Cold Justice (26 page)

Jake chuckled, and then, “Sammy, you’ve been a great help. I
really appreciate this. Can I pay you for your time?”

“Not a penny,” Sammy said. “But, if you can get Salamander off
the street, then that’s payment enough. He’s bad for the whole neighborhood.”

Jake slapped Sammy on the back and shook his hand. “I need
to get going now. Do you want a lift home?”

“Nope, I’m fine. I’ll just hang around here awhile.”

“Remember, call me if you ever want anything.”

“I will,” Sammy said, as he winked and walked away.

Jake watched him go for a moment. Sammy was a peculiar
character, but in a good way. And a better man than many he had met.

Chapter 44

Friday, August 19th, 1:20 PM

ANDERSON BLACKLEY had arrived home. Annie saw his black
Subaru in the driveway as she approached the house. She pulled in behind it,
shut down the engine, and stepped out.

The grass needed to be cut, and the flowerbed could use a
little water. Understandable, considering Blackley’s recent circumstances.

She took the short pathway to the front steps, climbed onto
the small porch, and knocked. She assumed Blackley had been watching for her,
as the door opened immediately.

She could see deepening lines on his face, and dark shadows
around his eyes. He looked tired, and probably hadn’t slept much in the last
couple of days.

He motioned for her to come in, as he stepped back, allowing
her to move into the lobby.

She took a quick glance around. She remembered snooping
outside the house yesterday, peeking in the windows, and checking out the back
yard, but she had never been inside before. She studied the living room as she
followed Blackley in. It was a typical room, a little neater than she had
expected, and any trace of the presence of the investigators the day before,
had been cleaned up.

Blackley motioned toward the couch. Annie took a seat while
he sat in a straight-backed chair.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

Annie smiled. “It’s good to see you’ve been released. I’m
sure it’s been a rather uncomfortable couple of days.”

Blackley nodded. “Yes, it sure has been. And I hope you can
help get rid of this black cloud hanging over my head.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t
want to spend another night in that place, never mind a few years.” He
cushioned his thoughts with an uneasy laugh. “And those orange jumpsuits are
not to my liking either.”

Annie chuckled before turning the conversation to more
serious matters. He had not heard about Samantha Riggs, so she filled him in.

He was shocked and speechless for a moment. Finally, he
asked, “Do you think her murder is related to Vera’s?”

“I’m sure of it,” Annie replied. “We are almost certain
whoever killed your wife, also killed Mrs. Macy. Miss Riggs was a friend and
co-worker of Mrs. Macy. I don’t think there’s any coincidence.”

Blackley nodded. “I do believe you’re right. Now, how are we
going to find out who it was?”

“For starters, I’d like to know a little bit more about your
wife. You told us before, you and her weren’t close anymore, but do you know
what she did in her spare time?”

Blackley laughed. “Her spare time. That’s all she had.” He
thought a moment. “I don’t really know. She got her hair done a lot, and she
was always out shopping for new clothes. For some reason she bought a lot of
fancy undergarments, but I never saw them on her.” He chuckled. “I think that
was reserved for somebody else.”

Annie forced a smile before continuing. “Did she ever go to
bars, or drink?”

“No, I don’t believe so. She never was much of a drinker.”

“Can you think of anyone she may have confided in? Any
friends, or relatives, you may have forgotten to list before?”

Blackley shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but then
again, I don’t really know for sure.” He paused. “She was seeing a psychiatrist
some time ago, but only a few sessions.”

Annie raised a brow. “A psychiatrist? Do you have his name?”

“Just a minute.” He stood and walked into a small office off
the living room. Annie could hear drawers opening and closing, and the sounds
of him rummaging around. In a few minutes, he returned with an invoice in his
hand.

“His name is Dr. Hoffman,” he said, reading from the paper
as he took a seat.

Annie’s jaw dropped. “Dr. Boris Hoffman?”

“Yup.”

“Mrs. Macy was also seeing Dr. Hoffman,” she said thoughtfully.

Blackley frowned deeply. “Do you think there’s any
connection?”

