I’ll pick it up as soon as I can.”

“I’ll make a copy right now and have it ready,” Annie said.

Chapter 25

Wednesday, 12:49 p.m.

AS SOON AS JAKE arrived home, Annie stepped into the living room and called him into the office. He could tell something was up by the look on her face.

He followed her in, eased into the guest chair, and sat dumbfounded as she played back the phone call from Michael Norton.

“I’ve got a copy ready for Hank,” she said. “We’ll see what he makes of it.”

Jake sat quietly a moment, trying to digest what he heard. “It all sounds logical,” he said at last. “And if it’s the whole truth, then Rocky Shaft has covered his tracks pretty well.”

“I’m sure he slipped up somewhere. We have to find out where,” Annie said thoughtfully, and then her face brightened. “How’s Sammy?”

“He’s good. He sends his greetings. He’s still living in the same castle, and he says—” His voice trailed off, interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. It was Sammy Fisher.

“I have some good news for you, Detective Jake.”

Jake put the phone on speaker. “Already?”

Sammy chuckled. “I’ve been living out here a long time,” he said. “I make it my business to get to know people, and I know how to ask subtle questions. I knew exactly who to turn to for answers this time.”

“What did you find out?” Jake asked.

“You’re right about Punky Brown being a two-bit hood. He’s not shy about making it known he aspires to be a hitman. People I talked to said he just got out of prison where he claimed to learn a thing or two. He’s been putting the word out among the darker criminal elements—you want somebody done? Call Punky.” Sammy laughed. “Sounds like a cheap business card.”

Jake waited patiently until Sammy decided to get to the point.

“Folks tell me he hangs around a place called Smokie’s Bar a lot?”

“Smokie’s Bar?”

“You know the place?”

“Sure do,” Jake said. “The victim and the suspect hung around there as well. That must be where the killer got in touch with him.”

“I’ve been playing around with the phone,” Sammy said. “I figured out how to take a picture.”

“Tell me you got a shot of Brown.”

“Yup. Sure did. And I figured out how to send it to you.” Jake heard breathing as Sammy paused, then, “Tell me if you get it.”

A moment later, Jake said, “Got it.” He turned the phone so Annie could see the photo of a man, standing with a cue in one hand, watching someone take a shot at the pool table.

The photo was taken from several feet away, but Brown would be recognizable anywhere. His large nose and gaunt, sunken cheeks most prominent, with his dark, ragged goatee a sharp contrast to his nearly bald head. He wore a faded, denim jacket and dark pants.

Annie squinted at the phone. “It could be him. I didn’t see him well enough to be sure.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Jake said into the phone. “Great shot. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me. I’m glad to help. Just catch the guy who’s been shooting at my friends and I’ll be well paid.”

“I’ll let you know what happens, Sammy,” Jake said. “We have to get together some time soon. And Annie sends her greetings.”

A chuckle came from the phone. “You know where I live.”

Jake hung up and stood to his feet. “Brown might still be at Smokie’s. I’ll be back soon.” In two long strides he was out of the room, heading for the front door before Annie could say a word.

In a moment he was back, a crooked grin on his face. “Do you know where Smokie’s Bar is?”

Annie found the printout in her file and wrote down the address. “Be careful,” she said, handing it to him. “Maybe you should call Hank.”

“If I find the guy, I’ll call him,” Jake said, as he charged from the room.

He raced from the house, jumped in the Firebird, and in a few minutes, he pulled up half a block away from Smokie’s Bar. He stepped out, walked up the sidewalk, and stopped in front of a windowless building. A rustic, wooden sign above sported the name of the establishment. A notice on the door promised half-price beer all morning.

Jake tugged open the large wooden door and stepped cautiously inside. The last thing he wanted was to be seen by Punky Brown, if the killer was still here.

He was greeted by a dimly lit, smoke-filled room. An endless bar ran along the near wall, a vast array of spirits displayed behind. Peanut shells and sawdust littered the floor. Most tables sat empty, some occupied with people in various stages of inebriation. Three or four patrons perched on barstools, hanging over their drinks. Smoke burned his eyes. Lively country music filled his ears.

At the far end of the large room, hanging lights lit up a handful of pool tables. Players leaned in, and well-aimed cues stroked the balls. They spun across the table, colliding with a click, click, some thudding into pockets.

Several bystanders sat bug-eyed, engrossed in the games, letting out occasional howls at a shot gone wrong, or a chorus of cheers when one went right.

