Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6)

by Rayven T. Hill

  Annie looked at him and shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure, but whatever it is, we need to come up with something quick. If this murder was the work of Jeremy, then it appears he couldn’t wait to get back at it. That means he’s not going to sit around much longer before he strikes again.”

  Jake sat on the couch and nodded. “That’s probably why he was so intent on breaking out of prison. For some reason, he has a compulsion to kill.”

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday, 12:42 PM

  LISA KRUNK HAD gone through a dry spell. Lately, there were no news stories worthy of her attention, but now things were looking up.

  First, with the escape of Jeremy Spencer, and now, with a murder taking place that seemed like Jeremy’s M.O, she was raring to go.

  She wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed with this one. Certainly, sensational stories were ideal for commanding the public’s attention, resulting in increased ratings for her, but with the Pulitzer in mind she felt destined to receive some day, she was inclined to spin this into a human interest story.

  There wasn’t a lot to use right now. She could interview Edith Badger, but that wouldn’t make much of a headline. And with this murder still fresh, the police didn’t have enough to keep the viewers riveted. She would have to get some interesting footage, and then make up the rest.

  She spun her head and looked at the driver of the Channel 7 Action News van. “Don, stop the van.”

  Don touched the brakes, pulled to the curb, and looked at her.

  “Turn around. We’re going to the Spencer house.”

  Don twisted the wheel, touched the gas, and they sped back the way they came. Fifteen minutes later, he wheeled the van up the dusty, gravel drive and stopped in front of the old farmhouse.

  “Get your stuff,” Lisa demanded. Don jumped from the van, opened the side door, and removed his camera equipment.

  Lisa gave him instructions while he worked. “I want some shots of the house, close up, at a distance, through the window, whatever you can think of. I can do the voiceovers later.”

  Don slung the camera over his shoulder and began shooting. He’d been with her a long time, and he would know exactly what she wanted.

  She had plans to tie the story in with Jeremy’s prior killing spree, include the current murder, the death of his mother, and show how Jeremy was forced on this path through a series of unfortunate circumstances.

  Maybe she could make him look like a sympathetic character—make the people feel sorry for him. Perhaps bring some tears to a few eyes. That would always be good. And if she did it right, she could start with a few sensational short stories, whet their appetite, and she might be able to expand it into a one-hour special. Maybe go nation-wide. This dumpy town was too small for her anyway.

  Don had finished shooting the outside of the house. He turned off the camera and looked at her for further instructions.

  “We’re going inside,” she said. Don looked skeptical, but dutifully followed her as she strode up the pathway to the veranda.

  She twisted the knob. The door was unlocked, and she pushed at it with one finger. It creaked open and she peered inside. It was dark, but Don had a great lighting setup that would help.

  She stepped inside the front room and sniffed with her long nose. The room smelled stale, stuffy, and rather unpleasant. No matter. She’d been in worse places before in pursuit of a story. This was old hat.

  Don had gone back to the van and returned with some portable lighting. The room glowed in the dazzling beam, lighting up the dull antique furniture, turning the painted walls into gloss, and reflecting off the dark, hardwood floors.

  “I want shots of the whole house,” she said. “The kitchen, upstairs, the basement.” She knew what went on in this place before, and she was going to use every shot and piece it all together into a masterpiece.

  She spun around at the sound of a familiar voice. “What’re you doing here?” the voice said.

  It was Jeremy Spencer. He stood five feet away, pointing a pistol at her. Don stood with his mouth open, his camera inactive, staring at the little man.

  Then a huge goon, with a foolish grin on his ugly face, came into the room from the kitchen and stood behind Jeremy as he waited for an answer.

  She looked at the gun, then at Don, then back at Jeremy, and then finally, at the halfwit looming over them all.

  “I know you,” Jeremy said, his brow wrinkled. “You’re Lisa Krunk.”

  Lisa considered how to approach these unusual, and somewhat frightening, circumstances. The last thing she wanted was to get shot, and the first thing she wanted—was a story. And here was a story, dying to be told.

  “I hoped to find you here,” she lied. “I’m very glad to see you.”

  “You’re trespassing,” he said, waving the pistol. “You truly are.”

  Lisa thought quickly. “We’re visiting. We’ll leave if you tell us to, but I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to do a story on you. To tell your side of things.”

  He pushed up his cap, scratched his head, and squinted at her.

  She had him. He was interested.

  “Did anyone else come with you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Just the two of us.”

  Jeremy looked Don up and down. Her cameraman looked terrified, and she knew he was no threat to them. Besides, the huge thug Don stared at seemed to be as frightening as the little man with the gun.

  “What do you want to know?” Jeremy asked.

  “I want to know about your life, about your mother, and your father. You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t like, and we won’t turn the camera on until you’re ready. Everything is off the record unless you tell me otherwise.”

  Jeremy aimed the pistol toward her head and squinted across the sights. “I’m an honorable man, Ms. Krunk, but if I go ahead with this, and you betray me…” He left the sentence unfinished, but the meaning was crystal clear—and deadly serious.

