Personal Justice

by Rayven T. Hill

Chapter 33

  DAY 4 - Thursday, 8:45 a.m.

  ANNIE HAD HOPED a good night’s sleep would clear her mind and allow her to come up with something new, but after bustling Matty off to school and finishing her second cup of coffee, all she could do was sit at her desk and stare at her notes.

  Jake wasn’t much help, either. He had wandered around the house like he was lost before heading downstairs for his morning workout. Annie could tell his mind was busy, and when he came into the office and slouched back in a chair, she knew he had drawn a blank.

  She asked him anyway, “Come up with anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Annie sat back. “Usually there’s a clear cut motive—somebody benefits from another’s death, but I’m not seeing anything this time.”

  “If it’s about the drug money, and Rocky Shaft is out to get it, he’s going to be careful for a while.”

  Annie steepled her fingers, looked at Jake over top, and mused, “I wonder where they’re keeping the money.”

  “Could be anywhere. In a locker. Under somebody’s floorboards. Not likely in a bank account.”

  “If Rocky Shaft is the killer, he knows.”

  “He’s not gonna go near it,” Jake said. “Especially if his accomplices are dead. He knows it’s safe.”

  “Perhaps,” Annie said. “But if he’s as greedy as Norton suggested, he might not be able to keep his hands off it.”

  “You might be right, but he’d have a hard time spending any of it. They’re watching him too closely.”

  “There’s still a possibility of an affair going on between Maria and Rocky Shaft.”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “But why kill Norton?”

  “Because he found out about it?”

  Jake drew his legs in and leaned forward. “So Rocky kills his brother, frames Norton, and then kills Norton too? Doesn’t sound logical. By killing Norton, it leaves an unsolved murder, and puts Rocky in the spotlight.”

  Annie blew out a breath and shook her head in frustration. “You’re right. Doesn’t make sense.”

  Jake frowned. “Here’s another crazy scenario. Do you think it’s possible we’re looking at two separate and unrelated murders?”

  Annie drummed her fingers on the desktop a moment. “I don’t think so. That’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jake said, and slouched back down.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Annie said. “You’re not the only one drawing a blank. Even Hank is stumped on this one.”

  Jake yawned and said in an offhand manner, “Maybe we should visit the Shaft’s neighbors.”

  “Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea.”

  “You think so?”

  “Do we have anything better to do?”

  Jake stood. “I’m game.”

  “We’ll take my car,” Annie said. She stood and went to the kitchen, got her handbag and keys, and met Jake at the front door.

  A few minutes later, Annie pulled her Escort to the curb in front of the Shaft house. There was an empty lot on one side, a small brick bungalow on the other, separated from the Shaft house by an evergreen hedge.

  “That’s our best bet,” Annie said, pointing to the bungalow. She pulled the car ahead thirty feet and stopped.

  “What if no one’s home?” Jake asked.

  “We’ll soon see. There’s a vehicle parked in the driveway.”

  The door opened to Jake’s knock by an elderly man, a cane in one shaky hand, and he looked at Jake over top of a pair of reading glasses. “Yes?”

  Jake introduced Annie and himself. “Could we ask you a few questions?”

  The old man squinted at Jake, then offered Annie a smile. “Glad to help,” he said. “Sara and I don’t get a lot of visitors.” He stepped back. “Come right on in. Make yourself at home and don’t mind the cat and she won’t mind you.”

  Water could be heard running from down the hallway, probably from the kitchen.

  “Sara,” the man called in a shaky voice. “We got company.”

  The water stopped, and in a moment, a woman appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on an apron. Her gray hair was worked up into a bun, and a pleasant smile adorned her face as she shuffled toward them. She stopped and beckoned. “Bring them on into the kitchen, Abe. Where’s your manners?”

  A jug of orange juice and a generous plate of baked goods were set in front of them almost before the Lincolns could pull back chairs and sit down.

