Cold Justice (21 page)

Try the cupboards next. Start with the drawers, the most
obvious place. One by one, he slipped them open and browsed through their
contents. Finally, he was rewarded. In the bottom drawer of the cupboard, and
hidden underneath a stack of magazines, he found what he was looking for. He
slipped the paper from the envelope and grinned.

That’s it. That’s the original.

He folded the paper again, dropped it back into the
envelope, and into his inner pocket. He laughed. Two thou, well earned.

He went to the front door, retrieved his helmet, fastened it
on, and opened the apartment door carefully. Making sure no one was around, he
left the apartment, locked the door behind him, and tromped down the steps to
the front.

He made it down to the sidewalk unseen, and hurried toward
his bike, stopping long enough to turn his back, lean against a tree and wait
until a tired young woman passed by, tugging two brats behind her. A ratty
looking dog followed them on a leash, yipping and barking. It stopped for a
moment, sniffing at Tommy’s heels, before being dragged along. They turned into
an alley out of sight, and he walked briskly to his bike, otherwise unseen. He
climbed on, kicked the motor to life, and rumbled away.

Finally making it home, he turned into the alley beside his
building, parked his motorcycle in the usual spot, locked it up, went up to his
crappy apartment and dropped on the couch. He pulled out his cell, and the
paper with his uncle’s number. He dialed.

After the first ring he heard, “Dr. Hoffman?”

“Hey, Unc.”

“Did you get it?” Hoffman sounded anxious.

“Yup. I have it right here. Safe and sound.”

“Are you sure it’s the original?”

“I’m sure. It’s in blue ink in a handwritten envelope. It’s
not a copy.”

“Destroy it. Burn it.”

“Ok. And what about my money?”

“Is money all you think about? Don’t worry, you’ll get your
money.” He paused, then, “Come to the house this afternoon around four o’clock
or so. I’ll have it for you.”

“Two thou, right Unc?”

Hoffman sighed. “Yes, yes, two thousand dollars.”

“Cash?”

“Of course, you idiot. Do you think I’d give you a check?”

Tommy laughed. “Just checking. Ok, see you then,” he said,
as he touched the hang up button.

He pulled the note from his inner pocket, withdrew it from
the envelope, and unfolded it. He read through it again and grinned. “The way I
see it, Dear Uncle has killed two women, and he wants to give me two thou. That’s
only a thou per head. This information oughta be worth a lot more than two
thousand dollars.”

Chapter 36

Friday, August 19th, 9:10 AM

PHILIP MACY parked his car in the underground parking and
took the stairs to the lobby of the office complex that housed Macy & Macy.
He dodged people on phones, zombies with ear buds, everyone sipping coffee,
rushing to work.

He took the crowded elevator to the second floor. The doors
swished open, and the silence of the quiet hallway calmed him. He didn’t feel
like being around a lot of people today. They just irritated him, watching
their lives go on so peacefully, when his had disintegrated into a million
bits.

He went down the hallway, slipped the key into the lock of
Macy & Macy and opened the door. He was surprised the suite was still
locked up. He had expected Samantha would be here by now. Especially when he
had told her he might not be in for a few days.

He didn’t feel much like working after Abby’s death, only
two days ago, but his business was important to him, and he needed to take care
of it, take care of clients. Abby certainly would have wanted it that way. She
had put as much effort into building the firm as he did, and was proud of what
they had accomplished together.

This is all he has left now.

He flicked on the lights, sighed deeply, and trudged through
the reception area to his office, slumping at his desk, leaning forward, his
head in his hands.

After a while, he sat up and reached across his desk for a
file he had been working on the last time he was here. He flipped it open,
stared blindly at its contents, and closed it again, tossing it back on the
small stack of waiting work.

He couldn’t get his mind on business, now tossed between
burying himself in his work, or just closing up and going home again. But, that
wouldn’t help. Might as well be here, as there. It wouldn’t change how he felt.

