Текст книги "Personal Justice"

Автор книги: Rayven T. Hill

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 27

Wednesday, 3:27 p.m.

ALFIE OWENS always protected his little sister—from other boys. But when no one else was around, Amber was the subject of as much torture and teasing as any eight-year-old could muster.

And like most boys he knew, he was quickly becoming an expert at making girls mad.

Amber, a year younger, was entrusted to his care each day as they walked home from school. This day was no different from any other.

Amber walked ahead, stepping carefully on each railway tie in perfect rhythm, one foot, and then the other, counting as she went.

One, two, three, four, five,

Once I caught a fish alive.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,

Then I let it go again.

Alfie stopped and crouched down. He had spied a small tree branch by the side of the tracks. He picked it up, grinned, and used it as a prod to hurry his sister along.

It didn’t take her long to get tired of it. She spun on her heel, put her hands on her hips, and faced her bully brother. “Alfie Owens, if you don’t stop that I’m going to tell Dad and he’ll give you a good lickin’.”

Alfie laughed. “I doubt that. We all know you get mad a lot about nothing. Who’s gonna believe you?”

Amber moved closer, her eyes flaring, and grabbed for the branch. Alfie laughed, backed away, and stuck out his tongue. “Scaredy Cat.”

She stopped and glared. “I’m not a-scared of you,” she said.

“Maybe I’ll tie you to the railroad tracks and let a train run over you,” he said, with as mean a face as he could muster. “Then you’ll be afraid.”

Amber stuck her nose in the air. “Leave me alone.” She spun around and marched away from her tormentor.

It wasn’t in him to quit. In three quick steps he held Amber’s long, auburn ponytail in his fist. He tugged, not too hard, but none too gently.

She’d had enough for one day.

She reached up and freed her hair from his grasp with a tug and a toss of her head, and then spun around. She reached to push him away but he stepped back. She stopped and crossed her arms as he taunted her. “Scaredy Cat. Scaredy Cat.”

Amber’s eyes flared and she stepped closer, but Alfie turned and loped ahead. She followed, angry now, not afraid of the bully.

A few steps in front of her, Alfie stopped short. The look on his face made her forget her anger as she followed his gaze toward the row of bushes along the side of the tracks.

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. She brought her hands to her face, covered her eyes, and peeked carefully between her fingers at the startling sight in front of them.

Alfie moved in a step. The branch in his hand no longer served as a torture device, but was now being used to prod at the foot of the man who lay on the ground beside a bush.

Alfie crouched down and looked a little closer. He was pretty sure the man was dead. The only other person he’d seen dead before was his grandmother and that was a long time ago. But his grandmother didn’t have flies buzzing around his head like this guy did.

And grandmother didn’t have blood all over her like this guy did.

Alfie looked up at Amber. She stepped back, her face still turned toward the body, her eyes clamped shut, her arms wrapped around herself.

He stood and turned toward her. “It’s a dead body,” he said. “Amber, don’t you wanna see the dead guy?”

Her eyes remained sealed and she shook her head vigorously.

“Scaredy Cat,” he said.

She turned her back on him as he crouched and continued his visual examination. The man’s eyes were open, staring at the sky, but Alfie was pretty sure the guy couldn’t see anything.

“I’m afraid,” Amber said, her voice quivering. “We’d better tell a grown-up.”

“Scaredy Cat,” he said, continuing to eye the body curiously. “The guy’s dead. He can’t hurt nobody.”

Amber walked away.

He crept up behind her, yelled “Boo”, and she jumped, spun toward him, and glared.

He leaned in and laughed. “Scaredy Cat.”

Amber turned and walked away, her head high.

He sighed, stood, and followed her.

Amber stopped. “There’s a house,” she said, pointing. “Maybe there’s somebody home.”

They were less than twenty feet from an access lane running from the tracks, past a house, and to the street beyond.

She led the way, Alfie following, across the back lawn to the house. He stepped past her, climbed up on the back porch, and banged on the door.

An old woman finally answered, a curious frown on her face. She was at least as old as Alfie’s mom and he figured she must be at least thirty-five. Maybe more.

