Cold Justice Page 13

  Blackley frowned. “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “Mr. Blackley, the body of your wife was found today. What can you tell me about that?”

  Blackley glanced back and forth from the red light to the mike, and then at Lisa. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Her body was found.”

  “Was she murdered, Mr. Blackley?”

  Blackley hesitated. “Yes, she was,” he said quietly.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “She was... strangled,” he said, as he turned to leave.

  Lisa persisted. “Mr. Blackley, do you have any idea who might have murdered her?”

  He turned back. “No. How would I know?” He looked perplexed.

  “Did you kill her?”

  Blackley frowned. “Of course not.”

  “I understand you and your wife were estranged. Is that correct?”

  “Look, my wife and I were fine. We were not estranged.”

  “You were out of town when the murder took place?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Lisa pressed on. “However, when her body was found, it was nearly naked. What can you say about that?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. The police are investigating and I’m sure they will be able to explain everything eventually.”

  “We have talked to witnesses who have stated she was having an affair, Mr. Blackley. Were you aware of that?” Lisa lied.

  Blackley shouted, “No. She was not having an affair.”

  “They also said you may be having an affair?”

  Blackley glared at her for a moment and then turned and strode up the walkway.

  Don followed as Lisa ran after him. “Just one more question,” she called.

  Blackley stopped and turned around slowly. Lisa moved to the side as Don went between Blackley and the front steps, blocking his path to the house.

  “Vera Blackley’s body was found in a garbage bin behind the building where you work. Are you afraid you will be the number one suspect?”

  “Why would I be? I told you, I was out of town on business at the time.”

  “The police may say you were somehow involved.”

  Blackley glared at her angrily. “This interview is over.” He turned abruptly and bumped into Don, pushed him aside and strode up the steps. The camera watched him as he struggled with the key and swung the door open, stepping inside and slamming the door.

  Lisa stared after him. She didn’t get as much as she had hoped, but it would have to do. She had the footage from the crime scene, and maybe a little clever editing will put a more interesting slant on this story.

  “Come on Don, let’s go,” she said, spinning around and striding down the driveway toward her car.

  Chapter 27

  Thursday, August 18th, 6:55 PM

  HANK RUNG THE doorbell of the Lincoln residence and waited.

  The door swung open. “Hey, Uncle Hank. Catch any bad guys today?”

  Hank looked down at the boy in front of him and laughed. “Not today, Matty. But I’m working on it.”

  Annie called from the living room. “We’re in here, Hank.”

  Annie was curled up in a comfortable chair, a book in her lap. Jake was slouched on the couch, his feet on the coffee table, playing with his iPhone. They looked up as Hank entered the room and sat down on the other end of the couch, Matty popping in between them.

  Hank slipped a folded paper from his pocket and held it up. “I have the autopsy report here on Abigail Macy.”

  Matty looked at Hank, and then at his mom. “I know, I have to leave now, right?”

  Annie smiled at him. “Maybe you can go upstairs and do your homework.”

  Matty protested. “Mom, I think I’m old enough to hear about this stuff now. I know what you, and Dad, and Uncle Hank, do. And I know people get killed sometimes.”

  Annie hesitated and looked at Jake. Jake just shrugged and looked back.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore, Mom, and it won’t give me nightmares, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  Hank watched Matty’s parents as they communicated silently with their eyes.

  Matty continued, “I have to learn about this stuff some time, don’t I? And I see worse stuff on TV.”

  Annie laughed and gave in. “All right. You can stay.”

  Matty grinned and sat back, a triumphant look on his face.

  Hank unfolded the papers and glanced at them. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing unusual in the autopsy report.”

  Matty looked at Hank. “What’s an autopsy?”

  “Um, that’s when they check inside the person to see why they died.”

  Matty nodded his head as if he understood completely.

  Hank continued, “As they initially found, the blood test showed a .085 level of alcohol, so she was legally intoxicated. And that, coupled with a high level of Lorazepam, was a lethal combination. Everything else was normal.”

  “And the bottom line?” Jake asked.

  “Other than that, the autopsy showed nothing unusual, and so the coroner concluded again, the means of death was suicide.”

  Matty’s eyes were wide, glued on Hank, as he listened intently.

  “It wasn’t suicide,” Annie said flatly.

  Hank shrugged. “I think you’re right, Annie, but there’s nothing substantial to prove otherwise. Forensics came to the same conclusion.”

  “Vera Blackley’s body is enough evidence for me,” Annie said. “That proves Mrs. Macy saw what she said she saw.”

  “What did she see, Mom?” Matty asked.

  Annie hesitated, and looked at Jake.

  “She saw a man, um...” He looked at Hank. “What did she see Hank?”

  Matty asked, “Did she see someone get killed?”

  Hank laughed and looked at Matty. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what she saw.”

  Matty’s eyes were wide.

  “That’s enough of a lesson for tonight Matty. Go upstairs and find something to do?” Annie spoke gently, but her voice showed she meant business.

  Matty tucked out his lower lip in a pretend pout and slipped from the couch. “See you later, Uncle Hank.”