Jake nodded at the bartender and eased closer to the pool tables. As far as he could tell, Brown was not there. No one paid him any attention as he moved a few steps closer and looked around.

Brown was gone.

He spun back and approached the bartender. “I’m looking for Punky Brown.”

The proprietor wiped his hands on his off-white apron, squinted across the room, and shrugged. “He was here a minute ago. Guess he just left.”

Jake looked around for the men’s room, spied the sign at the far side, and strode across the room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. No one was there.

He turned back and headed for the entrance, waving his thanks to the bartender as he strode by. He hurried out to the sidewalk and looked both ways. An old man hobbled up the street to his left, a couple of women to his right.

The sound of a motorcycle being kick-started caught his ears. He turned toward the sound and saw a familiar denim jacket, fifty feet away, past the old man.

It was him.

It was the guy who tried to kill Annie and him, and he was getting away.

Jake’s long legs sprang into action and he raced down the sidewalk as the bike eased forward. Five seconds later, his big hand had a fistful of denim, dragging the rider from the motorcycle. The bike went down and spun in front of an oncoming car. A horn blared and the vehicle swerved in time.

Jake dragged the man to his feet and whirled him around. His baseball cap soared away revealing a bald head, a gaunt face, and cold green eyes, widening with recognition.

It was Punky Brown, and he was reaching under his jacket.

Jake grasped him by the wrist, yanked his arm back, and a pistol clattered to the asphalt. Punky looked down at the weapon, then back up at Jake, his face contorted with anger. He struggled in vain to free himself from the viselike grip now holding both arms.

“Let me go,” the killer demanded through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with hatred.

Jake spun Punky back around, twisted his arms behind his back, and held them solidly in place with one hand. With the other, he did a quick frisk, checking for more weapons.

“You’re under arrest,” Jake said, forcing him to the sidewalk, face down. He held Punky solidly in place with a knee on his back, slipped out his cell phone, and called Hank’s number.

“I have our wannabe hitman,” Jake said when Hank answered. He gave the cop a quick briefing.

Hank was amazed and almost speechless. When he recovered, he said, “I can’t come right now, but I’ll contact dispatch and get the closest car there immediately. I’ll see you at the precinct. Don’t let him get away.”

Jake grinned. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Chapter 26

Wednesday, 1:41 p.m.

HANK SLID HIS chair back and watched as Punky Brown was led into the precinct. The would-be killer had a sullen, defiant look on his face. His chin jutted out, his eyes darting furiously about the room as if looking for an escape route.

Hank stood and intercepted the procession. “Take him to interview room one,” he said to the officer holding Brown firmly by the arm. “I’ll be right in.”

Punky glared at him briefly, then looked away as the officer marched him toward the back of the precinct.

Hank turned and grinned at Jake, a couple of steps behind. “Nice job.”

“It was him or us,” Jake said. “I had no choice.”

“Annie’ll be pleased.”

“I called her on the way over. She’s happy she doesn’t have to wear the vest anymore. Frankly, I am too.” He slugged himself in the chest. “Can’t wait to get this thing off.”

Hank chuckled. “Let’s see what I can get from this guy,” he said, and turned to Detective King who had wandered over. “Does he look familiar to you?”

King shook his head. “Never seen him before.”

Hank led the way across the floor and down a hallway at the back of the large room. He pushed open a door and turned to Jake. “You can watch from here.”

Jake went inside and King followed Hank into an adjacent room. The walls were bare, painted an off-white. A camera hung in one corner, pointed toward the center of the room. It would record everything said and done.

To their left, the upper half of the wall consisted of a large, two-way mirror. Jake would be watching with interest from the other side.

Punky Brown sat on a bench on the far side of a metal table, facing the mirror, his hands cuffed to a ring embedded in the table top. He glanced up briefly as the detectives entered, his surly expression unchanged.

King stood at the end of the table, spread his legs, and crossed his arms. Hank pulled back one of the chairs on the near side, dropped a file folder on the table, and sat down. He stared at the suspect. Punky stared back, his chin in the air.

Hank opened the folder, leafed through it casually, and then looked back up. “What’s your name?”

No answer.

“According to your driver’s license, your real name is Francis Spankly.” Hank grinned up at King. “Not the kind of name you would expect from such a tough guy as this.”

King leaned over the table and glared at Spankly. “The thing is, he’s not so tough without a gun in his hand.” The cop straightened up and laughed. “Are you, Mr. Spankly?”

