Someone shouted, “Are the two murders related?”
Diego frowned. “I will take questions later.” He looked over the eager crowd before continuing. “The city can rest assured we are doing everything to bring the killer, or killers to justice. It’s too early to know if the same perpetrator killed both victims or not. We are assuming there are two murderers out there, as the manner of death, and other circumstances, are completely different.” He paused. “I will take your questions now.”
Hands shot up and mouths spit questions. Diego pointed to a reporter near the back.
“Sir, do you have the name of the second victim?”
“All I can tell you is it was a woman. Her name won’t be released to the public until her next of kin can be notified.” He pointed at another raised hand.
“Do you have any suspects?”
“Not at this point, but we have several persons of interest. We are expecting an arrest at any time, and this killer, or killers, will be caught and face the full extent of our judicial system.”
“What about Blackley?”
Diego looked at the Crown Attorney. He stepped to the mike. “Charges against Mr. Blackley have been withdrawn. There is no evidence he was involved in the death of his wife.”
Diego pointed to Lisa Krunk.
Lisa said, “Captain Diego, informed sources have assured me the death of Abigail Macy is directly related to these two new murders. What do you have to say about that?”
Diego frowned. “Abigail Macy’s death was ruled as suicide by the medical examiner. Her case is closed, and there’s no relation to the others.”
Lisa was ready with a second question. “What are you doing to ensure the citizens of this city are safe?”
“We have no reason to believe the people are in any danger, but for any who are worried, I have this advice. Use your normal common sense. If you need to be outside after dark, make sure you’re not alone, and stay away from unlit areas. Keep your doors locked, both at home, and when in your vehicles.”
Someone shouted, “Did the second victim know Vera Blackley?”
“I have already stated we don’t think the murders are related, and to the best of my knowledge, the victims did not know each other.” Diego pointed to the reporter beside Lisa.
“Captain, have you been able to ascertain a motive in either murder?”
Diego thought a moment. “In the case of Vera Blackley, as she was strangled, it appears to be a crime of passion. In the case of... the second victim, it appears to have been a mugging gone wrong. The female victim had no handbag or identification with her, which is unusual, and at this point we are assuming she was robbed.”
“So, you are looking for a male in both cases?”
“The manner of death in both cases is consistent with a male perpetrator, yes.” He leaned into the mike. “We have no more information at this point, and there will be no more questions. Again, thank you all for coming,” he said, as he turned away.
He nodded to the crown and the chief, and they went back up the steps, ignoring the jumble of questions from the reporters below. As they stepped into the precinct, the shouts died out and all that could be heard was Diego’s uneasy sigh.
Chapter 49
Friday, August 19th, 2:14 PM
TOMMY SALAMANDER idled his motorcycle into an alleyway two buildings away from his own. He dropped the kickstand and swung from the bike.
He was a little worried about that big guy who had come into his apartment and accused him of killing the girl. How did he find out? He sure didn’t want to see that clown again, and hoped he was gone, but he had to get into his apartment and get that note. It was worth five grand to him. He chuckled. Maybe more.
He hoped good old Uncle Boris was right and if the cops knew something, they would have been here already. Well, they weren’t, but the big guy was. So, what did he want?
He crept carefully back up the alley to the sidewalk, keeping a close watch in every direction as he made his way slowly to his building. He pushed the front door open and peeked inside. No one was around. He went in and took the steps as quietly as possible to the second floor. The floorboards squeaked a couple of times as he edged down the hall. He hesitated when he reached the door of 201, and then gradually turned the knob and eased the door open a few inches.
He peered inside. Rachel was sitting on the couch, watching TV like always. The door squeaked faintly as he pushed it further. She looked up.
“Is he gone?” he whispered.
She nodded and turned back to the TV.
He pushed the knob, opening the door enough to squeeze through. The knob was suddenly ripped from his hand as the door slammed behind him. He spun around.
The big guy was there. The clown had been waiting behind the door, and his ugly girlfriend had betrayed him.
The mountain of a man looked at him and smiled. “Hi, I’m Jake,” he said. “And I would like to talk to you.”
Tommy tried to run, but was caught by the shoulder.
“Sorry. Not this time,” Jake said, as he yanked on his arm and spun him back around.
Tommy tried to shake free, but the grip was too tight. He swung his other hand but it was soon pinned as well. He stood still and stared up at the face of the guy that looked like he could tear him into strips.
He was spun around again, his arm wrenched behind his back. It felt like a bone might snap as he was propelled forward. Rachel rolled out of the way as he was swung around and thrust backward onto the couch.
He didn’t move. He watched as Jake shut the television off, pushed the footstool over and sat down facing him. Rachel went to the front door and sat in a straight-backed chair against the wall.
Tommy frowned at Jake. “What do you want?” he asked, fear beginning to control his voice.
“You killed Samantha Riggs.”
“You’re crazy.”
