Cold Justice (13 page)

The spilled wine had spread across the floor where the
bottle had landed, and had splashed onto the hardwood floor in several areas as
Vera had swung it about. He dug under the kitchen sink for something to clean
it with. A cloth and some water. He spent some time, making sure he had cleaned
it thoroughly. It appeared to be acceptable. It’s a good thing it was white
wine. He dumped the cloth into the garbage bag.

He took a last look around, and then carefully using the dry
cloth, he wiped down any areas he may have touched. Don’t want to leave any
fingerprints.

He stopped to think for a moment. One last thing to do.

There was a door to the garage off the kitchen. He went into
the garage and looked around. He saw just what he needed, and smiled grimly,
chuckling to himself.

Using the same cloth, he reached to the wall and removed a
hammer, careful not to touch the handle. He hurried back into the kitchen and
found a small knife. He went to where the body lay.

He made a small cut on her wrist, just enough to make it
bleed. The heart had stopped pumping, so the blood didn’t flow. He squeezed her
wrist and a few drops fell onto the head of the hammer. He smeared it around,
and then pulling a hair from her head, he rubbed it into the blood. It stuck.

He went back to the garage and hung the hammer back up on
the wall. Anderson Blackley’s fingerprints would surely be on that hammer. He
had covered his tracks.

Just in case.

He locked the back door, switched off the lights, and then
after first digging out his car keys, he hoisted the body over his shoulder,
checked to be sure no one was about, and then carried it quickly to his car. He
popped the trunk and dropped Vera’s body inside, snapping it closed quietly.

Hurrying back to the house, he grabbed the garbage bag full
of the items he had collected, locked the door from the inside, closed it, and
tested it. It was locked securely. He hurried to his car, tossed the bag in the
back seat, and backed out.

The street was bare. All was quiet. He drove away slowly,
finally breathing freely once he had turned onto the next street.

Now, what to do with the body. Have to think.

A plan began to form.

He knew where Blackley worked.

Winding his way through the city, watching carefully in case
any cops were about, he found Magnetic Drive. At the rear of the row of units
was a service driveway, used for deliveries, garbage pickup, and employee
parking. He saw the back door for Proper Shoes. Beside the door was a massive
garbage bin. He looked around and saw no one.

He backed up to the bin, climbed out, popped the trunk, and
removing the cooling body of his former lover, he dumped it into the big green
bin. The bag from the back seat was tossed inside as well.

The truck will pick that up. If the body isn’t seen, then it
will be buried in a landfill somewhere. Forever.

But... if they find it, Blackley will look guilty.

He jumped in the car, well pleased with his plan as he drove
away, heading for home.

He would sleep well tonight.

Chapter 22

Thursday, August 18th, 2:20 PM

ANNIE HAD SPENT the last hour on the phone, contacting the
names on the short list given to her by Anderson Blackley.

Vera Blackley’s father, who lived locally, hadn’t seen her
for some time and was of no help. Her mother had disappeared out of her life
many years ago, and her father had no idea where she was now.

“We’re not very close,” he had said. “She has very little
time for her family.”

She had few friends. None of them had heard from her for
several days and didn’t know where she might be. Only one woman, Diane
Henderson, had been any help at all. Annie had called her and spoken to her
briefly.

Diane hadn’t been aware Vera Blackley was still missing.
Anderson Blackley had called her on Monday, but he gave no indication there was
anything to be concerned about. Now, Diane sounded anxious. “I haven’t seen
her, or heard from her since last week,” she had said.

“Do you know where she may have gone? Did she know anyone
out of town?” Annie asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Ms. Henderson, would you have any idea if Vera was having
an affair?”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and then
reluctantly, “I think so.”

“Do you know who she was having an affair with?” Annie
asked.

“No, she didn’t say.”

Annie hesitated. “Ms. Henderson. We have reason to believe
some harm may have come to Vera.”

Diane caught her breath.