The suspect attempted to jump to his feet, the cuffs stopping him from getting more than halfway. He glared up at King, hatred in his eyes. The detective put both hands on the suspect’s shoulders, forcing him back down. “Stay there, punk.”

Hank leaned in. “Who hired you to kill the Lincolns?”

Spankly spoke for the first time. His squeaky high-pitched voice came out as a whine. “I don’t know them.”

“Annie Lincoln knows you,” Hank said. “She can identify you as the man who entered her home, attempting to kill her.”

Spankly looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t me. Probably somebody who looks like me.”

King laughed. “Nobody looks like you, Spankly.”

Hank knew lying to a suspect about evidence often got results, and he had no qualms about it in this case. “We have a slug from your pistol. As soon as ballistics compares it to your gun, we’ve got you.”

“I lent my gun to somebody. Must’ve been him.”

Hank glanced at the folder in front of him. “You fired on officers when you tried to kill Jake Lincoln. We have shell casings with your prints on them. That puts you at the scene.”

Spankly glared at Hank a moment, his eyes narrowed, then he looked away and was silent.

Hank leaned back. “We all know it was you, Spankly. But here’s the good thing. Maybe because you’re so inept, or maybe from sheer luck, but as far as we know, you never killed anyone.”

Spankly squeaked again, “That’s right. I never killed nobody.”

“Then all you have to do is tell us who hired you to kill the Lincolns.”

The suspect stared silently toward the mirror as if seeing right through it, his face flushed with anger—or was it fear? Or both?

King leaned in again, grabbed Spankly by two hands full of denim, and pulled him from his seat. The cuffs reached their limit and clunked against the metal ring. King glared down into the cold, green eyes from a distance of six inches. “You’re going down for two counts of attempted murder if you don’t talk to us.” King let go and Spankly dropped back into his seat.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” Spankly said, a sullen look on his face.

King shrugged. “That’s nothing. Wait until I get started.”

Hank leaned forward and spoke gently. “I think it would be safer for you if you talk to us.” He jerked a thumb toward King. “Detective King is kind of hard to control sometimes.”

The door opened and an officer poked his head in, a sheet of paper in his hand. He gave it to Hank and went back out, closing the door behind him.

Hank studied the paper, smiled, and looked back at Spankly. “Says here you just got out of prison. Paroled for good behavior. That’s hard to believe, but anything’s possible.” He laid the paper carefully on the table and leaned in. “Here’s the thing, Spankly. I could put you away right now for parole violations. Consorting with known ex-cons. Carrying a concealed weapon. That would give you an automatic three more years.”

“I say let’s do it and be done with this guy,” King said.

A hint of fear appeared in Spankly’s eyes. The cuffs tinkled as he fidgeted with his hands.

“Last chance before I turn you over to King,” Hank said. “Who hired you?”

“I don’t know,” Spankly said.

King leaned down again. “How can you not know?”

“I didn’t see him.”

Hank lifted a brow. “Then how did he hire you?”

“I got a phone call. Offered me five large to off the two of them.”

“And how did you get paid?”

Spankly shrugged. “Didn’t yet. After the job’s done.”

King laughed. “You’re a real businessman, aren’t you?”

“He said he knew me from prison. He dropped some names and it seemed like I could trust him.” Spankly’s head swung back and forth between Hank and King. “He said he would call me again when the job was done and arrange for payment.”

“And you have no idea who it was?” King asked.

Spankly shook his head violently. “No idea.”

“You’d better not be lying. If you are, we’ll know, and you’ll find out pretty quick we know.” King leaned in close to reinforce the threat.

“I ain’t lying,” Spankly whined. “And I didn’t kill nobody.”

“You’re sure it was a man?” Hank asked.

Spankly nodded vigorously.

“What was his voice like?”

“Normal voice, I guess.”

“Like yours?” King asked, and then threw his head back and laughed.

Spankly said nothing, his eyes burning with renewed hatred.

Hank stood, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

“Don’t go anywhere,” King said, laughed again, and followed Hank from the room.

Jake turned as Hank opened the adjoining room and stepped inside. The cop glanced through the glass. Spankly sat quietly, his head down, his hands clasped together.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t find out who hired him,” Hank said. “But at least we know he’s the one who tried to kill you. You two should be safe.”

“Safe for now,” Jake said. “But whoever hired him might find another way.”

Hank nodded. “Unfortunately, you might be right.”