Justice for Hire Page 5

  The boy lowered the pistol and fired. Bobby heard an explosion and a bullet whizzed past his ear. On all fours, he scrambled around to the back of the car, and then to the opposite side where he was out of range.

  He heard a curse from inside the vehicle, and then rubber smoked as the car bolted away, leaving Bobby fully exposed. The shooter took a step forward and aimed the gun, holding it steady.

  A second shot caught Bobby near his left shoulder. He dropped to the ground, and then attempted to stand, but fell again, landing on his back.

  The killer stood over him, the gun now pointed directly at Bobby’s head. He fired again. A hole appeared in Bobby’s forehead and he fell to the ground, too dead to see what happened next.

  The killer stood a moment, the gun still in his right hand, now hanging at his side. He observed his handiwork, and appeared satisfied his victim was dead.

  One more shot exploded as he raised the gun to his own temple and squeezed the trigger. The weapon slipped from the dead hand and clattered on the pavement as his body crumbled to the ground. The sound of the Viper faded in the distance, and then all was quiet and still. The assassin lay beside his victim, their blood trickling from their warm bodies, mingling as one on the hot concrete.

  Chapter 11

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 9:35 AM

  WHEN THE CALL CAME in to 9-1-1, the information was sent to the R.H.P.D. radio dispatcher for the precinct. Police vehicles nearest to the scene of the latest murder were notified and on their way.

  Detective Hank Corning was settled firmly in his chair in the precinct, poring over the notes, reports, and evidence of the murder of Charles Robinson, when Yappy approached him.

  “There’s been another murder, Hank.”

  Hank dropped the papers onto his desk, leaned back and looked up.

  “Two guys dead at a gas station,” Yappy continued, as he handed Hank a note. “Here’s the address.”

  Hank sighed as he stood. “Thanks, Yappy,” he said, as he took the note and scanned it. He sighed again, and then grabbed his briefcase and strode from the precinct.

  Crime scene investigators were already on the scene when Hank arrived at Full Power Gas Bar. He pulled his Chevy to the curb behind a haphazardly parked cruiser and stepped from the vehicle.

  A crowd of onlookers gathered in groups of two or three, trying to get a better view, wanting to see what all the commotion was about. Officers were kept busy, making sure the rubberneckers stayed well back.

  Hank moved closer and scanned the scene. Red and blue lights flashed. An ambulance was parked nearby, and another one was turning into the lot. The familiar yellow tape was being stretched around the area. Investigators milled about. The police photographer’s camera clicked, taking shots at a variety of angles.

  Hank glanced around the gas station. A man was on the far side, leaning against the front fender of his vehicle. Could be a witness.

  He approached the pair of bodies lying on the pavement beside the gas pump. A pistol lay a couple of feet away. Looks like a 9 mm Glock. Two or three bullet casings lay nearby. Evidence cones marked the spots where critical pieces of evidence lay.

  He turned his attention to the victims. Both had been shot in the head, and one of them also had a bloodstain on his shoulder. Probably a gunshot wound as well.

  He looked across the lot. Lead crime scene investigator, Rod Jameson, was talking to a uniform. He held a clipboard in his hand. Hank approached him. “Hey, Rod,” he said.

  Rod spun around. “Hey, Hank. What brings you here?” he asked, chuckling at his own joke.

  Hank smiled weakly and asked, “All these people watching, did anyone see anything?”

  “Nope. We talked to them all. They arrived since, and never saw a thing.”

  Hank nodded toward the man leaning against the fender of his car. “That a witness?”

  “He wasn’t here when it happened,” Rod replied. “He got here later. He’s the guy who called it in.”

  “Thanks, Rod,” Hank said, as he turned and walked over to the man. He slipped out his badge and displayed it. “I’m Detective Hank Corning.”

  The man nodded slightly.

  “You called this in?” Hank asked.

  Another nod.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  The man finally spoke, “I didn’t see anyone around. I pulled in for gas and there they were.” He nodded toward the bodies. “And so, I called 9-1-1.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “There were no other cars around?”

  “Nope. The place was deserted.”

  “Did you see anybody on the sidewalk?”

  “Nope. I mean, there might have been . . . I don’t know, but I didn’t see anyone.”

  Hank frowned and glanced back at the bodies. There appeared to be no witnesses, and this guy wasn’t much help. He turned back and slipped a notepad and pen from an inner pocket. “I need your name and address, and then you can go.”

  The man gave him the information and Hank jotted it down. He flipped the pad shut and tucked it back into his pocket. “Someone may need to contact you later,” he said, “but for now, you can go.”

  “Thanks, officer.”

  “Detective.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a detective.”

  The man gave an uncertain nod, as if not knowing the difference, and then climbed into his vehicle. Hank watched him drive across the lot. An officer removed the tape to allow the vehicle to pass.

  Hank went back to where Rod Jameson was standing. “Didn’t get anything from him,” he said.

  Jameson raised his chin toward the cooling bodies. “Nancy’s here.”

  Hank turned. Deputy Medical Examiner, Nancy Pietek, had arrived and was bending over the bodies. Hank went over and crouched across from her. “Hi, Nancy.”

