Cold Justice Read online

Hoffman reached for it. Tommy pulled it back. “I think this information is worth a little more than a thou, don’t you Unc?”

  “We agreed on a thousand dollars.”

  Tommy glared a minute, teasing him, and handed it to him with a laugh.

  Hoffman snatched it from him and opened it, slipping out the paper. He studied it a moment, his face turned red, and he shouted, “It’s just a photocopy, you idiot.”

  Tommy shrugged. “That’s what she gave me.”

  Hoffman paced frantically back and forth. Suddenly he stopped and spun around. “You have to get the original,” he yelled.

  “Maybe I can. That might cost a little more, though.”

  Hoffman glared, “I’ll give you another thousand dollars.”

  “It’s worth two. I have to find her now.”

  “Ok, idiot. Make it two. But get it done,” he screamed.

  “Calm down Uncle. I’ll get the note. Just relax.”

  Hoffman relaxed a bit. “How are you going to find her?”

  Tommy laughed, and pulled Samantha’s handbag out from inside his jacket. “I’m betting her name is in here.” He leaned forward and clipped open the handbag, dumping its contents onto the desk.

  He sorted through the pile, and found a small wallet. He grinned, and flipped it open. He pulled out a driver’s license and held it up triumphantly. “Ta dah,” he sang out.

  Hoffman scowled. “I hope she hasn’t gone to the police already.”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle.”

  “Did you scare her?”

  “Yeah, I sure did. I don’t think she’ll be bothering you again.” Tommy read from the license. “Samantha Riggs. That’s her name. I’ll find her apartment and get the note,” he said, as he slipped the license back into the wallet, and dropped it into his pocket.

  “Make sure you do. And leave the rest of her stuff here. I’ll get rid of it.” He picked up her cell phone and tucked it into his breast pocket. “This has to be destroyed.”

  Tommy noticed the box of cigars. He smirked and flipped open the lid. “Oh boy,” he said. He scooped up a couple and sat back. “You’re in good hands,” he said, as he dropped his feet back on the desk and slipped the smokes into his top pocket.

  Hoffman wrote his cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Tommy. “Here’s my cell. Call me as soon as you get the envelope. And make sure it’s the real one this time.”

  Friday, August 19th, 8:25 AM

  IT WAS A BRAND new day at the Lincoln’s. Annie was cleaning up after breakfast, and Jake was downstairs doing his workout.

  Matty came charging into the kitchen. “Ready for school, Mom.”

  “Don’t forget your lunch.”

  Matty grabbed his lunch, stuffed it into his backpack, and swung the pack into place. “Bye, Mom.” He opened the door to the basement and yelled, “Bye, Dad,” and slammed the door again.

  Annie watched him go, and heard the front door close behind him as he left. She finished cleaning up and went into the office, sat in the swivel chair and leaned forward.

  She had transcribed the notes from her notepad onto several sheets of paper, laid out logically. She was trying to connect the dots, but there was little to go on, and didn’t know what her next move was.

  She perused the paper, going over all of the details regarding the death of Abigail Macy and Vera Blackley.

  The one little piece of information she had gotten the evening before from Wilda, was that Mrs. Macy never drank vodka, and never anything stronger than wine. And yet, when her blood had been examined, she had ingested a large amount of vodka. How had that gotten into her system?

  She recalled that Dr. Hoffman said Abby blamed herself for the death of their child. Therefore, she certainly would have left a note if it were suicide. Yet, there was no note.

  Annie was now totally certain Abby had not killed herself. It just wasn’t feasible, given the information in front of her. Abby was killed to cover up what she saw.

  If Blackley killed his wife, then how did he manage to kill Abby as well? No, Annie was not convinced Anderson Blackley was responsible for either death.

  She looked up and leaned back as Jake came in. He plunked down into the guest chair. “Got anything there?” he asked.

  Annie shook her head. “Still struggling to make some sense of this whole situation.”