  “See you Matty.” Hank watched him run from the room and listened as he tramped up the steps to his bedroom.

  Hank chuckled. “That’s a bright kid,” he said. “He may make a good detective some day.”

  “Not too soon, I hope,” Annie said.

  “Now it seems we are right back where we started,” Jake said, “Somebody killed Abigail Macy and Vera Blackley, and we have no idea who.”

  “Maybe Anderson Blackley?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t think Blackley is stupid enough to dump the body in the bin where he works,” Jake said.

  Hank shrugged. “Dumber things than that have been done before. If he was in a rush to get rid of the body, that may have been the first place he thought of. Perhaps he assumed the bin would be dumped and her body gone forever.”

  “Yeah, but he was out of town.”

  “He could have driven home, killed her, and then driven back again.” Annie said.

  “Sure. He certainly could have,” Hank agreed. “We don’t know the exact time of death, and after four days, it’s unlikely they will be able to narrow it down very close. It could have happened in the middle of the night.” He paused. “That being said, I don’t think Blackley did it.”

  “So what’s the next step?” Jake asked.

  “Hopefully forensics will come up with something from the crime scene,” Hank said.

  Thursday, August 18th, 7:15 PM

  “CORNING,” a voice called sharply.

  Hank glanced toward the sound of the voice. Captain Diego was standing in the doorway of his office. He looked impatient.

  As Hank stood and strode across the floor of the precinct, Diego disappeared into his office. When Hank went in, Diego was slouched in his high-back chair, behind his desk, his elbows on the arm rests, his fingertips tickling his
mustache.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  Diego dropped his hands and frowned. “Corning, what are you waiting for? Get a warrant and search the Blackley house.”

  Hank took a seat and leaned forward. “I don’t think he did it, Captain.”

  Diego sat forward and dropped his arms on the desk. He stared at Hank. “Maybe not, but I want his house searched.” Diego sounded irritated. He spoke firmly, “Now.”

  Hank protested. “It just seems too pat to me,” he said. “That wine bottle in the bag. And the glasses. And the body being found right behind Proper Shoes.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t him. Nobody is that stupid.”

  Diego had a file folder opened in front of him. The loose papers rustled as he slapped his hand on the desk. “Listen Hank, this may be your case, but you still do as I say.” He sounded irritated now.

  Hank stared at Diego for a moment. “Are you really going to make me do this?”

  The answer was firm. “Just get it done.”

  Hank sighed and stood. “Yes, Captain. I’ll get a warrant right away.”

  “And get his car too,” Diego added.

  Hank nodded, left the office, and went back to his desk. He didn’t like this approach, but he had no choice. Captain Diego wore the suit of authority, not him.

  It wasn’t hard to get the warrant. On the surface, there seemed to be enough evidence against Blackley, and the judge issued the order without hesitation.

  He notified the forensics team to meet him there, and in a few minutes, Hank rang Blackley’s doorbell.

  “Good evening, Detective,” Blackley said, and then frowned as he looked over Hank’s shoulder. The forensics team was unloading equipment from their van and a couple of investigators were already coming up the sidewalk. “What’s this?”

  Hank held up the warrant. “Mr. Blackley, I have a warrant to search your house.”

  Blackley’s frown deepened for a moment. Then he sighed and reluctantly stood back. “Do what you have to do.”

  Hank turned and gave a nod, and the search commenced. Police set up a cordon around the house. Two policewomen took boxes containing equipment and evidence bags into a tent erected in the front yard as the experts prepared to enter the house.

  Blackley was escorted off of the premises, pacing back and forth outside the yellow barrier.

  Soon, the investigators streamed into the house in their white coveralls. Nothing was left unscrutinized as the team made a rigorous examination. Items were packed and carried out. A thorough fingerprinting was done. Luminol tests, swabs, and dyes were used. The main floor, upstairs, the basement, and the garage, were probed, inspected, and studied.

  A tow truck arrived and hooked up to Blackley’s Subaru, carting it away. It would soon be in the pound, where it would undergo a painstaking inspection.

  Half an hour later, Hank stood in the makeshift lab, trying to stay out of the way of the technicians, when Rod Jameson approached him.

  “Hank,” Jameson said. “We’re far from done here, but we have enough now for you to make an arrest.”

  “What do you have?”

  “They found some wine glasses that look to be of the same style as the ones found in the bin. There were traces of dried drops of wine spattered in a few places throughout the living room. I think we’ll find it to be consistent with the wine from the bottle we found in the bin.” He grinned. “And here’s the kicker.”

  Hank waited.

  Jameson continued, “We found a hammer in the garage with blood on it.”

  Hank glanced through the opening of the tent. Blackley had stopped pacing and was now sitting on the grass, his head in his hands. Hank looked back at Jameson. “Any fingerprints?”

  “Sure is. Blackley’s fingerprints.” He waved toward the technicians who were hunched over, busy with microscopes, chemicals, and lab tests. “They are still testing the blood residue on the hammer, but I think you’ll find it belongs to Vera Blackley.”

  “So,” Hank said slowly, “if that’s the case, then the murder took place here.”

