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  He grinned. Sure enough, there’s Sammy’s castle. Barely noticeable, but he could see a concrete colored canvas hanging loosely, the top wedged in under the overpass and held firmly.

  He pulled the covering aside and laughed at what he saw.

  The hole in front of him was about ten by ten, and maybe four feet high. It appeared to have been burrowed into the side of the embankment like a cave. The floor had been covered with strips of wood, neatly laid side by side, making a solid base. Against one wall, a thick blanket and a tattered pillow served as a bed. The back wall was also shored up with wooden posts, and covered with a piece of drywall. There was a small shelf unit containing several drawers, and a pot or two hung from the ceiling.

  Sammy wasn’t there.

  Jake dropped the flap, made sure it fell properly in place, and climbed down the steep bank to the river.

  “Detective Jake,” a voice called.

  Jake spun around. Sammy had just stepped from the overpass and was coming down the bank toward him. He carried a grocery bag over his shoulder. It jumped and rustled as he climbed. A grin split his face. “Did you ring my doorbell?”

  Jake stepped forward to greet him. “Sammy. Good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Detective Jake. How’s Detective Annie?”

  Jake laughed. “She’s doing great.”

  Sammy slipped his hat off, fanned his face with it, and wiped his brow, before dropping the cap back in place. “Did you come to apply for an apartment?”

  Jake grinned. “Not today, but I could use your help.”

  Sammy sat on a rock by the lip of the river and faced Jake. Jake crouched on the grass beside him.

  “What can I do for you?” Sammy asked.

  Jake tugged the photo of Samantha from his pocket and flipped it around. “This girl was murdered yesterday. We think it’s related to the murder of that woman you found in the bin.”

  Sammy looked at the picture. “Oh, that’s sad. Pretty girl, too.” He squinted at Jake. “So how can I help?”

  “The murder took place in Richmond Valley Park. I was in the park asking folks about it, and I talked to a homeless guy. I think he saw something, but he won’t talk to me.”

  “And you think he’ll talk to me?”

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I can give it a shot. Tell me about the guy.”

  “He had long thin hair. Bald. He was begging, with his cap.”

  Sammy wrinkled his brow. “That describes a lot of folks.”

  “He had a limp.”

  Sammy grinned. “Was he a little slow up here?” he asked, as he touched his temple with his forefinger.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Sammy nodded his head slowly. “That’s Lenny. Lenny Romeo. Not too bright, but he wouldn’t hurt a flea. He lives in the park, and keeps his stuff hidden in a group of thick bushes, where he sleeps.”

  “So, do you think he’ll talk to you?” Jake asked.

  “I think so. I’ve known Lenny for a long time. Everybody knows him. He’s been on the street longer than anyone can remember.” Sammy stood. “You wanna go right now?”

  Jake nodded. “If it’s convenient.”

  “Just let me put my purchases in my pantry, and I’ll be right there,” Sammy said, as he hiked back up the mountain.

  Jake followed him and waited on the street above until Sammy joined him. “Nice wheels,” Sammy said as they climbed in the Firebird. He spun down the side window and stuck his arm out.

  The tires protested a bit as they pulled a u-turn and peeled away. A few minutes later, as they drove up by the park, Jake could see Lenny Romeo had returned to his spot by the lamppost. They jumped from the Pontiac and dodged traffic, hurrying across the street.

  As they approached Lenny, he looked up and dropped his hat into his lap. A hint of a smile touched his lips when he saw Sammy.

  Sammy crouched down. “Hi Lenny,” he said gently.

  Lenny didn’t move or speak for a moment. Finally, he nodded his head slightly.

  Sammy pointed at Jake. “This is Jake. He wants to talk to you.”

  “No cops.” Lenny looked away.

  “He’s not a cop.”

  “Looks like cop.”

  Sammy sighed and stood up. “Why don’t you sit over there for a minute, Detective Jake,” he said, as he pointed to the bench by the wading pool. I’ll see what I can get out of him.”

