Justice for Hire Page 10

  Hank wandered back into the office. Nancy was talking to Jameson and turned toward Hank as he asked, “Can you tell me anything other than what we suspect?”

  “It doesn’t look like it, Hank. I’ll let you know.”

  Hank nodded. He hoped she would find something. He needed anything that would give him a break in this puzzling case. Anything at all.

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday, August 24th, 1:54 PM

  LISA KRUNK SAT BACK in the passenger’s seat of the news van as it sped across town. They’d come from the latest crime scene and she was fuming because she hadn’t been allowed access to the actual scene and the cops hadn’t so much as given her the time of day.

  She’d tried to corner Detective Corning on his way from the house, but he’d avoided her. All she had to show for her time was a few shots of the nonexistent action from outside the house.

  She suspected this latest murder was related to the two recent ones, and had a suspicion the Lincolns were involved. She had to get a statement from someone, which she could edit into the footage from the scene. At least she would have something.

  As Don wheeled the van onto Carver Street, she smiled with satisfaction when she saw Annie’s Ford Escort in the driveway. The garage door was up, and the Firebird was plainly visible, parked inside.

  The Lincolns were at home.

  She made it her business to know where people lived, what they drove, where they worked, and how they spent their time. It was necessary if she was going to be able to get the stories she needed.

  Lisa pointed toward the curb, just before the driveway. “Pull over here.”

  Don touched the brakes, twisted the steering wheel and the van pulled over and stopped.

  “Let’s go,” Lisa snapped, as she pushed the door open and stepped out.

  Don popped open the driver’s door, swung out from behind the wheel and slid open the back door. He retrieved his camera and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He hurried to catch Lisa, who was already heading up the driveway toward the open garage.

  Jake had the hood of the Firebird up and was fiddling around with something. He straightened his back and turned as Lisa reached the door of the garage.

  “Jake Lincoln, I’m . . .”

  Jake frowned. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  “Uh . . . I would like to ask you a few questions if I may?”

  Jake pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. He looked at the camera with its red light glowing, and then back at Lisa and remained silent.

  Lisa began, “Mr. Lincoln, as you know, there have been three murders in the last three days . . .”

  “Three murders?”

  Lisa smiled. She knew they were pretty cozy with Detective Corning, and seemed to always be up on the latest news, but for once it seemed she had some information before Jake did. All she knew was what she’d heard on the police scanner, so she’d have to wing it.

  “I just came from the scene of a double homicide,” she said. “It appears to be related to the previous two. Can you tell me about that?”

  Jake frowned as Lisa shoved the mike under his nose. “I am unaware of the details. Perhaps you should speak to the police about it.”

  “I spoke to the investigator in charge,” Lisa lied, “but I was hoping you would have something to add.”

  Jake shrugged. “Nope.”

  Lisa hesitated. “What can you tell me about yesterday’s murder of Bobby Sullivan? Are you investigating that case as well?”

  “There’s nothing new to add. Yes, we’re working on it and so are the police. Again, maybe you should speak to them.”

  She wasn’t getting anywhere. Time for a new approach. “Perhaps your wife, Annie, might have something to add?”

  “I doubt it. She doesn’t know any more than I do about this. And now, if there are no more questions, I have work to do.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lincoln,” Lisa said, faking a smile.

  Jake grunted, stuffed the rag into his rear pocket, and turned back to the car.

  Don aimed the camera toward Lisa. She said, “We will bring you breaking news as it happens. In an exclusive report, I’m Lisa Krunk, for Channel 7 Action News.” She motioned for Don to shut the camera down.

  Lisa spun around and headed to the van, Don trailing behind. She wasn’t satisfied, and couldn’t understand why nobody wanted to talk to her.

  ~~*~~

  JAKE TURNED AND watched Don and Lisa climb in the van and drive away. She was getting to be a severe pain in the neck.

  He closed the hood of the Firebird and put away the tools he’d been using, shut the garage door and went into the kitchen through an entrance door. After washing the grime from his hands he went into the office where Annie was at the desk, poring over some paperwork. She looked up when he entered.

  Jake dropped into the guest chair and folded his long legs under the seat. “I just got a nice visit from our good friend, Lisa Krunk.”

  “Oh?”

  “According to her, there’s been another murder.”

  Annie dropped the papers and sat back. “Did she give you any details?”

  “Not really. Maybe you should call Hank.”

  Jake leaned forward, pulled his chair a little closer to the desk and slipped his iPhone from his pocket. He set it between them, hit speed dial, and put it on speaker.

  “Detective Hank Corning.”

  “Hank, it’s Jake. What’s this I hear about another murder?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Lisa Krunk.”

  Hank chuckled. “So she tracked you down, did she? I doubt if she had much information.”

  “Can you fill us in?” Jake asked.

  “It looks like another murder/suicide. A guy by the name of Harold Garrison, killed by an unidentified boy, who then took his own life.”

  Jake and Annie exchanged a glance.

  “Let me guess,” Annie said. “The weapon was a 9 mm Glock?”

