Captive Justice: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 4)

by Rayven T. Hill

  She ran back downstairs and dropped the brush on the table. Jake looked at her with bewilderment as she scurried into the office. She found an ink pad in the desk drawer along with a magnifying glass and a sheet of white paper.

  Returning to the kitchen, she dropped everything on the table, sat down, and reached inside the bag of money. She carefully removed three stacks, holding them by the edges. She lined them up in front of her. “I forgot something,” she said.

  She went to the cupboard and returned with a jar of dry cocoa and a small plate.

  “Is this some kind of experiment?” Jake asked, a perplexed look on his face.

  She laughed. “Something like that.”

  Jake watched her curiously as she twisted the lid off the cocoa, dumped a small amount onto the plate and then dabbed the brush into the cocoa. She ran the brush lightly across the bands of the three stacks. When she was done, she gently blew off the cocoa and peered closely at her handiwork.

  There, on the middle stack, was a fingerprint. Not too clear, but unmistakable.

  A light dawned in Jake’s eyes and he chuckled. “I get it,” he said.

  She flipped open the ink pad, grabbed one of his big hands, and pressed his thumb down onto the pad and then onto the paper. She smiled with satisfaction.

  “A perfect thumbprint,” she said.

  She picked up the magnifying glass and peered through it, studying the prints. “I’m no expert,” she said. “But I think they’re a perfect match.”

  “Let me see that,” Jake said as he grabbed the magnifying glass. He studied the print and whistled. “Son of a gun. You’re right. They’re exactly the same.”

  “So you know what that means?” Annie asked.

  “I sure do. The money Eli Martin gave me is the same money Dr. Gould and I picked up at the bank. That’s where my prints got on them.” He leaned in and looked closely at the stamp on the band. “The Commerce Bank. It’s the same bank.”

  Jake and Annie stared at each other a moment, not speaking. Jake’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.

  “There’s only one way Eli Martin could have gotten that money,” Annie said. “He’s the kidnapper.”

  Chapter 52

  Saturday, September 3rd, 2:42 p.m.

  JAKE STARED at the stacks of money on the table, then at the bag holding the rest of the fifty thousand dollars. He could hardly believe Eli Martin was the kidnapper. But as far as he was concerned, the proof was there in front of them.

  Annie was pacing the floor. She stopped and said, “We should call Hank.”

  Jake nodded, reached for his cell phone, and then paused. “Maybe we should wait. This is evidence, but it’s just circumstantial and not enough to get a conviction. It might be enough to get a warrant, but that would only put Martin on guard and I’m sure they won’t find anything in a search of his house. He’s too smart for that.”

  “What’re you suggesting?” Annie asked.

  “Let’s wait a couple of hours. I have an idea and if I don’t find out anything, then we’ll call Hank. The worst that can happen is they bring Martin in for questioning and at least put a stop, or a delay, on Martin’s plans for tomorrow.”

  “What’s this big idea of yours?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not so big. I’m just going to find Martin and see what he’s up to. I’ll follow him around if I have to.”

  Annie sat, leaned forward, and looked thoughtfully at Jake. Finally, she said, “Okay, give it a try. In the meantime, I’ll do a little research and see if I can come up with something on Eli Martin online.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Jake knew if Martin was the kidnapper, then he would stop at nothing to finish what he accomplished. He’d even killed his own wife and that was the confusing part. Why go to all this trouble to get rid of his wife? He was beginning to doubt their whole theory, but yet—

  He looked at the stacks of bills again. How else could his fingerprints have gotten on those bills? He had to find out what was going on.

  Jake grabbed his iPhone and dialed a number.

  “This is Jeremiah.”

  “Geekly. Jake here. I need some advice.”

  “Hello, old friend. Anything I can do to help would be my utmost pleasure.”

  Jake laughed. “I need to track someone. More specifically, a vehicle. Do you have anything to help me?”