  “It’s not looking good for Blackley,” Jake said. “I don’t think he’s responsible for any of this, but the evidence against him is pretty convincing.”

  “Too convincing,” Annie said. “That’s what you said last night, and I think you’re right. He was framed. He’s not a stupid man, and not dumb enough to leave such obvious evidence lying around. That hammer they found in the garage with Vera’s blood on it, just seems too pat to me, and that’s the one piece of evidence that’s the most convincing.”

  “The way I see it, whoever killed Vera knew her,” Jake said. “It wasn’t just a random killing, because he knew where Blackley worked, and exactly where to dump the body, and exactly how to make Blackley look guilty.”

  Annie nodded. “Vera Blackley must have had a lover. If we find out who that was, we’ve got our killer.”

  “So, how do we go about finding that out? We already talked to everyone that knew her.”

  Annie shrugged. “Everyone we know about. But if she had a lover, somebody, somewhere, must have seen them together.”

  “Stands to reason,” Jake said. “But tracking him or her down is the problem right now. Where do we start?”

  Annie sighed and looked back at her notes. “It’s in here somewhere,” she said.

  Chapter 35

  Friday, August 19th, 8:37 AM

  TOMMY SALAMANDER drove slowly past the apartment building where Samantha Riggs used to live. He examined the building. It wasn’t much better than the dive he had. Just a huge red eyesore, down a side street, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

  He coasted another half block, pulled his motorcycle to the curb, shut it down, and kicked the stand into place. He would leave his helmet on to cover his face. Just in case. Can’t be too careful.

  He pulled a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on, climbed from the bike, and strode back up the street toward his destination.

  There were no security locks on the outer door, so Tommy turned the knob, kicked the door open, and slipped in. There’s no elevator in this dump, but there’s a set of stairs to his right. Apartment 202 would be up one flight. He took the steps two at a time, humming to himself, counting the money he would make.

  He pushed open the upper stairwell door and peered in. The hallway was deserted, so he made his way down the dimly lit passageway and stood in front of 202. The lock didn’t look very strong. He took another glance around, and then all it took was a credit card, something he was adept at, to slip the latch back, and the door swung open. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly, locking it behind him.

  He slipped his helmet off, set it on a table by the door, and fingered his hair back out of his eyes. He rubbed his hands together. Time to get to work.

  It wasn’t a large apartment, a front closet, a small living room, a bathroom, looks like one bedroom, and a tiny kitchen. A thorough search shouldn’t take long.

  Start with the bathroom. All the obvious places. The medicine cabinet contained nothing of interest, just toothpaste, some Midol, Tylenol, and floss, but no note. He lifted the top off the toilet tank and peered inside. Nope. The cupboard under the sink was searched. Cleaning supplies and extra tissue. He felt around the edges, the top, moved things around. No note.

  Next stop, the bedroom. The most obvious place is under the mattress. He flipped it up and peeked under. Then he went through her closet, moving things back and forth on the rod. He checked in the pockets of her dresses and sweaters. There were a several pair of shoes on the floor underneath, but he disregarded them and moved his eyes up. On the shelf above, he found a box holding some photos and a
few envelopes. He opened the envelopes one at a time. Looks like a bunch of old love letters. The note he was looking for wasn’t among them. He looked through the photos. Boring family stuff.

  He slammed the closet door and turned around. The dresser, maybe.

  He spent some time going through the drawers of clothes. Her underwear drawer was especially interesting. He fantasized about her as he browsed her frilly things. He should have had a little fun with her before he killed her. That would have been a blast.

  He slipped out all the drawers, checking in the cavity behind, and under the drawers to see if anything had been taped there. All he got was a sliver for his trouble, and he cursed as he kicked the drawer shut.

  Nothing went untouched or unmoved, as he searched the bedroom thoroughly. Behind pictures, under the alarm clock, under the bed, behind the faded curtains. No joy.

