Justice for Hire

by Rayven T. Hill

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 12:42 PM

  ANNIE HAD JUST called Jake and informed him she was on her way home and would be there in a few minutes. Jake’s stomach was begging for food, so he decided to put together a couple of sandwiches and enjoy a lunchtime snack with Annie when she got home.

  He’d just finished piling on the cold roast beef, one sandwich much thicker than the other, digging out a pair of pickles to go with the meal, when the doorbell rang.

  He turned and stared briefly down the hallway, and then wiped his hands on a towel and headed for the front door. It popped open before he got to it, and he stopped short when a familiar and unwelcome face appeared.

  It was Annie’s mother.

  She bustled in, paying little attention to Jake as she strode past him and into the kitchen. Jake shook his head, rolled his eyes and followed her.

  She spun around. “I was on my way to work, and I wanted to stop by and see my daughter a moment,” she said, and then called, “Annie, it’s your mother. Where are you?”

  Jake crossed his arms and glared at her. “She’s not here right now.” He hoped she would leave quickly if he didn’t tell her Annie would be home soon.

  “I saw her car in the driveway.” Her tone seemed to indicate she thought he was lying about Annie’s whereabouts. “Where is she?”

  “She had to go out.” Jake wondered how Annie had turned out so well with such an overbearing mother. At nearly sixty years old, Alma Roderick still looked youthful, and if it wasn’t for her sour attitude, could still look attractive, maybe even beautiful, on those rare occasions when she actually smiled.

  Instead, she gave him a cold stare. “Shouldn’t you be out looking for a job?”

  “I have a job, Alma,” he said calmly, holding back a flood of anger.

  “From what I hear, Annie does all the work. It’s not right she should have to support you.”

  Jake’s muscles tensed and he raised his voice, “Annie and I are equal partners. We both do what we can and our business is doing fine.”

  Alma looked at him with contempt and brushed aside his comment with an arrogant wave. “Business? Is that what you call it? Running around, putting my daughter in danger?”

  “She’s an adult now, in case you didn’t notice, and she can make her own decisions.”

  “Then, you should both know enough to leave police matters up to the police, instead of meddling in dangerous affairs.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You need to be a better influence on my grandson.” She sniffed and looked around the kitchen, as if looking for something else to complain about.

  Jake dropped his arms and unconsciously clenched his fists. He took a step forward and towered over her. “Look here, Alma,” he said firmly. “You have no right to come into our house and tell us how to raise our son.”

  Alma sniffed again, raised her head and spun around. She moved to the other side of the table, as if attempting to put a barrier between her and Jake. She gave him a fierce stare, arrogance on her face. “I have to go to work. Tell Annie I dropped in.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear it,” Jake shot back, as he stepped aside to allow her to leave. He watched her stride down the hallway to the front door. He shook his head in frustration, took a deep breath and dropped down at the table.

  He heard the door open, and then, “Hello, Mother.” It was Annie. He didn’t know whether to be relieved, or wish Annie had been a couple of minutes later.

  “I dropped by to see you on the way to work,” he heard Alma say. “But your husband seems to be in a bad mood today.”

  Jake glanced down the hallway. Annie was looking his way, and then back at her mother in confusion. Jake waved it off and shook his head. He could see Annie understood the situation was caused by a usual dose of her mother’s overbearing attitude.

  Annie held the door open. “Thanks for dropping by, Mother. We’re always glad to see you, but I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

  Alma leaned forward and gave Annie an obligatory kiss on the cheek. She glanced at Jake, and then turned and strode out the door, her head high.

  Annie came into the kitchen, leaned over and gave Jake a hug.

  Jake tried to explain. “I wasn’t in a bad mood until she came.”

  Annie laughed. “I know. She would put anybody in a bad mood.” She glanced toward the counter and saw the sandwiches. “Let’s eat, and forget about her.” She went to the counter, brought the sandwiches to the table and took a seat across from Jake. “These look good.”

  Jake picked up his sandwich. “Did you find out anything interesting from Mrs. Mitchell?” He took a big bite and waited for an answer.

  “Not really. According to Bobby Sullivan’s aunt, he stayed completely out of trouble since his release. Went to church, worked hard, and lived clean.” She took a tiny bite.

  “Anything at all to connect him to the Cheryl Waters’ case?” Jake asked, crunching a pickle.

  “Except for what Hank mentioned before, nothing seemed to stand out.” Annie filled him in on the details as they ate. She finished with, “Mrs. Mitchell was so distraught, but I had a long talk with her while Hank was checking out Bobby’s room. I promised her we would try and find out why Bobby was killed. So, whether or not his murder is related to Cheryl, I think we need to look into it.”

  “And that’s why I love you so much,” Jake said, “and that’s why we have no money.” He pushed back his plate, wiped his mouth on a napkin and sat back. “But I’m with you, so what’s our next move?”

  “Well, there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mrs. Mitchell mentioned Bobby helped out at a homeless mission once a week, every Tuesday after work. Hank will want to check that out as well, but I thought I might drop by and see if I can talk to some of the people he served with.”