  “I’ve never been involved in anything like that, but I’ll tell you what you need. Get yourself on over to Techmart and tell them you want a GPS tracking device.”

  Jake wrote down the info. “Thanks, Geekly. I gotta go now. I’m under a time crunch, but I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He hung up, sprang from his chair, and grabbed his car keys from the counter.

  “Do you think you should take the pistol with you?” Annie asked.

  Jake hesitated. “I’d better not. Could get in a pile of trouble for that. I’m only authorized to carry it when I’m delivering a ransom.” He left the kitchen, heading for the front door.

  “Wait,” Annie called. “Do you have Martin’s address?”

  Jake slunk back into the kitchen, a crooked grin on his face. “Guess I need that, don’t I?”

  Annie went to the office and returned with a notepad. She copied down Martin’s home address and the address of his car repair shop and handed it to Jake. “I want you to wear the vest,” she said.

  Jake nodded. She was probably right. He retrieved the vest from the office, struggled with it awhile, and finally got it in place.

  “You can go now,” she said.

  Jake leaped for the front door.

  “And be careful,” Annie called from the kitchen.

  Wasn’t he always careful? Well, not exactly.

  He raced down the sidewalk, jumped in the Firebird, and spun from the driveway. Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of Techmart, a store that dealt in everything electronic, including a wide range of security and surveillance equipment. Jake had been there several times; in fact, it was one of his favorite places to browse. But he had no time to browse today and in another ten minutes, he’d returned from the shop with a small package.

  He spent a few minutes and skimmed over the directions. It was easy enough to use. The device was in a small waterproof magnetic case. It was motion-activated and only had to be switched on, and its movements could be tracked in real-time from his cell phone.

  Now to find Martin.

  Jake assumed his quarry would either be at home or at the shop. Probably at the shop, but since Martin’s residence was almost on the way, he would swing by there first.

  It turned out Martin was at home. At least, his black SUV was parked in the driveway. Jake idled by the house and pulled over around a small curve in the street. He grabbed the tracker, slipped it into his side pocket, and stepped from the vehicle.

  It wouldn’t do to be seen, so he crossed the street, walked past the house, then crossed back over and approached the SUV from a position where the vehicle would block anyone inside the house from seeing him.

  He looked up and down the street, his hand gripping the tracker in his pocket. Nothing. No one in sight.

  He stepped boldly up to the side of the vehicle, still hidden from view of the house, slipped the tracker from his pocket, flicked the tiny switch on the side of the case, and reached under the bumper.

  It wouldn’t stick. Plastic bumpers. Everything was plastic these days. He knelt down, peered under the vehicle, and found the metal frame. He heard a satisfying click as the magnetic case snapped into place. He wiggled it to be sure. It should hold.

  He hurried back, crossed the street, and made his way to his vehicle. He jumped in and switched on his cell phone. The satellite map was web-based and the tracker wasn’t emitting any signal, but if it moved, Jake would know.

  He didn’t have to wait long, maybe half an hour, and his cell phone beeped.

  Eli Martin was on the move.

  The little red dot on the map showed Mart
in was heading the other way, so Jake started the Firebird, swung around, and eased ahead. He propped the phone on his dash so he could keep an eye on it while driving. He watched the dot take a couple of turns and finally start moving up Main Street. It looked like Martin might be heading for the shop.

  His assumption was proven right when the dot stopped beeping. Jake recognized the address on the screen, down a side street just off Main, as that of Martin Auto.

  He should have brought Annie’s car. It would fit in invisibly anywhere, not like the Firebird. It stuck out like a sore thumb, so he parked on Main Street a half a block from the shop, rummaged in the glove compartment for a small pair of binoculars, grabbed his cell phone, crossed the street, and walked up Main until he was opposite the shop.

  Martin Auto was located on a quarter acre of property. The main building was set back from the street, with a small parking area out front. There was a larger vehicle parking lot behind the shop, but it couldn’t be seen from where Jake stood. The SUV occupied one of the customer slots in front.