Alfie looked her in the face, turned sideways, and pointed toward the tracks. “There’s a dead guy back there. I ain’t afraid but my sister is.”

The woman frowned, looked at Alfie, and then looked at Amber who was furiously nodding her head. “There really is,” Amber said. “He lies a lot but he’s telling the truth this time. I saw it too.”

The woman looked back and forth between the two kids and then raised her eyes toward the back of the property. She turned, slipped on a pair of shoes, and stepped out onto the back porch. “Show me,” she said, her tone revealing she wasn’t certain whether or not to believe the far-fetched story.

Alfie marched off, leading the way. Amber stayed close at the woman’s side as they followed him across the lawn and up the lane. He stopped and pointed.

The woman gasped, took a step back, seized Amber by the arm, and half-dragged her to the house.

Alfie took a last glance at the man on the ground and then turned and followed, swishing the stick through the air and wondering if all girls were scaredy cats like these two.

Chapter 28

Wednesday, 3:54 p.m.

RHPD WAS NOTIFIED when the 9-1-1 call came in and cruisers were dispatched immediately to secure the scene. Hank was informed, and by the time he and King pulled to the shoulder of the road behind a cruiser, its lights still flashing blue and red, the CSI van had already arrived.

The access lane leading to the tracks was taped off, and the main focus of attention seemed to be near a group of bushes, down the lane, along the side of the railroad tracks.

The coroner’s van pulled in behind Hank’s vehicle and Nancy Pietek stepped from the passenger side. She joined the detectives. “Lovely afternoon, Hank, King,” she said.

“Nice day to be alive,” Hank answered.

King nodded, grunted, and said nothing.

The small group went up the lane where investigators did what they do best. Trace evidence was being photographed, collected, and documented. Most of it would be meaningless, but the search for any elusive piece of telltale evidence would be thorough.

Hank approached Rod Jameson, lead CSI. “What do we have?” he asked, glancing at the body on the ground a few feet away.

Jameson consulted his clipboard. “Thirty-three year old male. Looks like he was shot in the chest. I’ll defer that to Nancy. According to his driver’s license, his name’s Michael Norton.”

Hank whistled. “Michael Norton?” He moved closer to the body and leaned over. There was no mistake; the pale white face was that of Michael Norton. The body lay flat on its back, facing upwards, the arms resting at each side. He looked like he might be sleeping, except his eyes were open, and he was very, very dead.

Nancy stepped over beside Hank and crouched down. She pulled aside the red, plaid shirt, soaked with crimson, and made an examination of his chest wound.

“Gunshot wound to the heart,” she said. “Small caliber weapon.” She pointed to the shirt. “Appears to be gunshot residue on the front of the shirt. As close as I can guess right now, he was shot from a distance of eighteen to twenty-four inches.”

“Close up and personal,” Hank said.

Nancy rolled the body slightly and examined the back. “Livor mortis shows he might’ve been killed here, or dropped here within a few minutes of death.” She pointed to a light, purplish discoloration of the skin. “See how the blood has begun to settle. It starts to pool a few minutes after death and congeals after a few hours.”

Jameson had come over, listening to Nancy’s report. “It makes sense he was killed elsewhere, Hank,” he said, pointing to the laneway. “We found evidence the body was dragged from over there. And there are trace amounts of blood on the ground. That would indicate he was dead already.”

“Or at least, mortally wounded,” King added.

“I’d say he was already dead at the time the body was deposited here,” Nancy said. “The shot would’ve killed him immediately.”

King turned to Jameson. “Probably brought here in a vehicle. Any tire tracks?”

Jameson shrugged. “They’re still looking closely at that, but the ground is hard. It’s possible, but unlikely.”

“Time of death?” Hank asked Nancy.

“Rigor mortis hasn’t started to set in,” Nancy replied. “I’d put the approximate time of death at two to three hours ago.”

“So he was dumped here in broad daylight,” King said.

Nancy nodded. “Almost certainly.”

