Personal Justice

by Rayven T. Hill

  “Can you find anything on him?” Jake asked.

  “Don’t hold your breath on that. If Hank has no info, I doubt if I can.” Annie’s brow tightened. “The bigger question is, who hired him?”

  Jake stood and paced the office. If Brown is getting the word out about his services, then somebody has to know. But they had no contacts in that world—at least none who would talk to him.

  He stopped pacing and spun to face Annie. “I know who might be able to help. Sammy Fisher.”

  Annie chuckled. “It’s worth a shot.”

  “I’ll go see if I can round him up right away. Want to come?”

  Annie looked at her monitor, then at the file folders opened on the desk in front of her. “I think I’d do better to stay here and see what else I can come up with.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jake said, looking at his watch. “I should be back in lots of time to pick up Matty and Kyle.” He turned and left the office, then poked his head back in. “If you go out, don’t forget to wear your vest.”

  Annie assured him she would and he hurried to the basement. He pulled his own vest from a shelf, blew off the dust, and examined it. The covering had a hole in one spot, the padding indented where it stopped a bullet not so long ago. He was wearing it at the time, and it was a close call. He had no aspirations in seeing another hole in the vest. At least, not while he was wearing it.

  He put it on over his t-shirt, putting a button-down shirt over top, and then grabbed his keys and headed out.

  Another cruiser was parked in front, a different pair of cops inside. He waved at them as he pulled from the driveway and spun up the street, turning his thoughts to Sammy Fisher.

  Sammy was an enigma. Homeless by choice, he’d helped the Lincolns a couple of times in the past. He always avoided Jake’s questions as to why someone obviously intelligent and well educated would choose a life on the streets.

  There was more to Sammy than met the eye. He seemed to have contacts everywhere—in every alleyway, and behind every dumpster in the city. Every cardboard box converted into a home sheltered someone Sammy called a friend.

  Jake turned onto Front Street and pulled over to the side, twenty feet short of where the overpass crossed Richmond River. He got out of the car, stepped down into a small ditch, and faced an embankment descending fifty feet to the gentle river below.

  He climbed down a few feet, dipped under the overpass, and grinned. It looked like Sammy still lived there. What Sammy called “his castle” was nothing more than a ten by ten excavation, burrowed into the embankment where the ground met the underside of the overpass, tucked back behind the concrete pillars.

  A dirt-brown tarp camouflaged the doorway, sheltering it from the elements, and made the quarters invisible to all except those who knew it was there.

  Jake pulled the tarp aside, peeked into the darkness, and chuckled.

  The ground was covered with strips of wood, neatly laid side by side, making a solid floor. The back wall was shored up with wooden posts, covered with a piece of drywall. His bed consisted of a thick blanket and an old pillow. A couple of pots hung from the ceiling, and a small shelf unit contained the rest of Sammy’s meager possessions.

  But Sammy wasn’t there.

  Jake dropped the tarp back in place, climbed down the embankment, and sat on a flat rock by the edge of the river. Unless Sammy had changed his schedule, he should be back soon. In the past, Sammy usually scrounged in the morning, came home for lunch, took a nap, and then scouted around until evening.

  He gazed into Richmond River as it rolled gently by, heading south to Lake Ontario. He was determined to find Punky Brown, not only for his own safety, but also for the sake of his family. The relentless killer was unpredictable and seemed desperate, and that made him dangerous.

  “Detective Jake, what’re you doing here?”

  Jake glanced down the bank. A man in scruffy jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and a tattered baseball cap was heading his way. He held a well-used grocery bag in one hand and he waved with the other.

  Jake stood and grinned. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “Sammy. Long time.”

  Sammy shook the offered hand and looked at Jake with clear, blue eyes framed by a leathered face. The tip of his shaggy beard rubbed against his shirt as he spoke. “Good to see you again, Jake. What brings you to my humble abode?”

  “I need your help again, Sammy.”

