Annie pulled the transmission into drive. “Both of them? On a bike?”
“Not a bicycle. A motorcycle.”
Annie touched the gas and the car sprung ahead. They headed down a side street, away from the government housing, deeper into the suburbs.
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive?” Annie asked, as the car careened down the road. She’d never been a fast driver, even on the highway. Speed was more Jake’s thing, and he usually pushed the Firebird to the limit whenever he had the chance.
“You’ll do fine,” Jake said. “Just give it a little more gas.”
Annie pressed the pedal a little closer to the floor.
Jake leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “They can’t be far ahead. There’s a lot of weight on that little bike.”
Annie slowed at a stop sign, rolled through, then touched the gas.
“Back there,” Jake said, poking a thumb over his shoulder. “They went to the right.”
Annie hit the brakes. Tires squealed. She made a three-point turn as Jake urged her to hurry. Finally, she got the vehicle headed the other way.
“Forget about the stop sign,” Jake said. “Just go. There’s no traffic.”
She barreled through the stop sign, made a turn, and pressed the pedal to the floor. “My Escort isn’t really made for this,” she said.
Jake pointed ahead. “I can see them. Just keep going.”
The car hit a speed bump. It jolted them in their seat, the shocks taking a beating as the vehicle bounced and rebounded. Annie struggled to hold the car on the road.
“We’re gaining on them,” Jake said.
Annie chanced a glance at her husband. He was enjoying this—a lot more than she was. “What happens if we catch up to them?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. We’ll worry about that when it happens.”
“You’re not wearing a seat belt,” she said.
“I trust your driving.”
“That makes one of us.”
Jake chuckled. “Welcome to Jake’s Driving School.”
“They’re turning again,” Annie said, peering through the windshield.
They were twenty seconds behind their quarry, slowly gaining. Annie touched the brakes as she neared the spot where the motorcycle turned. It was a sidewalk leading from the main road into a residential area.
“You can make it,” Jake said.
“On the sidewalk?”
“Yup. It’s wide enough.”
Annie hit the brakes hard and spun the wheel. The vehicle hopped onto the sidewalk and zoomed ahead, a handful of spare inches between a pair of light posts.
“You’re a natural,” Jake said.
Five seconds later they were on the next street, safely off the narrow sidewalk, and the motorcycle was dead ahead.
They were close enough to see an expression of anger and determination on Jeremy’s face as he twisted his head toward his pursuers. He knew they were chasing him. She heard the roar of the engine as the bike wobbled dangerously and then righted itself.
Jake pulled out his iPhone and called RHPD. As he waited for an answer, he said to Annie, “We need to get a roadblock set up.”
Someone answered the phone. “RHPD. How can I help you?”
“It’s Jake Lincoln. Patch me through to dispatch immediately.”
It was Yappy. “Sorry, Jake. I can’t do that. You’re a civilian.”
“Yappy, this is an emergency. We’re chasing a serial killer here. I think Diego will be pretty upset if you don’t put me through.”
A pause on the line, and then, “Hold on, Jake. I’ll put you through.”
The motorcycle continued on. The street took twists and turns through the otherwise quiet, residential neighborhood. Annie hung onto the wheel. They were close enough now she could run them off the road if she wanted to.
Jake got through to dispatch, gave his name and location, and requested any cruisers in the area to aid in the chase. After dispatch checked with Captain Diego to get his ok, Jake was hastily informed it may be several minutes, and to stay on the line.
“They’re turning again,” Annie announced.
The car tires squealed as she slowed abruptly, then twisted the wheel, and spun expertly onto a wide street. The motorcycle passed a car ahead, swerving into the oncoming lane and back again. Annie followed, well over the speed limit. The driver of the car gave a hand gesture and shook his head. She didn’t pay any attention. The unsuspecting driver would likely find out more on the evening news.
They had reached the boundary of the subdivision and would soon be entering a commercial area. Not far ahead, factories and warehouses made up much of the terrain. It would be easy for a motorcycle to weave in and around the buildings and through places a car wouldn’t be able to go.
