“Then let’s get out of here and catch this guy,” Hank said. “Why don’t you see if you can find any of the staff who knew our victim? They might be able to shed some light on this.”
“Will do, Hank.”
“I need to talk to the Lincolns, then I have to find out if Mr. Ronson has any next of kin and make a visit.”
Hank moved back into the corridor, gazed down at the body, and sighed. Despite the pale white face, the victim still had a gentle look about him. Raymond Ronson didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would harm anyone, and it angered Hank.
The senseless death of innocent victims always did that to him. And it wasn’t just the death of the victim. It affected the person’s family, friends, and everyone around him.
More than one person’s life had been changed forever because of this violent act. Hank gazed at the body and doubled his vow to track down Adam Thorburn and bring him to justice any way he could.
Chapter 20
Wednesday, 9:52 a.m.
JAKE LEANED against the fender of the Firebird, his arms crossed, watching the proceedings outside the school. He glanced over toward Annie. She was chatting with one of the uniformed officers whose task it was to keep the crowd from getting too close.
Jake wanted to find out if Hank had discovered anything during his study of the crime scene that would help in the search for Adam Thorburn. He wasn’t all that particular about who eventually found the killer; whether it was them or Hank, he didn’t care, he only wanted Thorburn tracked down like the dog he was.
He looked toward the service door as Hank stepped out, removed his shoe coverings and rolled them up, stuffing them into a side pocket of his jacket. The cop glanced toward Jake, raised a finger, and spoke to the officer at the door.
An investigator carried a bag of something from the building and put it into the forensic van. They would be here awhile yet, making sure nothing was missed. No matter how small or how large, everything would be thoroughly scrutinized and documented.
The ambulance had pulled away some time ago, replaced by the coroner’s van. A pair of guys stood outside the van, talking and waiting. When the body was ready for them, they would bypass the hospital and carry their load directly to the city morgue.
The ME had driven away a few minutes earlier. Nancy’s task had only begun, her thorough study of the body yet to take place before the victim could be allowed to rest in peace.
Hank finished his chat and he came toward Jake, shaking his head. “It looks like the work of Thorburn,” the cop said.
Annie must’ve been keeping an eye out for Hank. She appeared beside Jake and spoke to the cop. “Was that a rose in his mouth?”
Hank nodded grimly. “It looks to be the same species as the last one. The lab’ll soon tell us if it is.”
“If so, then there’s no way this is a copycat,” Annie said.
Hank agreed. “A few people knew about the rose in the last victim’s mouth, but no one outside the department knows exactly what species it is.”
“What about the email?” Jake asked. “Any idea if it was the killer or the victim who sent it?”
“According to the time of death Nancy gave, it had to be the killer. Rod Jameson’s trying to track down the computer it was sent from.” Hank turned his head away, gazing toward the road. A disgusted look appeared on his face and he motioned with a jerk of his head. “It’s Lisa Krunk,” he said.
Jake followed Hank’s gaze. The Channel 7 Action News van drove across the parking lot and stopped outside the taped-off perimeter. The doors swung open. Lisa Krunk stepped from the passenger side, her cameraman, Don, from the other. Don slid open the side door, removed a camera, and dropped it onto his shoulder. He hurried to catch up with Lisa as she strode toward the tape and stopped.
“Detective Corning,” Lisa called, waving with one hand, a microphone held securely in the other.
Hank sighed. “I guess I should talk to Lisa.” He turned to Jake. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll need to get your statements later.”
“We’re right with you,” Jake said, glancing at Annie. They followed Hank over to where the reporter stood, her wide mouth cracked into a tight-lipped smile.
They’d had more than their share of run-ins with the pushy reporter before. Jake knew Lisa considered herself a world-class journalist, yet to come into her own. Jake knew otherwise. Her sensational stories often had a scandalous twist to them as she played fast and loose with the truth. He expected this time would be no different.
But even with all her shortcomings, Jake had to admit, the nosy reporter occasionally came up with something useful to an investigation—for a price, of course. Lisa did little that didn’t benefit her in some way.
“Good morning, Detective Corning,” Lisa said, leaning into the tape, her long nose raking the mike as she spoke.
Hank nodded politely. “Good morning.”
Lisa flashed a fake smile toward the Lincolns. Annie smiled back, her smile every bit as sincere as Lisa’s.
Don stood slightly back and off to one side, the red light on his camera already glowing. He would capture everything, and later, Lisa would sculpt it into something that suited her own aspirations. Her editing skills were designed to shock, and however immoral, she was good at what she did.
“Detective Corning,” Lisa began, her dark, painted eyes growing serious. “What can you tell the viewers about what happened here today?”
Hank took a deep breath and let it out slowly, giving himself time to form an answer. “A man was killed inside the school last night, and his body was discovered this morning.”
Lisa’s red lips flapped as she spoke. “Can you tell me who the victim was?”
Hank frowned. “You know better than that, Lisa. We can’t release that information until we’ve notified the next of kin.”
Lisa continued, unashamed. “Was he a teacher at this school?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you much right now. It was a homicide, and investigators are still going over the scene.”