“We have a witness that saw you, and I just want to know why.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
Jake sighed. “You are going to make this difficult for me. See Tommy, here’s my problem. I’m a nice guy, and I don’t like to hurt people. I prefer not to make an exception in your case, but what can I do?” He shrugged.
Tommy glared and said nothing.
“I want you to know I’m not happy about doing this,” Jake said, as his hand shot forward and cuffed Tommy on the side of the head. It was only a slap, but he was knocked sideways, landing on his side against the couch.
Tommy rolled forward, stumbling to his feet in an attempt to get away, but was sent spinning, and fell back down with a whoosh of the cushion.
“Why did you kill her?” Jake asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Who hired you?”
“Nobody.”
Whack. Tommy’s head shot back. He brought his hand to his nose. It felt like it was broken. There was a warm trickle, tasting like blood, on his lip. He struggled to stand, but was held firmly by a big hand on his chest.
“Sorry,” Jake said. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself. I hope that didn’t hurt too much.” He removed his hand, slipped a tissue from a box on the stand beside the couch and handed it to Tommy. “Here, clean yourself up.”
Tommy took the tissue and dabbed at his nose, keeping his eyes on his attacker.
“Is that better?” Jake asked. “Are we friends now?”
“We’ll never be friends.” His voice sounded nasal, the blood gathering in his nose.
Jake sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Wham.
The blow caught Tommy on the other side of the head. He fell sideways, but was quickly yanked to a sitting position by a pair of muscular hands.
“Who hired you to kill the girl?”
“Nobody.” His voice trembled.
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
Tommy was afraid now. He had had enough. He needed to think of some way out of this. “Are you a cop?” he asked.
Ja
ke shook his head. “No, I’m not a cop. Now, did you kill her?”
Tommy nodded slightly. “Maybe.”
“Who hired you?”
Tommy shrugged. “Just some guy.”
“Who was it?” Jake asked. “I don’t care about you. I just want to know who hired you.” He grabbed Tommy by the hands and bent them backward at the wrists.
Tommy howled in pain and tried to break out of Jake’s hold. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Jake relaxed his grip. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It was just some guy.”
“What guy? Tell me who it was or I’ll break both of your wrists.”
The big guy looked like he meant what he said, and Tommy had a feeling it would be rather easy to snap his wrists. The guy didn’t look so mean, but the strength in his arms was impressive. “I don’t know who it was. Honest.” He shook his head and tried to make it look like he was telling the truth. “I don’t know who it was. He paid me a hundred bucks. That’s all I know.”
Jake dropped Tommy’s hands and sat back. “A hundred dollars. That’s all her life was worth? A hundred dollars?”
Tommy tucked his hands under his armpits, as if to protect them from further pain. He glowered at Jake, shaking furiously in fear, but determined not to say who it was that had hired him.
Jake drew back his fist. “What did this guy look like?”
Tommy stared at the massive fist and his voice quivered. “I don’t know. I never saw him. He just called me, and we made a deal, and he dropped the money in my mailbox. That’s all. I swear.”
The big guy looked like he didn’t believe him. He couldn’t say who had hired him or he wouldn’t get his five grand. He had to hold out, no matter what.
Jake unfurled his fist and reached for his iPhone. “Smile for the camera,” he said, as he held it up.
Tommy looked sullen as the camera clicked.
Jake stood suddenly, knocking the footstool back. Tommy watched him walk to the bedroom and return a moment later with a suitcase. It was Rachel’s suitcase. His head swiveled as his eyes followed Jake back, past the couch, to the front door, and out.
Rachel stood and took one last look at Tommy, stuck her nose in the air, and followed the big guy out, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 50
Friday, August 19th, 2:17 PM
ANNIE DROVE SLOWLY down Rambling Road, following her GPS. She saw 133 on her left, kept going for another fifty feet or so, and pulled over.
She threw her handbag over her shoulder, stepped from her car, and crossed the road, surveying the property in front of her. A whitewashed picket fence separated the property from the road. Twin stone pillars guarded the driveway entrance that was secured by a massive wrought iron gate designed to keep out intruding vehicles.
Set on perhaps five acres of land, ancient trees lined the long driveway running to the house, making the dwelling barely visible from where she stood. A well-kept lawn, peppered with more trees, took up a large area in front. Bordered from the neighboring estates by a sea of trees and vegetation on either side, it appeared the huge properties on both sides of Rambling Road had once been carved out of an old forest, clearing only enough space for the buildings and front lawns.
Annie walked down the side of the road until she was out of sight of the house. She climbed the fence, swung her leg over and dropped down, landing on a pile of dead leaves that had blown against the barricade.
She brushed herself off and continued on through the forested area, keeping near enough to the tree line so she could see the house, while staying back out of sight in the dimness of the trees in case someone glanced her way.
After several minutes, she made it adjacent to the house. She had a clearer view from here. She crept a little closer to the tree line, keeping behind massive trunks and leafy bushes. Now she could see the full side of the mansion. There was a three-car garage directly ahead of her. Above, and behind the garage, were half a dozen windows, shining light into the house.