Hank crouched a little lower and rolled the body halfway over. “Looky here,” he said. “He’s carrying a weapon.” He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket, worked them on, and then carefully removed a pistol from behind the back of the victim’s belt. He held it up.

“A .38-caliber revolver,” King said.

“Werner Shaft was killed by a .38,” Hank said. He stood and turned to Jameson. “Better bag this.”

The weapon was placed in an evidence bag, sealed, and labeled.

Hank crouched down again and patted the pockets of the victim’s pants.

“We removed his wallet,” Jameson said. “And we found a cell phone in his front pocket.”

Hank stood. “Where’s the phone?”

Jameson turned away and returned a moment later with an evidence bag containing a cell phone. Hank removed it carefully. “It’s not locked,” he said. A moment later he looked up at King. “Last call was to Annie Lincoln. 12:13 p.m..” He dropped it back into the bag and handed it to Jameson. “Looks like he was killed not long after he made that call.”

“So, if this guy killed Shaft,” King said. “Who killed him—and why?”

“Good question,” Hank said, and turned to Jameson. “Who found the body?”

“A couple of kids.”

“Kids?”

Jameson pointed. “They’re waiting in the house over there. They were walking the tracks on their way home from school, and there he was.”

“Are their parents around?”

“The mother’s on her way here from work. Father couldn’t come.”

Hank motioned to King. “We’d better go talk to them.”

They walked to the house where Hank tapped on the back door. He introduced himself and King when a woman answered. She led them into the kitchen and motioned toward a boy and a girl, sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over steaming hot chocolate.

“This is Alfie and Amber Owens,” she said. She motioned toward chairs, took a seat at the far end of the table, and sat quietly, her hands in her lap.

King leaned against the fridge while Hank pulled back a chair and sat forward, resting his arms on the table. He looked at the girl, then the boy. “I’m Detective Corning,” he said. “And this is Detective King.”

The boy glanced at King then back at Hank, his eyes widening. “Real live detectives?”

Hank chuckled. “As real as they get.”

“Are we in any trouble?” the girl asked in a low voice, her brown eyes narrowed.

“Of course not,” Hank said. “In fact, we want to thank you for waiting to talk to us.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you see the dead guy?” Alfie asked.

“Yes, we saw him,” Hank said. “And I only have a couple questions for you.”

“Fire away.”

“Did you touch the … man, or move anything around him?”

The boy frowned.

“Alfie touched him,” Amber said.

Hank’s head whipped toward the boy. “Did you move him?”

Alfie swatted Amber on the arm. “I only touched his foot with a stick. That’s all.”

“That’s the truth,” Amber said, pulling her arm back and frowning at her brother. “I saw him.”

Hank suppressed a smile. “That’s okay. It’s always better never to touch anything and call the police right away. That helps us a lot.”

“I was a-scared,” Amber said.

Alfie straightened and pushed back his shoulders. “She’s just a girl,” he said. “They get scared real easy.”

Hank nodded as if he understood and then looked at Amber. “It’s okay to be frightened.” He screwed up his face. “I get scared sometimes too.”

Amber giggled, raised her chin, and gave Alfie a tight smile.

King shook his head, rolled his eyes, and went back outside.

Hank removed a notepad and pen from his inner pocket. “I need your mom’s name and phone number in case I have to talk to you again.”

He wrote down the information Alfie dictated and Amber confirmed it was the truth. He turned to the woman. “I assume you didn’t touch anything at the scene?”

“Land sakes, no,” the woman said. “We came straight here and called the police.”

Hank nodded and flipped his pad closed. “That’s all I need.” He put the pad away and pulled out two business cards, handing one to the woman, and one to Amber. “Give this to your mom.” He pointed to his phone number. “She can call me here anytime if she has any questions.”

Amber took the card, tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, and gave the detective a wide smile.

Hank stood, nodded at Alfie and winked at Amber. “Thanks, guys.” He went back outside and joined King. “Let’s go,” he said. “That’s all we’re gonna get from here.”

Chapter 29

Wednesday, 4:36 p.m.

ANNIE WAS IN the office when the doorbell rang. She peeked through the front window, saw Hank’s car parked at the curb, and went to the front door.

