Cold Justice (2 page)

“Thank you, Phil,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m not hungry.”
She put her head back and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and carefully, as
though each breath was an effort.

“You should eat something.”

She opened her eyes, looked at him and managed a weak smile.
“Maybe later.”

“Honey, you seem to have gotten worse, sadder, the last
couple of days. It’s more than just Timmy. What’s troubling you?” he asked.

She shook her head and looked down, rubbing her fingers
together as though nervous.

“I love you Abby. You know that. I want to help you any way
I can. You know you can talk to me about anything.” His voice was gentle, but
pleading.

She reached for a bottle of pills on the night table and
popped the top. She took the glass of orange juice he offered her, and taking a
big drink, she swallowed a couple of pills and set the glass back.

He continued to study her, watching, waiting, and feeling
helpless, useless, and weak.

A tear fell from her eye. She ignored it. Then another, and
another.

He leaned forward, and holding her, he soothed her as she
began to sob, quietly at first, and then uncontrollably. She clung to him. Her
tears soaked his collar, her sobs in his ears, his gentle heart breaking.

She wept for a while, and finally managed to speak, her
voice weak, low, and husky. “He killed her.”

He thought he misunderstood her. He pushed her gently back
so he could see into her eyes, a puzzled look on his face.

“He killed her,” she repeated.

He cocked his head. “Killed who?”

“I saw him kill her.”

Philip studied his wife thoughtfully, frowning slightly. She
appeared to be frightened, and she still clung to his arm. “Who did you see?”
he asked.

“Last night. On the way home. I felt sick, so I stopped for
a minute. I saw a man kill somebody.”

Philip frowned deeply. “Are you sure, honey?” he asked.

She looked intently at him and nodded slowly. “I’m sure,”
she said.

“Did you see who it was?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see who did it?”

She shook her head again. “I saw him, but I don’t know who
it was.”

Philip sat up straight and looked at her carefully. She was
motionless, her moist blue eyes telling him the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me
before?” he asked.

“I was afraid.”

Philip could see she was still afraid, hesitant, and
reluctant to say more. “We have to call the police,” he said.

She nodded and whispered, “Ok.”

Chapter 2

Tuesday, August 16th, 6:55 PM

ANNIE TRIED TO avoid going out on business in the evenings.
That was family time, and Jake and Annie liked to spend time with Matty. But
sometimes it was unavoidable.

They had gotten a call from Philip Macy. It sounded urgent,
so Annie promised to come right away. She called her friend next door, Chrissy
Pascual, who watched Matty occasionally if they had to go out.

“Sure Annie, bring him right over. Glad to help.”

Chrissy was a single mom, and her seven-year-old son, Kyle,
and Matty were good friends. When Annie told Matty that Chrissy would watch
him, he was out the front door and gone before Annie made it outside. He ran
into the neighbor’s house without knocking, and was through the house and into
the back yard with Kyle before Annie got there.

Chrissy was at the front door when she arrived. “You guys go
on and do whatever you have to do. He’ll be fine here.”

Jake was already waiting, revving up the Firebird when Annie
got back. She jumped in the front seat and they roared from the driveway.

Silverpine Street was about five minutes drive away. Jake
made it in three, and squealed to a stop under the shade of a towering maple.
They climbed from the vehicle and surveyed the house in front of them.

Number 88 was a typical middle-class house in a typical
middle-class neighborhood. A well manicured lawn. Hedges on both sides of the
property. A flowerbed ran under the front window and down the edge of the
driveway. It seemed to be somewhat overgrown with weeds. A single car garage
jutted out in front. They skirted around the Lexus in the driveway and
approached the front door.

The door swung open on the first buzz by a man whose face
revealed a heavy weariness. He looked to be in his late twenties, but had a
dangerously thin spot on the top of his head, framed by shaggy dark hair
caressing his ears.

Jake spoke first. “We’re Jake and Annie Lincoln.”

“Hello, I’m Philip Macy. Come in please.” He had a gentle
quiet voice, soft-spoken and calm.