Jake continued to give their location and drummed his fingers on the dashboard.
Annie checked her fuel gauge. No problem there. If one of them ran out of fuel, she bet it would be the bike.
The motorcycle wobbled again and straightened itself as it made another turn, this time into a warehouse area. It sped to the rear of a large steel-framed building, poking up two stories high. They whipped by parked trucks, garbage bins, and loading docks. The bike maneuvered around a tractor-trailer, Annie following, as she relentlessly continued the chase.
Jake still held the phone to his ear—waiting for something or someone—but his attention was on the pursuit.
“You’re doing great,” he said. “Hang in there and we’re gonna get them.”
The fugitives reached the end of the building and the bike slowed, about to make a sharp turn into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. The car would never make it through there.
Annie hit the brakes hard. The vehicle spun halfway around and came to a jolting stop. She stared through the windshield as the bike turned into the alley, wobbled, righted itself, wobbled again, and then hit the concrete wall of the adjoining building.
She heard the sickening sound of metal on concrete as the motorcycle scraped along the wall, then went down, spinning across the asphalt. Its riders were thrown clear, the big one in a heap against the rock-hard wall of the building, the small one on his back, resting awkwardly against the rear wheel of the mangled motorcycle.
The chase was over.
As she sprang from the vehicle she heard Jake’s impatient voice. “Trace the location of my phone and send a cruiser. Now.”
Chapter 53
Friday, 11:41 PM
FROM WHERE JAKE sat, it appeared Moses Thacker was badly hurt. His left pant leg was tattered and nearly ripped clean off. His leg must have taken a good beating as it scraped along the concrete wall. That was a good thing; he was no longer a threat.
Jake left his phone on, his call to dispatch still connected, and shoved it into his pocket as he jumped from the car and ran to the alleyway behind Annie.
Jeremy groaned and leaned forward, resting on one elbow. His other hand reached for his waist, and in a moment, a revolver was gripped in his hand. He raised the weapon, his face twisted in pain as he struggled to a sitting position.
Annie came to a quick stop and brought her hands up halfway, palms out, an involuntary motion as if to protect her from being shot.
With one more stride, Jake reached her side and stopped. Spencer was ten feet away and the look on his face showed he was willing to use the weapon. The little creep was down, but not out, and Jake’s odds in disarming him before he squeezed the trigger weren’t ones he wanted to test. Cornering Jeremy would only antagonize him further, forcing him to shoot his way out.
Jake reached out a hand. “It’s over, Jeremy. Give me the gun.”
Jeremy waved the pistol, his teeth gritted. “Never.”
“The police are on their way.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Moe groaned, worked his way to a sitting position, and examined the lacerations on his leg. His face contorted with anger as he looked at Jake. A growl es
caped from his throat and he tried to stand, then winced in pain and fell back heavily. He leaned against the concrete wall, half-twisted to face Jake and Annie. His small eyes flared as he raised a clenched fist and bared his teeth.
“I’m going to break your neck,” the monster of a man said, and growled again, a sound mixed with anger and pain.
Jake crossed his arms and glared back. “It really doesn’t look like you’re in any position to do that right now, but feel free to look me up again if you ever get out of prison.”
“Shut your mouth, Jake Lincoln,” Jeremy screamed. “He’s not going to prison and neither am I.”
Annie put a hand on Jake’s arm and spoke softly to Jeremy. “If you shoot either one of us you’ll only make things worse.”
“How can things get any worse?” Jeremy looked at the bike, kicked at the wheel, and cursed. “The bike’s ruined, my friend is in pain, and so am I.”
“You can’t blame us for that.”
Jeremy kept one eye on Jake and struggled to his feet. He held the gun high, aimed down the barrel, and limped forward one step. He winced in pain, then stopped and glanced at his leg, testing his weight. He was obviously in pain, perhaps a cracked bone.