Lisa persisted. “Is this related to the murder on Monday evening that took place at North Richmond High?”
“It’s too early in the investigation to tell yet.”
“As you know,” Lisa continued, “I’ve been continually broadcasting the face of Adam Thorburn, who’s wanted in that murder. And I’ll continue to do so until he’s found.”
“And we appreciate that, Lisa,” Hank said, avoiding her subtle hint. “But it’s too soon to draw any kind of connection between the two homicides.”
Jake saw Lisa’s mind at work as she wracked her brain to come up with another question. Then her eyes narrowed and she turned to Jake. “If this case isn’t related, then why is Lincoln Investigations here? I happen to know they’re looking into the murder of Nina White.”
Jake looked at Annie, who was shaking her head in disgust. She moved away, wandering toward the school. Jake grinned to himself. His wife didn’t have a lot of patience with Lisa Krunk. And truthfully, Jake didn’t either, but the camera was running, so he would be as polite as possible.
Hank turned to Lisa. “They’re here because they’re running a parallel investigation, and I can’t speak for them.”
Lisa swung the microphone toward Jake, the same question in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “We have to respect the rights of our client and keep the reason for our involvement confidential.”
Lisa shook her head in frustration and turned back to Hank. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“A complete statement will be forthcoming to all members of the press in due time,” Hank said. “I have nothing else I can give you right now.”
Lisa caught Don’s eye and motioned toward the school. Don moved the camera away, walking around the perimeter. He would be getting whatever shots might help turn what little they knew into a short news story.
Lisa turned off the mike and flashed a polite smile. “Thank you, Detective,” she
said and turned to Jake. “Thank you, Jake.”
Jake and Hank turned away and went to join Annie. She gave a weak smile as they approached. “I just didn’t have any patience for that woman today.”
“That’s understandable,” Hank said, shrugging. “I wouldn’t talk to her either if I didn’t need to.” He paused, glancing toward the school. “Right now I have to find the victim’s next of kin and make a visit.” He looked at his watch. “Can I meet you guys at the precinct in about an hour to get your statements?”
Annie nodded. “We have a few things to take care of this afternoon, but we can work that in first.”
“See you then,” Hank said. He turned, walked toward his vehicle, and disappeared inside.
Jake turned to Annie. “It looks like we’re going to have a busy day.”
“That’s fine by me,” Annie said. “As long as it leads us closer to Adam Thorburn.”
Chapter 21
Wednesday, 10:31 a.m.
HANK ALREADY had Raymond Ronson’s address from his driver’s license, but he wanted a little more information on the man before proceeding with the uncomfortable task he now faced. He gave Callaway a call and waited on the line while the cop looked up the information on Raymond Ronson.
He wondered if he would ever get used to being a homicide detective. Many years ago, he’d been taught never to get emotionally invested with the victims, just do his job and get on with it. But he’d never been able to do that. He took the murder of innocent victims personally, and he knew if he stopped caring, he wouldn’t be able to do his job effectively.
His heart sank when he heard the news from Callaway. Raymond Ronson had a wife. Her name was Eunice and she was sixty-seven years old. Probably married to the same man all of her life, and now the news was going to tear her apart.
“She lives at 827 Flamingo Pond Road,” Callaway continued. “No kids. No driver’s license registered in her name. I checked missing persons reports, and even though her husband never come home last night, she didn’t report it yet.”
“Thanks, Callaway,” Hank said. He hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and started the car, pulling from the lot. He knew exactly where he was headed, and knew the area well.
Fifteen minutes later, Hank turned onto an old winding road and descended into a valley. Flamingo Pond Road was in a picturesque part of the city, like a small, peaceful village secluded from the madness surrounding it. Flamingo Pond lay quietly at the heart of the community, with small houses on large lots in all directions. The waters of the pond sparkled in the midmorning sunlight, large, shady trees dotting the parklike area.
Number 827 was similar to the houses surrounding it. Set on a half acre of land, the century-old dwelling backed onto Flamingo Pond. Mature trees lined the driveway, with manicured dark green grass on all sides of the well-maintained house. Flowers bloomed in abundance along the front of the building, more in a handful of flowerbeds scattered throughout the property.
Hank pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the garage, painted white with dark gray trim to match the rest of the house. Raymond had taken loving care of the entire property, and Hank wondered what would happen to the maintenance of this beautiful little place now.
He grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, climbed wearily from the vehicle, and walked up the flagstone walkway to the large front verandah. He hesitated a moment, his hand on the brass knocker, and then clanked it three times and waited.
In a few moments, the door swung inward and a little woman stood in the doorway. Not more than five foot two, with beautiful gray hair, a slightly rounded face, and a pleasantly plump build, she was the picture of everyone’s grandmother.
“May I help you?” she asked. Hank saw apprehension on her face as she waited for him to speak.
“Eunice Ronson?” Hank asked.
“Yes, I’m Eunice Ronson.”
Hank cleared his throat. “I’m Detective Hank Corning.”