Annie scratched her head, thinking. “I don’t know,” she said
slowly. “Maybe.”

Blackley consulted the invoice again. “The last time she saw
him was three months ago,” he said.

Annie nodded, and looked at her watch. “If there’s nothing
else you can tell me about your wife, Mr. Blackley, I’d like to cut this
interview short. I have a few urgent matters I need to look into right away.”

“That’s all I can think of right now. If there’s anything
else, I’ll call you.”

He let her out the front door and she made her way to the
Escort, climbed in, and fired up the engine. She sat for a few minutes, trying
to wrap her brain around this new piece of information. Possibly, a very big
piece of information.

It was too early to say anything to Blackley, or to form any
firm conclusions, but she had a nagging feeling Hoffman was deeply involved
somehow.

She had to find out if he owns a red Mercedes convertible.

Chapter 45

Friday, August 19th, 1:28 PM

JAKE LEFT HIS car across the road from the park, and strode
the four blocks to the street where Sammy had directed him.

It was a nasty neighborhood, lots of government subsidized
housing, and a few crumbling two-floor apartment buildings.

A neglected old woman sat in a rocker on the front stoop of
a squalid house, the roof dipping slightly in the middle, as if ready to tumble
at any moment. Her rocker squeaked in a rhythmic tone as she sat idling her
time away. Across the street, a shabby house had a weed garden in front, with a
rusting car jacked up on cement blocks. The smell of something rotting was in
the air. Jake put it down to the smoldering pile of garbage beside the tired
house.

A few pedestrians ambled the sidewalks, apparently going
nowhere. The sound of a motorcycle almost deafened him as it flew by and spun
around the corner. Groups of two or three were gathered on steps, makeshift
benches, or standing in driveways and doorways.

Four hoodlums in leather were carousing in front of a dilapidated
garage. They quietened, and stared curiously as Jake approached them.

“I’m looking for Tommy Salamander,” Jake said.

An ugly one said, “Who’s asking?”

Jake moved in a little closer to Ugly. “I am.”

Ugly glanced at his companions and laughed, and then back at
Jake. “And who are you?”

Jake moved in another step. He was just a few inches away,
towering over him by a foot. “Never mind who I am. I want Tommy.”

The guy dropped his head back and looked up at Jake, but
remained silent. The other three hoodlums had taken a step back, and seemed on
the verge of running away.

Jake put a massive hand on the guy’s chest and propelled him
backwards, slamming him against the garage door, pinned firmly. The tin door snapped
and buckled. Ugly struggled vigorously, like a rabbit in a trap, but was held
solid.

“Where is he?” Jake asked calmly.

Ugly stopped squirming, squinted at Jake, and then finally
nodded toward an apartment building across the street. “He lives there.” Jake
detected a wobble of fear in his voice.

“Which apartment?”

“Second floor.” He hesitated. “He’s in 201, but don’t tell
him I sent you.”

“Why, are you a friend of his?”

“Sure, we’re friends. I’ve known him all my life, but he’ll
still kick my butt if he knows I talked to you.”

Jake moved his hand and Ugly quickly slithered away, the
others following him. Jake smiled grimly as he watched them tear around the
side of the garage.

He turned and strode across the street, crossed the postage
stamp lawn, and pushed the door of the building open. As he stepped in, his
nostrils were assaulted with a strong odor of wet dog, mingled with stale
cigarette smoke, and moldy carpet.

The steps threatened to break through as he took them two at
a time to the second floor. He knocked on the door of 201.

“Who’s there?” It sounded like a woman’s voice.

He spoke gruffly, trying to imitate the lowlife across the
street. “A friend of Tommy’s.”

“Come in,” she said.

Jake turned the knob and pushed the door. It wedged at the
top. He pushed a little harder, and it sprang open, swung around, and thunked
against the wall.

A girl slouched on the couch. She was probably early
twenties, but looked as worn out, and burned out, as the guys outside. She didn’t
look at him, her eyes fastened to the soap on TV. She tilted her head,
motioning down the hall. “He’s in the can.”

Jake stood and waited.