  Sara poured the juice and pushed the plate of goodies toward Jake. “Fill up on this, young man. You look like you could hold a few. And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

  Jake thanked her and helped himself.

  “Ma’am,” Annie began.

  “You can call me Sara.” She pointed at the old man. “And this here’s Abe.” She patted Annie’s hand and beamed. “Sorry to interrupt, dear. You go right ahead.”

  Annie smiled. The woman reminded her of everyone’s grandmother. “Sara, I don’t know if you’ve heard about Werner Shaft’s death, but we’re looking into it.”

  “Dear me, what a dreadful thing that is. Yes, we heard about that. Shocking.” She looked at the old man. “Wouldn’t you say, Abe?”

  Abe nodded. “Shocking. Indeed.”

  “And how can we help, my dear?” Sara asked.

  “Did you know Werner Shaft?”

  “Oh, sure. Werner was a fine man. Can’t say as much for his brother.”

  “Rocky?” Jake said, popping a chocolate square into his mouth.

  “Has a bad temper, I’ll say that. Why he’s always after Abe about one thing or another. Isn’t he, Abe?”

  “Sure is.”

  “What about Maria? Do she and Rocky get along?”

  Sara covered her mouth. “Don’t know as I should gossip ’bout this, but I think them two are up to something.”

  “Such as?” Jake asked.

  Sara leaned in and lowered her voice. “Well, they’re just too close. Many’s the time when they don’t think anyone’s watching and I see them in the back yard together.”

  “When Werner was there?”

  “No. No. When he wasn’t there.”

  “What did you see?” Jake asked. He took a chug of orange juice.

  “Don’t know as I should say,” the old woman said.

  “Go ahead, Sara,” Abe said. “You ain’t never kept nothing quiet for long anyway. Might as well spill the beans on this one.”

  Sara whispered, “They get amorous.”

  Annie tilted her head slightly to one side. “An affair?”

  “Sure as tarnation.”

  Jake and Annie exchanged a look. She knew he was thinking the same as her. Could Rocky or Maria have killed Werner? Or perhaps they were in it together?

  Annie eyed Sara closely. “You’re sure about this?”

  Sara sat back and looked at Abe. “Tell them, Abe. You’ve seen them carrying on.”

  Abe nodded. “I have to confirm what the old woman says. There’s something up between them two and it ain’t innocent.”

  Annie pulled a business card from her handbag and slid it in front of Sara. “You’ve been a big help. Call me if you can think of anything else.”

  “I sure will,” Sara said. “You can bet I’m gonna be keepin’ a sharp eye out from now on.”

  Abe chuckled. “I can vouch for that. It’s what she does best.”

  Annie and Jake stood, thanked them again, and Sara saw them to the door. “Drop in again some time,” the old woman said, as they left.

  Annie laughed and glanced at Jake when the door closed behind them. “Maybe we should offer Sara a part-time job. She’s got the knack.”

  Jake chuckled. “She’d probably be good at stakeouts.”

  They got in the car and Annie started the engine then turned to Jake. “The affair between Rocky and Maria could explain a lot. The problem is, it doesn’t tell us anything about why Michael Norton was killed.”

  “Did Rocky kill
his brother and frame Norton for it?”

  “It’s possible,” Annie said. “But then we’re back to the same question. Who killed Norton, and why?”

  Chapter 34

  Thursday, 9:22 a.m.

  AS TIRED AS HANK had been the night before, he was robbed of sleep by the perplexing facts of the case running through his mind. He’d risen early to get a fresh start, and though he’d been up for a couple of hours, he felt he was making little headway.

  A call to King to see if the detective found any information on the drug heist went unanswered. A quick study of his notes revealed nothing new, and to make matters worse, a plugged sink in the bathroom wasted a half hour of valuable time.

  He downed a quick breakfast, made a short phone call to Amelia over coffee, and was raring to go.