He glanced at his watch, picked up the phone, and dialed
Samantha’s number. He let it ring a few times. There was no answer. She’s
probably still on her way to work. He dropped the receiver in its cradle and
sat back.

He stared at the wall, unseeing, recalling when he had met
Abby. She had just graduated from U of T, and he was a first year accountant in
a growing firm. It was love at first sight. He had never met anyone so
beautiful, and he considered himself lucky just to know her. Their future
looked wonderful, without a care in the world.

They had spent most of their free time together, and within
six months of meeting, he had asked her to marry him. Of course, she said yes,
and the happy event took place less than two months later. It wasn’t a large
wedding. Neither one of them cared about that; they just wanted to be together.

And then, along came Timmy. Not exactly planned, but they
were overjoyed when they found out Abby was pregnant. He went out of his way to
spoil her, and together they spent months setting up the nursery, painting,
decorating, shopping, laughing, and having a real adventure.

And when Timmy was born, it was amazing. This little
creature they had made. Life was even better. Timmy was just about the greatest
little bundle he had ever seen, and he loved helping Abby take care of him,
feeding him, changing diapers, and tucking him in to sleep.

A few months later, they opened their own accounting firm.
Abby took to it naturally, and business, though slow at first, soon picked up
and the future looked wide open.

Their business was growing, Timmy was growing, and their love
was growing.

Then when tragedy struck, just a few weeks ago, and they
lost little Timmy, they were devastated. Though Abby felt guilty, Philip never
once blamed her. It was a tragic accident, and no one was at fault.

And now, Abby is gone as well. The future looks dark, and
without knowing what happened to her, it looks even darker.

His wife’s body had been released, and now he had funeral
arrangements to take care of as well. He could use Samantha’s help.

His eyes now glistening with moisture, he wiped them on his
cuff and cleared his throat. Maybe he would call Detective Corning and see if
there was any news. He was always supportive. He found his number, picked up
the phone and dialed.

“Detective Hank Corning.”

“Detective Corning, it’s Philip Macy. I... I was just
wondering if anything had turned up.”

Silence for a moment, then, “I’m sorry, Mr. Macy, but we
have had no new evidence, and nothing that shows your wife’s death was anything
other than suicide.”

Philip sighed, “I understand.”

“But the Lincolns are still working on it,” Hank said
quickly. “If there’s anything to be found, they’ll find it.”

“Thanks Detective, I’ll give them a call.”

“Mr. Macy?”

“Yes?”

“I wish I could help you, but the coroner’s report, and the
forensic report... well, as you know, the Captain has closed the file.”

“Yes, I know you had already told me, however I was just
hoping...” Philip’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t give up hope. He had to know
what happened to his darling Abby.

Hank continued, “Officially, the case is closed, but
personally, I believe there’s more to this, and I’m helping the Lincolns in
every way I can. I want you to know, I haven’t given up on you.”

“I appreciate that,” Philip said, and sighed.

“I’m truly sorry Mr. Macy,” Hank said. “But, don’t hesitate to
call me any time.”

They hung up and Philip sat back and closed his eyes,
sitting quietly.

After a moment, he tried Samantha again. No answer. He
looked at his watch and frowned. This is not like her at all. She’s never late.

He dialed another number.

“Jake here.”

“Jake, it’s Philip Macy.”

“Hello Mr. Macy. How are you?” He sounded truly concerned.

“Well, not really so good. I just wanted to see if you had
anything yet?”

Jake paused. “My wife and I had delayed calling you until we
had something solid to go on. I don’t know if you had heard about Vera
Blackley. Her body was discovered yesterday afternoon.” Jake told him the
details.

Philip was stunned. He hadn’t heard, had barely been mobile
since Abby’s death, and hadn’t even switched on the television.

Jake continued, “We believe Mrs. Blackley is the woman that
your wife saw being murdered. They live on the property directly behind. We’re
sure if we find her killer, then we’ll know what happened to your wife. We
believe it’s the same man.”

“So then, you believe my wife was not delusional?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have anything on Vera Blackley’s murder yet?” he
asked hopefully.