  “Anything for a friend,” Sammy said, as he kicked aside a soda can with a tattered runner and pointed toward the rock. “Have a chair.”

  Jake took a seat as Sammy dropped down on the grass and stretched his legs out, leaning back against his hands. “How’s Detective Annie?”

  “Annie’s doing great. She mentions your name from time to time. Wondering how you’re doing.”

  “I’m getting by.” Sammy crossed his legs at the ankles and looked up at Jake. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to find a guy named Punky Brown. Apparently, he’s a wannabe hitman, and he’s been taking shots at Annie and me.”

  Sammy looked into the river and squinted. “I haven’t heard the name before.” He looked back at Jake. “What’s he look like?”

  “That’s the problem. Nobody knows.”

  “Somebody knows,” Sammy said.

  “With your contacts and undying charm, I’m hoping you can find out something.”

  Sammy popped his cap off and brushed back his long, straggly hair with a hand. He put his cap back on. “I expect I can, Jake. Leave it with me and I’ll talk to my street family.”

  Jake reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Here’s a burner phone. Call me when you get anything.”

  Sammy took the phone and looked at it. “You’re going to have to remind me again how to work these things. It’s been awhile. The battery died a long time ago in the last one you gave me.”

  Jake gave Sammy some quick instructions on how to make a call. “My cell phone number is already in there,” he said. “The battery’s good for a few days if you don’t use it much.”

  “I don’t have much use for one of these gadgets,” Sammy said, dropping it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll only be using it to call you, I expect.”

  “I hope to hear from you,” Jake said, as he stood. “I’d like to chat awhile, but I want to get back to Annie. Make sure she’s okay.”

  “That’s all right,” Sammy said. “I don’t have time to chat either. I have to find Punky Brown.”

  Chapter 24

  Wednesday, 12:01 p.m.

  ANNIE TOOK the last bite of her sandwich, put the plate in the sink, and started a pot of coffee. She put together a lunch for Jake and slid it into the fridge; he’d be hungry when he got back. She poured a cup of coffee, went into the office and sat, staring blankly at her notes and sipping her drink. She didn’t have a whole lot of ideas.

  She was startled out of her thoughts when the phone on the desk rang. The caller ID was unknown and she picked it up. “Lincoln Investigations.”

  The caller hesitated. She heard light breathing, then, “This is Michael Norton.”

  Annie spun her chair around and looked at a piece of electrical equipment on a shelf behind her. The glowing red light assured her the call was being recorded. She turned back to the desk.

  “This is Annie Lincoln.” She fumbled for words, unsure what to say. “Where are you, Mr. Norton?”

  Another hesitation. “I can’t tell you that, but I … I’ve been watching the news. They’ve got it all wrong. I’m not a murderer, Mrs. Lincoln.”

  “Then why don’t you turn yourself in and clear your name?”

  “Because I wouldn’t last a day. I’d be killed like Werner Shaft was.”

  “Killed? By who?”

  “I can’t tell you that either. I can only tell you I’m innocent and I want you to prove it.”

  “If you’re innocent, Mr. Norton, my husband and I will do whatever we can, but we have nothing to go on. I’ll need y
our complete participation and you’ll have to tell me everything.”

  There was a pause on the line, silence for so long Annie thought the caller hung up.

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “I’m here.” A deep breath, and then, “I can tell you this. Werner Shaft, his brother Rocky, and I, were involved in a heist a few months ago. It was drug money. Rocky got wind of a big deal going down, so we teamed up and intercepted the money. We agreed to put it away for two years. Not touch it until everything blew over.”

  “So you think they found out who did it and they’re after all three of you?” Annie asked.

  “No. They had no idea who it was.” Norton sighed. “But I believe Rocky got antsy for the money. He was impatient and was always after us to split it up. We refused. I believe he killed his brother and now he’s after me. He’s greedy that way. He wants it all for himself and he doesn’t want to wait.”

  “But to kill his own brother?” Annie said.