  Jake stepped back into a doorway, leaned against the wall, and trained the glasses on the front window of Martin Auto. There was a girl sitting behind a counter. Probably a receptionist. Beyond, he saw what appeared to be an office, with Martin standing in the doorway, turned sideways. He was carrying on a conversation with someone unseen.

  He would give anything right now to hear that conversation. Maybe it was nothing, but then again …

  Jake moved the glasses over until he had a view of the roll-up door. It was closed, but he could make out a car on a hoist, a mechanic doing something underneath. He was hoping to see a van inside—the van the abductors used to ply their awful trade. Maybe it was around behind the shop. He would have to get back there and see.

  Too late. Martin was coming this way. He stopped to talk to the receptionist a moment and then left the building, heading for the SUV.

  No time to look for the van. He would get to that later, but right now, he had to find out where Martin was going.

  He gave Annie a quick call to inform her of his whereabouts and that he would be following Martin and then hurried back to the Firebird and got in, propped the cell phone on the dashboard, and waited for the little red dot to move.

  Chapter 53

  Saturday, September 3rd, 3:51 p.m.

  ELI MARTIN HAD the plan firmly set in his mind. There was no way he could allow it to fail. It had better not, or he would be in deep trouble.

  He climbed into his SUV, started the engine, and backed from the parking spot. He checked the bulge under his shirt as he pulled onto Main Street. It was still there, waiting and ready.

  The death of Rosemary Coleman was going to be a learning experience. She should never have been allowed to escape in the first place, but soon … soon that would be rectified.

  He’d been there several times, watching, spying from across the street, and he knew the cop rarely budged from his seat in the living room. Rosemary probably felt uncomfortable with him around all the time because she was often elsewhere, sometimes in the garden out back, or in the kitchen, and as far as he could tell, she rarely entered the front room during the day.

  His plan hinged on that.

  He chuckled to himself. One of the perks of owning a car repair shop, there was always a customer’s car he could borrow awhile and never have to use the same vehicle twice during his trips down that street.

  But this time he would be taking a slightly different route.

  He made it to the outskirts of town in a few minutes and stopped his vehicle on the shoulder of a gravel road. Soon the city would extend along here, but right now, this area was nothing but trees and For Sale signs. He stepped out and glanced up a knoll to the trees beyond. He knew this spot well. After all, this was where they’d abducted Rosemary Coleman, and the Coleman residence was just through those trees, less than a quarter mile away.

  ~~*~~

  ANNIE WAS HOPING Jake would call her again to inform her of his progress. She’d called his number and got a message he was unavailable and although she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t called her, she was anxious to make some headway on this difficult case. Tomorrow was coming and with it there might be another kidnapping. They were running out of time.

  Matty was next door at Kyle’s most of the day, coming home long enough for a quick lunch and then leaving again. Annie gave Chrissy a call to let her know she would be going out awhile and ask if she could please watch Matty for her. Of course, Chrissy was always more than willing.

  She went into the office, unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk, and found a small canister of pepper spray. She looked at the pistol resting comfortably in its holster. It wasn’t legal for her to carry it, but she had half a mind to anyway. They were up against some very nasty people.

  She left it where it was, closed and locked the drawer, went into the kitchen, grabbed her handbag and keys, and made her way outside. A few darkened clouds hung overhead, threatening rain. Not what she wanted right now; she had some business to attend to. Maybe they would blow over.

  She climbed into her car and made the trip to Martin Auto in a few minutes. It wasn’t an industrious part of the city, but an area not known for a lot of money, with struggling businesses and folks just getting by.

  She parked along the side street, a minute’s walk from the shop, grabbed her handbag, walked up the sidewalk to the entrance, and boldly went inside.

