Justice for Hire

by Rayven T. Hill

  Jake crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. “Your wife mentioned you’ve seen a lawyer?”

  “Yes, a legal aid lawyer, a public defender. He talked to Cheryl briefly, and she gave him her name, and he called us.” Mr. Waters said, with a quick glance at his wife. “I’m afraid we can’t afford a real lawyer.”

  Jake sat back. He knew public defenders were real lawyers, but they could only put up a basic defense, with no resources to do in-depth investigating.

  “Our daughter has always been somewhat of a free spirit,” Mr. Waters continued, “but she’s a good girl. She has never shown any tendency toward violence of any kind. Rather the opposite. She loves kids, animals, and everything else. This isn’t like her at all. There has to be another answer.”

  “We’ll talk to your daughter,” Annie said. “That’s our first step. We’ll see what she has to say, and then we’ll get a copy of the police report and talk to the witnesses.”

  “Can you get this sorted out?” Mrs. Waters asked.

  Annie gave her a calming smile. “We can’t promise anything, Mrs. Waters, but we’ll give this top priority. We’ll know more after we talk to Cheryl.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Jake asked.

  “That’s all we know,” Mr. Waters said. “Like I said, we haven’t been able to talk to Cheryl yet.” He moistened his lips. “I hope they’ll let you see her.”

  “They will,” Annie said. “Cheryl is entitled to the best defense possible.” She flashed a smile. “Besides, we know a lot of the police officers.”

  Jake leaned forward. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll get on this right away.”

  “That’s all I can think of,” Mr. Waters said.

  Jake stood and dug a business card from his top pocket. He handed it to Mr. Waters. “If there’s anything else, give us a call.”

  Annie leaned forward and picked up the recorder. She snapped it off, dropped it in her handbag and stood.

  They shook hands and Mr. Waters followed them to the door.

  “We’ll let you know what we come up with,” Jake said, as they stepped outside. The door closed behind them and they made their way down the driveway and climbed into the Escort.

  “It looks pretty grim,” Jake said, as he glanced at Annie.

  Annie keyed the engine and nodded. “Very grim, indeed.”

  Chapter 4

  Monday, August 22nd, 3:35 PM

  DETECTIVE HANK CORNING had never seen a more curious case.

  He dropped the report on his desk and slouched back, gazing vaguely across the precinct, unaware of the constant buzz of bustling officers occupied with their tasks. An air conditioner rattled nearby in a useless attempt to cool the air. The ringing of phones and the tramping of duty boots on the wooden floor went unnoticed as Hank contemplated the facts.

  He’d interviewed Cheryl Waters extensively and was convinced she was either a good liar, or telling the truth and unaware of what she’d done.

  He’d been puzzling over this case for the last four hours. He’d talked to Cheryl’s parents, and neither of them knew Charles Robinson. He couldn’t find a motive, and he couldn’t find a connection between Robinson and the killer.

  But the facts were clear. Cheryl Waters killed a man in cold blood. She didn’t fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer, and Hank was puzzled.

  A light vibration at his hip brought him out of his thoughts. He slipped his phone from its holder and looked at the caller ID.

  “Hey, Jake. What’s up?”

  “Afternoon, Hank. How’s everything?”

  “Good,” Hank replied. “I bet I know why you’re calling. It’s Cheryl Waters, right?”

  “We just got back from interviewing her parents. How’d you know?”

  “I gave Cheryl's parents your number and recommended they call you. They’re going to need all the help they can get on this. I don’t know what you can do, though. There’s no disputing, Cheryl killed the guy, but her parents were adamant there’s more to this.”

  “I don’t think they’re disputing it,” Jake said. “But they want to find out what it’s all about. They’ve been unable to see their daughter, and they don’t expect much of a defense from their lawyer.”

  “I need to get out of this place for a while. I can drop a copy of the police report over to you if you want. That may give you somewhere to start, but it’s a tough one.”

  “That would be great,” Jake said. “We’re at home now if you want to come by.”

  “See you soon.”

  Hank dropped the phone back into its holster and leaned forward. He scooped up the papers from his desk, dropped them into a file folder, stood and carried them across the room to the photocopier against the back wall. He made a copy of the report, returned to his desk and slipped the copies into his briefcase.

  When he stepped outside, he was greeted by a refreshing breeze, a welcome change to the stifling atmosphere inside the precinct. He went behind the building and climbed into his 2008 Chevy. The engine cranked a couple of times when he turned the key, and then settled into a steady purr.

  As he drove across town, he considered the circumstances of this case. As head of Richmond Hill’s robbery/homicide division, he knew he must pursue any solid leads, but the captain would only cut him a limited amount of slack. His job was to report the facts and let the crown prosecute. He wasn’t free to pursue unfounded leads in the search for exculpatory evidence. That would be up to the defense.

  He hoped Jake and Annie could come up with something. Though the Lincolns were rookie investigators, Hank had confidence they could do better than most in digging out the truth. He’d known them for more years than he could remember. He and Jake had been teammates on the high school football team, and had been friends since. Annie and Jake had been seeing a lot of each other at the time, and they both decided to go to the University of Toronto while Hank wanted to be a cop.

