“My undying gratitude,” Hank said.
“How about we offer her a night in a holding cell if she doesn’t comply?” King said.
Lisa laughed out loud, throwing her head back. “What’s this? Good cop, bad cop? You know that doesn’t work on me.”
King reached under his jacket and removed a pair of handcuffs. He dropped them on the table and pushed them toward Lisa. She looked at the cuffs and laughed again.
“If there’s nothing else,” she said. “I need to get back to work.”
Hank leaned in. “What do you want?”
Lisa snapped open her handbag and removed a flash drive. She set it on the table and pushed it toward the center. King reached for it but Lisa snapped it back. “Not so fast.” She twiddled the drive in her fingers, a faint smile touching her lips.
King glared at Lisa. Hank glared at King, and Lisa glared at them both, looking down her long nose.
Finally, Lisa spoke. “I’ll give it to you on three conditions.” She paused and Hank waited.
“What’re the conditions?” Hank asked at last.
Lisa feigned surprise. “I thought you’d never ask.” She leaned in. “I want you to promise not to release any of it to the public before I do. I don’t want any stipulation on what I can and cannot do with it now, and …” She paused for emphasis. “I want another exclusive interview with Jeremy Spencer when you catch him, and also with the two of you.”
“Not a chance,” King said.
Hank looked at King. “Not so fast. That’s not really an unreasonable request. It’s nothing we can’t do.”
“She’s bribing us.”
“It’s called making a deal,” Lisa said to King. “I’m under no obligation to give it to you.” She paused. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Forget about the interview with you, Detective King. Hank will be enough.”
King rolled his eyes in disgust, got up and went back to the coffee pot and dumped his cup in the trash can.
Lisa gave a short laugh, jerked a thumb toward King, and leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t want him anyway.”
Hank grinned. “That suits me even better.” He held out his hand. “We have a deal.”
Lisa shook the cop’s hand and handed him the flash drive. “It’s all on there. A good half hour interview. I didn’t include the shots from around the house, just the interview with Spencer.”
“That’s fine,” Hank said, slipping the drive into his top pocket. He stood. “Thank you, Lisa.”
“It’s been a pleasure. Just don’t forget our deal.”
“I won’t.” Hank nodded goodbye, called for King, and the two cops left as Lisa watched them leave.
That was easier than he expected and Diego would be pleased. His only hope was there was something useful on the drive and this wasn’t an exercise in futility.
Chapter 30
Wednesday, 7:21 PM
ANNIE, JAKE, AND the two detectives huddled around Callaway’s computer in the RHPD precinct. Hank sat in the swivel chair while the rest stood behind him. Hank had called Annie the moment he got the flash drive from Lisa Krunk, and she and Jake met him at the precinct.
Annie glanced across the room. Her son, probably eager to learn some of the ins and outs of police work, had struck up a conversation with a patient female officer.
It seemed Annie was always taking advantage of Chrissy, and her friend’s ongoing offer to watch Matty whenever they needed to go out, so rather than hustle Matty off next door, they’d brought him along this time; nowhere could be safer than the police station.
Callaway put the flash drive in his computer, touched a couple of keys, and stood back. Annie watched as a video of Jeremy, sitting in an easy chair, appeared on the screen. He held a revolver in one hand, lying across his knee. His left hand was bandaged, wrapped with gauze, held in place with what appeared to be a piece of duct tape.
Lisa Krunk peppered him with questions, most of which he answered in one form or another, but some he refused. The newscast was but a small portion of the overall interview, the short, cohesive story she’d broadcast consisting of clips and sound bites picked out and pieced together.
Annie was making some notes, and when the video was finished, she turned to Callaway. “Can you start this at the seven minute point?” Callaway leaned in, cued up the video, and it replayed from the point Annie indicated.
Lisa was speaking. “Mr. Spencer, why’d you come back to Richmond Hill and make your presence known here? Are you not afraid the police will apprehend you?”
Jeremy had answered, “I don’t believe they’ll ever catch us here. No, they surely won’t.”
Annie reached in and paused the video. “Did you hear that? He said, ‘Us.’”
Hank rubbed his chin. “He’s hooked up with someone else. But we checked all his known associates.” He looked at his watch and turned to King. “I want you to take another look at everyone he knew first thing tomorrow morning. Find out where this guy could be hiding out.”
King shrugged and then pointed at the video. “See that pistol he’s holding? It looks like a Smith & Wesson 38 Special. The same caliber Badger was shot with. I’ll bet that’s the weapon right there.”
“There’s no way to be sure it’s the actual gun,” Hank said. “But I won’t take that bet. I’m sure Spencer is our killer.” Hank pushed back his chair. “Did anyone else see anything on the video that could mean something?”
“What about his transportation?” Jake asked. “I think whoever he’s hanging out with has either supplied him with a vehicle, or is driving him around.”
“Must be,” Hank said. “I doubt if Spencer could round up any other transportation in such a short period of time, and it hardly appears he’s walking, or fool enough to take public transit.”
“What about the barn?” Annie asked. “Did the fire investigator ascertain the cause of the fire?”