  “Perhaps I’ll go with you. I have nothing planned for this evening.”

  Annie smiled. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter 16

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 3:05 PM

  HANK STOOD IN the doorway of Captain Alano Diego’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Sit down, Hank.”

  Hank dropped into one of two guest chairs in front of Diego’s desk, slouched back and tucked his feet under the desk. “What’s up, Captain?”

  Diego sat in his high-back chair, one hand on the desk, the other twiddling with his bristling mustache. He eyed Hank a moment, and then sat forward, leaning on the desk. “I need an update on these two murders you’re working on. The mayor is after me to see some progress.”

  “It’s only been two days, boss. Less than one day for the second one.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’ve interviewed everyone who knew the victims, and came up dry. My guys are still working on the identity of the second killer, and I’m hoping forensics may have something for me, but right now . . .” Hank shrugged.

  Diego opened a manila folder lying on his desk and flipped through the pages before looking up. “What about Cheryl Waters?” he asked. “Anything new there?”

  “She still claims not to remember anything. There’s no doubt she killed Robinson, but I can’t find a motive.”

  Diego consulted the folder. “And Bobby Sullivan?”

  “Again, no motive I can find, and the shooter is dead.”

  Diego closed the folder, sat back and straightened his navy blue tie. “The people are getting edgy, Hank. I have to have something. There have been two murders in as many days,” Diego reminded him. He had gained a few pounds in the last couple of years, and his jowls quivered as he talked.

  As head of Richmond Hill Police Department, Captain Diego had worked his way up through the ranks and was well respected by the men under him. However, Hank knew the captain was at the bidding of the mayor, and was under constant pressure to perform.

  “I’ll come up with something soon,” Hank said. “Just tell them we’re
making progress. In the meantime, neither of the killers are a threat anymore. One is dead and the other one’s in jail.”

  “And I see the Lincolns are involved in this?”

  “They’ve been hired by Cheryl’s parents.”

  “I don’t have a real problem with that,” Diego said. “As long as they stay out of the way. But not everyone in this building likes it when PI’s get involved in police investigations.”

  “I realize that, but they aren’t in this just for the paycheck. They’re more concerned with helping people, and in getting justice for the victims.”

  Diego studied Hank a moment before nodding. “I’ll leave it with you, Hank. Keep me posted,” he said with a dismissive wave.

  “I will,” Hank said, as he stood. He left the captain’s office, crossed the precinct floor and sat at his desk. The two cases were separate and distinct, but he felt there was a strange similarity. He contemplated the facts, considering his next move.

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 3:36 PM

  OLIVER CRAIG SAT like a king in his ivory tower. His suite of offices occupied the entire 60th floor in one of the most luxurious buildings in the city; a towering product of inspiration, imagination, and considerable economic investment. From his desk, he could view the whole downtown area through his walls of glass, sitting like he deserved, high above the common people.

  The power and money he’d accumulated was exactly what he needed. And he had even higher objectives in mind. Nothing could stop him.

  In his rise to the top of the world, he would take with him only those people who had earned it. Only those who had shown a willingness to work with him, and to bow at his hallowed feet.

  Michael Capella was such a man.

  He swept the phone from its cradle atop his handcrafted mahogany desk and dialed a number. He gave Capella’s secretary his name and drummed his fingers on the desk until she put him through.

  In a moment, Capella’s voice came over the phone, “Oliver, it’s good to hear from you.”

  Dispensing with meaningless small talk, Craig said, “We’re ready to go.”

  “Ahhh. Excellent.”

  “Make sure you’re in a public place tomorrow morning. All morning to be safe. It wouldn’t do for you to be a remote suspect in this.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be in chambers most of the morning, and later, in a meeting with the mayor.”

  Craig laughed. “Get used to the mayor’s office while you’re there, Michael. It’ll be yours some day soon.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Craig had plans for Michael. With Michael Capella’s competitor soon out of the way, Michael would win a seat on city council, and with Craig’s help, would take over the mayor’s seat, and then . . . that’s when things would get more interesting. Tomorrow’s events would only be the beginning.

  “I’ll talk to you again tomorrow,” Craig said. He pressed the button to hang up and dialed another number. He listened impatiently as the phone rang a few times before the call was answered.

  “This is Wolff.”

  “Wolff, we’re ready to go. Is everything still on schedule there?”

  “Everything is as planned, Mr. Craig,” Wolff said. “The boy is ready.”

  “Excellent. You’ll be well taken care of, and your family will be provided for.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Craig.”

  “And you’re sure nothing will go wrong?”

  “Absolutely not. We have a fail-safe device in place to ensure, in the event of a lapse on the part of the boy, he can’t possibly survive.” Wolff paused. “However, I’m sure such an occurrence will not happen.”

  “I’m counting on it, Wolff.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Craig.”

  Craig hung up the phone, flipped open the lid on his box of Stradivarius Churchill cigars, selected one and clipped the end. He lit it and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the silky-smooth taste of the expensive stick. He watched as the smoke wafted upward and dissipated in the breeze of the lazy fan high above.