  “No doubt about it, in my mind.”

  “But still, nothing to show conclusively it was Blackley?”

  Jameson shrugged. “What more do you want?”

  Hank sighed. He knew that was enough. He would be lax if he didn’t arrest Blackley under the weight of this evidence. It was all circumstantial, sure, but it was enough. Besides, the Captain would demand it. He had no choice.

  “All right, thanks Rod,” Hank said, as he left the tent.

  Blackley looked up as he approached, a worried look on his face. “Are you guys almost done here?”

  Hank looked down at Blackley. He didn’t want to do this. “Anderson Blackley,” he said. “You are under arrest, charged with the murder of your wife, Vera Blackley.”

  Blackley’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What?”

  “Stand up please,” Hank said.

  Blackley stood up slowly. “It wasn’t me, Detective. I swear, you got the wrong guy.”

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Blackley obeyed quietly. The cuffs clicked and rattled as Hank secured them, and reluctantly read him his rights.

  Chapter 28

  Thursday, August 18th, 7:45 PM

  SAMANTHA RIGGS had made up her mind what to do.

  Her plan would ensure Dr. Boris Hoffman paid for his heinous crime, and at the same time, she could turn circumstances to her advantage. A financial advantage, that is.

  She only had one unanswered question. How much should she ask? How much would he be willing to pay to be sure the note would never be found?

  She didn’t want to be greedy. A thousand dollars? Or ten thousand? Maybe more?

  Or perhaps, she should be greedy. He deserved it. Abigail Macy was dead now. Nothing would bring her back, so why not benefit from this? Make him pay, and pay in full.

  She pulled out the bottom drawer of the cupboard, and safely hidden underneath the stack of magazines, she found Abby’s note where she had left it.

  She sat at the table, opened the envelope, and laid the note out flat.

  She read it once more, and then looked around her small kitchen. It could use a coat of paint. The cupboard doors were worn and faded. Her coffeemaker only worked half the time. She could use a new rug for her tiny living room. And, of course, some new clothes. The list never ended. She certainly could use the money.

  She dug the rarely used phone book out of the cupboard and dropped it on the table. The chair leg scraped as she sat down and pulled it in closer. Hoffman. There were half a dozen of them listed. She thought he might have had an unlisted number, but there it was, Dr. Boris Hoffman’s home number.

  She sat back and stared at the book, and then at the phone on the wall, feeling uncertain about her plan. Should she really go ahead with it?

  She jumped up, grabbed the phone receiver from its hook, and stretched it to the table. She sat and quickly dialed the number in the book before she could change her mind.

  She held her breath.

  One ring. Two. Three. Four. Maybe he’s not home!

  “Hello?”

  Samantha caught her breath. She had made up her mind, thought she was ready, but...”

  “Hello?” More impatient.

  She exhaled quietly, then, “Is this Dr. Hoffman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Boris Hoffman?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “I want to talk to you about Abigail Macy.”

  “Are you a reporter?”

  “No... I am... was... a friend of hers.”

  The line hissed softly, but was otherwise quiet.

  Samantha closed her eyes and willed herself to continue. “Before she died, she left a note. In the note she explained she had seen a murder, and was afraid for her life.”

  “I am aware of her death. It’s sad, but how does that concern me?”

  “In the note, she named you as the murderer, Dr. Hoffman.”

>   “That’s absurd,” he said, but did she detect a hint of nervousness in his voice?

  “I have the note,” she said. “No one else has seen it.”

  He was quiet, then, “And?”

  “And.” She paused. “No one else will ever see it, if...” She paused again. She could hear him breathing. She continued, “If you are willing to offer a suitable amount of money.” There, she had said it. She waited.

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  Time to get serious. “I’m the one who is going to hand the note over to the police, if we can’t come to some arrangement.”

  “Hypothetically,” she heard, “assuming you have such a note, what would be a suitable amount of money?” Yes, she was certain now she heard unease in his voice.

  She blurted out, “Twenty-five thousand dollars.” She held her breath. She hadn’t planned on asking for so much, but there it was.

  Silence again.

  “How do I know there is such a note?” he asked, still a worried tone, but apprehensive.

  Samantha thought quickly, and then asked, “Do you have a cell phone? I’ll send a picture of it to your phone.”

  He paused, and then gave her a number. He repeated it to be sure.

  She knew she had him now. “Hold on,” she said.

  She jumped up and grabbed the cell phone from her handbag on the counter, and laying the note out flat, she snapped a picture, being careful to get the whole page. Then she hit the ‘Share’ icon, and entered the number he had given her. She checked the number to make sure her shaking hands hadn’t dialed wrong, and then touched ‘Send’.

  The photo went. She waited, breathing heavily. What had she gotten herself into?

  “I have it,” she finally heard from the phone.

  “Did you read it?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “Do you want the note?” she asked.

  His voice was low and lifeless. “I will pay you.”

  Her heart thumped.

  He continued, “If you come here, I can have the money ready this evening.”

  She thought a moment. “I will meet you somewhere else.”

  He sighed unevenly. “Where?”