  Jake turned and went to the bench. He sat and watched Sammy as he knelt down beside Lenny, talking to him. Lenny didn’t seem to want to speak. Finally, he opened his mouth and mumbled something.

  Sammy stood and looked at Jake, then ambled over and said, “He wants twenty bucks, and then he’ll tell you what he saw.”

  “I already gave him twenty-five.”

  Sammy shrugged. “That’s the best I can do.”

  Jake nodded. “All right,” he said, as he slipped his wallet out, dug out a twenty, and followed Sammy back to the beggar.

  They squatted beside him, and Jake handed over the bill. Lenny took it, held it up to the sun, and then crumpled it and stuffed it in his pocket. He looked cautiously at Jake. “Salamander,” he said quietly.

  Jake looked at him, puzzled. “Pardon?”

  “Salamander,” Lenny repeated, a little louder.

  “Lenny,” Sammy said. “You saw Tommy Salamander?”

  Lenny nodded vigorously.

  “What did you see him do?” Sammy asked.

  Lenny looked around nervously, and then at Jake. “Not cop?”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “Salamander kill girl.”

  Jake’s mouth dropped open for a moment. He held up the photo so Lenny could see. “Is this the girl?”

  Lenny nodded.

  “Did you see what she was wearing?”

  “Red. Wearing red.”

  “That’s her,” Jake said, as he turned to Sammy. “Who is this Salamander character?”

  Sammy looked at Lenny. “Thanks Lenny.” He straightened up and glanced around. Jake stood and waited. Sammy frowned and shook his head slowly. “He’s bad news. A thug. He sells drugs, he’s a petty thief, and if he killed Samantha, then I don’t think she’s his first victim.”

  Jake was elated. This is the break he was waiting for. “Where can I find him?” he asked.

  “Can’t say for sure. He could be anywhere right now. But I know where he lives. Well, not exactly, but I know the area he lives in.”

  “And?”

  Sammy pointed toward the street. Down here about four blocks, you’ll see a street that has three or four old apartment buildings. Just small buildings, and not very attractive. He lives in one of those.” He shook his head and said slowly, “Not sure which one.”

  “I can find it,” Jake said.

  Sammy grinned. “Oh, I’m sure you can, Detective Jake.”

  “And how will I know him? What’s he look like?”

  “You can’t miss him. He’s got a tattoo of a cobra running down his arm.” He stretched out his arm and demonstrated. “It runs from his shoulder, and right down. The back of his fist represents the cobra’s head.” He twiddled his two forefingers. “And see these fingers here? That’s the cobra’s tongue. His nails are sharpened to a point, and his fingers are blood red.” He paused. “It’s actually quite impressive, and realistic.” He laughed. “Like I said, you can’t miss him.”

  Jake chuckled, and then, “Sammy, you’ve been a great help. I really appreciate this. Can I pay you for your time?”

  “Not a penny,” Sammy said. “But, if you can get Salamander off the street, then that’s payment enough. He’s bad for the whole neighborhood.”

  Jake slapped Sammy on the back and shook his hand. “I need to get going now. Do you want a lift home?”

  “Nope, I’m fine. I’ll just hang around here awhile.”

  “Remember, call me if you ever want anything.”

  “I will,” Sammy said, as he winked and walked a
way.

  Jake watched him go for a moment. Sammy was a peculiar character, but in a good way. And a better man than many he had met.

  Chapter 44

  Friday, August 19th, 1:20 PM

  ANDERSON BLACKLEY had arrived home. Annie saw his black Subaru in the driveway as she approached the house. She pulled in behind it, shut down the engine, and stepped out.

  The grass needed to be cut, and the flowerbed could use a little water. Understandable, considering Blackley’s recent circumstances.

  She took the short pathway to the front steps, climbed onto the small porch, and knocked. She assumed Blackley had been watching for her, as the door opened immediately.

  She could see deepening lines on his face, and dark shadows around his eyes. He looked tired, and probably hadn’t slept much in the last couple of days.