  Tomorrow was going to be exciting. He could hardly wait.

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday, August 23rd, 5:18 PM

  ANNIE HAD ARRANGED for Chrissy to watch Matty for an hour or two while she and Jake dropped by the mission.

  Though they headed out in rush hour, traffic going into the heart of the city was manageable as more people traveled the opposite direction, eagerly leaving the city, on their way home after a long day at work.

  Jake found a parking spot a half block from their destination. He pulled the Firebird to the curb and they stepped from the vehicle. They made their way down the bustling street and stopped in front of an ancient building.

  Samaritan Street Mission had been faithfully serving the community from its humble location for well over a hundred years. With outreach to street youth, the elderly, and the homeless, the mission provided meals, beds, and spiritual aid, helping those most in need to turn their lives around.

  A big sign on the front window welcomed everyone in. When Jake and Annie walked through the doors, they were greeted with a smiling welcome from an elderly man whose job it was to do just that. Make everyone welcome.

  “This is an amazing place,” Annie said, as she swept the massive room with her eyes.

  “Very impressive,” Jake agreed.

  Signs on the wall pointed to a variety of services: the youth center, the chapel, the food bank, and a large thrift store through double doors off to the right. To the back of the room, dozens of long tables were set up. Many enjoyed the free meals now being served in the cafeteria area stretching along the left wall.

  A low hum from the diverse throng of people filled the air. Utensils clattered, men, women, and children talked and bustled about, a shout or two could occasionally be heard above the murmur. In the background, the sound of faint music filtered through.

  Annie turned back to the smiling greeter. “Can you tell me where we could find the manager, or the director?” She wasn’t sure what the correct title would be.

  The smile never left his face as he pointed toward the serving area. “That’s her right there,” he said. “The lady in the green blouse, serving the potatoes. Her name is Mrs. Pew.”

  “Thank you,” Annie returned his smile.

  As they made their way to the cafeteria, it seemed to Annie as though it was mandatory to wear a smile to volunteer here. As they approached the long food line, a dozen apron-clad servers beamed, grinned, and twinkled, dishing up plain, but wonderful smelling food. People bustled in and out of the kitchen area behind the servers, bringing more food and replacing the emptying trays.

  “She looks pretty busy right now,” Jake said.

  “Hmmm. I’m impressed,” Annie said, as she watched Mrs. Pew. “She runs this place, and still finds time to serve food.”

  Mrs. Pew glanced their way and caught Annie’s eye. She turned around and motioned to a man standing at the end of the counter, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, gazing around the room, perhaps acting as makeshift security. He unfolded his arms and came to Mrs. Pew when she beckoned. She spoke a few words to him and stepped back, allowing him to take her place behind the long row of food items.

  Annie watched Mrs. Pew as she came from behind and approached them. She was a late-thirties woman, plainly dressed, but with a look of refinement about her. She too, was smiling as she said, “I’m Mrs. Pew. Welcome.”

  Annie caught her contagious smile and returned it, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Annie Lincoln.”

  Mrs. Pew shook hands and said, “You don’t look like you’re here for a meal. May I help you with something?”

  Annie glanced around the busy room. “Can we talk somewhere a little quieter?”

  Mrs. Pew led them into a small office near the front of the room. “Have a seat,” she said, waving toward a pair of chairs. She waited while they sat, and then took a seat opposite them.

  Annie spoke, “I’m Annie Lincoln, and this is my husban
d, Jake. We’re private investigators. We’re here about Bobby Sullivan.”

  Mrs. Pew lost her smile as her face took on a doleful look. “Oh, such sad news.”

  “So, you’ve heard?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, yes. Pastor Jackson told us. He’s the pastor at the church where Bobby attended. He’s here now, back in the youth room, no doubt. We’re all very saddened to hear about Bobby. Such a good lad, and he got along so well with everyone.”

  Annie traded a glance with Jake and cleared her throat before saying, “We think his death may be related to another case we’re working on.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Mrs. Pew said.

  Jake spoke, “We’re trying to determine a motive behind Bobby’s death, and so far have come up empty. It seems everyone we talk to liked Bobby, and couldn’t think of anyone who wanted to harm him.”

  “I’m afraid I can only tell you the same thing,” Mrs. Pew said. “He was such a sweet young man. He was here every Tuesday and eager to help out. He never missed a week and there wasn’t a job he wouldn’t do.” She took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to . . . hurt Bobby.”

  “How long had he been helping out here?” Annie asked.

  The woman frowned, thinking. “Perhaps a year. Maybe more.”

  “Did he ever mention anyone to you, or anything he did, outside of helping here?”

  Mrs. Pew shook her head. “Other than church, helping here, and work, I got the feeling he liked to spend time at home with his aunt. He spoke very highly of her.”

  Annie smiled. “She spoke highly of him as well.”

  “That poor woman,” Mrs. Pew said. “He was all she had left. She must be devastated.”