“Neither of you can escape in your condition,” Annie said calmly, holding out a hand. “Give me the gun.”
Spencer’s face contorted. “No. Never. Never.” He glared a moment and looked at his bandaged thumb. He tried to move it, his mouth twisting into a grimace. He dropped the arm to his side and let it hang loose.
Moe shook his head violently. “Don’t give them the gun, Jeremy.”
Jeremy looked at his friend. “I don’t intend to.” He turned his gaze toward Jake and sneered. “I’m going to kill both of them soon if they don’t leave.” He brandished the gun. “I didn’t want to kill you but I have no choice.”
“If you kill us, Jeremy, you’ll never find out who murdered your parents,” Annie said, and shrugged. “The police don’t care. Nobody cares but us.”
Jeremy frowned deeply, his lips tight as he considered Annie’s comment. Finally he spoke, his voice calmer but skeptical. “Did you find out anything?”
“Maybe.”
Moe clenched his teeth and made another unsuccessful attempt to stand. “Shoot them both,” he said, as he fell back against the wall. “They’re lying to you.”
Annie raised her chin. “Why would we lie, Moe?”
Moe licked his lips. “Because you’re liars.”
Jake rolled his eyes and held back a smile. He leaned in. “What’re you afraid of, you big ape?”
Jeremy glanced at Moe with a confused look. “Moe, what makes you think they’d lie about it?”
Moe didn’t answer.
Annie spoke softly, pleading. “If you put the gun down, Jeremy, I’ll tell you who killed your parents.”
Jeremy looked at the weapon in his hand a moment, then gave a deep sigh and looked at Annie.
“Shoot them, Jeremy,” Moe said. “They’re trying to trick you.”
Jeremy focused his eyes on Moe, a confused look on his face. “Do you know something you’re not telling me, Moe? Do you know who killed Father?”
Moe avoided Jeremy’s eyes and growled. “I didn’t know him.”
Jeremy’s continued to glare thoughtfully for a few moments, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he asked, “Were you in prison when my father was there?”
“It wasn’t me,” Moe said, keeping his head down. “It wasn’t me. It was another guy killed him.”
Jeremy’s body stiffened. “I thought you didn’t know him?”
Moe was silent as Jeremy crouched down and looked at his friend, bewildered. “Moe? Did you know him? Are you lying to me?”
Moe looked up, pain in his eyes, and he reached out a trembling hand toward his friend.
Jeremy’s eyes bulged, he leaned forward, and his voice grew in intensity. “Moe? You didn’t kill Father, did you?” His head moved back and forth between Annie and Moe. “Tell me it’s not true.”
Moe dropped his head, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.
“Did you kill my father, Moe?” Jeremy screamed.
Moe swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then looked up, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Do what?” Jeremy screamed.
“Didn’t mean to kill your father. I’m not good at secrets and this was the only one I ever kept.” Moe shrunk back. “I … I was ashamed.”
Jeremy looked at Annie, open-mouthed, confused.
“Jeremy, please put the gun down,” Annie said, pleading.
Jeremy’s stood again, his eyes narrowed, his breathing rapid and shallow as he dropped the revolver to his side and looked at Moe. He tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out.
Moe held his hands out toward Jeremy, tears now escaping from his eyes, his voice a deep, gasping whine. “I’m sorry, Little Buddy. I didn’t want to kill your parents. Things happen when I get angry.”
Jeremy limped toward Moe, the revolver now pointed toward the monster on the ground. “My parents?” he screamed. “You killed Mother too?”
“I didn’t want to hurt her. I only wanted to say sorry for killing your father.” Moe was hysterical, panting, and he pleaded with his lips, his eyes, his hands. “She wouldn’t listen to me. I told her I was sorry and she wouldn’t listen. Then I hung her in the barn to make it look like she did it herself.”
Jeremy gripped the gun tighter, his screaming voice increasing in intensity. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I … I was ashamed … and afraid. We were friends before I realized who you were, and then … I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you wouldn’t forgive me.”