  She felt a shiver down her spine but spoke with courage. “I won’t betray you. You have my word as a journalist.”

  He seemed to be considering that for a few moments. Finally, he said, “The interview will be only with me and not my friend.” He turned to his dopey acquaintance. “Moe, you go out the front and watch for anyone coming, especially the police. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

  The floorboards creaked as the big dunce ambled across the room, grinning at her as he walked by. He went out the front door, closing it behind him.

  Lisa was virtually alone with a madman, but she was bursting with excitement and anticipation. This was so much more than she ever hoped for. This was the story of the century, and she was right in the middle of it.

  “I’ll sit over there,” Jeremy said, motioning toward an old stuffed armchair. “That was Mother’s chair.”

  Lisa pushed a straight-backed, wooden chair over, three feet from his. “You have to trust me Jeremy. You’ll need to put the gun away.”

  “I’ll keep the gun,” he said. “I don’t trust you, but this pistol will make sure I can.” He sat in the chair and leaned back, his feet barely touching the floor. “Let’s get started. I have things to do.”

  Lisa sat down, waited until Don was ready with the camera, and then switched on the microphone.

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday, 1:16 PM

  ANNIE SAT IN HER swivel chair, pulled it up to the desk, and switched on her computer. She did some research earlier, attempting to find the whereabouts of Aaron Starling, but was unsuccessful. His trail ended in Alberta. Nor was she able to locate Starling’s ex-wife, Sophie, and the parents of the boy Quinton killed were nowhere to be found.

  She checked her Rolodex, called RHPD precinct, and was put through to Officer Callaway. Since Diego was giving them all the help they needed on this case, she might as well take advantage of it—the honeymoon may not last.

  Officer Callaway was the
brains behind RHPD when it came to research and all things technical, and he had access to resources she could only dream about.

  The phone rang three or four times before he answered. “Callaway,” he said, sounding out of breath.

  “Officer Callaway,” Annie said, after she introduced herself. “I need your expertise.”

  “Sure, Annie, whatever I can do to help.” She heard him take a sip of something, probably coffee.

  “I’ve been trying to track down the Starlings but came up blank. I was hoping you could dig something up for me.”

  “No problem. I’m familiar with the case. I went over it this morning with Hank. He said Diego authorized me to give you all the help I can.”

  She heard him tapping the computer keys, and she waited in silence a couple of minutes. This was about the only lead she had at the moment and she hoped it would take her somewhere.

  “Aaron Starling is a dead end,” Callaway finally said. “But Sophie Starling lives in Toronto. Remarried, now Sophie Burnham. Two step-kids. You want her phone number?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, and wrote the number down as the officer dictated it. “Thanks, Callaway.”

  “What about her address?”

  “The phone number is enough. Keep the address on file for now. I’m going to give her a call.”

  “Ok. Anything else, Annie?”

  “That’ll do for now. I appreciate your help.”

  “Any time.”

  She hung up and dialed Sofie Burnham immediately.

  “Mrs. Burnham?” she asked, when a woman answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Sophie Burnham?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Annie Lincoln, and I’ve been … hired to look into the death of Quinton Spencer.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who killed your son, Mrs. Burnham.”

  There was silence on the line. Finally, Mrs. Burnham spoke in a low voice. “That was a long time ago. I … I’d forgotten his name.”

  “Quinton Spencer died in prison. He was killed by another inmate.”

  Mrs. Burnham sighed. “Well, I guess he got what he deserved.” She paused, then, “I don’t mean to sound harsh. I followed the case, and I don’t think he was totally at fault. My son was turning out like his father, but still, he was my son. I miss him every day …” Her voice broke and she went silent.

  “I’m sorry to bring it up again,” Annie said. “But I was hoping you might know how I can contact your ex-husband, Aaron Starling.”

  “I have no idea. After our divorce, I had no desire to see him again. He may be dead for all I know, and if so, so much the better. He was a good for nothing man, a terrible husband, and an even worse father.”

  The woman sounded bitter, and rightly so. Annie hoped she was in a better situation now. “Mrs. Burnham, were you aware Mrs. Spencer was murdered shortly after her husband?”

  Mrs. Burnham took a sharp breath. “Oh dear, I had no idea. I always felt sorry for that woman. She wasn’t responsible for what her husband did, and I watched her in court, and I saw the toll the whole thing took on her. She was almost as much of an emotional mess as I was at the time.”

  “We’re also looking into her death,” Annie said. “The case was never solved.”

  “Dear, dear. I’d be glad to help if I could, but I was totally in the dark about the whole thing.”

  Annie paused, then asked carefully, “Mrs. Burnham, do you think it possible Aaron may be responsible for either murder?”

  Annie heard her breathing. The woman seemed to be considering the question. Finally, she spoke. “He was in prison you know, and I wouldn’t put it past him. But all of his anger was directed toward Quinton Spencer. I doubt if he could’ve murdered poor Mrs. Spencer. He didn’t seem to hold any animosity toward her.”

  “But perhaps Mr. Spencer?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Burnham. You’ve been a big help.”