Annie continued, “And so, it’s important we find anyone that
may have seen her, or talked to her lately.”

“Do... do you think she’s been murdered?”

“I hope not,” Annie replied, “but we are trying to find out.”
Annie hesitated. “What can you tell me about Anderson Blackley?”

“I have only met him a couple of times. I don’t know much
about him. Only what Vera mentioned.”

“What did she say about him? Is he capable of hurting her?
Did she seem afraid of anything, or anyone?”

“No, she never expressed any concern about him. I know she
didn’t care about him, but she never said she felt threatened in any way,”
Diane said.

“Is there anything else you could tell me?” Annie asked.

“Mrs. Lincoln, Vera is a good friend, and I have known her
for a long time. I love her, but to be honest, she’s rather impulsive.
Especially when it comes to men. She can fall in and out of love without a
moment’s notice. And that’s why I’m not positive whether she is having an
affair or not.”

“But you think it’s possible?”

“Oh, yes, it’s very possible. More like probable.” She
paused. “Oh, I do hope she’s all right. Please let me know if you find her. I
am very concerned.”

“I certainly will. And please, Ms. Henderson, give me a call
if there’s anything else you can think of that might help locate her.”

“Yes, yes, I will.”

Annie gave her cell and office phone numbers to Diane, and
then hung up.

She sat back and glanced at the list again. She had
contacted them all and had nothing new to go on. Only one thing was evident. No
one knows where Vera Blackley is, and it seemed as if few people even cared.

Thursday, August 18th, 4:18 PM

SAMMY FISHER was homeless.

Not that it mattered to him. He found life on the streets
was a lot better than working for a living. For the last ten of his forty-five
years, he had been his own boss, and certainly not a demanding one.

He preferred life in the suburbs to the inner city. A lot
less competition for his daily necessities, few though they were. He never had
to scramble for a place in front of a heat register, or a sewer grate, in order
to get warm on a cold night. And the food that could be found here, was more to
his liking, and far surpassed the meager pickings that were to be found
downtown.

He never had to push one of those grocery carts, slugging
around his stuff with him wherever he went. He had his own little place under
Richmond River overpass, way up high and tucked back behind the concrete
pillars. He had found a little cave, his own nest, as it were, just room for
himself and his meager possessions.

No one, other than himself, knew about the place, and so he
never had to fend off any invaders, and except for the occasional rat, and a
few insects, he was left alone. The place was so well insulated by the earth
around it; it could be heated by a candle on the coldest winter night. And, it
was cool in the summer. Once he got used to the musty smell, it was home, sweet
home.

He liked it that way.

Sammy awoke and stretched, scratching himself in a few
places before finally sitting up. That afternoon nap had done him good. He
swept back the canvas and peered out.

Time to find supper.

He slapped on his baseball cap and crawled from his refuge.
The concrete colored canvas swung back into place, perfectly camouflaging the
entrance. He scrambled down a few feet on all fours before having enough space
to stand.

He brushed himself off and checked his back pocket. He
always carried a couple of plastic grocery bags jammed in there, one for his
supper, and an extra one just in case he stumbled across anything he couldn’t
live without. That was rare, but you never know.

He kicked up dust with his tattered runners as he hobbled
down the embankment to the river below. It flowed from north of the city, went
a few miles south, before finally slamming into the lake. But here, the water
was fresh enough. It hadn’t picked up a lot of pollution yet on this part of
its journey south, and Sammy found it good enough to drink.

He slipped his cap off and took his daily bath, consisting
of kneeling down and soaking his head. He felt refreshed. He cupped his hands
and slurped up a few mouthfuls of water. It was cold, and tasted good. He wiped
his mouth on his sleeve, and then stood and shook his bushy head, like a shaggy
dog shaking off water.

Let’s go.

He stuck his hat back on the knotted mess and climbed up the
embankment, around the side of the overpass, and soon was standing on the
sidewalk of a busy city street.

