The anchor appeared on the screen and Lisa’s masterpiece was introduced.
“Our top story. The serial killer, who gripped this town with fear not so long ago, reveals his side of the story. In an exclusive report, here’s Lisa Krunk.”
Lisa stood in front of the Spencer farmhouse, a smug look on her face as she raised the microphone.
“As viewers well know, the convict, Jeremy Spencer, escaped from prison yesterday and has already made his presence felt in this city once again. In my never-ending effort to find the truth, and to bring you stories you need to hear, I was able to track down the man you’ll all recognize, and conduct an exclusive interview with him.
“Today, we air the first installment of that interview.”
While music played furiously in the background, a series of stills flashed across the screen—shots of victims, their families, the police, crime scenes, and lights flashing, until finally the scene dissolved into a close-up shot of Jeremy, zooming in slowly on his face as the music subsided.
Then there was a dramatic pause while the face faded away and Lisa appeared once again, this time sitting in a straight-backed chair, her hands in her lap, and she spoke.
“I’m here with Jeremy Spencer, currently the focus of a police manhunt, and the topic of discussion on the lips of everyone in this city.”
The scene switched to a close-up of Jeremy’s face, still and unsmiling. As the shot moved back, he could be seen sitting in a comfortable chair, a pistol gripped in one hand, resting in his lap. Lisa’s voiceover began:
“Mr. Spencer, tell us about the real Jeremy Spencer. Who are you, and what are your plans?”
Jeremy paused, and viewers could sense his mind in thought, then he spoke.
“As you know, I was arrested, convicted, and put in prison for something certain people believe was criminal. To me, and I’m sure to many who’re watching this, what I did in the past, and will continue to do in the future, is very much justified.
“There’re many types of people in this world. Most are law-abiding, good people, and my focus is not toward them, and I’ve no desire to harm those who respect others.”
Jeremy paused and looked down a moment. He drew a deep breath, looked back at Lisa, and continued.
“Father was one of those law-abiding people—a good man, and one murdered for his honesty. When a vile thief entered our home many years ago, and Father shot him, it set off a chain of events that resulted not only in the death of Father, but Mother as well. The actions of that despicable and disrespectful thief have changed my life dramatically, but it has opened my eyes in many ways. I’m sure the people will agree this type of behavior needs to be dealt with quickly, and severely, before more lives are destroyed.”
Lisa’s face appeared, a light frown on her brow.
“But surely, that’s the job of the police?”
Jeremy leaned in, his nostrils flared, and his voice became lower, almost a growl.
“The police and the law have failed. They have failed Father, and Mother, and myself. Because of the incompetence of so-called authority, lives were destroyed. I feel responsible to eradicate the city I love of those deplorable creatures who have no respect for the property of others.”
Lisa feigned surprise at his answer.
“Those victims of yours, did they not deserve a second chance? Could they not have been rehabilitated?”
Jeremy sat back, but his frown remained.
“The time I spent in prison was perhaps fate itself intervening. It opened my eyes to many things. These people can never be rehabilitated, but rather get worse and worse. Justice must be swift, concise, and final.”
A faint smile touched Lisa’s mouth as she asked,
“And that’s what you intend to continue?”
Jeremy smiled, raised the gun, and pointed it toward the camera, his eyes piercing the viewers.
“As long as I have breath left in my body.”
The picture faded and the close-up of Lisa in front of the Spencer farmhouse came back on the screen.
“There was much more to this interview and it will be aired on an ongoing basis, revealing a deeper look into Mr. Spencer’s life, his goals, and his thoughts.
“In an exclusive report, I’m Lisa Krunk, live for Channel 7 Action News.”
The story was over, and as the screen faded and the anchor reappeared, Lisa felt triumphant, sure the public would be clamoring for more.
~~*~~
HANK WAS FURIOUS. He’d been alerted to the upcoming story and raced into Diego’s office where the captain stood at his desk, leaned forward, his eyes glued intently on the small television perched on a shelf in his office.
When the story was finished, Hank and the captain continued to stare at the screen in unbelief. Finally, they looked at each other, Hank dropped into a chair, and the captain blew out a long breath, his eyes flashing, and sat in his high-backed leather chair.
Hank spoke first. “I’m all for freedom of the press, Captain, and confidentiality of sources, and so on, but I think Lisa has gone too far this time.”
Captain Diego leaned forward and slammed a fist down on his desk. He’d found his voice. “I want that footage, Corning. I want every scrap of it and I want that woman brought in for questioning. We need to catch that lunatic.”
“I don’t think we can do that, Captain.”
“Why not? We already know the identity of the source; it’s that scumbag Spencer. It’s the location of the source that we want. And that footage can help with that.”
Hank tried to remain calm. He wanted the footage as much as Diego, but it wasn’t going to be easy to get. “We’re entering into a gray area when it comes to whether or not we can legally compel her to give up her information. If she contests it, it would take time for a judge to rule on it. By then, it may be too late.”