  He gathered up the stacks of notes, reports, and folders, and stuffed them into his briefcase. After fastening his service weapon in place, he headed out the door, determined to make the day count.

  His old Chevy clanked and banged when he turned the key. It had served him faithfully for several years, but by the sounds of the engine, he would need a new vehicle before long. Not an easy thing to do with only a cop’s salary and the small car allowance RHPD allowed him.

  When he arrived at the precinct, he parked behind, made a mental note King’s car wasn’t there, and hoped the detective was doing something productive for a change.

  The precinct was in high gear when Hank stepped inside. Cops leaned over their desks, or consulted with one another. Captain Diego’s face was buried in paperwork, and across the room, Callaway squinted at his monitor.

  The heat of the day was already infiltrating the room, the useless air conditioner doing little except rumble, and Hank made a mental note to talk to Diego about replacing the worn out piece of junk.

  He headed for the break room. This was starting to be a bad day. Someone drained the coffee pot and left it turned on. Hank started a fresh pot. At least he knew it would be palatable, not like most of the rotgut sludge he had to endure when someone else made it.

  Things took a turn for the better when he got to his desk, sat his coffee down, and spied the medical examiner’s report regarding the murder of Michael Norton, sitting dead center on his desk. Beside it lay the preliminary ballistics report. He sat and pulled up his chair, booted up his computer, and flipped open the folder containing the ME’s findings.

  The listed cause of death was not surprising—a gunshot wound causing exsanguination. Norton bled to death after catastrophic injury to the heart.

  The manner of death was homicide—that was obvious, and Nancy concluded Norton was killed elsewhere, perhaps a half hour prior to being dumped near the railroad tracks.

  The interesting part was the trajectory of the bullet. Gunshot residue indicated it had been fired from a distance of eighteen to twenty-four inches and entered the body at a thirty degree downward angle.

  Hank did some quick calculations, and as far as he could tell, the victim had been either standing or kneeling when shot. Norton might’ve been tied to a chair, or on his knees, begging for his life when the fatal bullet entered his body.

  An examination of the back of the victim’s shirt revealed small nicks and tears with ground-in dirt, consistent with the body being dragged a distance. To Hank, that meant Norton had been transported there in a vehicle, then dragged across the ground and deposited by the bushes. There was no other explanation he could see.

  There were also lesions on the arms, face, and hands—nicks, bruises, and abrasions, probably defensive wounds, or at the least, an indication of a struggle.

  Norton had fought and begged for his life and lost.

  Blood alcohol levels, as well as blood and urine drug screens, were negative.

  He closed the folder. Nothing else in the report revealed anything unusual, but he would go over it again later.

  The ballistics report revealed exactly what Hank expected. The weapon Norton carried was the same one that fired the fatal bullet into Werner Shaft.

  The bullet lodged in Norton’s heart was also .38-caliber, fired from a different weapon than the one found on the body. The ballistics ID system returned a negative. It was another unregistered weapon, never before used in a shooting as far as the system could tell.

  That was all Jameson had for him at the moment. Hank hoped to see the rest of the findings later in the day. He was especially interested in the possibility of tire tracks and any trace evidence recovered from the scene. With the lack of surveillance cameras anywhere in the area, and no witnesses to be found, he hoped for something solid from forensics.

  Hank looked up as Callaway approached his desk and handed him a sheet of paper. “I got the bank records on Rocky Shaft you requested. There’s an interesting withdrawal.”

  “Thanks, Callaway.”

  Hank took the paper and glanced at it. Callaway had highlighted a withdrawal for six thousand dollars cash from Shaft’s bank account on Tuesday morning. Could that be to pay off the hitman? Punky Brown had never been paid, but Brown indicated the fee for his services was five thousand. More circumstantial evidence? Perhaps. But what was the extra thousand for?

  “Anything else you need, Hank?”

  Hank looked up at the young cop. “Not right now. I’m sure there’ll be something later.”

