He could still almost taste Joey’s blood on his tongue. He remembered the pure, whole and righteous feeling it gave him. What he did was a beautiful thing.
The world was a better place after that and he was pleased to have a part in it. Even though the search for Joey went on for a long time, the bully was still right here, right where he belonged.
It took a few years after that happy event to finally find his calling—his mission as it were, and he looked forward to getting back at it.
He turned from the scene and continued on through the woods. He wanted to visit the graves of his parents, but with the cops there, he didn’t dare. He would have to come back another time. And anyway, he had plans to make.
Chapter 14
Tuesday, 6:26 PM
ANNIE STILL HAD doubts about investigating the death of Annette Spencer. Jake wasn’t so hot on the idea, and she had no clue if they would get paid for their time, but she decided to do some preliminary investigation. If it appeared there was anything to Jeremy’s claim, then at that time, she could decide whether or not to pursue it further.
She went into the office, pulled up to her desk, and switched on her iMac. The Internet was her main source of information, and the digital version of the Richmond Hill Times was her online destination.
Past issues of the newspaper were fully digitized, and it didn’t take long to bring up the only story the paper ran regarding the death of Annette Spencer. Annie printed the report, pulled it from the printer, and read it.
ME Rules the Death of a Richmond Hill Area Woman a Suicide.
“An autopsy report for Annette Spencer, 39, has officially ruled her death a suicide, according to the medical examiner’s report.
“She was found in the barn of their County Road 12 home, a rope around her neck, and tied to an overhead beam several feet above her body.
“According to the report, Spencer’s body showed indications of asphyxiation. Spencer had a history of depression.
“Friends of the family are surprised she would take her own life. Rebecca Woodruff, a lifelong friend of Spencer, claims the ruling is in error, and has implored the police to investigate her death further. A police spokesperson said they understand the frustration, but a thorough investigation was undertaken, and the medical examiner’s report is sound.
“Two years ago, Spencer’s husband, Quinton Spencer, was killed while incarcerated in Haddleburg Maximum Security Penitentiary. He was convicted of second-degree murder in the death of a young man who entered their home during an attempted robbery. The murder of Spencer was never solved.
“The Spencers had one child, Jeremy, now 17 years old.”
She searched for information on the murder of Quinton Spencer, but the only mention of him was in that story.
The section of the news report that caught Annie’s attention was the comment from Rebecca Woodruff. Surely a close friend could shed some light on Mrs. Spencer’s demeanor at the time. She needed to find Mrs. Woodruff.
Further research revealed a Peter and Rebecca Woodruff owned a farm close to the Spencer place, but since sold out and moved into the city.
It didn’t take long to find the phone number, and she dialed it immediately.
“Hello?” It was a man’s voice.
She introduced herself and said, “I’m looking for a Mrs. Rebecca Woodruff?”
“Hold on.”
It sounded like she had the right people. She drummed her fingers on the desk and waited.
“Yes, this is Rebecca.”
“Mrs. Woodruff, I’m investigating the death of Annette Spencer, and I wonder if I might ask you a few questions?”
“Annette Spencer? My goodness, that was a long time ago.”
Annie looked at her watch. “Would it be ok if I dropped by to see you this evening?”
“Well, I reckon it would be.”
Annie promised to be there shortly, ended the call, and grabbed her keys from the kitchen. Jake and Matty were in the front room, and she gave Jake the short version of her findings and hurried out the door.
The Woodruffs lived in a small bungalow, a row of manicured hedges separating them from their neighbors, a profusion of flowers smothering the front of the house.
Annie clanged the knocker and the door was answered by a prim, middle-aged woman, smile lines around her eyes, her long hair in a neat bun perched on the back of her head.
She introduced herself and was ushered in to a tidy front room, where she took an offered seat on the couch.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Annie began.
Mrs. Woodruff sat on a stuffed, straight-backed chair and crossed her legs, her hands in her lap. “Does this have anything to do with that Spencer boy escaping?”
Annie hesitated. She didn’t know how much to mention about Jeremy, and being hired by a serial killer wasn’t something she wanted to admit.
“It’s a shame about that boy,” Mrs. Woodruff continued. “He never had much chance in life.” She sighed. “Still, a lot of people lose their parents and don’t turn out bad.”
Annie smiled, pleased the question had been avoided. “That’s true, Mrs. Woodruff,” she said. “I have recently found some information regarding the death of Mrs. Spencer, and I have reason to believe it may not have been suicide.”
“My goodness, no. It certainly was not.” Mrs. Woodruff shook her head adamantly. “Why, I knew that woman better than anyone, and she was the picture of health. The first five years were hard on her, with her husband in jail and all, and then with his death, she broke down, of course.” She sighed. “Them was hard times for her, but if she was going to kill herself, that would be the time, not two years later.”
“I have to ask, Mrs. Woodruff. The news report said she suffered from depression. Would you know anything about that?”
The woman shook her head again. “Goodness sakes, no, she never complained of that to me. Never. I don’t know where they got the idea from. I told that reporter a thing or two, and the police, but they never did anything about it. It was suicide, they said.”