  On a small nightstand by the bed, he spied a little wooden box. He flipped it open. Just some junk jewelry and cheap ear rings. Except for this. He picked up a necklace that looked like it could be gold. Might be worth a few bucks. He chuckled and slipped it into his pocket. Maybe he would give it to his girlfriend. Tell her he bought it, especially for her. She’s dumb enough to believe it.

  Back to the note. Have to find it. He stood and looked around the bedroom, scratching his head. It must be in this apartment somewhere, maybe the kitchen. He would leave the living room for last. Nice TV, though. That would look good in his place, toss out the old piece of crap and drop this one in. Hmmm.

  He strolled into the kitchen and went to the fridge. Not much food in there. Pepsi, water, some leftovers, a few veggies. He grabbed a carrot and munched on it as he slammed the door shut and opened the freezer. Sometimes people hide things in there. He rummaged around inside but came up empty.

  Try the cupboards next. Start with the drawers, the most obvious place. One by one, he slipped them open and browsed through their contents. Finally, he was rewarded. In the bottom drawer of the cupboard, and hidden underneath a stack of magazines, he found what he was looking for. He slipped the paper from the envelope and grinned.

  That’s it. That’s the original.

  He folded the paper again, dropped it back into the envelope, and into his inner pocket. He laughed. Two thou, well earned.

  He went to the front door, retrieved his helmet, fastened it on, and opened the apartment door carefully. Making sure no one was around, he left the apartment, locked the door behind him, and tromped down the steps to the front.

  He made it down to the sidewalk unseen, and hurried toward his bike, stopping long enough to turn his back, lean against a tree and wait until a tired young woman passed by, tugging two brats behind her. A ratty looking dog followed them on a leash, yipping and barking. It stopped for a moment, sniffing at Tommy’s heels, before being dragged along. They turned into an alley out of sight, and he walked briskly to his bike, otherwise unseen. He climbed on, kicked the motor to life, and rumbled away.

  Finally making it home, he turned into the alley beside his building, parked his motorcycle in the usual spot, locked it up, went up to his crappy apartment and dropped on the couch. He pulled out his cell, and the paper with his uncle’s number. He dialed.

  After the first ring he heard, “Dr. Hoffman?”

  “Hey, Unc.”

  “Did you get it?” Hoffman sounded anxious.

  “Yup. I have it right here. Safe and sound.”

  “Are you sure it’s the original?”

  “I’m sure. It’s in blue ink in a handwritten envelope. It’s not a copy.”

  “Destroy it. Burn it.”

  “Ok. And what about my money?”

  “Is money all you think about? Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.” He paused, then, “Come to the house this afternoon around four o’clock or so. I’ll have it for you.”

  “Two thou, right Unc?”

  Hoffman sighed. “Yes, yes, two thousand dollars.”

  “Cash?”

  “Of course, you idiot. Do you think I’d give you a check?”

  Tommy laughed. “Just checking. Ok, see you then,” he said, as he touched the hang up button.

  He pulled the note from his inner pocket, withdrew it from the envelope, and unfolded it. He read through it again and grinned. “The way I see it, Dear Uncle has killed two women, and he wants to give me two thou. That’s only a thou per head. This information oughta be worth a lot more than two thousand dollars.”

  Chapter 36

  Friday, August 19th, 9:10 AM

  PHILIP MACY parked his car in the underground parking and took the stairs to the lobby of the office complex that housed Macy & Macy. He dodged people on phones, zombies with ear buds, everyone sipping coffee, rushing to work.

  He took the crowded elevator to the second floor. The doors swished open, and the silence of the quiet hallway calmed him. He didn’t feel like being around a lot of people today. They just irritated him, watching their lives go on so peacefully, when his had disintegrated into a million bits.

  He went down the hallway, slipped the key into the lock of Macy & Macy and opened the door. He was surprised the suite was still locked up. He had expected Samantha would be here by now. Especially when he had told her he might not be in for a few days.