  He motioned for her to come in, as he stepped back, allowing her to move into the lobby.

  She took a quick glance around. She remembered snooping outside the house yesterday, peeking in the windows, and checking out the back yard, but she had never been inside before. She studied the living room as she followed Blackley in. It was a typical room, a little neater than she had expected, and any trace of the presence of the investigators the day before, had been cleaned up.

  Blackley motioned toward the couch. Annie took a seat while he sat in a straight-backed chair.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  Annie smiled. “It’s good to see you’ve been released. I’m sure it’s been a rather uncomfortable couple of days.”

  Blackley nodded. “Yes, it sure has been. And I hope you can help get rid of this black cloud hanging over my head.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to spend another night in that place, never mind a few years.” He cushioned his thoughts with an uneasy laugh. “And those orange jumpsuits are not to my liking either.”

  Annie chuckled before turning the conversation to more serious matters. He had not heard about Samantha Riggs, so she filled him in.

  He was shocked and speechless for a moment. Finally, he asked, “Do you think her murder is related to Vera’s?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Annie replied. “We are almost certain whoever killed your wife, also killed Mrs. Macy. Miss Riggs was a friend and co-worker of Mrs. Macy. I don’t think there’s any coincidence.”

  Blackley nodded. “I do believe you’re right. Now, how are we going to find out who it was?”

  “For starters, I’d like to know a little bit more about your wife. You told us before, you and her weren’t close anymore, but do you know what she did in her spare time?”

  Blackley laughed. “Her spare time. That’s all she had.” He thought a moment. “I don’t really know. She got her hair done a lot, and she was always out shopping for new clothes. For some reason she bought a lot of fancy undergarments, but I never saw them on her.” He chuckled. “I think that was reserved for somebody else.”

  Annie forced a smile before continuing. “Did she ever go to bars, or drink?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. She never was much of a drinker.”

  “Can you think of anyone she may have confided in? Any friends, or relatives, you may have forgotten to list before?”

  Blackley shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but then again, I don’t really know for sure.” He paused. “She was seeing a psychiatrist some time ago, but only a few sessions.”

  Annie raised a brow. “A psychiatrist? Do you have his name?”

  “Just a minute.” He stood and walked into a small office off the living room. Annie could hear drawers opening and closing, and the sounds of him rummaging around. In a few minutes, he returned with an invoice in his hand.

  “His name is Dr. Hoffman,” he said, reading from the paper as he took a seat.

  Annie’s jaw dropped. “Dr. Boris Hoffman?”

  “Yup.”

  “Mrs. Macy was also seeing Dr. Hoffman,” she said thoughtfully.

  Blackley frowned deeply. “Do you think there’s any connection?”

  Annie scratched her head, thinking. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Maybe.”

  Blackley consulted the invoice again. “The last time she saw him was three months ago,” he said.

  Annie nodded, and looked at her watch. “If there’s nothing else you can tell me about your wife, Mr. Blackley, I’d like to cut this interview short. I have a few urgent matters I need to look into right away.”

  “That’s all I can think of right now. If there’s anything else, I’ll call you.”

  He let her out the front door and she made her way to the Escort, climbed in, and fired up the engine. She sat for a few minutes, trying to wrap her brain around this new piece of information. Possibly, a very big piece of information.

  It was too early to say anything to Blackley, or to form any firm conclusions, but she had a nagging feeling Hoffman was deeply involved somehow.

  She had to find out if he owns a red Mercedes convertible.

  Chapter 45

  Friday, August 19th, 1:28 PM

  JAKE LEFT HIS car across the road from the park, and strode the four blocks to the street where Sammy had directed him.

  It was a nasty neighborhood, lots of government subsidized housing, and a few crumbling two-floor apartment buildings.

  A neglected old woman sat in a rocker on the front stoop of a squalid house, the roof dipping slightly in the middle, as if ready to tumble at any moment. Her rocker squeaked in a rhythmic tone as she sat idling her time away. Across the street, a shabby house had a weed garden in front, with a rusting car jacked up on cement blocks. The smell of something rotting was in the air. Jake put it down to the smoldering pile of garbage beside the tired house.