The woman gasped and her hand shot to her mouth, her brown eyes widening.
“May I come in a moment?” Hank asked.
Eunice remained frozen a moment and then slowly lowered her hand, her eyes still wide. She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Is this about Raymond? My husband?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am.” Hank took a breath. “May I come in?”
Eunice stood back and Hank stepped inside. She closed the door and motioned toward the front room.
Hank walked into the room and sat uneasily on the edge of the couch, putting his briefcase on the floor beside him.
Eunice sat in a matching chair and faced him, her back straight, her hands gripped tightly together in her lap. “He didn’t come home last night,” she said softly, her aging face now lined with worry and fear.
Hank took a deep breath. “Mrs. Ronson, I’m sorry to tell you, your husband was … killed last night.”
Eunice took a sharp breath and held it, her wide eyes drilling into Hank’s. She breathed again, rapidly, then one word came out, spoken in disbelief. “Killed?”
Hank nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“How? What happened?”
This was going to be the hard part. Death of a loved one was always impossible to take, but an untimely death at the hands of another was almost unimaginable.
“I’m afraid he was murdered, Mrs. Ronson.”
Eunice took another sharp breath and shook her head rapidly. “No. No. It can’t be.” She paused, frozen, her hand over her mouth, and then her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head.
Hank remained still, watching her grief, his own heart breaking.
Then she raised her head, lifted her chin, her eyes filled with anger. “Who did it? Who killed him?”
“We aren’t sure yet, ma’am. Mr. Ronson’s body was found this morning. We have a suspect, but the investigation has just begun.” Hank explained where the body was found and how her husband was killed.
When he was finished, tears were rolling down her cheeks. She found a tissue in the pocket of her dress and dabbed at her eyes. “Raymond loved that school,” she said quietly. “He worked there for many years and loved his job and the kids.” She sighed, her whole body slumping.
Hand picked up his briefcase and put it on the couch beside him, flipping it open. He removed a photo of Adam Thorburn and held it up for Mrs. Ronson to see. “Do you recognize this man?”
She leaned in and shook her head. “Is that the man who killed my Raymond?”
“It’s possible,” Hank said. “His name is Adam Thorburn. Does that name sound familiar? Perhaps Raymond might’ve mentioned it?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t recall hearing the name.”
“Would you know of anyone else who might’ve wished your husband any harm?”
“Oh, no. Nobody would want to hurt Raymond. He was loved by everybody. We’ve been married for fifty-one years, Detective.” Her fingers went to her wedding ring, twirling it while she spoke. “We were just babies when we got married, but I don’t regret a day of it. My Raymond was the sweetest man I’ve ever known.” Her eyes roved around the spotless room. “We’ve lived in this house since we got married.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” Hank said. “Well taken care of.” He paused and looked intently at Eunice. “Can you think of anything else that might help us?”
She blew her nose gently, then looked at Hank and shook her head. “Did this Adam not admit to it?”
“We’re unable to locate him at the moment,” Hank said.
She took a quivering breath and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she whispered, “May I see my husband?”
“Soon,” Hank said. “The medical examiner is taking good care of him, and I’ll let you know as soon as you can see him.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Mrs. Ronson, do you have anyone who can stay with you for a while?”
She nodded and forced a weak smile. “I have a sister clo
se by. She lost her husband a few years ago and lives alone.” She glanced around the room, her eyes resting on a photo perched on the mantel of a fireplace. It was a faded photo of a happy couple on their wedding day. “Perhaps I’ll stay with her awhile.”
“Let me know if you do,” Hank said. “We’ll need to keep in touch with you.” He handed her a business card, snapped his briefcase closed, and stood. “I’ll see myself out. Please call me if you need anything at all.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Hank left the heartbroken woman alone in her empty house as he left quietly and made his way back to his vehicle. He got in and drove away, more determined than ever to find her husband’s killer.
Chapter 22
Wednesday, 11:37 a.m.
THE LINCOLNS stopped at a deli for an early lunch before heading to the precinct to meet Hank. When they arrived, they parked behind the building and went inside. Hank wasn’t at his desk, and they were informed Detective King hadn’t been in all day.
Annie left Jake chatting with Officer Spiegle at the front desk and wandered back to talk to Callaway. The cop looked up from his monitor, rocked his chair back, and grinned at her when she approached his desk.
“Hi, Annie. What brings you here?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just the usual murder and mayhem.”
Callaway gave a short laugh, his face quickly turning somber. “Yeah, it’s sad when this happens. From what I understand, both victims were great people.”
“That’s the worst thing about it,” Annie said, then asked, “Has Hank shown up yet?”
“He went to see Ronson’s wife out by Flamingo Pond. He should be here soon.”
Annie was unaware of Raymond Ronson’s domestic situation. She wasn’t surprised to hear of his wife, but it saddened her. She would make a point of visiting the woman soon. A friendly word always went a long way in a heartbreaking situation.
“I traced the email back to a computer in the main office of the school,” Callaway said. “Lots of people had access to it, and according to forensics, there’re a lot of fingerprints.”
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