Cold Justice Page 9

  He sighed.

  “Look,” she said, “I’m not just someone you can come to any time you please, and have sex with me. I want more than that. You have to prove you love me.” She raised her voice and demanded flatly. “Divorce your wife.”

  He frowned. “Come on, Vera. I said I would. Don’t you trust me?”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “I’m not sure.”

  He stood and gave her an angry stare. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

  “I’m not sure if you love me,” she said, as she crossed her arms, glaring back at him.

  “All right. Here’s the truth,” he said slowly, deliberately. “I can’t divorce her right now. It would ruin me financially.”

  “And is money more important to you than I am?” she asked indignantly.

  “No, of course not, but...”

  “But? No but. Either you love me or you don’t. Which is it? Either you divorce her now, or...”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Or what?” he demanded.

  “Or I will have to tell her... about us,” she said flatly. She raised her nose and looked at him unemotionally.

  He threw his hands in the air in exasperation, and then began pacing again, furiously, back and forth, turning to glare at her, and then pace again. He stopped and turned to her, his arms folded tightly. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “Oh, yes I would.”

  “And then your husband would know about us.”

  “I don’t care,” she said calmly, and then screamed, “I don’t care any more.”

  “Well I do,” he shouted.

  She glared at him, her lips thin, her nose in the air. Then in a menacing voice, low, threatening, and calm, “I will tell her.”

  “You will do what?” he shouted.

  “I will tell her about us.”

  He leaned in, pointing at her, anger in his eyes. “If you do that, then it’s all over for us.”

  “It may be all over for us anyway.”

  “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

  “I mean,” she said. “It looks like we are through.”

  He swore at her, savagely, angry, fuming. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yes, I would. And I will. That’s a promise,” she said smugly.

  “But I love you,” he said, begging, whining.

  She stood and walked over to him, her hands on her hips, her eyes flaming. She leaned in and said coolly, “I will give you two days to do something about us, or I will tell your wife about us.”

  He raised his hand as if to strike her. She stepped back, unruffled. “Don’t you dare touch me.” She turned and sat, her back straight, her head up, her eyes narrow, angry.

  He strode from the room. She could hear the bathroom door slam.

  She had stuck to her plan. She had given him an ultimatum, as she was determined to see it through.

  Chapter 20

  Thursday, August 18th, 12:55 PM

  THE RAIN SHOWERS that had earlier dampened the day had been chased away by the gentle breeze now sweeping down Richmond Valley. The sun was out in full, the pavement steaming as the wet city dried off.

  Annie pulled the Escort into an industrial complex on Magnetic Drive. A towering sign at the street had a long list of businesses occupying the cookie-cutter units. She drove slowly down the long row, eyeing the small signs attached to the front of each unit. They found Proper Shoes down near the far end. 22b. She slid into one of the slots in front, and they climbed from the vehicle and approached the unit.

  Jake pulled on the front door and swung it open. Annie stepped in and Jake followed her into a small reception area. They approached a woman sitting behind a counter, guarding the entrance into the room beyond. Behind her, in a larger area, was half a dozen desks occupied by sales people, talking on phones, taking orders, the room humming with activity as business was done. The woman looked at them over the top of her tiny reading glasses. She frowned, as if they had interrupted her in the middle of an urgent matter.

  “Yes?” she asked, sounding bored.

  “Annie and Jake Lincoln to see Anderson Blackley. We have an appointment at one o’clock.”

  Without a word, the receptionist stabbed a button on the bank of phones beside her. “Your one o’clock is here.”

  “Send them in,” came from the speaker.

  The woman pointed to a door at the back of the room. “Straight through there,” she said, as she went back to the papers on her desk.

  They stepped through a door-sized space at the end of the counter, and weaving around desks and workers, they approached Blackley’s office. A gold sign on the door said ‘Anderson Blackley. National Sales Manager’. The door swung open as they approached it.

  Blackley waved them in.

  The brightly lit room had three or four bulging filing cabinets that appeared to have served many years. There were shoeboxes stacked along one wall. Piles of stuff along another. The small desk had papers and folders piled high, a monitor at one end, and a phone at the other. There was a small window along the left wall, the blinds closed.

  Annie looked at Blackley, sizing him up. He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. She noticed he was rather handsome. Dark hair, well-trimmed, nice blue eyes, good physique. He was dressed in a suit with no tie. His top button was undone, the jacket hanging loosely around his shoulders.

  They sat in a pair of guest chairs on the near side of the desk. Blackley went behind his desk and sat in a stuffed leather chair. He leaned back, dropped his elbows on the armrests, and looked at them, waiting.

  Annie smiled. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Blackley,” she said.

  Blackley gave a slight nod and said nothing.

  “As I told you on the phone, we were hired by your neighbor, Philip Macy, to look into the death of his wife.”

  “Tragic,” Blackley said, “but as I understand it, she committed suicide.” His voice was full, mellow, and not unfriendly.

  “We don’t think so,” Annie said. “We think perhaps she was murdered.”

  “And you think this somehow involves my wife?”