  He didn’t feel much like working after Abby’s death, only two days ago, but his business was important to him, and he needed to take care of it, take care of clients. Abby certainly would have wanted it that way. She had put as much effort into building the firm as he did, and was proud of what they had accomplished together.

  This is all he has left now.

  He flicked on the lights, sighed deeply, and trudged through the reception area to his office, slumping at his desk, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

  After a while, he sat up and reached across his desk for a file he had been working on the last time he was here. He flipped it open, stared blindly at its contents, and closed it again, tossing it back on the small stack of waiting work.

  He couldn’t get his mind on business, now tossed between burying himself in his work, or just closing up and going home again. But, that wouldn’t help. Might as well be here, as there. It wouldn’t change how he felt.

  He glanced at his watch, picked up the phone, and dialed Samantha’s number. He let it ring a few times. There was no answer. She’s probably still on her way to work. He dropped the receiver in its cradle and sat back.

  He stared at the wall, unseeing, recalling when he had met Abby. She had just graduated from U of T, and he was a first year accountant in a growing firm. It was love at first sight. He had never met anyone so beautiful, and he considered himself lucky just to know her. Their future looked wonderful, without a care in the world.

  They had spent most of their free time together, and within six months of meeting, he had asked her to marry him. Of course, she said yes, and the happy event took place less than two months later. It wasn’t a large wedding. Neither one of them cared about that; they just wanted to be together.

  And then, along came Timmy. Not exactly planned, but they were overjoyed when they found out Abby was pregnant. He went out of his way to spoil her, and together they spent months setting up the nursery, painting, decorating, shopping, laughing, and having a real adventure.

  And when Timmy was born, it was amazing. This little creature they had made. Life was even better. Timmy was just about the greatest little bundle he had ever seen, and he loved helping Abby take care of him, feeding him, changing diapers, and tucking him in to sleep.

  A few months later, they opened their own accounting firm. Abby took to it naturally, and business, though slow at first, soon picked up and the future looked wide open.

  Their business was growing, Timmy was growing, and their love was growing.

  Then when tragedy struck, just a few weeks ago, and they lost little Timmy, they were devastated. Though Abby felt guilty, Philip never once blamed her. It was a tragic accident, and no one was at fault
.

  And now, Abby is gone as well. The future looks dark, and without knowing what happened to her, it looks even darker.

  His wife’s body had been released, and now he had funeral arrangements to take care of as well. He could use Samantha’s help.

  His eyes now glistening with moisture, he wiped them on his cuff and cleared his throat. Maybe he would call Detective Corning and see if there was any news. He was always supportive. He found his number, picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Detective Hank Corning.”

  “Detective Corning, it’s Philip Macy. I... I was just wondering if anything had turned up.”

  Silence for a moment, then, “I’m sorry, Mr. Macy, but we have had no new evidence, and nothing that shows your wife’s death was anything other than suicide.”

  Philip sighed, “I understand.”

  “But the Lincolns are still working on it,” Hank said quickly. “If there’s anything to be found, they’ll find it.”

  “Thanks Detective, I’ll give them a call.”

  “Mr. Macy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish I could help you, but the coroner’s report, and the forensic report... well, as you know, the Captain has closed the file.”

  “Yes, I know you had already told me, however I was just hoping...” Philip’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t give up hope. He had to know what happened to his darling Abby.

  Hank continued, “Officially, the case is closed, but personally, I believe there’s more to this, and I’m helping the Lincolns in every way I can. I want you to know, I haven’t given up on you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Philip said, and sighed.

  “I’m truly sorry Mr. Macy,” Hank said. “But, don’t hesitate to call me any time.”

  They hung up and Philip sat back and closed his eyes, sitting quietly.

  After a moment, he tried Samantha again. No answer. He looked at his watch and frowned. This is not like her at all. She’s never late.

  He dialed another number.