  No one was in the store area but some banging came from the adjoining garage, probably a mechanic fixing a customer’s vehicle, left alone to tend the business. The smell of old oil and hand cleaner hung in the air. A soft-drink machine sat sweating in the corner, begging for change. Cigarettes and chocolate bars were displayed alongside cans of oil and window washer, all offered for sale behind the counter. There was a bell beside the cash register. A cardboard sign taped to the register asked her to ring for service. She didn’t bother.

  Behind the counter she saw an office, its door wide open. She glanced toward the garage and then stepped behind the counter and peered through the door. A battered desk filled one corner of the small room, a filing cabinet and some metal shelving almost filling the rest. A coatrack held greasy overalls and a well-used cap. The floor could use a sweeping. The banging continued. She slipped open the top desk drawer. A stapler, paper clips, pens, other office stuff. A dirty ashtray lay on the desk holding down some papers like a paperweight. Looked like invoices.

  The banging stopped and she held her breath. More banging and she pulled open a side drawer of the desk. Just papers, invoices, receipts, soiled by greasy smudges and stains.

  She closed the drawer and glanced around. Nothing of interest on the shelves. It looked like she wasn’t going to find anything in here. She left the office, went through the store, and stepped back outside. She squinted at the sky. The sun had reappeared, the showers held off for another day.

  She took the sidewalk along the side of the building, past a window covered with gunk, to the rear of the property. A private parking lot behind the shop had spaces for several vehicles. A chain-link fence cordoned off the lot, with a double-width gate forbidding entrance. A chain hung on the clasp, a padlock swinging free. She opened the gate far enough to slip through.

  A big blue dumpster bulging with green bags and cardboard boxes sat near a metal door in the back of the building. A similar door had a sign: “Service Entrance.” It probably led into the rear of the shop, the first door, perhaps down to the basement. Another greasy window, one pane boarded up, was located in the wall beside the door.

  She glanced around the lot. This didn’t look like the kind of place one would take their Mercedes, Porsche, or Jaguar. Instead, the lot held beat-up autos, some with fenders coated with rust-proof paint, waiting for a final coat. A dusty Ford sat in the corner, jacked up on blocks, useless now with no wheels and a broken windshield. Another car was smashed in the front; its driver might not have escaped alive. An unsteady stack of used tir
es tilted along the rear fence.

  A black van in the corner stood out among its companions—all shiny and sparkling in the sun, almost like brand new and out of place among the rest of these clunkers.

  Her footsteps crunched on the gravel as she crept to the window in the back of the building. She couldn’t see inside so she rubbed at a spot in an attempt to remove some of the grime. It helped a bit, just enough to make out a vehicle on a hoist, straight ahead. A man stood under the vehicle, his hands up in the bowels of the underbody. She heard the faint sounds of an air wrench and the running compressor that powered the tool.

  The walls and shelves were lined with auto parts, belts, hoses, and boxes. She rubbed at the window again to see better. This was more than an auto repair shop. It was a body shop as well. Over to the side hung a plastic sheet, floor to ceiling, separating a large area from the rest of the garage. The sheet was pulled back revealing a rainbow of paint splashes and splatters. Reds, blues, yellows, white, and black. This was where vehicles were painted after scratches were repaired, body parts replaced, and dings pounded out and smoothed over.

  Annie turned her attention to the black van. She’d been formulating a theory over the last couple of days and now she could test it out.

  She took a look around. The sidewalk was deserted and even if someone had walked by, it wasn’t likely she would be seen. There were no windows in the side of the van, so she stood on the running board and peeked inside the driver-side window. A couple of empty coffee cups were in the console, litter and another cup on the floor. The cloth seat covers were stained. One had a rip. It looked like a well-used vehicle inside, brand new outside.

  She stepped down and went to the rear of the van, stood on her tiptoes, and peered inside. It was empty except for a grocery bag bulging with something. She went to the side of the vehicle and crouched down by the rear tire. She reached into her handbag and removed a small flashlight and her key ring. The light flicked on and then carefully, so it wouldn’t be noticeable, she scratched at the paint just inside the wheel well with a key.