  “Worse things have taken place over money.” He sighed again. “I wished I’d never gotten involved with those two. They were both bad news from the start. As you probably know, Werner and I did some time in prison together. It was through his carelessness we got caught, and I should’ve stayed as far away from both of them as I could.”

  “Mr. Norton, someone hired a hitman to kill my husband and me. Was it you?”

  “Why would I do that? I want you to prove my innocence. I’m tired of running for my life. If it means going back to prison for the heist—fine, but I’m not going down for murder.”

  Annie came to the only possible conclusion. “Do you think Rocky Shaft is out to kill you?”

  “Probably. He killed Werner Shaft and he’s after me. And now he’s after you to keep you from finding out the truth.”

  “What about the evidence against you?” Annie asked.

  “What evidence?”

  “A shell casing with your prints on it.”

  Norton chuckled. “Planted. It wouldn’t have been hard for Rocky to get ahold of that at one time or another. Probably took it right out of my gun. We hung around from time to time. Had a few beers together, things like that. He had a lot of opportunity.”

  “There was a witness that identified your car.”

  “Again, not so hard. My wife was babysitting that night and I was at home. My car was parked in the driveway. He could easily have borrowed it without me knowing. Did the witness get the license plate number?”

  “No, just the make and model.”

  “Then it could’ve been another car the same as mine. Possibly picked it up somewhere. Or borrowed it for the occasion from an unsuspecting person.”

  “Why didn’t he kill you as well, or at least attempt to?” Annie asked.

  “That wouldn’t serve his purpose. He was using me as a patsy for Shaft’s murder. Kill two birds with one stone, and then grab the money.”

  “What about your wife?” Annie asked.

  “Tammy doesn’t know anything about this at all.”

  “We talked to Tammy, Mr. Norton. She finally admitted you assaulted her on occasion.”

  Norton sighed. “We argued a lot and sometimes things got physical. I’ll admit that, but there’re a few marks on me as well.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  “You don’t have to. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it has nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Fair enough,” Annie said. “But how am I going to prove your innocence?”

  “By proving Rocky Shaft’s guilt.”

  “Of course, but all the evidence is stacked against you. Nothing against him.”

  “There has to be something.”

  “Mr. Norton,” Annie said. “At the beginning of our conversation, you said you feared for your life. But if Rocky only wants to frame you for murder, why the fear?”

  “Because, like you said, all the evidence is stacked against me. With me dead, and perhaps my body buried somewhere forever, the case will be closed, and my guilt will be proven as far as the police are concerned.”

  “So Rocky frames you, you disappear, and it’s game over. Case closed.”

  “Exactly.”

  Annie had a lot to think about now. Assuming Michael Norton was being totally truthful with her, she needed to find some evidence against Rocky Shaft. That was like fighting an uphill battle, with everyone convinced Norton was the murderer.

  “Leave it with me,” she said. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “One favor, Mrs. Lincoln?”

  “Yes?”

  “Leave my wife out of this. I don’t want her to be concerned for my safety.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I’ll pay your fees once you clear me. Don’t worry about that.”

  “We’re already being paid by Maria Shaft to look into this.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw that on the news, but it’s worth it to me if you clear my name.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Annie said.

  Norton thanked her and hung up. She put the phone down thoughtfully. This was an interesting development indeed.

  She picked up the phone again and called Hank’s cell.

  “Detective Hank Corning.”

  “Hank, I got a phone call from Michael Norton. He claims he’s innocent.” She gave him a brief rundown on the conversation. “I recorded it and I’ll get a copy to you immediately.”

  Hank whistled. “That could put a whole new light on things. Hold onto it and I’ll pick it up as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll make a copy right now and have it ready,” Annie said.

  Chapter 25

  Wednesday, 12:49 p.m.

  AS SOON AS JAKE arrived home, Annie stepped into the living room and called him into the office. He could tell something was up by the look on her face.

