Cold Justice

by Rayven T. Hill

  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?”

  “Yes, please.” Annie hurriedly dug the notepad from her handbag and wrote the number. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  She hit the ‘Hang Up’ icon and shook her head. She hadn’t thought that through well enough before she called. She laughed as she pictured the receptionist sitting at her desk, staring at the phone, suddenly realizing something was wrong.

  She booted up the Google Maps app on her cell, and punched in the address. The helpful map showed Hoffman’s house was just on the outskirts of Richmond Hill, toward the north. She was familiar with the area, and the variety of large homes, on large lots, along that road.

  At least now, she knew where Hoffman lived, and she had his phone number, if necessary. Now it’s time to put the next step of her plan into place.

  Friday, August 19th, 1:45 PM

  DR. BORIS HOFFMAN had been worried all day. He’d had a bit too much Scotch whisky, and was now sipping a cup of steaming coffee, trying to clear his tangled brain.

  He had cancelled his appointments for the day. There were only two clients anyway, so he decided to stay home and relax. He didn’t feel much like listening to wackos today; he had too much on his mind.

  He was concerned the girl that his idiot nephew had killed would come back from the grave and haunt him by means of another copy of the note. He was somewhat consoled by the knowledge if there had indeed been another copy in her possession, the police would have found it and knocked his door down by now.

  That, at least, was somewhat of a relief, but he also knew the cops were pretty thorough, and there might be something else to connect Samantha Riggs back to him. That idiot, Tommy, had made a mess, and he didn’t know if there was anything he could do to clean it up.

  His thoughts disintegrated as he heard his cell phone buzz. He picked it up. It was the idiot himself. What does he want this time?

  “What is it?” he said into the phone.

  “We may have trouble.”

  Hoffman cursed. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Some guy is snooping around my place.”

  “And?” Hoffman asked impatiently.

  “He told me they have a witness that saw me kill the girl.”

  Hoffman clenched his teeth and cursed again. He wanted to strangle Tommy. He paced a moment, trying to think. Finally, he said, “Listen idiot, if the cops had a witness, they would have been there by now.”

  “Maybe they’re waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “I don’t know. Just waiting.”

  “Tommy, you’re more of an idiot than I thought. Cops don’t wait around. They’d be on you like a dog in heat.”

  “I don’t know, but this is getting a bit hairy.”

  “Calm down,” Hoffman said. “You’re worrying about nothing.”

  “Uncle?”

  Hoffman sighed. “What is it?”

  “I think you could give me a bit more money. Two thou ain’t enough, and I may have to get out of town.”

  “Running away is not going to help. That’s only going to make you look guilty. And they would still track you down.”

  “Well, I need more money, anyway.”

  “No more money.”

  The line was quiet. Finally, Tommy said quietly, “I still have the note.”

  “I told you to destroy it,” Hoffman yelled.

  “Yeah, I know, but I read it, and it seems like it’s worth more money.”

  Hoffman raised his voice even higher. “No more money. Just bring me the note.”

  “Listen, Dear Uncle Boris, if I go down for this, then you go down too.” He paused. “Unless I get more money.”

  Hoffman sighed. “How much more?”

  “I want five grand. That’s all.”

  “Oh, that’s all, is it?”

  “It’s worth it.”

  “All right. Bring it over here and you’ll get your money.”

  Hoffman felt like a fool for trusting that idiot. Now he was being blackmailed with a letter that was supposed to have been destroyed.

  “I’ll be there this afternoon,” Tommy said. “Just like we planned.”

  Hoffman clicked off his phone, dropped it onto his desk, and slumped into his chair, shaking his head.

  He cursed a moment and then leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of the desk, dug around at the back, and removed something wrapped in a soft linen napkin. He set it carefully on his desk, unfurled the cloth, and stared at his Glock pistol.

  He may have to use this. If Tommy didn’t give him the note this time, he would threaten him with it, or worse. Blow his brains out. The idiot deserved it.