“We can still detain her for 24 hours. That’ll cramp her style and make her think twice about whether or not she wants to help us.”
“She’s a stubborn woman, Captain. Detaining her won’t do the trick. She’ll hang tight, wait for the appeal, and with her connections, she’s liable to get a hearing within 24 hours.”
Diego sprang to his feet and paced his small office. Finally, he stopped, leaned over his desk, frowned at Hank, and spoke in a calmer voice. “You can find a way, Hank. You know what I want, and what we need.” He straightened up and pointed toward the doorway. “Now, go get it.”
Chapter 28
Wednesday, 6:18 PM
MOE SAT AT THE kitchen table, looking intently at his friend curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Jeremy seemed to be exhausted when he returned from his walk, and fell asleep immediately, letting out soft snores and long, sighing breaths from time to time.
His little friend seemed to be carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders, both from the mission he had to carry out, as well as a financial burden. It didn’t seem right to Moe that Jeremy should have to take care of him all the time. Moe knew he did his share in prison to protect his friend, but out here, he had to rely on Jeremy. It wasn’t fair.
Moe made a few phone calls earlier, stopped at some nearby businesses, and tried everything he could think of to find a job. It didn’t look so good. Nobody seemed to want to hire him. He had no desire to return to prison again, but if worst came to worst, he would have to look up the guys he’d worked for before. But that’s what got him locked up last time, and he shunned the idea.
Jeremy had removed the pistol from his belt and laid it on the floor beside him when he went to sleep. Moe stared at the pistol, an idea starting to grow in his mind. He knew from past experience, the proper weapon often got you what you wanted. It had a power no amount of talk ever had. He knew that from prison too, because other prisoners boasted all the time about the things they were able to do with a weapon in their hand.
Moe pushed back his half-finished cup of coffee and crept toward the couch. He leaned down and picked up the pistol, the weapon dwarfed in his enorm
ous fist.
Jeremy stirred and Moe held his breath. He didn’t want to wake his friend, preferring to surprise him with some good news. Jeremy snored again and Moe stepped back carefully, stuffing the pistol behind his belt and pulling his shirt over top.
He left the apartment as quietly as possible, the door making a soft creak behind him as he eased it shut. He ambled down the hallway, took the flight of stairs down, and went out to the street. He stood on the sidewalk, looked both ways, finally decided on a direction, and shuffled away.
Two minutes later he stood in front of a small convenience store. He peeked in the window, and satisfied no customers were in the shop, he opened the door. An overhead bell jangled as he stepped inside and it startled him for a second. He grinned at his unease, and then walked casually inside and went to the back of the store.
The storekeeper, a little Chinese man, older than anyone Moe ever saw before, gave him a quick glance and then buried his head back in a newspaper. Moe stood behind a display of candy bars and watched him a moment, summoning up enough courage to do what he knew he had to do.
He pulled out the pistol and held it behind his back, gritted his teeth, and stepped to the counter. The man looked up, right into the barrel of a shiny pistol, pointed toward his heart.
“Give me the money in your cash register,” Moe said, the weapon never wavering.
The man stood straight, backed into the display behind him, and raised his hands. “I … I can’t open.”
Moe thrust his pistol arm forward. “Yes you can.”
The shop attendant looked at the register, then back at Moe. “Has a time lock.”
Moe shook his head. “No, it don’t. I know they don’t have those things on registers. Just on safes.” He squinted at the machine to be sure. “That’s not a safe.”
The man didn’t move as he glared at Moe.
“I need the money,” Moe said. “Please give it to me or I’ll get angry.” He didn’t expect the man to refuse. That was something he hadn’t counted on. It didn’t seem right to shoot him, but he was getting mad. Sometimes, bad things happened when he got too mad, and he wanted to avoid that.
“The police already coming,” the man said.
Moe looked toward the front door. He didn’t see anyone and he didn’t hear any sirens. “I think you’re lying.”
The man shook his head. “No lie.”
“Don’t you have insurance?” Moe asked.
“No. No insurance.”
Moe leaned over the counter and pushed his arm forward until the barrel of the weapon almost touched the man’s nose. “Then I guess I have to kill you.”
The man’s arms shot straight up. “No kill. No kill. I give.”
Moe stepped back and waited eagerly while the storekeeper pressed a button on the register and the drawer opened with a ding. He leaned over and looked at the stacks of bills—money he needed. “Put it in a bag.”
The man slid out a plastic grocery bag and stuffed the bills inside.
“The coins too,” Moe said, pointing toward the register.
The shop attendant emptied the register and held out the bag. “That everything.”
“You sure? No more in the back?”
“No. That all.”
“I’ll shoot you if you have more you don’t give me.” Moe waved the pistol.
The man shook his head furiously. “That all.”
Moe turned as a tiny woman stepped from the back of the store and approached them. She stopped short when she saw Moe and the weapon. Then she rushed toward the big lug, made a screaming, whining sound, and began pummeling him with her fists. “You thief. You bad man. Go away.”