“There are unsubstantiated reports the same person who killed her husband in prison, also killed her. Would you have any idea who it may be?”
“She never had an enemy in the world. I’ll go to my grave knowing she didn’t kill herself, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out who did.”
Annie suppressed a smile. The woman was indignant, and even after all these years, still held the same firm beliefs.
“You’re a private investigator?” Mrs. Woodruff asked. “Who’d you say hired you?”
Annie thought quickly. “We haven’t actually gotten paid for this. It has only recently come to our attention, and my husband and I decided to look into it.”
“Your husband, you say?” Mrs. Woodruff frowned. Her frown turned into a smile, and she held up a finger. “I know who you are now. You and your husband are the ones who captured the young Spencer lad awhile back.”
Annie smiled. “We had a lot of help, but yes, that was us.”
“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world finding Annette’s killer.” She stood and offered a hand. “I best be seeing about my husband. He’s not doing too good and gets cranky if I don’t take care of him.”
Annie stood and shook the woman’s hand. “Thank you for your time.”
“If there’s anything else I can do,” Mrs. Woodruff said, as she let Annie out the door. “Give me a ring.”
Annie promised she would, went to her car and drove toward home, deep in thought. They still had no real proof of any wrongdoing, but if Mrs. Woodruff was to be believed, they were on the right track.
Chapter 15
Tuesday, 8:44 PM
JAKE TOOK THE evidence box from Hank and led him into the living room. The cop sat on the couch, laid his briefcase beside him, and flipped it open.
Jake pushed aside a potted plant on the coffee table, put the box on the table, and pulled off the lid. He looked inside.
“There�
��s not much in here,” he said, and sat in the armchair across from Hank.
“There was only a cursory investigation,” Hank said. “So there’s not much to go on.” He waved toward the box. “Some of the stuff in there relates to Quinton Spencer, his murder in prison, and the death of the boy he killed.”
The front door opened and Annie came into the room. Jake looked up. “How’d it go?”
Annie leaned over, peeked in the evidence box, and then sat on the couch. “Mrs. Woodruff is adamant Annette Spencer never took her own life. Other than that, not much was gained.”
“I assume you haven’t heard from Jeremy yet?” Hank asked.
“Not yet,” Annie said. “But when he calls, it’s all set to record.” She glanced at the box again. “The thing that strikes me as odd about Mrs. Spencer’s death is that it was in the barn. It doesn’t make a lot of sense she would kill herself there. Why not in the house?”
“Agreed,” Hank said. “And women don’t often hang themselves. They almost always rely on a drug overdose or poisoning of some kind. Occasionally carbon-monoxide poisoning, but that’s unusual for women too.” He shook his head. “It’s rare to hear of a suicide where a woman hung or shot herself.”
Jake pulled some reports from the box and laid them out on the table. He handed a stack to Annie and leafed through the rest before turning to Hank. “What about physical items—the rope, her clothes, things like that?”
“That’s all there is,” Hank said. “Either they were destroyed, or never kept.”
“This is interesting,” Annie said, frowning at one of the reports she held in her hand. “The father of the boy Quinton Spencer killed, a Mr. Aaron Starling, was somewhat of a jailbird. A petty thief, later convicted of voluntary manslaughter for killing a man during one of his robberies. Served eight years in Haddleburg.”
“Like father, like son,” Jake said. “It’s no wonder the boy took to robbing houses.” He held up the report he was studying. “Apparently, when Quinton Spencer was killed in prison, there were no witnesses.”
“There never are,” Hank said dryly.
“I did research on that case as well,” Annie said. “It was never solved.”
Hank sat back. “Not that I’m going soft or anything, but even if you’re a serial killer, it must be hard not knowing what happened to your parents.”
“He doesn’t deserve to know,” Jake said. “I have no sympathy for Jeremy at all.”
Annie gave a short laugh. “We noticed that,” she said, and then added, “Frankly, I don’t either, but I think the public has a right to know what happened. And her friends do, too.”
“The public has forgotten.”
“Her friends haven’t,” Annie said, and dropped her stack of papers on the table. “I think I’d like to have another look in the barn.”
“After what happened to you in there, I didn’t think you’d ever want to go back again,” Hank said.
“I admit, it was a frightening situation, but it turned out well.”
Jake set his papers in his lap and spoke to Annie. “We can go there tomorrow if you want.” He looked at Hank. “There’s no problem with that, is there?”
Hank shrugged. “None at all. It’s not like there’s any evidence left there.”
“How’s Amelia taking all this?” Annie asked Hank.
“She didn’t say much,” Hank answered. “Naturally, she wants to see him caught, but I don’t think she has a lot of fear for Jenny. Just to be safe though, she’s keeping Jenny out of school until this is over.”
“Is someone watching the house?” Annie asked.
Hank grinned. “Of course. You think I’d want anything to happen to her? It took me a long time to find the right woman.”
“Oh,” Annie said. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted she’s the right woman.”