  “We’re not sure,” Annie said, “but we are looking into the possibility. Mrs. Macy reported seeing a murder take place on the Rand property, behind your house. We checked for missing persons in the area, and your wife seems to have gone missing about the same time.”

  Blackley looked back and forth from Annie to Jake. “I have no idea when Vera went missing. I was away since last Thursday, and when I came home Monday, she was gone.”

  “Did you talk to her at all during that period?” Jake asked.

  Blackley shook his head. “No, I didn’t call her, and she didn’t call me.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Not at all. We’re not a happily married couple, Mr. Lincoln.” He shrugged. “Haven’t been for some time.”

  “So you think she may have just left you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure. That’s what I thought at first.” He sighed deeply. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “And you checked around with people she knows?” Annie asked.

  Blackley nodded. “I called her family, and some friends, but no one had heard from her for quite some time.”

  “What about money. Did she take any money? Did you check your personal bank accounts?”

  Blackley looked at the ceiling a minute. “She has her credit cards, but hasn’t used them as far as I know. Her car is still parked in the garage.”

  “What about extra clothes.”

  Blackley shrugged. “I have no idea. She has so many clothes. I would have no way of knowing if she took anything or not.”

  “Jewelry? Suitcases?” Annie asked.

  “Again, I don’t know,” Blackley said. “And she didn’t touch the bank accounts.”

  “Doesn’t that seem unusual?”

  “Not really. The last time she left, she had met some rich guy. She just dropped everything and up and left. Go
ne for about three months. She didn’t take anything with her that time either.”

  “So,” Jake asked, “you assume she has done the same again.”

  Blackley nodded.

  “Do you know if she is currently having an affair?”

  “I can’t say for sure. Maybe.”

  Annie was confused. “So, Mr. Blackley, if she is having affairs, why are you still together?”

  “I don’t really know.” He paused. “I’m busy a lot. We live separate lives. She does her thing and I do mine. I expect we’ll get divorced eventually.”

  Annie studied him. She noticed he was still wearing a wedding ring. He seemed calm about his wife’s disappearance. Could that be because he had accepted that his wife was unfaithful, and was resigned to it? Or had he killed his wife in cold blood, and hid her body somewhere? Maybe buried it, or dumped it in the lake? Was he the killer Mrs. Macy had seen?

  Blackley leaned forward and dropped his arms on the desk. “So let me get this straight. You think the woman murdered may have been Vera?”

  Annie nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Then where is she? Where’s her body?”

  “We don’t know. If her body had been found, then the police would be involved. As it is, she’s just missing.”

  “Yeah, the police didn’t do much,” Blackley said, leaning back again.

  “Mr. Blackley, can you tell us where you were Sunday evening?”

  Blackley frowned. “You are asking me for an alibi?”

  Annie nodded.

  “I gave all of this to the police.”

  "Yes, I know, but we don’t have that information.” Annie slipped a notepad and pen from her handbag.

  Blackley sighed. “I stayed at the Nights Inn at St. Catherines. I had a meeting with our regional manager on Friday, and I stayed for an extra day, and then drove home on Monday morning.”

  She looked up at Blackley. “What time did you get home?”

  “About two o’clock in the afternoon,” he said, and then leaned forward. He looked Jake in the eye, and then at Annie. “Look, I didn’t kill my wife. That is, if she has even been killed.”

  Annie wrote the date and time in her notepad.

  “We are just trying to piece everything together,” Jake said. “We don’t necessarily suspect you had anything to do with it. And like you said, we don’t even know if anything happened to your wife. Hopefully, she will return.”

  Blackley shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t really care if she’s run off again, but I do hope she’s ok. I don’t love the woman, but I don’t wish her any harm.”

  “Mr. Blackley, would you have a picture of your wife we could borrow?” Annie asked.

  Blackley shook his head. “No, not here. If you drop by the house I should have something there I can give you.”

  Annie nodded. “Ok. And Mr. Blackley, we would like to contact her friends and family. Could you give us a list of names?”

  Blackley nodded and grabbed a pad and pen from the side of his desk. He wrote for awhile, and then said, “There’s some people here I don’t have any phone numbers for. You can probably look them up.” He ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to Annie.

  Annie took the list and glanced at it briefly before slipping it into her handbag. She found a business card and handed it to him. “If your wife returns, or if you think of anything else, please call us.”

  Blackley took the card and glanced at it briefly before tucking it under the edge of the phone. “Ok,” he said.

  They stood and shook hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Blackley,” Annie said as they turned to leave.

  The receptionist didn’t look up as they slipped past her and made their way out the door to the car. They climbed in and fastened their seat belts. Annie pushed the key into the ignition and sat back, her hands on the steering wheel.

  Jake looked at Annie. “Do you think he did it?”

  Annie stared thoughtfully at the unit in front of them, and then at Jake. “I don’t know,” she said. “But, did you notice he was still wearing his wedding ring?”

  “Yeah, I saw that. Maybe he’s wearing it to avoid suspicion.”

  Annie wrinkled her brow. “Maybe, but if he’s trying so hard to avoid suspicion, then why would he freely admit he didn’t love his wife, and she was having affairs?”