  He picked up the gun and slipped the 10-round cartridge from the chamber. It was full. He rammed the cartridge back in, and snapped the MIC holster from the gun, setting the pistol back on the desk. He stood and fastened the cord of the holster to his belt, snapped the gun in
and slipped it behind the buckle, securely in place against his skin. He dropped his shirt over the weapon and sat down. It felt comfortable, and made him feel safe.

  He flipped open the cigar box and selected a Cuban, clipped the end, and lit it. The warm smoke relaxed him, calmed him down. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, tasting the sweet earthiness in his mouth.

  Chapter 47

  Friday, August 19th, 1:54 PM

  JAKE WALKED the four blocks back to the street where Salamander’s apartment was located, slipped down the narrow driveway beside the building, and around behind.

  It led into a parking area where three or four cars were jammed into the narrow spaces. Tommy had sped away from here, so his bike must have been parked back here somewhere, and he had retrieved it before taking off.

  He knew in this kind of neighborhood, Tommy would chain his bike up securely. Jake looked around for a likely spot. The back door of the building had a small platform with a solid iron railing on one side. He leaned down and examined the railing. Otherwise covered with rust, there were some scratches where a chain had dug into the metal.

  He stood and stepped onto the platform. The back door was unlocked and it squealed as it scraped against the frame and swung open. He took the back stairs to the second floor and moved down the hallway toward the front of the building. He stopped in front of 201, twisted the knob, and the door sprang open.

  The smell of a freshly smoked cigarette hung in the air. The television was back on, and the girl appeared to have not moved. He shut the door quietly, crossed the room and flicked off the TV. He turned and looked at her as she stared forward silently.

  He kicked a small footstool over in front of her and sat down, leaning forward, facing her. She sat quietly, her hands in her lap, only her eyes moving briefly as they followed him.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She blinked. “Rachel,” she answered, in a husky voice, almost a whisper.

  “I’m Jake,” he said, as he studied her. She was quite attractive at one time. Maybe could be again, but not until she wanted to get out of this life and make something of herself.

  “Do you know where Tommy would have gone to?”

  As she shook her head, a long strand of blond fell forward and covered one eye. She reached up unconsciously and brushed it back into the tangled muddle on top of her head. She needed a hairbrush.

  “Was he home yesterday evening?”

  Instead of answering, she reached for a pack of cigarettes on a stand beside her and dumped one out, placing it between her lips. She fiddled with the lighter for a moment, and couldn’t get it to work. Jake took it gently from her, flicked it, and held it to the smoke. She puffed, inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke out the side of her mouth.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Jake dropped the lighter back on the stand and repeated. “Was Tommy home yesterday evening?”

  “She took another puff, blowing the smoke at him. “He went out.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  She shrugged. “He doesn’t tell me. He just goes.”

  “What time did he leave?”

  Her eyes moved up for a moment, and then back at Jake. “Maybe eight or nine.”

  “Do you know what time he got home?”

  “Late.”

  “How late?”

  She shrugged again. “I was sleeping,” she said, as she took another puff.

  Jake sat back and studied her. Her eyes followed him, unafraid.

  “Rachel, do you know if Tommy has ever hurt anyone?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Does he ever hurt you?”

  She looked away. “Sometimes. Not much.”

  He leaned forward, touched her cheek gently, moving her face back toward him. She didn’t pull away or flinch at his touch.

  “Why do you stay with him?” he asked.

  Her eyes seemed to grow sad. “Nowhere else to go.” She turned her head briefly and dropped her cigarette in the ashtray. The smoke curled up and was caught in the slight breeze from the open window.

  He reached out and took her hand. She didn’t protest. “Rachel, you could leave if you wanted to. Are you and Tommy married?”

  She shook her head. “No, we’re not married. Never.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She frowned slightly. “Not really.”

  “If Tommy never comes home again, what will you do?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Dunno.”

  “Tommy’s a bad man,” Jake said, observing her.

  She nodded slowly. “I know,” she said sadly.

  “He kills people.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Believe me, he does.” Jake dropped her hand back in her lap and sat back. She seemed calm and relaxed. “Rachel, do you trust me?” he asked.