Jeremy trembled all over. His hand shook as he held the revolver six inches from Moe’s frightened eyes. “What about my barn?”
Moe kept his eyes on Jeremy, his body shaking, his voice trembling. “I burned it because they might find evidence. When you were inside talking to the reporter lady.” He clasped his hands together and looked up at Jeremy.
The gun moved two inches closer to Moe’s forehead as Jeremy shrieked, “I thought you were my friend. I took care of you, watched out for you, protected you.”
“Don’t do it, Jeremy,” Annie screamed.
Jake took a slow step forward, unsure what to do.
Moe shrunk back as the tears continued to flow down his face, dripping onto the front of his tattered shirt. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”
Jeremy dropped his head back and emitted a roar of anger, pain, and disappointment, then abruptly brought his head forward, wrapped his hands together, and squeezed the trigger.
Moe’s head shot forward. Blood, body tissue, and brain matter painted the wall behind him. The blowback of scarlet spattered the gun, the killer’s hands, his arms, his face.
Jeremy howled and pulled the trigger again. And again and again …
The hammer smacked the firing pin over and over—click, click, click—as the angry young man poured years of pent-up wrath into the empty weapon.
The Lincolns watched quietly as Jeremy lowered his head, physically exhausted, emotionally broken, his spirit consumed. His shoulders slumped as the now useless weapon slipped from his hand and clattered to the asphalt at his feet.
Epilogue
ANNIE STOOD QUIETLY and observed the pair of cold-blooded killers, one dead, covered with his own treacherous blood, the other reduced to a quivering, pathetic creature, moaning with emotional torment, heartbreak, and utter despair.
Jake stepped forward and retrieved the blood-spattered revolver as the whine of sirens sounded in the distance. Officers would be here shortly, in time to pick up the pieces.
Three or four people were gathered at the far end of the alleyway, drawn by the sound of the shots. They leaned against the wall, or stood with hands in pockets, or folded arms, each with a different opinion about what took place.
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Annie turned as a brown Chevy pulled up beside her car. Hank got out from behind the steering wheel, King from the other side. The detectives moved into the alley and stood beside the Lincolns.
Hank observed the scene, shaking his head slowly. “I wasn’t sure if I could get here in time,” he said. “Looks like I didn’t need to.”
Annie motioned toward Jeremy, sunken to his knees, his head still down. “He’s all yours.”
“Cuff him, King.”
Detective King slipped a pair of cuffs from his belt as he moved toward Jeremy. “Stand up. Hands behind your back.”
The defeated killer stumbled quietly to his feet and King slipped the handcuffs on. The prisoner winced in pain as the restraints were tightened about his wrists.
Hank was on his cell phone, calling for an ambulance. Soon, the scene would be processed—documented, photographed, and analyzed, the body of the dead killer taken to the city morgue.
A cruiser’s siren died as it pulled up at an awkward angle outside the alleyway. King prodded the despondent murderer past and pushed him into the back seat of the waiting vehicle. The door slammed—the prisoner secured.
“I was at the apartment of Uriah Hubert when I got the call from dispatch,” Hank said. “They’re still processing it. Looks like our forensic team’s going to have a busy day.”
“Hopefully, they can all take a vacation after this,” Jake said. “That little creep’s killing spree is over.”
An officer urged onlookers to step back and both ends of the alleyway were secured with yellow tape. Another cruiser pulled up, then a third.
Hank stood speechless as Annie related Moses Thacker’s confession to the killing of Jeremy’s parents. “You have three witnesses to what he admitted,” she said. “According to the warden, they knew it was him, and, not surprisingly, the other inmates said they saw nothing.” Annie shrugged. “Without a witness, they couldn’t prove it.”
Annie continued, “The unofficial story is that Moe got in a fight with another inmate and thought Quinton Spencer snitched on him. The truth is, he didn’t snitch, but Moe was convinced he did and so he killed him.”
Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6) Page 21