“Nothing conclusive,” Hank said. “The fire began in one corner in a pile of hay. It could’ve been lit, but there’s another possible explanation. Wet hay is the most common cause of hay fires. Mold can grow, chemical reactions take place, and it raises the heat to a point where the hay can burn.”
“So, if water seeped in at the corner, the hay could be damp, heat up, and then finally combust,” Jake said.
“Exactly,” Hank said. “But the investigator still didn’t rule out arson.” He shrugged. “So nothing conclusive there, but they’re still looking at it.”
“Speaking of fire,” King put in. “Don’t you think it’s a coincidence there was another fire in town today? We don’t get a lot of them, but in the space of two hours we get two.”
“You think they may be connected?” Hank asked.
“Could be. Actually, I’d say they most likely are.”
“Interesting idea, King. We need to look further into the tenants of the burned building.” Hank turned to Callaway. “Can you get me a background on all of them and cross-reference it with Spencer and everyone Spencer knows. Let’s see if we can come up with a connection there.”
“I’ll get on it right away, Hank,” Callaway said. “As soon as you guys are done here.”
“And take a close look at the owners of the building as well.”
“Will do.”
Yappy approached the desk and handed Hank a report. “Hank, we got a call of a convenience store robbery a few minutes ago. Do you have time to look into it?”
“We’re busy right now, Yappy,” King said.
Yappy shrugged and glanced around the precinct. “It’s evening. There’s not really anyone to look at it right now. There’re a couple uniforms on the scene taking the guy’s statement, but he’s pretty frantic. Apparently, the robber manhandled his wife and he’s demanding we do something.”
Hank looked at King. “We’ll go as soon as we’re done here, unless you have somewhere to be.”
“Suits me,” King said.
Hank turned back to Yappy. “We’ll look into it within the
hour.”
Yappy nodded, and then went back to the duty desk.
Annie had pulled up a chair and sat facing Hank. She leaned forward. “Hank, when Jeremy strikes again, we know what type of people his targets are.”
“Yeah, thieves.”
“So, how does he find his victims?”
“Television, newspaper,” Jake said. “That seems like the most obvious way.”
“Exactly,” Annie said. “So, can’t we follow the same procedure, and maybe determine where and who he might strike next?”
“There’re an awful lot of possibilities,” King said.
Annie sat back and looked up at King. “The story on Jackson Badger was on the front page of the paper yesterday.”
King laughed. “So you’re suggesting we keep an eye on everyone who’s a potential target.”
“You have a better idea?” Jake asked. “I think it’s pretty good, myself.”
King sneered and said nothing.
“I like the idea,” Hank said. “I’ll check with the newspapers and TV stations and find out what stories they’re running. If that’s how Spencer finds his victims, then we may be able to get one step ahead of him.”
“I don’t know if we have enough cops around to cover them all,” King said. “But I’ll go along with it.”
“Any more ideas before we get back on this?” Hank asked.
“Nothing from me,” Jake said.
“Then let’s go. King and I have to check out the robbery.” He turned to Callaway. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but if you have time, can you take another look at this video and see if you come up with anything?”
“Sure, Hank. I’ll work through the night if I have to.”
“I wasn’t expecting that, but see what you can do.”
Annie stood. “We’ll check in with you in the morning, Hank.”
She rounded up Matty and they left the precinct. It seemed to her they may be making some progress on finding Jeremy, but she was no further ahead on discovering who’d killed his parents, or why.
Chapter 31
Wednesday, 7:33 PM
JEREMY WAS STARTLED awake by the sound of the door creaking open. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and peered at Moe coming into the apartment. He squinted at the clock on the DVD player. He’d slept for more than an hour and he felt much better.
He sat up and stared at the big lunk who was grinning at him from across the room. He carried a grocery bag in one hand, and he dropped it on the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and eased into it.
“Hello, Little Buddy,” Moe said, a twinkle in his tiny eyes. “I have a surprise for you.”
Jeremy yawned, made it to his feet, wandered over to the table, and sat down. “What’s the surprise, Moe?”
“I brought you a present.” Moe grinned a wide grin, his eyes almost disappearing.
Jeremy looked at the bag. “Where’d you get the money for a present? You don’t have any money.”
“Didn’t need money.” Moe leaned forward, excitement on his face. He grabbed the bag by the bottom and dumped its contents out. Bills fluttered and coins rattled across the table.
Jeremy looked at the pile of money a moment, and then turned his head slowly toward his friend, a frown gathering on his brow. “Where did you get that?”
“I borrowed your gun.” Moe lifted his shirt, pulled out the revolver, and set it on the table.
Jeremy’s mouth dropped open and he spun in his chair. “What did you do, Moe?”
“I got you some money. You said you need money and I know we have to pay Uriah for what he gave us yesterday.”
Jeremy sprang to his feet, leaned in, and gripped Moe by the shoulders. “Did you rob a store?”
“I … I thought you’d be pleased.” Moe shrank back and was silent, his beady eyes wide.
Jeremy repeated the question, his voice showing growing impatience. “Did you rob a store? Tell me.”
Moe nodded. “I can’t find a job and that’s the only place I know where they have some money. Except maybe a bank, but that’s not so easy to do.”