  “Because that information would come out anyway. Eventually. So, if he took his ring off, then that might make it look worse for him. Like everything was final.”

  “Maybe.” Annie shrugged. “Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

  “And why hasn’t he divorced her?” Jake asked.

  “Could be it’s just like he said. He doesn’t really care.”

  “Doesn’t make sense to me either way.” Jake thought a moment before continuing, “The way I see it, we are going under a bunch of assumptions here.”

  Annie nodded. “I realize that.”

  Jake continued, “We are assuming Mrs. Macy saw someone murdered. We are assuming Mrs. Macy was also murdered. And now, we are assuming Vera Blackley was the one murdered. And maybe, it was Anderson Blackley who did it.”

  “Yes, and if any of our assumptions are incorrect, then our whole theory breaks down.”

  “Exactly,” Jake said. “If Mrs. Macy didn’t really see someone murdered, then it’s likely she wasn’t murdered either.”

  Annie finished Jake’s thought. “And perhaps Vera Blackley is alive somewhere.”

  “Right. But assuming Mrs. Macy really did see someone murdered, then who was it, if not Vera Blackley?”

  “She’s the only one missing that seems like a possibility. And here, again, I’m assuming the victim was someone local.”

  Jake shrugged. “I dunno. We don’t really have any firm proof of anything.”

  Annie smiled. “Don’t forget about women’s intuition. I just have a real feeling we’re on the right track.”

  “Sure. I agree. I think you’re right, but we need some proof.”

  “That’s a problem,” Annie said as she leaned forward and turned the key. “We need to find something.”

  Chapter 21

  Four Days Ago

  DR. BORIS HOFFMAN was angry. He knew once Vera had made up her mind, there was no changing it. He knew she would tell his wife about their affair. He couldn’t let that happen.

  It would ruin him.

  The big mansion he lived in. The fancy cars he drove. All belonged to his wife. She had inherited it from her father, and he would have no claim to it should she divorce him. Sure, his practice did ok, but it was struggling. He couldn’t get enough clients to live the lifestyle he wanted.

  And now, it was all in danger.

  He had to do something.

  He had come into the bathroom to get away from her, and perhaps calm down a bit, to think clearly. He was tempted to just leave and go home, but that wouldn’t solve his problem.

  Could he convince her not to say anything? She could ruin his life.

  He tried to calm down. He splashed water on his face and looked intently at himself in the mirror, not seeing his true reflection, just the image of a now desperate man.

  He tried to shake it off, and swore at himself for being so stupid. He should never have gotten involved with a patient. He was caught up in her charms. She had seduced him, and was now playing with him.

  He wiped his face on a towel, and then strode back to the front room. He saw Vera watching him as he came in. He stopped short and glared at her as she sat on the couch.

  “Have you changed your mind?” she asked calmly. She no longer looked attractive. She looked devious, and ugly. He hated her now.

  He stood still, scowling at her, his hands on his hips. “No, I haven’t,” he said firmly.

  She stood suddenly and stepped toward him, unafraid, standing a few inches away, her eyes flaming. She pointed to the front door and demanded, “Then get out of my house.”

  He pushed her away viscously. She fell back,
flailing wildly to catch herself. She hit the floor, landing on her back. She looked up at him, loathing in her eyes, as he stood over her, an uncontrollable wrath sweeping over him, swallowing him whole, commanding him now.

  Hate. Hate. Hate.

  He dropped to his knees beside her. His hands reached. Reaching for her neck. Her throat. She struggled to her knees and rolled away as he dived for her. A crazed snarl erupted from deep inside as he lunged again, catching her by the leg as she fought to get away.

  I’ve got you now.

  She had the wine bottle in her hand, its contents splashing to the floor as she swung it high. It came down. He felt a jolt run through him and he fell back, dazed.

  She twisted free, tearing her stocking, and stumbled to her feet.

  He hated her. Wanted to kill her.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his foggy mind. His head was sore where the bottle had landed. He paid no attention to the throbbing as he rose slowly.

  Hate. Hate. Kill.

  She stood a few feet away, the bottle still in her hand, high above her head, ready, waiting.

  “Get back,” she screamed. “I’ll hit you again.”

  They stood, facing one other, studying each other, like opponents in a ring, looking for an opening, panting, waiting, calculating.

  He lunged at her. She stepped aside, twisting, and swung the bottle. It missed, and went whistling across the room, hitting the floor and rolling to a stop against the wall.

  He lunged again. She moved, and he caught her by the dress. She pulled away, and left it dangling from his fist. In a rage, he threw it aside and chased her as she ran wildly from the room.

  Kill. Kill. Kill.

  Half naked now, she stumbled down the hallway to the kitchen. He followed, cursing, desperate.

  She scrambled for the knife holder on the counter. She snatched up a large blade and spun around as he reached her. She swung the weapon wildly. It shaved his head as he ducked, the momentum knocking her off balance. He swung around behind her, grabbing her around the shoulders.

  She still had the knife, and she twisted her arm back over her shoulder, trying to stab him. “Let go of me,” she shrieked. The knife barely missed his face as she thrust it at him, again and again.