  “Hi, Annie. Yup, you got it right.”

  “And no witnesses?”

  “No witnesses,” Hank said, and added, “I’ll drop by and see you guys a little later. I’ve been making the rounds talking to friends and neighbors, and I have a few more calls to make.”

  “OK, see you later.” Jake clicked off the phone, slouched back and whistled. “This is getting to be an epidemic.” He motioned toward the papers on the desk. “Did you come up with any more ideas there?”

  Annie shook her head. “No, but I’m working on it.”

  Chapter 24

  Wednesday, August 24th, 2:45 PM

  DAVID HAINES was tired of his father always harassing him about school, his grades, and studying. Confined in a classroom, or being suffocated in his room memorizing useless information from books, was not his thing. It bored him, and made him feel like he was wasting his life doing the will of other people; doing what they wanted him to do instead of allowing him to pursue his own ambitions.

  He realized his parents weren’t all that bad, really. His father was a bit overbearing maybe, but at least they were still together. David knew of other kids who had only one parent, or none, or parents who fought all the time. Sure, they were ok as far as parents went, but they just didn’t understand him. He had no desire to be a carbon copy of his father, tied to the same dreary job for as long as he could remember.

  He needed more freedom than that. Why couldn’t they understand?

  He had lessened the agony of schooling by skipping classes whenever possible, and hanging about on the streets. What he really wanted to do was get a job, make some money, and be independent. No more pencils, no more books . . .

  After all, he was sixteen now and was mature enough to make his own decisions.

  He kicked at a carelessly discarded soda can, expertly maneuvered it into position, and gave it a solid kick, sending it tinkling down the alley to land against an overflowing dumpster.

  It’s not that he was lazy; he actually wanted to make
something of his life, but do it his way. And his way didn’t involve any stupid school or domineering teachers.

  He was smart enough to know no one became a success overnight. Sure, he would have to work hard, and put in his time, but he would struggle his way up until he was the master of his own destiny. What’s wrong with that?

  He just wasn’t sure where to start.

  Of course, he would have to explain everything to his parents. He knew they wouldn’t see things his way, and if they kicked him out of the house, well then, he could, and would make his own way.

  Across the alleyway, in the doorway of a deteriorating tenement, an unkempt man was leaning against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. David glanced at him briefly and kept on walking. He could tell a drug dealer a mile away, and even if he’d had the money, he wasn’t interested in their wares.

  He had tried drugs once, at the insistence of a so-called friend. It could’ve been cocaine, or maybe heroin; he didn’t know much about drugs. It’d been ok, but he didn’t like the fact he wasn’t in control of his senses, and had no interest in trying it again.

  A motorcycle roared behind him, making its way down the narrow alley. David flattened himself against the stained brick building to allow it to pass, and then wandered on, thinking, and planning his future.

  He had to have a plan. Perhaps he could find a job flipping burgers, or delivering pizza. He’d heard there was good money in that, maybe enough to find him a place of his own, and start him on the road to better things.

  In the shelter of a doorway, a homeless man was huddled on a bed made of cardboard covered with a filthy blanket. As David sauntered by, the bum sputtered and muttered, and peered at him with one cautious eye, clutching his rags about himself as if protecting his domain from an unwelcome intruder.

  David paid no mind to the vagrant except to wonder how a guy could get to be that way. He wondered if the aging man had at one time had plans and dreams like his own, and had somehow, somewhere lost his way. He felt a flash of pity for what seemed to be a life gone wrong, and was determined never to end up like that.

  He wished he had a couple of bucks he could give to the guy, but all he had was coffee money, and he wanted a coffee badly.

  One cup of coffee, a quick drink. He would enjoy it for sure, but then, when it was gone, it was gone.

  David sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. All he had. He turned back and dropped the money onto the blanket beside the man. The hardened face of the bum seemed to soften somewhat as he looked up a moment, and then snatched the coins, tucked his hands back under his tattered clothes, and continued with his persistent mumbling.

  “Have a good day,” David said, as he turned away and continued down the thoroughfare.

  He exited the cramped alleyway and stepped onto the crumbling sidewalk. The streets were narrow in this part of the city, the houses crammed together, disintegrating, and in much need of a repair job they would never see.

  He didn’t often make it to this area, but he’d been wandering around most of the day, discontented and frustrated with the way things were going for him, and had ended up here, still filled with hope for the future, yet surrounded by an ambience of despair and hopelessness.

  He paused to watch as a shiny black Cadillac Escalade came down the street toward him. It seemed rather out of place in this bleak neighborhood, an area more used to beat up cars and sluggish pedestrians than vehicles worth more than any of the houses in this forgotten community.

  David shoved his hands into his pockets, stood and watched curiously as the Escalade drew closer and pulled to a stop beside him, its engine purring, its darkened windows concealing whoever may be inside.

  Perhaps they wanted directions. David stood and waited.

  Chapter 25

  Wednesday, August 24th, 2:45 PM

  ANNIE HAD JOTTED down Harold Garrison’s name when Hank mentioned it on the phone. It was another murder/suicide, obviously related, and Annie wanted to find out more about Garrison.