“I came to pick up the recording of Michael Norton,” Hank said, when Annie opened the door.

She motioned for him to come in. He stepped inside, followed Annie into the living room, and took a seat on the couch. Annie went to the office, retrieved the recording, and brought it out to him.

Jake came into the room and sat on the other end of the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table.

Hank cleared his throat and spoke. “I think I should let you know; Michael Norton’s body was found.”

Annie’s mouth dropped open and she stared at Hank in disbelief. “I just talked to him.” She moved to the armchair, sat and leaned forward, waiting for Hank to continue.

“He was killed shortly after he called you,” Hank said. “I just came from there, dropped King off at the precinct, and I’m on my way to see Tammy Norton now. But I wanted to listen to this recording first.”

“What happened? Where was the body found?” Jake asked.

“Down by the railroad tracks near an access road. It appears he was shot elsewhere and then dumped there.”

“He was afraid for his life,” Annie said. “That’s why he called me.”

Hank stood. “Maybe we’d better play the recording. I’d like to hear it before I visit Mrs. Norton.”

Annie stood and led the way to the office. She took a seat and started the recording. Jake stood by the desk while Hank sat and listened silently.

“The final known words of Michael Norton,” Hank said when it was finished playing. “And he’s accusing Rocky Shaft of his murder.”

“Is he right about the possibility of planted evidence?” Jake asked.

“It’s possible,” Hank said. “And it wouldn’t be the first time someone was framed. His point about the shell casing with his print on it is logical. The idea Shaft borrowed his car is a little harder to swallow, but not impossible.”

“He certainly predicted his own death accurately,” Annie said.

“But he’s wrong about one thing,” Hank interrupted.

“What’s that?”

“The case doesn’t get closed by his death, as he said. As long as we have evidence pointing elsewhere, we’ll continue to investigate.”

“True enough,” Jake said. “But would you have that evidence without this recording?”

Hank pursed his lips and said thoughtfully, “Perhaps not. All the evidence for Werner Shaft’s murder points toward Norton. However, once we find Norton’s killer, that evidence might point elsewhere.”

“Toward Rocky Shaft, possibly.”

“Perhaps,” Hank said, a deep frown on his brow. “But there’s even more evidence against Norton now. He had a .38-caliber gun on him, the same caliber that killed Werner Shaft. Ballistics will tell whether or not it’s the same gun.”

“If Rocky Shaft killed Norton, then he could’ve planted it.”

“True enough,” Hank said. “But if the crown is convinced of Norton’s guilt, they can’t prosecute a dead man, and the real killer might go free.”

“Then we have to find out who killed Norton,” Annie said.

“Norton also wore a red, plaid shirt,” Hank said. “The witness to Shaft’s murder stated that’s what the killer wore. Granted, that’s only circumstantial evidence, but it’s one more piece.”

“What about Punky Brown or whatever his name is?” Jake asked. “Could he have had a hand in either one of these killings?”

Hank shook his head. “He has a solid alibi for Shaft’s murder. He was with his parole officer. And he was in our custody when Norton was killed.”

“What about that drug money heist the three of them were involved in?” Annie asked. “Maybe they were found out and they’re being picked off one by one.”

“There’s a problem with that theory,” Jake put in. “Why would they frame Norton?”

Hank nodded. “It seems like a lot of trouble for no good reason. And it would be hard for them to set up a frame. They would need access to Norton’s gun to place his fingerprints at the scene. And what about the car, and the plaid shirt? It seems to me, if it were the drug dealers getting their revenge, they would need to know a lot about Norton to set up such a solid frame job.”

“So, we’re back to Rocky Shaft then,” Annie said.

“We certainly have to check him out a lot closer.”

“The real killer—or killers—might be someone else entirely,” Jake added.

“That’s the thing,” Hank said. “We don’t know for sure if we’re looking for one killer, or two.”

“Michael Norton claimed his wife knew nothing about the heist,” Annie said. “And Maria Shaft claimed not to know of any relationship between her husband and Norton. Hank, how true do you think that is?”