  Nancy looked up. “Nice to see you again, Hank.”

  “Got anything for me?”

  “I just arrived. Can’t tell for sure yet, but it looks like either a double murder, or possibly a murder/suicide. Forensics will be able to tell you more about this one than I can.”

  “It looks to me like a robbery gone wrong.” Hank pointed at one of the victims. “This guy’s wearing a cap that says ‘Full Power Gas Bar’ on it. He obviously works here . . . but who’s this guy? He has no vehicle. Looks to me like he came to rob the place . . . but who shot him?” He thought a moment, and then looked at Nancy. “But, you think it may be a suicide?”

  She nodded. “Possibly,” she said, as she motioned toward the boy. “It looks like this victim was shot point-blank, either self-inflicted, or by someone who stood close.” She pointed with the tip of her pencil. “See those soot marks at the entrance of the wound? And see that star-like tearing in the skin around the wound? When the barrel of a gun is held against bone, and discharged, gases from the muzzle can be forced under the skin, causing it to balloon out and tear like that.”

  Hank whistled.

  “Again, I’ll know for sure after I get him back to the lab and we check for GSR.”

  “And the other guy?” Hank asked.

  “Two shots. One in the shoulder, and one in the forehead. Both at close range. Probably less than five or six feet away. That’s all I can tell you for now,” Nancy said, as she stood.

  Hank took out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures before standing. “That’ll do for now,” he said. “Thanks, Nancy.”

  Nancy turned and walked toward one of the ambulances as Hank knelt back down. Without disturbing the body, he felt in the pockets of the victim wearing the cap. He found a wallet and removed it. He flipped it open and pulled out a driver’s license. Bobby Sullivan. He compared the picture on the card to the face of the dead attendant, and then tucked the license back into the wallet and returned it to the victim’s pocket.

  He turned to the other body and searched it as well. He frowned and rubbed his chin. Nothing in any of the pockets. Not so much as a coin, or a key, or even a bus token
.

  Very strange.

  “Hank?”

  Hank looked up.

  “There’s a guy here I think you should talk to.”

  Hank stood and looked where the uniform was pointing. A red Viper was parked at the curb on the other side of the tape. A young man paced back and forth on the sidewalk beside the car, and then looked toward the scene, as if observing the proceedings, and then paced some more.

  Hank walked over, identified himself and showed his badge. “You wanted to talk to someone?”

  A vigorous nod.

  “What’s your name?” Hank had his notepad out.

  The boy looked nervous. He stopped pacing, folded his arms and leaned against his vehicle. “Benjamin. Benjamin Butler.” His voice was high-pitched as he said, “I saw it happen.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw a guy shoot another guy.”

  “Where were you standing?”

  “I . . . I was getting gas. I was in my car. He was filling my tank.”

  Hank waited. “And?”

  “And a guy came up and started shooting.”

  “And then, you drove away?”

  “I . . . I was scared. I didn’t want to get killed, so I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  Hank studied him a moment before asking, “Can you identify the shooter?”

  “I . . . I guess so.”

  “Do you want to come and take a look?”

  Butler frowned. “Can’t you . . . show me a picture or something?”

  “I would sooner you came over, if you don’t mind. I would like you to describe how it happened.”

  “Are . . . are they dead?” His voice shook.

  Hank nodded.

  “Both . . . both of them?”

  “Both of them.”

  “I . . . I guess I could come over. But not too close, ok?”

  “No problem,” Hank said. “We don’t need to get close. Come on.”

  Butler followed Hank across the lot. He stopped short as he got near the pump. “That . . . that’s close enough,” he said, as he turned away.

  Hank sighed. “Look, I realize this is hard. I need you to look at them a moment.”

  The boy turned his eyes briefly toward the scene, and then looked away. “The guy with the cap. He was pumping gas for me, and the other guy came up and started shooting at him. I drove away as fast as I could. That’s all I saw.”

  “And then, you decided to come back?” Hank asked.

  Butler shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Hank said, and then asked, “There were only the two of them?”

  Butler nodded.

  “What happened to the shooter?” Hank asked.

  “I don’t know. He was still there when I left. I don’t know what happened to him.” He frowned. “What did happen to him?”

  “It’s too early to tell,” Hank said, and then continued, “I need you to go to the station to make a full statement. Is that ok?”

  Butler nodded. “Ok.”

  “Is now a good time?”

  “Yes.”

  Hank beckoned to a uniformed officer and arranged for Butler to follow the cop to the station. He watched them drive away before walking over to Rod Jameson.

  “Anything else I should know?” Hank asked.

  Jameson shook his head. “Not right now. That’s all we got.”

  Hank took a quick look towards the booth, and then scanned the area around the pumps. “Any security cameras here?”

  “Nothing. We checked for that first thing.”

  Hank dialed Jake’s number. “Jake, I’m at the scene of what looks like a murder/suicide. I just have a niggling feeling it may be related to the Cheryl Waters case. You might want to drop by.” Hank gave him the address, and Jake said he’d be right over.

  Hank thought he had a pretty good picture of what happened here. What he didn’t know, was why.