  Hank would surely have some valuable information from his interviews, but perhaps she could supplement it with a little online research.

  Annie rolled her chair a little closer to the desk, tapped the space bar on the keyboard and brought the iMac from its sleep. A web search for Harold Garrison brought up several possibilities.

  The first result looked most likely to be the one she was after. It linked to a web site announcing Garrison’s run for city council. She scrolled through pages outlining his platform, the hopes he had for his ward, as well as plans for the city in general.

  It appeared Garrison was an insurance broker who now had political aspirations. She clicked on a link that brought her to the web site for Garrison Insurance. The company appeared to have been in business in east Richmond Hill for over sixty years, passed down to Harold Garrison from his father, and his grandfather before that.

  Not a very threatening business, and not likely to create any enemies who would want him dead.

  She browsed a bit more, and as expected, didn’t find anything enlightening, just enough to give her an idea of who Harold Garrison was.

  Jake came into the office and dropped into the guest chair. The chair groaned, but held. “Hank’s on his way here,” he said. “What’ve you been up to?”

  “Doing a little research on Harold Garrison.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  Annie filled him in on what she’d found online. “As well, I gave Bobby’s aunt, Mrs. Mitchell, a call, to fill her in on what we’ve been looking into.”

  Jake jumped up as the doorbell rang. “There’s Hank,” he said, as he left to answer the door.

  Annie followed him into the living room, took a seat on the couch, tucked her legs up underneath herself and faced the hallway. Hank came in, gave her a big smile and dropped into the armchair while Jake slouched at the other end of the couch.

  “It’s been a busy day,” Hank said.

  “What’d you find out?” Annie asked.

  “Not as much as I’d hoped, but I’m convinced all three murders are related. The same MO and the same type of weapon was used on all three occasions.”

  “But did you find anything else to link the victims?” Jake asked.

  Hank shook his head. “That’s the stumper. Until we can come up with a connection, and a motive, I’m baffled.” He leaned forward. “There are a couple of other interesting tidbits, however. First of all, there are the guns.”

  “The 9 mm Glocks used for all three murders,” Jake said. “Yes, we know.”

  “Not just that,” Hank said. “But we have a definite connection. All three guns were from the same lot. Manufactured at the same time, according to the serial numbers, and so purchased together. I have a call in with the manufacturer to see where those guns were distributed. I didn’t notice this at first, because the first two murders were initially treated as separate incidents, but when I started to put everything together, I took a closer look at the weapons, and that’s when I discovered it.”

  Annie frowned. “But there’s no connection between the victims and the killers.”

  “Not that I can find yet,” Hank said. “But there has to be something we’re missing. There’s got to be a connection.”

  “All three killers were young,” Jake said.

  “That may be a start,” Hank said. “However, two of the victims were older, and successful businessmen, but one was young and an ex-con. No connection with the victims I can see. I interviewed a lot of people. I can’t find any business, church, or anything else they have in common.” Hank leaned back and scratched his head. “I’m puzzled.”

  “You said there are other tidbits,” Jake said. “What else did you find?”

  “I got the blood results for Cheryl Waters. She volunteered, by the way. They came back positive for LSD, as well as trace amounts of scopolamine.”

  “Scopolamine?”

  “Apparently, it can be dan
gerous if not administered properly. Scopolamine can render a victim unconscious, and in large doses, it can cause respiratory failure and death. It’s sometimes used criminally as a date rape drug, and has been known to be used as a truth drug because it can lower a person’s inhibitions.”

  “And used in conjunction with LSD?” Annie asked.

  “Who knows?” Hank said. “It sounds dangerous to me.”

  “So we can assume the third killer will show similar drugs in his blood,” Jake said.

  “We’ll see. But I expect you’re right.”

  Annie wrinkled her brow and looked at Hank. “So, since we have three seemingly unrelated victims, and three seemingly unrelated killers, there must be somebody, or something out there who’s orchestrating this.”

  “To me, it appears the three killers have one thing in common, besides their age,” Jake said.

  Hank glanced at Jake. “And what’s that?”

  “Two of them are unknown, suggesting they’re either runaways or homeless. The third, Cheryl, almost fits into that category as well. She’s not homeless, but she’s transient. I believe her father called her, ‘flighty and irresponsible’.”

  “You may have something there, Jake,” Hank said. “But we’re still lacking a motive.”

  “With similar drugs in their system, and similar MOs,” Annie said, “it suggests to me the killers were all part of some type of organization.”

  Jake interrupted, “And the fact two of the three killed themselves, shows they weren’t in their right mind.”

  Hank said, “We can include Cheryl Waters in that as well. We know she wasn’t in her right mind.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Annie asked.

  Jake frowned. “Some kind of brainwashing?”

  Hank pursed his lips. “It’s starting to look like it,” he said. “Or at least, some kind of coercion.”

  Chapter 26

  Wednesday, August 24th, 2:54 PM