They followed him into the front room. He motioned toward a
couch snuggled up against the window and waited for them to sit before taking a
seat on the edge of a loveseat opposite them.

Jake sat back, crossed his legs guy style, and looked
around. He noticed the room had a bit of an uncared for appearance. Not careless,
just dust on the furniture. A few things lying around. Perhaps the room could
do with a vacuuming. It seemed to be missing a woman’s touch.

Annie snapped open her handbag and pulled out a notepad and
pen.

“Thanks for coming so soon,” Macy said.

Annie encouraged him with a smile. “How may we help you, Mr.
Macy?”

“Please, call me Philip.”

Annie nodded. Jake smiled. Philip sighed. “I hope you can
help me... us. It’s my wife, really. I don’t know exactly where to begin.”

“Tell us about your wife,” Annie suggested.

Philip looked at the ceiling and rubbed his hands slowly
together. “My wife,” he began. “Abby is the kindest soul I ever met. And always
so sensible and levelheaded. Until recently.” He paused.

They waited for him to continue.

He sighed again before speaking. “We have a son... had a
son. Timmy. He was three years old.” He glanced down for a moment, and then
back up with a faraway look in his eyes. He continued with a hoarse voice. “He
was killed accidentally just over a month ago. Abby blames herself, but it was
just an accident.” He stopped speaking abruptly, looking down at his hands as
he fidgeted with them.

“Wow,” Jake whispered.

Annie wrote something in her note pad, and then looked at
Jake, and back at Philip. Her face was sympathetic while she waited for him to
continue.

“It was very hard. For both of us, but Abby has slipped into
a deep depression. She’s been seeing a psychiatrist, and he diagnosed her with
anxiety disorder. She’s been on some medication, but I don’t know how much it’s
helping her. She doesn’t want to see anyone, and barely speaks even to me.”

“I can’t imagine how both of you are feeling,” Annie said, “but
you have our deepest sympathy.”

“Do you have any children?” Philip asked.

Annie nodded. “We have an eight-year-old boy.”

Philip nodded slowly. “Then I’m sure you can imagine what
losing a child would do to you.”

Jake looked at Annie and shuddered at the thought before
turning back to Philip. “That must be about the worst thing any parent could
experience.”

Philip nodded again and cleared his throat before
continuing. “However, she seems to have taken a turn for the worse in the last
couple of days, but I was finally able to get something out of her.”

“Is your wife here now?” Annie interrupted.

“Yes, she’s upstairs. She knows I called you, but she doesn’t
want to see anyone.”

“That’s fine,” Annie said. They waited.

“Like I said, my wife, Abby, hasn’t been taking Timmy’s
death well at all. She has been drinking often lately. She says it helps her,
but I think we both know it’s just a temporary remedy.”

Jake nodded.

Annie agreed, “Yes.”

“She finally told me last night... She was on the way home
from Eddie’s. That’s a bar a couple of streets over. She was walking home, and
she claims to have seen someone get killed. Murdered.”

Annie caught her breath.

Jake leaned forward.

“I called the police as soon as she told me,” Philip said. “They
came here right away. She talked to them briefly, and told them where she had
seen the murder. They called me back this morning. Apparently, they
investigated right away. They went to the house where she had seen it. They
talked to the owner, checked out the lawn, etc., filled out a report. They
found no evidence of a crime.”

Jake gave a low whistle.

Philip said, “They talked to her psychiatrist. He was
reluctant to say anything at first. Patient confidentially and all that. But I
talked to him, and he was willing to give some information. He said he had
diagnosed her as having anxiety disorder. I already knew that much, but he also
stated it has been making her delusional and paranoid, as evidenced by the
sessions he has had with her. Also, the fact she had been drinking that
evening, well, the police agreed with the psychiatrist’s report.”

“But you don’t agree with that, do you,” Jake stated. “You
believe she really saw what she said she saw. Is that right?”