Jake looked at Annie and chuckled. “He’s the last one to know.”
“I wonder if he’s told her that yet,” Annie said.
“Come on, guys,” Hank said, with a lopsided smile. “Let’s get back to business.” He leaned forward and picked up a file folder Annie laid on the table.
Jake winked at Annie and buried himself back in the reports.
“What we’re missing here is the motive,” Hank said. “There’s always a motive.”
“According to Jeremy,” Annie said. “Someone in prison told him his father was killed for being a snitch.”
Hank shrugged. “Could be, or perhaps that was the excuse to cover up the real motive.”
“Aaron Starling has a real motive,” Jake said, waving a report. “Quinton Spencer killed his son, and look at this.” He turned the paper around and poked at it with a finger. “Starling was in prison the same time Spencer was there. The only problem is, Starling was in medium security, and Quinton in maximum.”
“They would never see each other,” Hank said. “The two don’t mix.”
“And what about Mrs. Spencer? Where was Starling when she died?” Annie asked.
Jake browsed the report and announced, “He was out by then.”
Annie sat back. “Interesting. I wonder where he is now.”
“I’ll look into that,” Hank said.
“Any other motives?” Annie asked.
“What about Jeremy?” Jake asked. “The creep might’ve killed his own mother.”
“What about his father?”
“Maybe not related. Somebody killed his father, and then Jeremy killed his own mother?”
“Why?”
“Because he’s crazy. That’s the only reason he needs.”
“I know his sense of morality is messed up,” Annie said. “But I don’t think he killed her. If so, why would he be so intent on getting us to investigate?”
Jake shrugged. “It’s just an idea. I wouldn’t dismiss it too quickly.”
“One thing I know for sure,” Annie said. “Annette Spencer didn’t kill herself.”
“And neither did Quinton Spencer,” Jake said. “But I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Chapter 16
Wednesday, 8:02 AM
JEREMY SPENCER had gotten up early. He hadn’t slept very well, excited to get going again, dreams of his mission flitting about his head most of the night. The uncomfortable couch hadn’t helped his sleep either.
Uriah was still in bed, so Jeremy borrowed his shaving equipment and smoothed off his face, then grabbed his cap, and went out for the morning paper, leaving Moe asleep on the floor.
Uriah was kind enough to lend him a few dollars the evening before, and he kept his head down, his hat almost covering his eyes, as he hurried to the newspaper box at the corner. The bustling pedestrians paid no attention to him as he dropped some change into the slot and removed a newspaper. He hurried back to the dingy apartment, laid the paper on the kitchen table, made himself a cup of coffee, and then sat down.
The television and newspaper were his best source of information, a vital link between him and those who needed his attention, and he was eager to get started.
He smoothed out the paper and gazed at the first page. His own picture was front and center, along with a story of how he’d escaped, and a plea for the public to be on the watch for him.
Further down, an interesting story caught his attention. According to the report, a gang of car thieves was busted, several arrests made, and the person responsible for their capture was none other than his old friend, Jake Lincoln.
Unfortunately, all the perpetrators were in jail, and he wouldn’t have access to them. He would keep an eye on this story, and if any of them were released on bail, he could take care of it.
He turned the page and scanned a bunch of human interest stories—nothing there for him.
A short item on page four caught his eye and he chuckled. A Richmond Hill man was released on bail after being charged with eight counts of break, enter, and theft. The man’s name was given—Jackson Badger. Not a common name, he should be able to find him. And the best part was
, Badger was on house arrest. That would make locating him a snap, especially with the photo of the thief displayed prominently beside the story.
He ripped out the article, retrieved Uriah’s phone book from the bottom shelf of the kitchen cupboard, brought it to the table, and searched for Jackson Badger. He couldn’t find it, but there was only one house with that last name in the book. It wasn’t far away, a few blocks, at the other end of the government housing area. He memorized the address, closed the book, and folded up the paper.
He looked across the room as Moe stirred, raised his head, and grinned. “Morning, Little Buddy.”
“Morning, Moe.” Jeremy took the last swallow of his coffee. “I have to go out this morning.”
“Where to?”
“You know. My mission.”
Moe sat up and rubbed his eyes before lumbering over to the table. “You want me to come with you?”
“I can handle this one, Moe. Maybe next time.”
Moe pulled back a chair and sat down. It creaked under his massive weight, but held. “You gotta be careful. Somebody might recognize you.” He looked closer at Jeremy and blinked. “Where’d you get them new clothes?”
Jeremy stood so Moe could see his shirt—blue checkered, with cartoon pictures of racing cars on it. “Uriah lent me some money and I went to Goodwill yesterday before I got home. I found some great stuff and they fit me perfectly.”
Moe’s eyes disappeared as he grinned. “You sure look swell. Like a little kid.”
“And that’s why they won’t recognize me, Moe.” He laughed. “Just a kid on a bike.”
Jeremy had started bringing his bicycle up to the apartment. He didn’t want to take a chance on someone stealing it. You never know who you can trust.
Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6) Page 6