  In a few minutes, he turned onto Carver Street and spun into the driveway behind Annie’s Escort. He grabbed his briefcase, hopped out and went to the front door.

  Jake answered his ring with a grin. “Come on in.” As Hank stepped inside, Jake slugged him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the kitchen. “If you’re feeling brave, I just made a fresh pot of coffee. You can let me know how it tastes.”

  Annie greeted Hank and poured three steaming cups, while the guys made themselves comfortable at the table. She passed the coffee around, brought some cream and sugar, and then sat at the end and leaned forward, her arms resting on the table.

  Hank fixed his coffee, took a swig, and then looked at Jake. “Not as good as Annie’s, but it ok.” He snapped open his briefcase. He withdrew the papers and dropped them on the table. “There’s not a lot here,” he said. “It’s fairly straightforward, but you’re welcome to do what you can with the information.”

  Annie browsed the report and sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

  “Hank,” Annie asked, “do you have any indication why Cheryl killed . . .” She consulted the paper and continued, “Charles Robinson?”

  Hank shook his head. “I can’t get anything from her, and her parents have no idea what this is all about. When she was arrested, she had no identification on her. Nothing at all in her pockets, only the handbag she apparently used to carry the gun. It was otherwise empty. She gave me her name, I checked it out, and her parents ID’ed her. That’s how we knew who she was.”

  Annie asked, “Did Cheryl admit she did this?”

  “She said she didn’t remember anything about it.”

  Jake frowned and set his cup down. “How can she not remember?”

  Hank shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what to make of it. Though she claims she doesn’t remember, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. She doesn’t seem to be lying.”

  “What about a polygraph test?” Jake asked.

  Hank shrugged. “That’s something the defense should look into. It’s not admissible in court, howev
er, but it wouldn’t hurt, just so you know where you stand.”

  Annie nodded. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said, and then asked, “So what’ll happen with Cheryl now?”

  “I expect she’ll be arraigned in the morning,” Hank said. “There’s no way she’ll be granted bail. She’s been gone for eight months and now she’s back, but she’s too much of a flight risk. She’ll probably be dumped into the women’s detention center until the trial.”

  Annie looked at Jake. “We have to go and see her this afternoon.”

  The back door clattered and Matty charged in, shadowed by Kyle. “Hi, Uncle Hank,” Matty said, as he came over to Hank and greeted him with a fist bump.

  Hank messed up Matty’s hair. “What’re you up to, Bud?”

  “Not much. Just teaching Kyle a couple of wrestling moves.”

  Hank laughed. “He couldn’t have a better teacher.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. I guess we should get back at it. Come on, Kyle.” Matty grabbed his friend by the arm and the back door slammed as they left.

  “Where were we?” Annie asked.

  “You wanted to see Cheryl this afternoon,” Jake said.

  “It would be less red tape to see her now, rather than when she’s locked up in the detention center,” Hank said.

  “Then we’ll go right away.”

  Hank guzzled the rest of his coffee. He sat back and ran his fingers through his short-cropped, slightly graying hair, and then stretched. “I guess I better get going,” he said. “I have some other things to take care of today.” He stood and headed for the front door. “I hope you can get something out of Cheryl.”

  Jake walked him to the door. “I hope so too,” he said, as Hank left.

  Hank walked to his vehicle and jumped in. He started his car and drove away, wondering if there was more to this case than appeared.

  Whether Cheryl was a callous killer, or there was some other explanation, he knew from experience what kind of heartache there could be when it came to children, no matter what their age.

  He was married once, a long time ago. They’d had a daughter, Beth, but her heartbreaking death from a brain tumor at six months old had been devastating. His wife, Elizabeth, had never recovered from their loss, and it had been the catalyst that had driven them apart and ended their marriage.

  He sympathized with Cheryl's parents, and hoped Jake and Annie could come up with something, but he wasn’t feeling all that optimistic.

  Chapter 5

  Monday, August 22nd, 4:00 PM

  ANNIE GAVE CHRISSY a quick call and asked her to watch Matty while they went to the precinct to interview Cheryl. Chrissy agreed, and Annie poked her head out the back door, where the boys were kicking around a soccer ball. She called Matty, explaining they had to go out awhile.

  “No problem, Mom. See you later.”

  She flipped open her handbag and checked the batteries in her digital recorder. Lots of power. She hung the bag over her shoulder, and met Jake at the front door.

  “All ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, and they stepped outside. Jake had pulled the Firebird from the garage, and the motor rumbled as they climbed into the vehicle, and then roared as they pulled from the driveway.

  In five minutes, they turned into a visitor’s slot at the rear of Richmond Hill Police Precinct. They hopped out, made their way to the front of the ancient building, climbed the concrete steps, and went through the double doors into the bustling room.

  At the duty desk, an officer leaned forward out of a slouch and grinned. “Hey Jake. Hey Annie.”

  Annie smiled. “Hi Yappy.”

  “Haven’t seen you guys around for a while.”