  A few pedestrians ambled the sidewalks, apparently going nowhere. The sound of a motorcycle almost deafened him as it flew by and spun around the corner. Groups of two or three were gathered on steps, makeshift benches, or standing in driveways and doorways.

  Four hoodlums in leather were carousing in front of a dilapidated garage. They quietened, and stared curiously as Jake approached them.

  “I’m looking for Tommy Salamander,” Jake said.

  An ugly one said, “Who’s asking?”

  Jake moved in a little closer to Ugly. “I am.”

  Ugly glanced at his companions and laughed, and then back at Jake. “And who are you?”

  Jake moved in another step. He was just a few inches away, towering over him by a foot. “Never mind who I am. I want Tommy.”

  The guy dropped his head back and looked up at Jake, but remained silent. The other three hoodlums had taken a step back, and seemed on the verge of running away.

  Jake put a massive hand on the guy’s chest and propelled him backwards, slamming him against the garage door, pinned firmly. The tin door snapped and buckled. Ugly struggled vigorously, like a rabbit in a trap, but was held solid.

  “Where is he?” Jake asked calmly.

  Ugly stopped squirming, squinted at Jake, and then finally nodded toward an apartment building across the street. “He lives there.” Jake detected a wobble of fear in his voice.

  “Which apartment?”

  “Second floor.” He hesitated. “He’s in 201, but don’t tell him I sent you.”

  “Why, are you a friend of his?”

  “Sure, we’re friends. I’ve known him all my life, but he’ll still kick my butt if he knows I talked to you.”

  Jake moved his hand and Ugly quickly slithered away, the others following him. Jake smiled grimly as he watched them tear around the side of the garage.

  He turned and strode across the street, crossed the postage stamp lawn, and pushed the door of the building open. As he stepped in, his nostrils were assaulted with a strong odor of wet dog, mingled with stale cigarette smoke, and moldy carpet.

  The steps threatened to break through as he took them two at a time to the second floor. He knocked on the door of 201.

  “Who’s there?” It sounded like a woman
’s voice.

  He spoke gruffly, trying to imitate the lowlife across the street. “A friend of Tommy’s.”

  “Come in,” she said.

  Jake turned the knob and pushed the door. It wedged at the top. He pushed a little harder, and it sprang open, swung around, and thunked against the wall.

  A girl slouched on the couch. She was probably early twenties, but looked as worn out, and burned out, as the guys outside. She didn’t look at him, her eyes fastened to the soap on TV. She tilted her head, motioning down the hall. “He’s in the can.”

  Jake stood and waited.

  “Oh, Jessica, I have always loved you,” the TV said.

  “And I have always loved you too,” the TV replied.

  Jake slapped the television off and stepped back again, eyeing the girl. She looked to be entirely out of touch, and unaware of him. She appeared not to notice the TV was no longer talking at her.

  The toilet flushed, the bathroom door swung open, and Jake saw him. He looked as mean as Sammy had described. He was wearing a muscle shirt, and the tattoo was fully visible.

  Tommy frowned when he saw Jake. His frown deepened as he moved closer. He stopped, and spoke as if irritated, “What do you want, man?”

  Jake was a daunting site as he crossed his arms and glared at Tommy. “Why did you kill Samantha Riggs?” he asked flatly.

  Tommy scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know it was you,” Jake said. “We have an eyewitness.”

  Tommy hesitated. “If you’re here to arrest me, then where’s your gun?”

  Jake pounded his right fist into his left palm a couple of times. “I don’t need a gun.”

  Tommy wiped his hair back out of his wide eyes as he stared at the colossal pair of fists. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again.

  Before Jake could react, Tommy spun around and dashed back down the hall, disappearing through a doorway. Jake sprinted forward and followed. It was a bedroom, messy, dirty, smelling like old laundry. An outside window was open and Tommy was climbing out.