People pointed and stared at his tattered clothes, his
laceless shoes, and his heavily bearded face as he ambled along. A few
conspicuously looked the other way as they passed, avoiding his eyes, and
holding their breath, in case the man carried something contagious.

He pretended not to see, and on occasion, he would get even
by accidentally bumping into someone who was particularly offended by him. And
then he would touch his cap, give a hearty apology, and chuckle to himself as
he continued on his way.

He’d had a part time job as a party clown, many years ago,
and had loved it. There wasn’t much call any more for his expertise, but he had
learned long ago, little children never seemed to be offended by him. And now,
on occasion, he would stop and do a happy dance, entertaining the kids,
enjoying their giggles, until their mother sternly steered them away, probably
lecturing them about the eminent dangers of homeless strangers.

He wandered on.

At the next intersection, he turned down Magnetic Drive, an
industrial area. There were a couple of diners here, catering to the local
warehousing and shipping industries that littered the street. They depended
solely on local customers and did a roaring business during office hours, but
usually closed up by five o’clock or so. The area was deserted after that, and
there was always an abundance of leftover good stuff to choose from in the bins
behind the restaurants. Plenty to satisfy his taste buds, and fill his slightly
rounded tummy.

It was rumbling now.

Humming to himself, he slipped down an alleyway between two
buildings, took a left, and by now, could already smell his supper waiting for
him in the big green bin, dead ahead.

A sign above the bin said ‘Jackie’s Diner, No Dumping’.

He stepped onto a ledge at the end of the bin, about halfway
up. He hoisted himself the rest of the way and peered in. He grinned.

“Supper is ready. Come and get it.”

There were enough goodies here to open his own diner. There
always was. Well, not always. Not on the weekends. The place was closed then,
and Sammy was too particular to eat two-day-old food, especially after the rats
and other rodents had browsed through it.

He was a frequent visitor to this establishment, and knew
how everything was packaged. The leftover meat was in small white bags,
probably to keep the eventual smell down. Fries, bread rolls and pastries were
usually packed neatly in a cardboard box, along with prepackaged sandwiches
that had not been purchased. And then the whole lot of tidily packaged
leftovers was tossed untidily into the waiting bin.

It didn’t take him long to find what he needed. He dug a
grocery bag from his back pocket. He would take what he wanted for supper,
enough for breakfast and lunch tomorrow, and leave the rest to the rodents
already skittering around inside the bin.

He packed his choices carefully inside the bag, tied the
top, and dropped from the bin.

Life is good.

As usual, he would go down a couple of streets and enjoy his
feast in the park. A lovely little place where he could watch the kids and
appreciate the afternoon.

But first, let me see what’s in the other bins along here.
Haven’t checked them for a while.

The next unit did commercial printing. There was never
anything in there he needed, but if he ever wanted some writing paper in the
future, well, he knew where to get it. He passed the bin by.

Next was a computer parts supplier. Never anything there.

Next. ‘Proper Shoes’.

I don’t really need any shoes. They’re for old people
anyway. Maybe I’ll come back in forty years or so and see what they have for
me.

Suddenly, an overpowering stench filled his nose. He held
his breath and moved away, shaking his head in disgust. Must be a dead cat or
something in there.

Drawn by curiosity, he plugged his nose and climbed up the
end of the bin. He heaved himself up carefully, closed one eye, and looked.

What he saw made him change his mind about eating his supper
real soon. His stomach wasn’t up to it now. He dropped to the ground, backed up
several feet, and stopped, staring in disbelief, slowly shaking his head.

The police will want to know about this.

Chapter 23

Thursday, August 18th, 5:02 PM

ANNIE HAD DROPPED over next door to chat with Chrissy for a
while. Jake had just brewed a fresh pot of coffee, its pleasant aroma filling
his nose as he poured himself a big mug full. He carried it out the back door
to the deck, slouched down in a chair, dropped his feet onto another one, and
sipped carefully at his steaming drink.