Philip nodded his head vigorously. “Oh, yes. I do think she
saw something. I’ve spent a lot of time with her lately. Even though she doesn’t
want to talk much, she still needs my support. And I haven’t seen any evidence
of delusional thinking at all.”

“So, you want us to do what?” Annie asked.

“I want you to get to the bottom of this if you can. She
seems to be afraid. Not just paranoid for no reason, but genuinely afraid. She
may think the killer knows who she is. I’m sure if this is straightened out, if
you can find out if she saw a murder, and hopefully find the person
responsible, then she will recover a lot quicker.”

Annie poised her pen over the notepad and asked, “Do you
have the address of the house?”

“It’s just a few doors down. At number 76. Apparently it’s a
Mr. Kevin Rand.”

Annie wrote the information in her pad. “Is there anything
else you can think of?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, that’s all I have. She didn’t seem to know
any more details.”

“Where do you work, Philip?”

My wife and I have a small accounting firm. Macy & Macy.
Abby worked there part time as a receptionist, or just helping out in a variety
of areas. Until recently, that is. She hasn’t been in since... Timmy.”

Annie consulted her pad and thought a moment before looking
up. “I guess that’s about all for now,” she said.

“If your wife happens to think of anything else, please be
sure to let us know right away,” Jake said. “In the meantime, we’ll come up
with a plan of action, and we’ll let you know how we proceed.”

Annie tucked her notepad away and stood up. Jake stood and
Philip followed them to the door. Jake dug a business card from his top pocket
and handed it to Philip.

“We’ll be in touch,” Annie said as they left.

Philip thanked them and shut the door.

Jake whistled. “Not much to go on here,” he said.

Annie agreed.

Chapter 3

Tuesday, August 16th, 11:55 PM

THE DARK FIGURE waited in the shadows while a car drifted
by. He watched it out of sight, and then rose to his feet. He glanced up and
down the street. It was empty. All clear.

He adjusted his ski mask and stepped out of the shadows. He
crept cautiously to the side of the house, keeping low. He stopped to listen a
moment, and then continued along the side of the house toward the back,
rounding the corner.

He saw a basement window a few feet away. He stole silently
across the grass and knelt down in front of it, avoiding a row of blooming
rosebushes. He tested it. Locked.

Reaching in the side pocket of his jacket, he retrieved a
knife. He snapped it open and forced the blade between the upper and lower
panels of the window. He worked at it awhile, and then heard a satisfying snap.
He grunted softly and withdrew the knife, folded it carefully and tucked it
away.

Cautiously and slowly, he inched up the lower window. It
slid easily, making only a soft squeak as he pushed it open.

He stopped to listen again and heard nothing. He found a
penlight in his other pocket. He switched it on and flashed it briefly inside,
and then carefully eased through the window, feet first, finally landing with a
faint thud on the basement floor.

He switched the flashlight back on and looked around. He
could see the steps to the main floor on the other side of the room. He stepped
around a pile of boxes, and weaved his way around furniture and chairs. He
cursed to himself when his foot connected with something lying on the floor. It
sounded like a can. A soda can, or a beer can maybe. It skittered away and
rattled for a moment, then became silent. He stood frozen for several minutes,
listening, waiting, and hoping he hadn’t been heard.

Finally, he was convinced he was safe. Moving more
cautiously now, he crept across the room to the stairs ascending to the main
floor of the house.

He tested the steps for squeaks, seemed satisfied, and
slowly made his way up. The door at the top swung smoothly as he turned the
knob and pushed it open. He switched the flashlight off and stopped again to
listen.

The kitchen was straight ahead, the living room to the left,
and a small bathroom to the right. There were no lights burning. Only the
bright moonlight broke the darkness of the house, allowing enough light to see
as he made his way down a short hall to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.

He removed a pistol from an inside pocket of his jacket, and
holding it ready in his right hand, he took the stairs two at a time to lessen
the odds of hitting one that squeaked. None did. He took the last step and
stood quietly at the top, listening, pistol poised.