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 10:25 AM

  LISA KRUNK considered herself to be the best TV news reporter this crappy little town had ever seen. She knew she was destined for bigger and better things, but for now she had to endure, and eventually, she would win that Pulitzer she deserved.

  The local newspapers and TV stations monitored the police bands, usually quick to respond to anything sensational to boost their ratings. But today, Lisa cursed when she realized she’d missed hearing about a big story. She was starving for news, and had been on the other side of the city trying to corner the mayor in regards to a scandal she had manufactured for the occasion.

  When the news broke about a double homicide, she forgot about this filler story, and grabbing her faithful cameraman, Don, they jumped in the Channel 7 Action News van and hurried through the city.

  It took about fifteen minutes to reach their destination, but as they spun onto Main Street, she could see the flashing lights, crowds of onlookers, and yellow tape flapping in the breeze.

  “There. Pull up there.” Lisa motioned impatiently toward the side of the street. “Hurry.”

  Don tucked the van halfway into a small space, shut it down and jumped out. He went around the vehicle, opened the side door and retrieved the camera. Lisa was already striding across the sidewalk toward the yellow line of demarcation, her wireless microphone gripped in her hand. She cursed again when she saw what seemed to be a body covered by a white sheet, already being loaded into a waiting ambulance. She saw another ambulance nearby.

  Don hurried up behind her and dropped the camera onto his shoulder. It hummed, and a red light glowed as it zoomed in toward the action.

  Another body, also covered, was lying on the pavement by a gas pump. “Over there. Get a shot of the other one.”

  The camera spun around and continued to hum. Lisa scanned the area. She saw Detective Corning chatting with a couple of uniformed cops. Too far away to get to him. Maybe she can catch him later if he comes a little closer. She needed to get something juicy. Something she can sink her teeth into. Her viewers wanted that.

  A siren screeched as the ambulance pulled out and was guided from the station. The second ambulance backed in a little closer to the pumps and the camera watched the body being loaded inside. The vehicle drove away behind the first, delivering their load to the city morgue.

  Lisa turned as she heard the roar of a vehicle pull up to the curb a dozen yards away. She smiled as she recognized the car. It’s Jake Lincoln. She’d had a few run-ins with him and his ditzy wife in the past.

  Time to find out what he’s doing here.

  She tugged at Don’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “This way.”

  She hurried down the sidewalk, Don following, and intercepted Jake as he stepped off the asphalt roadway.

  “Mr. Lincoln, you and your wife, as private detectives, have been involved in a couple of high profile cases lately. Is this incident related to something you’re working on now?” She shoved the mike in Jake’s frowning face. The camera followed, humming. The red light glowed.

  “As far as I know, this is not related to anything we’re involved in right now.”

  Lisa’s extra wide mouth flapped, “Then, why are you here?”

  Jake hesitated. “I really don’t know anything about this incident. I just got here.”

  “Do you know either of the victims?”

  He seemed to be getting impatient. “No. Like I said, I just got here and I have no idea what this is all about.”

  Lisa persisted, looking down her thin sharp nose. “Can you tell the viewers whether or not you’ll be involved in this?”

  Jake frowned, stepped around Lisa and strode down the sidewalk. Don spun the camera and followed Lisa as she ran after Jake.

  “Just one more question, Mr. Lincoln,” she called.

  Detective Corning had come over. He lifted the tape, allowing Jake to duck under, and then dropped it and held up a hand when Lisa tried to follow. She stopped short and raised the mike. “Detecti
ve Corning,” she puffed, trying to catch her breath.

  Hank smiled. “Good morning, Lisa,” he said.

  The camera moved toward Hank, the mike ready. “Detective Corning, can you tell the viewers a little bit about what happened here today?”

  “At this point, we know very little. There has been a double homicide, and the investigation has just begun.”

  “Do you know who the killer is?”

  Hank hesitated before saying, “It appears there were no others involved.”

  That sounded to Lisa like an interesting turn of events. “Are you saying this may be a murder/suicide?” she asked.

  “It appears that way, however we have nothing conclusive yet.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “No. We believe there were no witnesses to the actual shooting.”

  “Can you tell us who the victims are?” she asked, knowing it was a futile question. They wouldn’t release that information until the next of kin was notified, but she was running out of ideas.

  “Not at this point,” Hank replied.

  Lisa needed something juicy for her viewers, but she was at a loss. She asked, “Detective Corning, is Lincoln Investigations involved in this case?”

  Hank looked at Jake, who seemed to be a bit peeved. He turned back to Lisa. “I called him. I thought he might be interested, but as far as we know, this case has no relation to anything Lincoln Investigations may be working on at the moment.”

  “And, what are you working on at the moment, Mr. Lincoln?” she asked, as she swung the mike toward Jake. She frowned, disappointed, as he turned and walked away.

  “That’s all we have for now. We’ll let the press know when we have more to go on. Thank you, Lisa,” Hank said with a smile, as he turned and followed Jake.

  Don turned 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 was disappointed. She could edit what she had, of course, but it didn’t amount to much. She hoped somehow she could put an interesting spin on the story.