Hank shrugged. “I see no evidence against that, but it’s a hard thing to prove.” He paused. “But I’m not making any assumptions either way.”

“I’m thinking out loud here,” Jake said. “But if Norton killed Shaft, then was Norton killed out of revenge? Or did one person kill both?”

Annie said, “If it was one person, why go to the trouble of framing Norton, just to kill him?”

“To throw suspicion away from the real killer,” Hank said.

“Then why kill Norton? Why not leave the frame in place? By killing Norton, it keeps a case open that otherwise could’ve been closed.”

Hank leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. “We’re missing something here for sure. A lot of this doesn’t make sense, and I can’t come up with a clear motive for either murder.”

“It might come straight back to money,” Jake said. “I’d say it has something to do with the money from the heist. I don’t see any other motive.”

“If so,” Hank said. “Rocky Shaft is either a person of interest, or his life’s in danger too.”

Annie stood and paced the floor. Something didn’t make sense with all of this. She stopped and turned to Hank. “If the killer was convinced he had a solid frame in place, why try to kill us?”

“Because he was afraid we might prove otherwise,” Jake said.

Annie nodded. “Maria Shaft hired us. Rocky Shaft knew all about that, and it might’ve given him a reason to get rid of us. If he framed Norton, he wouldn’t want us digging into anything.”

“Sure, that’s possible,” Hank said. “But is Rocky Shaft stupid enough to threaten Norton, and then go out and kill him?”

Annie laughed out loud and covered her mouth. “Pardon me for laughing. I know there’s nothing funny about this, but it seems we’re going around in circles.”

“The forensic report might give us a lead to follow,” Hank said. “And when I hear from the ME, perhaps she might have something enlightening.”

“I hope so,” Annie said. “And I’ll give it some more thought. We’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”

Hank stood and looked at his watch. “I’d better go see Tammy Norton now.”

Chapter 30

Wednesday, 5:11 p.m.

HANK PULLED to the curb in front of the Norton house and shut off his vehicle. He wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes. This was the part of his job he dreaded the most; notifying family members was always difficult and awkward, and it never got easier with practice.

He got out of his vehicle, passed Tammy’s Ford Probe parked in the driveway, and made his way up the path to the front door. He paused a moment, his finger on the doorbell, took a few quick breaths, and rang the bell.

Tammy Norton recognized him when she answered the door. “Good evening, Detective Corning,” she said, a questioning look on her face.

“May I come in for a moment?” Hank asked.

Tammy stepped aside and motioned him in. Hank took an uneasy step forward and looked toward the front room. “May we sit down?”

She led him in and waved a hand toward the couch. He waited until she sat in a matching chair before he took a seat.

Hank leaned forward, fidgeted with his hands, and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Norton …” he began and hesitated.

She tilted her head slightly to one side. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I have to inform you, we found your husband’s body this afternoon.”

Tammy’s eyes widened and she stared at Hank, unblinking. Then a frown took over her brow. “Are you sure it was him?”

“We’re sure,” Hank said. “We identified him from a photo. He was carrying his wallet as well.”

Tammy was silent a moment, the frown remaining. Then she spoke, her voice quivering. “How … how did it happen? When?”

“I’m afraid he was murdered, Mrs. Norton.”

She took a sharp breath. “Murdered?”

Hank nodded. “The medical examiner estimated the time of death as a few hours ago. She’ll have a more accurate time later.”

Tammy closed her eyes and dropped her head back. She took a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes again and looking at Hank.

Then the tears came, and she wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. Then more tears.

Hank had spied a box of tissues on a stand at the end of the couch when he came in. He was in the habit of keeping an eye out for them at a time like this. They always came in handy. He stood and picked up the box, then leaned forward and offered it to Tammy.

She took a tissue, dabbed at her eyes, and then blew her nose lightly. “Do you know who … killed him?” she asked, looking at Hank through reddening eyes.

“Not yet, but we’ll do our best to find out.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, forcing out more tears. She blotted them away.

Hank asked softly, “Mrs. Norton, would you have any idea who might’ve done this?”