“I’m sorry, nothing concrete yet, but we’re currently
following up a few good leads, and we’ll be sure to let you know what we find.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Silence, then, “Not really, but I’ll certainly keep in
touch, and if there’s anything we need from you, I’ll let you know,” Jake said,
and added firmly, “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Philip said quietly.

They hung up. Philip was dejected, and felt useless. He knew
it had only been a couple of days, and these things take time, but he was
anxious. He went to the outer office and started a pot of coffee. He had to get
his mind off Abby.

Chapter 37

Friday, August 19th, 9:28 AM

DETECTIVE HANK CORNING had dropped by the precinct to pick
up the reports on Vera Blackley. All around was the constant buzz of activity,
rustling paper, phones buzzing, the prattle of chatter, and the tapping of duty
boots on the time-honored hardwood floor. Officers scurried back and forth in
their unceasing battle for law and order. A useless air conditioner droned
behind him, kicking out a stingy amount of air, barely cooling the tepid
atmosphere.

He slouched at his ancient desk and leafed through the
paperwork. He wanted to have another go at Captain Diego. He saw a definite
connection between the murder of Vera Blackley, and the death of Abigail Macy.

But, he knew any attempt to get Diego to rethink this thing,
would be fruitless. Abigail had committed suicide, and Anderson Blackley was in
jail, charged with murdering his wife. Two separate and unrelated cases. At
least, that’s the way the captain saw it. It was nice and neat.

Too neat.

The autopsy of Vera Blackley had been finished, and
forensics had gone over everything from the crime scene and Blackley’s house.
The complete lab reports were in. It was all right there, sitting in front of
him on his desk. All wrapped up.

After his talk with Philip, Hank had been concerned. Philip
seemed to be so despondent. Who could blame him, really?

He closed the folder and dropped it into his valise. He had
some other business to attend to. He was still working on the series of
break-ins that had been taking place in the south end of the city. He would
drop these reports to the Lincolns on his way there. He gave Jake a call to be
sure he was at home. He was.

Grabbing his valise, he strode across the precinct floor and
out the front door. His Chevy was parked behind the building where it always
was, and he climbed in and keyed the ignition. The engine knocked a couple of
times and then awoke.

In a few minutes, he slipped into the driveway behind Annie’s
Escort and shut down the motor. It crackled and popped as he stepped out and
climbed the steps to the front door.

Annie answered his ring and invited him in. “We’re just in
the office,” she said. “Going over our notes, and trying to figure out our next
move.”

Hank followed Annie to the office, and Jake grabbed a
fold-up chair, flipped it open, and dropped it in front of him. “Have a seat,
he said. “I’d take that one, but I’m afraid I might break it.”

Annie parked behind the desk as Jake sat in the guest chair.
Hank dropped into the fold-up, pulled out the reports and set his valise on the
floor beside him. He plopped the folder on the desk. “All of the reports on
Vera Blackley are there,” he said.

Jake grabbed the folder and pulled out the autopsy report,
tossing the rest back on the desk. He leafed through the pages, making the
occasional sound of interest as something caught his attention.

Annie flipped open the folder and studied the forensics
report.

“One interesting thing there,” Hank said, pointing to the
paper Annie was reviewing. “Blackley’s car came up clean. They also checked
Vera Blackley’s car, it was in the garage, and it came up clean as well. There’s
no evidence either car was used to transport the body to the bin, or anywhere
else for that matter.”

Jake looked up. “So, if Blackley was the killer, then how
did he get her body out of there?”

“Good question,” Annie said. “And it bolsters my theory. I
still think Blackley is innocent.”

“And looky here,” Jake said, as he stabbed at the autopsy
report with his finger. “The coroner reports no signs of sexual abuse or intercourse.”

Annie looked at Jake with interest. “I think that tells us a
lot.”

“It sure does, cuz here’s the question. If Blackley came
home and killed his wife, then why was she half naked? If she was dressed that
way because some other guy was there, and Blackley killed her, then where’s the
other guy?”