“Oh, Jessica, I have always loved you,” the TV said.

“And I have always loved you too,” the TV replied.

Jake slapped the television off and stepped back again,
eyeing the girl. She looked to be entirely out of touch, and unaware of him.
She appeared not to notice the TV was no longer talking at her.

The toilet flushed, the bathroom door swung open, and Jake
saw him. He looked as mean as Sammy had described. He was wearing a muscle
shirt, and the tattoo was fully visible.

Tommy frowned when he saw Jake. His frown deepened as he
moved closer. He stopped, and spoke as if irritated, “What do you want, man?”

Jake was a daunting site as he crossed his arms and glared
at Tommy. “Why did you kill Samantha Riggs?” he asked flatly.

Tommy scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“I know it was you,” Jake said. “We have an eyewitness.”

Tommy hesitated. “If you’re here to arrest me, then where’s
your gun?”

Jake pounded his right fist into his left palm a couple of
times. “I don’t need a gun.”

Tommy wiped his hair back out of his wide eyes as he stared
at the colossal pair of fists. He opened his mouth to say something, and then
closed it again.

Before Jake could react, Tommy spun around and dashed back
down the hall, disappearing through a doorway. Jake sprinted forward and
followed. It was a bedroom, messy, dirty, smelling like old laundry. An outside
window was open and Tommy was climbing out.

Jake dashed to the window, but his prey was now on the fire
escape, clattering down the metal steps. Jake squeezed his bulk out the window
and hit the landing outside, just as Tommy dropped to the ground, staggered and
fell to one knee, then recovered quickly and bolted down the alley, out of
sight around the corner.

Jake thumped down the steps, hit the ground and followed,
but Tommy was gone.

He ran in the direction the killer had taken. He checked
down a nearby alley, rounded the building, and continued on. A motorcycle
roared nearby, and Jake turned in time to see it spinning out of the alley
beside Tommy’s apartment building. He ran to the street as it sped by, and
stood shaking his head as he watched him go. It appeared Tommy had circled
back, grabbed his bike, and was gone.

He had him in his hands, and he let him get away.

He followed on foot for a couple of blocks, running down the
sidewalk, but gave up after a few minutes. He would never catch him this way.
He would have to wait until Tommy came back home.

Chapter 46

Friday, August 19th, 1:41 PM

ANNIE PULLED into Midtown Plaza and drove around behind the
complex. Employees and shopkeepers always parked around the back, leaving spots
in front for customers. She drove slowly past the rear entrances of the
tenants, looking for Dr. Hoffman’s reserved spot.

She touched the brakes and squinted at a sign posted on the
brick wall beside a metal door. An arrow pointed downwards to the two slots
below the notice. It said, ‘Reserved for Dr. Hoffman’s Office’.

One was filled by a ten-year-old Honda. That wouldn’t be
Hoffman’s, probably belongs to his receptionist. Not only was there no red
Mercedes convertible in sight, but the other parking spot was empty.

It looks like Hoffman is not in.

She dug her cell phone from her handbag, turned on ‘Hide
Caller ID’, and dialed his office number.

“Dr. Hoffman’s office. How may I help you?” asked a pleasant
voice.

“Good afternoon. This is Annie Washington from Richmond
Financial. I need to speak to Dr. Hoffman urgently, regarding some papers he
neglected to return.”

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Hoffman is not in today.”

“It’s rather urgent,” Annie said. “I need to see him today.”

“I can have him get back to you when he calls in for
messages,” the girl offered.

Annie thought quickly. “I’m afraid that won’t do. He has had
an offer on his house, and it will fall through if I can’t see him today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize he was selling his home.”

“Yes, he is. And this could be a real problem for him if we
can’t get this sorted out immediately. I would like to drop by his house,
however, I don’t have his home address.” Annie made a face. That was dumb. What
kind of bank wouldn’t have the home address of its client?

She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she heard, “Just a
moment. I’ll get it for you.”

Annie heard some paper rustling over the quiet hiss of the
line. A moment later, the girl was back. “He lives at 133 Rambling Road. Do you
need his home phone number?”