She studied the windows for some time. Finally, satisfied there was no one in those rooms, as far as she could tell, she took a chance and ran the short distance across the lawn to the garage.
She hugged the wall and eased along until she reached a small window in the side. She poked her head around and peered into the dim room.
She saw a red Mercedes convertible.
Her heart was pounding through her chest. She knew now, Hoffman had been the visitor to Vera Blackley’s house, and unless he had another car, he was at home, and prowling around his mansion somewhere.
But she had to get inside the garage. She had to know for sure if he was a murderer. There was no point in calling the police with what little circumstantial evidence she had.
She crept back along the outside wall to a small door at the side of the garage. She twisted the knob.
Locked.
She reached into her handbag, pulled out a small leather case, and flipped it open. The first real test of her brand new lock-picking tools. Hopefully, there’s no alarm set in the garage. She didn’t see any wires or other evidence of that around the door.
She had practiced a little when she had first bought the tools, but not nearly enough. She worked at the lock for ten minutes before she heard a pleasant tick, a click, and the knob turned. She held her breath and pushed the door open, ready to run. But there was no alarm.
She stepped inside and eased the door shut. There was another door on the inside wall of the garage, probably leading to the living area. The back wall was lined with metal shelving. It held containers of oil, gas cans, and a variety of small gardening equipment. A coiled up garden hose was tossed in the corner. The other two parking slots were empty, and she stood still, staring at the Mercedes in the center space for a few moments.
She hadn’t tried picking the lock on a car before. Would it be any different than a house lock?
She stepped to the back of the vehicle, her tools ready. There was no lock on the trunk. The latch must be inside the vehicle.
She went to the driver’s side door. Again, she prayed there was no alarm, but nothing rang, buzzed, or screeched as she worked with the tools.
It took another few minutes to finally spring the lock, and she smiled as she pulled the door handle up. She snooped around inside the glove compartment, a map, the manual, and a folder of maintenance invoices. She checked under the seats. Nothing. Nothing except dust.
She checked under the dashboard and found the lever to open the trunk. She heard a pop from the back of the vehicle as she gave it a tug.
She climbed back out, went to the rear and lifted the lid. The trunk was empty.
What did she expect to find? Another body?
She dug out her keychain. There was a penlight fastened to the ring. She switched it on, and as the light glowed, she was glad she had changed the battery that morning.
She shone the light around, in the corners, around the edges, and... What’s that dark spot?
It looks like dried blood.
She flipped her handbag from her shoulder and pulled out a plastic bag. She removed a small bottle equipped with a fine mist atomizer, twisted the top off, and dropped in two tablets, one white, and one beige. She turned the top back on, gave the tablets a moment to dissolve, shook the bottle, and sprayed it over the spot.
She saw an eerie blue glow, lasting about thirty seconds before fading away. Her luminol kit had worked. The dark spot was blood.
There was no doubt about it now. Hoffman was the killer.
She was feeling nervous and excited. It was one thing to suspect Hoffman, but now, being sure of it was terrifying. Her hands shook slightly as she reached into her handbag for her phone.
She heard a scrape, and a click. It seemed to be coming from the side of the vehicle near the inner door to the house. Her head snapped up and her eyes popped.
It was Hoffman.
He had a sneer on his face, and the gun in his hand was p
ointing straight at her.
Chapter 51
Friday, August 19th, 2:30 PM
JAKE AND RACHEL walked back to where he had left his car by the park, and swung by the bus station to drop her off. They had had a long talk in the kitchen, and Jake finally convinced her Tommy was no good. She had decided to leave him and go back out west, to her family, where she came from several years ago.
Jake gave her two hundred dollars and watched her lug her suitcase into the terminal, hoping he hadn’t thrown his money away, and she would make something of herself.
He knew Tommy Salamander was holding out on him. Tommy was lying when he said he had taken a job from someone he didn’t know. That was just too hard to believe. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of him, but he had an idea.
He drove back to the street where Tommy lived, pulled over to the side, and looked across the road. Tommy’s friends were back and hanging around the garage.
He coasted a little further, pulled a u-turn, parked the car and jumped out. He walked back toward the hoodlums, being careful not to be seen.
He stepped off the sidewalk and strode toward them. Two of them were talking to each other and didn’t see him. The other two scurried away. It didn’t matter. Jake had his eye on one of them, a nerdy little guy who tried to look a lot tougher than he was.
“I want some information,” Jake said.
They looked up at him uneasily. The nerd seemed to squeeze in a little tighter to the fence he was leaning against. Ugly was near him, sitting on the crumbling pavement, his back against the garage door. He sat up straight and glanced around, as if looking for a way to escape.
Jake leaned down, grabbed a handful of Ugly’s jacket and lifted him off the ground. He swung him around and released his grip. Ugly landed a few feet away and scrambled to his feet. He stood still as if not knowing whether to run.
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