  They said goodbye and Annie hung up the phone thoughtfully. She was fairly certain Mrs. Burnham told the whole truth. Annie didn’t suspect the woman was responsible for either death, and in her mind, the phone call confirmed her position.

  Mr. Starling, on the other hand, remained a firm suspect for the murder of Quinton Spencer—and perhaps, Mrs. Spencer as well.

  She made some quick notes for her own reference. Later, she would transcribe everything she’d learned in more detail for Captain Diego.

  Her cell phone rang and she looked at the caller ID; it was her mother. Phone calls with her mother usually amounted to a condemnation of her lifestyle, her job, and her husband. She didn’t really want to talk to her right now, but she sighed and answered the call.

  “Hello, Mother,” she said, trying to be patient.

  “Darling, I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “I was on the phone.”

  “I realize that. I heard about the Spencer boy on the news. It’s such a terrible thing. I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “We’re fine,” Annie said.

  “They say he may be here in the city and the police haven’t found him yet.”

  “No, Mother, they haven’t. But they have some leads and I expect they’ll get him soon.”

  “I hope you’re staying away from the whole thing this time. You know he could’ve killed the lot of you before. I’ve been rather worried.” Her voice had a note of disapproval in it. Annie wasn’t about to tell her how involved they really were—that would only cause more problems.

  Jake came into the office with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of her, pulled up the guest chair, and sat down. He sipped at his hot drink and looked at her inquisitively.

  She covered the phone and whispered, “It’s my mother.”

  He rolled his eyes, sat back, and continued to watch her, an amused look on his face.

  “We’ll be careful,” she said into the phone. “I have to go now. I have some calls to make. Give my love to Dad and I’ll talk to you again as soon as I can.”

  She hung up before her mother could protest, dropped the phone on her desk, and looked at Jake. “Mother’s worried,” she said with a short laugh. “She heard about Jeremy.”

  “The whole city has heard about him by now, and if he gets his way, they’re going to be hearing a whole lot more.”

  “You’re not worried?” Annie asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  Jake shrugged. “We’re the good guys. What do we have to be afraid of?”

  Chapter 24

  Wednesday, 1:49 PM

  JEREMY SPENCER was beginning to think that maybe he could trust Lisa Krunk. She didn’t ask him anything about where he stayed, what his next move was, or any subtle questions that might lead to him getting caught.

  Though she’d just left, he thought it best to leave the house for now. He would be sure to keep an eye out in case the police came back. He knew they had their sly ways of doing things, and he had to be careful not to be caught off guard. He would have to be watchful over Moe as well. His friend seemed a little slow sometimes, and might do something that could lead to big trouble for both of them, just when he was getting started.

  He turned as the front door crashed open and Moe rushed in. “Little Buddy. The barn. It’s burning down.”

  Jeremy stared at Moe for a long second before he realized what his friend said. He scampered to the door behind Moe. His heart dropped when he saw where the big guy pointed. Smoke could be seen rising high into the air, flames licking at one corner of the barn.

  Jeremy stood frozen, unsure what to do. He had no telephone, Lisa Krunk was already gone, and his barn was ablaze. He stared at the horrific sight. Who could’ve done this terrible thing?

  “We have to do something,” he screamed at Moe, and raced toward the barn. The fire hadn’t reached the main doors, still confined to one corner of the barn, but moving fast, licking at the dry boards and nearing the roof.

  Jeremy
pulled open the door and stepped inside. The far wall was smoke and flame, rising up from a large pile of hay. It hissed and crackled as it consumed.

  “Grab that fire extinguisher,” Jeremy said, pointing to the wall to his right. He ran to the left and pulled a second one down, yanking the safety pin as he ran toward the flame.

  Moe had the extinguisher in his hand, struggling with it. “Pull the pin,” Jeremy yelled. “Bring it here.” The lug lumbered over and watched as Jeremy squeezed the lever of his.

  “Aim for the base of the fire,” Jeremy said, frantic as he attempted to extinguish the flame.

  Moe copied his friend, but in half a minute, the tanks were empty. The flame still ate at the walls, emitting a dreadful low roar as it bit deeper and deeper.

  Jeremy dropped the extinguisher to the floor and gazed at the fire consuming his precious barn. Smoke escaped through a hole now burned into the roof, the fire spreading in both directions.

  Smoke in his lungs made him cough. Moe was choking too, rubbing his small eyes with his enormous fists, his face a rosy hue by the light of the fire.

  Jeremy’s heart sunk as he stepped back and watched. It was hopeless.

  ~~*~~

  LISA KRUNK leaned forward in the passenger seat of the van as it spun back into the driveway leading to the old Spencer house.

  Though she was anxious to get some shots of the burning barn, a rare burst of morality forced her to call 9-1-1 first. It was fortunate they hadn’t actually left the area yet, stopping at the end of the lane to get some additional footage. That was when she’d seen the rising smoke.

  “Pull up closer,” she said, pointing down the gravel lane toward the burning building.

  Don did as directed and they jumped from the van and sprang into action.

  Lisa stopped short and pointed. Jeremy and the goon were coming from the barn. Had he lit the fire himself?