  Officer Spiegle was called Yappy by almost everyone. No one knew how he got the name, but he seemed to like it. He wasn’t much of a cop, though. Normally, he would’ve been passed over during the hiring phase, but his daddy had been a well respected sergeant who had been killed in the line of duty. And so Yappy was tolerated.

  “We’re here to see Cheryl Waters,” Jake said.

  “Sure, she’s downstairs.” Yappy came around the desk. “I just have to check your stuff first.”

  He gave Annie an obligatory search by peeking in her handbag, and then looked at Jake. “You carrying any weapons?”

  Jake laughed and held up his massive fists. “Just these.”

  Spiegle shrugged. “I had to ask. You know how it is.” He motioned toward the back of the room. “This way.”

  They followed him across the precinct floor to a secure door. Spiegle fiddled with some keys, and finally swung it open. “You know the way,” he said.

  “Thanks Yappy,” Jake said, as they entered into a short hallway, opened another door, and descended the stifling stairwell to the holding cells beneath the precinct.

  As they approached the central control desk, a young deputy looked up.

  “I’m Annie Lincoln. We’d like to see Cheryl Waters.”

  The deputy turned to an idle cop slouching at his desk. “Bring Waters out.” He turned back and fiddled with some papers. He drew an x at the bottom of a page and flipped it around. “Sign here.”

  Annie signed the sheet and the deputy grunted and slipped it into a slot beside him. “She’ll be ready in a minute.”

  Jake and Annie sat, occupying the only two seats in the waiting room.

  Except for the occasional faint shout of an unhappy prisoner, which could be heard coming from behind a thick, metal door at the far side of the room, it was deathly quiet. The solid door, with a bulletproof window, led into the area where the holding cells were. There were six cells, three on each side of a passageway. Prisoners were held there awaiting arraignment, or temporarily before transport to prison, or sometimes as an overnight “drunk tank”.

  Far away the banging of a metal door echoed. The sound reverberated for a moment, and then all was quiet.

  In a couple of minutes, the cop returned and approached them. “She’s ready for you.”

  They followed him through another doorway, and down a short hall to a room guarded by an officer. He swung the door open, allowing them to enter.

  The interview room was a small, soundproofed area, with two chairs on the near side of a shiny, metal table, and one on the other. Bright overhead lights shone on the barren, blank walls. Cheryl Waters sat at the far side, her head bowed, her wrists cuffed to a ring on the table.

  They sat, and Annie snapped open her handbag and removed the recorder. She set it on the table, switched it on, and leaned forward, resting her arms on the cold metal surface.

  The frightened young girl raised her head. The redness in her eyes showed she’d been crying. Her long dark hair was in disarray, dripping down below her shoulders onto the bright, orange jumpsuit. She fidgeted with her hands, and her body trembled.

  Annie spoke softly, “I’m Annie Lincoln, and this is my husband, Jake. We’re private investigators. Your parents hired us to find out what this is all about.”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Cheryl said. “They told me I killed someone, but I don’t remember. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “Please help me.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Jake said. “But we need to know exactly what you do remember.”

  “I was out west,” Cheryl said. “I was in Calgary for a few months, and then decided to come home for Christmas. I got back to the city about the twentieth of December.” She frowned, looking confused. “But that was last year, and now they tell me this is August.”

  “Where have you been for the last eight months?” Annie asked.

  Cheryl shook her head slowly, her eyes squinting in thought. “I . . . I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Did you come back from out west alone?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. I took the bus.”

  “Did you meet anyone on the bus?”

  “I talked to a few people. I was sitting with a nice old lady, and
we talked a lot.”

  “Did anything happen on the bus, or after you got here, that seemed out of place? Anyone suspicious you may have talked to, or met?”

  Cheryl shook her head. “Nobody.”

  Annie sat back and looked into Cheryl’s pleading eyes, trying to understand. The girl was doubtless confused. Is it possible she has amnesia, and is telling the truth?

  “Did you see your parents at Christmas?” Annie asked.

  “I saw them a couple of days before.” Cheryl frowned as if deep in thought, her hands still working nervously. “But I don’t remember seeing them on Christmas day.”

  “And that’s the last you remember?” Annie asked.

  Cheryl nodded.

  Jake spoke, “And you don’t remember going into Bonfield Development and shooting Charles Robinson?”

  Cheryl shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, I don’t remember.” She paused. “I would never kill anyone.”

  “What do you remember about this morning?” Annie asked.

  “All I remember is, I was in the office and a woman was holding on to me. A man was . . . on the floor . . . dead. The police came and arrested me. They said I killed him.”

  “Do you know Charles Robinson?” Jake asked.

  Cheryl shook her head vigorously. “I’ve never heard of him before.”

  “And yet, there are two witnesses who said you shot him, and your fingerprints are on the gun.”

  “I . . . I can’t explain it,” Cheryl said, as she dropped her head. “I just can’t explain it.”

  Annie glanced at Jake. He looked back and shrugged his shoulders, a puzzled look on his face.

  “A lawyer came to see me,” Cheryl said quietly. “He said they would take me to see the judge in the morning, and that . . .” Her voice broke, and she blinked in a futile attempt to hold back the tears. “He said I should plead guilty, and . . .”