She shook her head. “No idea.” Then she frowned and added quickly, “Maybe Rocky Shaft?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw him on the news. He blames my husband for his brother’s murder, and he said he’d kill Michael if he got ahold of him.”

“We’re looking into Rocky Shaft,” Hank asked. “Is there anyone else you can think of?”

She bit her lip and looked toward the ceiling a moment. “I can’t think of anyone. My husband stayed out of trouble after he was released, and he worked hard. Everyone liked him, and he got along with his coworkers as far as I know.”

Hank looked closely at Mrs. Norton’s face. He saw the bruises Annie mentioned, one by her left eye, and one on her chin. She didn’t appear to be taking pains to cover them, her secret now exposed. He decided not to mention it to the grieving widow; it might make her defensive and cause her undue pain.

Tammy narrowed her eyes. “Detective, I hope you’re convinced now my husband didn’t kill Werner Shaft.” She rocked back and forth in her chair, wringing her hands. “I told you yesterday, my husband’s life might be in danger.” Her voice held an accusing tone.

“I understand,” Hank said. “And we did everything we could to find your husband.” He sighed. “But we couldn’t protect him if we couldn’t find him.”

Tammy sat up straight. “If you could have proven his innocence, he would’ve come forward, and he wouldn’t be dead now.”

Hank sat back and nodded slowly. “We did all we could, Mrs. Norton. I’m sorry about your husband. I truly am.”

“Then find out who did this. Find out who killed my husband.” Tammy’s voice had a hint of anger in it. “He’s dead and can’t defend himself, so it’s up to you.”

Hank took a couple of slow breaths. “I’ll do all I can to get at the full truth. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”

Her face softened and she dropped her head, sobbing. Through short, quick breaths, she managed to say, “I’m sorry, Detective. I know it’s not your fault.”

Hank remained quiet. He was used to taking the blame on occasion and didn’t take it personally. It was all part of the grieving process.

But he couldn’t rule out Norton as a murderer yet. Norton was killed long after Shaft, and he had motive, means, and opportunity—not to mention the mountain of evidence against him.

The sobs subsided and Hank asked, “Mrs. Norton, did your husband contact you in any way since Monday?”

The pain in her eyes seemed to grow more intense. “He went to work as usual and that was the last I saw him.”

“He never called you?”

“No.”

Hank considered telling her about her husband’s phone call to Annie and then decided it would serve no purpose. It would have to come out eventually, but now wasn’t the time.

Tammy raised her head, took a shaky breath, and asked, “How was my husband killed?”

“He was shot. Once in the heart. He would’ve died immediately and not suffered.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, the tears welling up again. “Where … where did you find him?”

“Down by the railway tracks. Investigators are still processing the scene, but it appears he was killed elsewhere and then taken down an access road and left near the tracks.”

“Dumped like a piece of garbage,” Tammy said, her lower lip quivering.

“It appears that way.” Hank fidgeted uncomfortably. “They’ve taken him to the city morgue.”

Tammy focused her pain-filled eyes on Hank. “They won’t have to perform an autopsy, will they? I’d hate to think of my husband …” Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t want my husband to go through that.”

“It might not be necessary. The clear cause of death was a gunshot wound, but I’m afraid I can’t guarantee you there won’t be an autopsy. That’ll be up to the medical examiner to determine.”

“I don’t know what good it’ll do, but if it will help find Michael’s killer, then …”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to the ME about that. In the meantime, you’ll need to identify the body,” Hank said, and added quickly, “There’s no doubt it’s him. It’s just a formality.”

Tammy nodded. “I need to see him again.” She wiped away a tear. “I’m having a hard time accepting this. I guess seeing him will help.”

“I’ll contact you as soon as the body’s ready,” Hank said, as he stood. “In the meantime, I’m giving this my full attention. I’ll be sure to let you know anything we find out.”

Tammy stood. “Thank you, Detective. Please find my husband’s killer and prove his innocence.”

“I’ll do all I can,” Hank assured her. He made his way to the front door, let himself out, and Mrs. Shaft closed the door behind him.

He was glad the most uncomfortable part was over, but now he had to find a killer—or two.