  As she nodded, Jake thought he saw a slight smile touch her lips, making her look a little more attractive. He wasn’t sure why she would trust him. He was just a guy who came into her home uninvited, and started asking her a bunch of questions. Perhaps he looked trustworthy. He didn’t know.

  “Do you mind if I wait here until Tommy gets back?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Do you mind if I look around the apartment?”

  “Ok.”

  Jake patted her leg. “Thanks.” He stood, turned around and flicked the television back on, turning the volume down slightly.

  He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just maybe snoop around a bit, get a feel for what Tommy was all about, and wait until he returned.

  He went down the hall to the bedroom. The window leading to the fire escape was still open, but the air smelled stale and unclean.

  He poked his head out the window and took a deep breath. He swung around as he heard a noise behind him. Rachel was in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching him.

  “Where’s Tommy’s stuff?” he asked.

  She pointed to a rickety dresser by the unmade bed.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Jake went to the dresser and pulled the top handle. Wood squeaked against wood as he slid the drawer open and peered inside. He moved around some socks and felt something hard. He pulled it forward. It was a long knife tucked inside a sheath. He slipped it out and tested the edge against his thumb. Razor sharp. He put it back in its case and replaced it in the drawer.

  He found a plastic box, which he brought out. Remington pistol and revolver cartridges. He turned to Rachel and held them up. “Does he have a gun?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he keeps it?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes he carries it, but not always. Sorry, I don’t know where it is.”

  Jake smiled. “That’s ok.” He dumped the bullets back in the drawer and squeaked it shut.

  She stepped back into the hallway as he left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. The room was relatively clean. Jake assumed this was Rachel’s territory.

  She was behind him. “Are you hungry, Jake?”

  He hesitated. He was always hungry, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I can make you some eggs or something,” she said. “Maybe a sandwich.”

  Jake smiled. “That’s ok. But I would like a cup of coffee if you have some?”

  She found a kettle beside the fridge, filled it, plugged it in, and waited for the water to boil. It was instant coffee, but it tasted fine.

  He sat at the table and sipped it, hoping Tommy would return.

  Chapter 48

  Friday, August 19th, 2:00 PM

  CAPTAIN ALANO DIEGO had been under pressure from the hungry media, starving for information. The two murders that had recently taken place were making headlines, and many were demanding a resolution.

  He had decided to hold a news conference. He preferred it when Hank stepped up and handled the press, but he was on another case right now and wasn
’t available.

  He pushed the papers on his desk aside, stood and went to the small mirror by the doorway of his office. He brushed his hand through his hair, flattened his mustache, and straightened his tie, adjusting the gold clip that pinned it to his shirt.

  The Crown Attorney and the Chief of Police were waiting for him in the outer office. They stood and joined Diego, walked to the exit door, and stepped out into the warm air.

  Out on the street, a cop directed traffic, the road now being reduced to one lane as cars and news vans lined both sides. Drivers slowed and rubbernecked until the officer impatiently blew his whistle, and they sped up again.

  A small podium had been set up at the bottom of the precinct steps leading to a courtyard between the steps and the sidewalk. Reporters were bustling about. Cameras were ready to snap pictures, make video, and capture the occasion. Notepads were poised, recorders were set, and the bank of microphones fastened to the podium was waiting, tuned and tested.

  Lisa Krunk was front and center, her sidekick close by, the camera propped on his shoulder, finger on the trigger, loaded and ready to shoot the action.

  Four uniforms made a stern line in front of the stage, keeping the reporters from crowding in too close. Two more stood back further, as if acting as bodyguards for the Captain and his entourage.

  As the chief, Diego, and the crown came down the steps, the crowd hushed. As Diego stepped to the microphones, all eyes were on him.

  He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. I will make a brief statement and then accept your questions.”

  Recorders hummed, cameras clicked, red lights glowed, white lights flashed, and pencils worked.

  “As you are aware, there have been two shocking murders in recent days. Yesterday, the body of Vera Blackley was found in a dumpster. She had been strangled, and was there for three to four days before finally being discovered.” He paused. “This morning, the body of a female was found in Richmond Valley Park. Her throat had been slit, and apparently the murder had taken place last night and her body discovered this morning.”