Jeremy dropped into his chair, leaned back, and closed his eyes. This was almost unbelievable. After all the conversations he and Moe had about right and wrong, about honoring the possessions of others, Moe went and did the unthinkable. He’d taken advantage of innocent people—probably hard working people, trying to get by.
He opened his eyes, looked at his friend, took a deep breath, and tried to speak calmly. “Moe, please tell me this is all a joke.”
“No joke, Little Buddy. You’re not happy?”
Jeremy took a long breath and let it out slowly. “No, I’m not happy. I’m surely not.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to do something for you.” Moe’s shoulders slumped and he turned his downcast eyes away from Jeremy’s glare.
“We have to give the money back,” Jeremy said. “We surely do.”
“We do?” Disappointment tinged Moe’s voice.
“What else can we do? We can’t keep it. It doesn’t belong to us.”
Moe raised his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause I’ll get caught.”
Jeremy sighed. Moe had a point, but he would feel guilty about spending it on themselves. It was dishonest money, not earned, and it belonged to someone else.
“Leave it with me, Moe,” Jeremy said. “I’ll figure something out.”
Moe’s eyes brightened. “You not mad any more?”
“No, Moe, I’m not mad any more. I’m surely not.” Jeremy leaned in and spoke sternly. “But you must never do anything like this again.”
Moe’s head bobbed up and down. “No more.”
“And don’t touch my gun again.”
“I promise.” Moe made an “X” on his chest with a stubby finger. “Cross my heart.”
Jeremy held back a smile. It was hard to stay angry with the big lug. Moe was only trying to help, but Jeremy had to keep him under control somehow. He valued Moe’s friendship, and he knew Moe felt the same way toward him.
Jeremy scooped up the bills, stuffed them back into the bag along with the coins, and tied it shut. “What store did you rob, Moe?”
Moe pointed vaguely over his shoulder. “Down the street. A Chinese guy and his wife. A nice old man but the lady was kinda not so nice. She tried to hit me. I pushed her away. I think they’re mad at me now.”
Jeremy sighed. “They’re mad at you because you robbed them, Moe.” He paused a moment. “You can’t go back in that store again. You surely can’t.”
“Ok.”
Jeremy picked up the bag of money and the gun and went to the couch. He stuffed the revolver under the seat cushion and sat down. They were in a predicament and he had to figure out what to do. Finally, he grinned, jumped off the couch and spoke to Moe, still sitting at the table, his head down, his hands clasped in front of him. “Moe, I have to go out.” He raised a finger. “I want you to stay here.”
Moe nodded.
Jeremy got the phone book, searched through it, wrote down an address on a scrap of paper, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“I’ll be right back.” He stuffed the bag under his shirt, pulled his hat low over his face, and left the apartment. He went down to the street, looking cautiously around, and then keeping his head down, he walked a couple of blocks and turned into a drug store. A postal outlet took up much of the back wall, and he scurried through the store and approached the counter.
He opened the bag and removed a bill, grabbed a large mailing envelope from the display, dumped the bag of money in the envelope, sealed and addressed it, and dropped it on the counter.
“I’d like to send a package.”
He paid for next day delivery and left the envelope. He felt reasonably good about his decision as he hurried back to the apartment.
Chapter 32
Wednesday, 7:47 PM
HANK PUL
LED the Chevy in behind a police cruiser, directly in front of Morningstar Convenience, and he and King climbed out. They were in an older part of the city—not completely run-down and half-empty like some of the streets further south, but an area vacated by the larger, more successful businesses, leaving this district to the lower-middle class and the struggling entrepreneurs.
Crime was growing here as well, and Hank was beginning to know this area better and better because of it. Only three or four blocks away stood the remains of the building that caught fire yesterday, and today’s brazen robbery in broad daylight was more proof of the criminal element moving in.
A bell on the door buzzed as Hank opened it and followed King inside. A pair of uniformed officers, standing to one side of the entranceway, greeted them. The cops had finished their interviews and were seemingly standing guard.
“We waited for you, Hank,” one of the officers said. He waved toward an old man behind the counter. “They’re in a state, especially the woman, and we didn’t want to leave until you got here.”
“Thanks, guys. You might as well go home now. We’ll take it from here.”
Hank approached the old man who stood by the cash register, watching them carefully. Not far from the storekeeper, almost out of sight and facing sideways, a wooden chair was drawn up, and an old woman sat hunched forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“I’m Detective Corning,” Hank said, and motioned toward his partner. “Detective King.”
Relief flickered over the old man’s face. He glanced briefly at Hank, and then his eyes roved over King, taking in his sloppy clothes, dirty baseball cap, and stringy hair. “He rob us,” he said at last, a fist clenched. His English was broken, and he spoke in a heavy Chinese accent.
The woman looked up, her wrinkled eyes drooped, her lips together into a thin unsmiling line. She nodded at them, almost imperceptibly.
“Can we sit down somewhere and talk?” Hank asked.
The man waved toward the back of the store. “Have customer.”
Hank glanced back. A woman was bent over, examining some of the goods on a shelf, taking her time about making a selection.
Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6) Page 12