Moe stepped back, trying to protect himself from the furious woman. She advanced again, her fists flying as her husband stood behind the counter, calling for her to stop.
Moe reached in, grabbed the woman’s flailing arms, spun her around, and picked her up off her feet. She kicked at him and continued to wail. Moe flexed his muscles and tossed her aside. She landed on the floor, five feet away, still protesting, but didn’t attempt to get up.
Moe pointed the gun at her. “I’ll kill you. Stay there.”
The shopkeeper kept his eye carefully on Moe as he came out from behind the counter and knelt down beside his wife. He looked at her, then back at Moe, waving frantically toward the door. “Go now. You have money. Go.”
Moe tucked his pistol away, backed toward the door, then turned and left as fast as he possibly could. He bumped into a woman in his haste to leave, knocking her to the sidewalk. Her purse flew one direction, a bag of groceries another.
“Sorry, lady,” Moe said, as he held out his hand to help her up. He retrieved her belongings and handed them to her, apologized again, and hurried up the street, leaving the bewildered woman staring after him.
He wasn’t very good at this. Maybe that’s why he always got caught, but he realized he’d done his best to help his little friend, and Jeremy would be proud he’d done something on his own.
Nobody had to tell him what to do for once, and everything turned out all right. He was pleased.
Chapter 29
Wednesday, 6:34 PM
DETECTIVE HANK CORNING had very little usable evidence pertaining to the murder of Jackson Badger, and none that could lead them to the whereabouts of Jeremy Spencer. The footage obtained by Lisa Krunk could be his best bet yet.
Diego practically demanded he get it, but he wasn’t sure how to proceed on this delicate manner. Lisa could be obstinate when she wanted to be.
He went to his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Lisa’s number.
“Lisa Krunk?”
“Lisa, it’s Detective Corning.”
A chuckle on the line, then, “Hank, what took you so long? I’ve been expecting to hear from you for the last half hour.”
Hank avoided her comment and got right to it. “Lisa, you know how I feel about withholding information.”
“It’s privileged information, Hank. You can’t legally compel me to give it up.”
“I want to talk to you. Where can we meet?”
A pause, then, “I’m at the studio. I’ll be here for the next hour or so.”
Hank turned to see Detective King approach his desk and sit in the guest chair. King leaned forward and dropped his arms on the desk, watching Hank, and listening to the conversation.
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes,” Hank said into the phone.
“Very well,” Lisa said. “I’ll wait.”
Hank hung up and looked at King as the unkempt detective spoke. “Where we going, Hank?”
Hank sat back. “To visit Lisa Krunk.”
King rose from his chair. “Let’s go.”
Together they strode from the precinct, went to Hank’s Chevy in the back parking lot, and got into the vehicle.
“Did you talk to Jake about being an auxiliary constable?” King asked, obviously trying to sound casual.
“They’re not interested,” Hank said, looking at his partner. King had a smug look on his face as he turned his head and looked out the side window. King said nothing, so Hank dropped it, started the vehicle, and pulled from the lot.
“We’ve finished canvassing the neighborhood where Badger was killed,” King said, and shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Not so much as a lead?”
“Nope. Nothing that means anything. Even the next door neighbors didn’t hear a thing. No shots. Nothing unusual.”
Hank peered through the windshield and frowned at a cloud of smoke taking over much of the skyline. Something was on fire a few blocks away. With one or two of the fire trucks still at the Spencer residence, he prayed there would be enough equipment to handle a city fire. He hoped there were no injuries.
The detectives discussed what little was known of the case during their ride to the Channel 7 studios, where Hank pulled into the lot and parked in a guest spot.
They entered the building, Hank showed his badge, and they were taken
to the production control room, the technical hub of the broadcast operation. It was a high-tech television marvel. Hank took in the video wall, littered with monitors for programs and previews, graphics, and other video sources. Lisa Krunk stood from her seat at the control desk, grabbed a small handbag, flashed a surly smile, and led them to a break room down the hall.
Lisa sat up straight at a small round table and watched as Hank sat across from her.
King went to help himself at the coffee machine. “Anybody want coffee?” he asked.
Hank waved it off. Lisa avoided the question and spoke to Hank. “I’m sure you’re here to get my footage.”
“I can arrest you,” Hank said.
Lisa smiled. “You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you don’t want to upset me, Hank. And you don’t want to wait for a hearing. No judge is going to issue a warrant and risk setting precedent on such a touchy subject.”
Hank sat up straight on the backless bench, a smile touching his lips. “Perhaps you’re right. But what makes you think I care about upsetting you?”
“Because people listen to me, and I know you wouldn’t want any of this to get negative press.”
King sat beside Hank, set his coffee cup down, and glared at Lisa. “Are you trying to blackmail us?”
“Not at all,” Lisa said. “But if you force me to give up the footage …” She shrugged. “It might make me unhappy, and that may tend to show, unintentionally of course, in my broadcasts.”
Hank spoke flatly. “I want the footage, Lisa.”
“What’re you offering me?”
Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6) Page 11