  He followed her in, eased into the guest chair, and sat dumbfounded as she played back the phone call from Michael Norton.

  “I’ve got a copy ready for Hank,” she said. “We’ll see what he makes of it.”

  Jake sat quietly a moment, trying to digest what he heard. “It all sounds logical,” he said at last. “And if it’s the whole truth, then Rocky Shaft has covered his tracks pretty well.”

  “I’m sure he slipped up somewhere. We have to find out where,” Annie said thoughtfully, and then her face brightened. “How’s Sammy?”

  “He’s good. He sends his greetings. He’s still living in the same castle, and he says—” His voice trailed off, interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. It was Sammy Fisher.

  “I have some good news for you, Detective Jake.”

  Jake put the phone on speaker. “Already?”

  Sammy chuckled. “I’ve been living out here a long time,” he said. “I make it my business to get to know people, and I know how to ask subtle questions. I knew exactly who to turn to for answers this time.”

  “What did you find out?” Jake asked.

  “You’re right about Punky Brown being a two-bit hood. He’s not shy about making it known he aspires to be a hitman. People I talked to said he just got out of prison where he claimed to learn a thing or two. He’s been putting the word out among the darker criminal elements—you want somebody done? Call Punky.” Sammy laughed. “Sounds like a cheap business card.”

  Jake waited patiently until Sammy decided to get to the point.

  “Folks tell me he hangs around a place called Smokie’s Bar a lot?”

  “Smokie’s Bar?”

  “You know the place?”

  “Sure do,” Jake said. “The victim and the suspect hung around there as well. That must be where the killer got in touch with him.”

  “I’ve been playing around with the phone,” Sammy said. “I figured out how to take a picture.”

  “Tell me you got a shot of Brown.”

  “Yup. Sure did. And I figured out how to send it to you.” Jake heard breathing as Sammy paused, then, “Tell me if you get it.”
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  A moment later, Jake said, “Got it.” He turned the phone so Annie could see the photo of a man, standing with a cue in one hand, watching someone take a shot at the pool table.

  The photo was taken from several feet away, but Brown would be recognizable anywhere. His large nose and gaunt, sunken cheeks most prominent, with his dark, ragged goatee a sharp contrast to his nearly bald head. He wore a faded, denim jacket and dark pants.

  Annie squinted at the phone. “It could be him. I didn’t see him well enough to be sure.”

  “Thanks, Sammy,” Jake said into the phone. “Great shot. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me. I’m glad to help. Just catch the guy who’s been shooting at my friends and I’ll be well paid.”

  “I’ll let you know what happens, Sammy,” Jake said. “We have to get together some time soon. And Annie sends her greetings.”

  A chuckle came from the phone. “You know where I live.”

  Jake hung up and stood to his feet. “Brown might still be at Smokie’s. I’ll be back soon.” In two long strides he was out of the room, heading for the front door before Annie could say a word.

  In a moment he was back, a crooked grin on his face. “Do you know where Smokie’s Bar is?”

  Annie found the printout in her file and wrote down the address. “Be careful,” she said, handing it to him. “Maybe you should call Hank.”

  “If I find the guy, I’ll call him,” Jake said, as he charged from the room.

  He raced from the house, jumped in the Firebird, and in a few minutes, he pulled up half a block away from Smokie’s Bar. He stepped out, walked up the sidewalk, and stopped in front of a windowless building. A rustic, wooden sign above sported the name of the establishment. A notice on the door promised half-price beer all morning.

  Jake tugged open the large wooden door and stepped cautiously inside. The last thing he wanted was to be seen by Punky Brown, if the killer was still here.

  He was greeted by a dimly lit, smoke-filled room. An endless bar ran along the near wall, a vast array of spirits displayed behind. Peanut shells and sawdust littered the floor. Most tables sat empty, some occupied with people in various stages of inebriation. Three or four patrons perched on barstools, hanging over their drinks. Smoke burned his eyes. Lively country music filled his ears.