  Callaway returned to his desk as the precinct doors swung open and Detective King swaggered in. The grin on his face revealed he had something to share. He waved a finger at Hank, strode to the break room, took his sweet time about making a coffee, and then approached Hank’s desk.

  Hank sat back and watched patiently as King settled into a chair and stretched out, one sneakered foot resting on the corner of the desk. King hadn’t shaved again this morning. He always managed to have three day’s growth on his face, even after he shaved. It was a mystery even Hank couldn’t solve.

  King sipped at his coffee. Hank waited some more.

  “Harland Eastwood,” King said at last.

  King had a way of dropping names as if making a big reveal, and then waiting for a response before explaining.

  Hank took the bait. “Who’s Harland Eastwood?”

  King took another sip and sat his cup on the desk. “One of the druggies robbed by Shaft and his friends.”

  Hank sat forward and rested his arms on the desk. “Does Eastwood know who robbed them?”

  “I haven’t talked to him yet,” King said. “I got the name from a CI. Had to get him out of bed.”

  Hank sighed lightly, shuffled the papers on his desk, and remained patient.

  King continued, “Seems like all these criminal types sleep until noon. Guess that’s what happens when you’re up half the night.”

  “Does your informant know where to find Eastwood?”

  King pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and waved it. “Got the address.” He handed it to Hank.

  “Rough part of town,” Hank said, after looking at the paper. “You’d think if they were big-time drug dealers they could afford to live in a better place.”

  “Apparently, Eastwood is a flunky. Not one of the big shots. Does deliveries, pickups, that sort of thing.”

  Hank frowned. “That’s the best you could get? A flunky?”

  “He might not be top brass, but if he knows anything, it’s gonna be easier to get something from him.”

  Hank swept the reports into a pile, dropped them into his briefcase, and stood. “Let’s go see if we can find this Eastwood character.”

  Chapter 35

  Thursday, 10:24 a.m.

  JAKE WAS STRETCHED out on the couch, a cushion under his head, his hands tucked behind it. The television was on and muted, but Jake wasn’t watching it. He stared at the ceiling, sorting through the facts, devising a workable plan of attack.

  Though Rocky Shaft appeared to be the obvious suspect for Norton’s murder, Jake wasn’t so sure. However, the revelation by Shaft’s neighbors regarding a possible affair was foremo
st in his mind.

  It seemed to Jake, other than the affair, Shaft was trying to hide something and money played a big part in it.

  He swung his legs to the floor, stood, and went into the office. Annie was typing furiously at the keyboard, and when he entered, she stopped and looked over at him.

  He approached the desk and perched on the corner. “I thought I might go see Rocky Shaft,” he said.

  “That suits me fine. I got the cell phone number of one of Michael Norton’s neighbors from Hank, and I have an appointment to visit her at her work at noon, during her lunch break.”

  “Great. Then I’ll see you back here this afternoon. I’ll call you if I come up with anything interesting.” Jake gave her a quick peck on the lips and left the office.

  He unplugged his cell phone from the charger, slipped it into a holder on his belt, and grabbed his car keys from a hook by the door on the way out.

  The Firebird purred like a tiger under control when he turned the key. He looked at his watch; Shaft should be at work, and if not, Jake wanted to know why.

  Richmond Distributing sat on a couple of acres surrounded by a chain link fence. A pair of warehouses occupied much of that space, the rest taken up by parking areas, tractor-trailers, and shipping containers.

  From the information he’d gleaned online, Jake knew the company did local and national distribution for a number of organizations, as well as drop-shipping services for a variety of mail-order and online firms.

  Driving onto the property was not much different from going to the mall. There was no gate, no security, and the public was always welcome to visit the showroom displaying a range of items for retail purchase.

  Jake parked in one of the guest spots, grabbed an official looking baseball cap from the back seat, and walked around behind the largest building to the shipping doors at the rear.

  A row of vehicles was parked along the back fence and Jake spied a red Ford pickup. That would be Shaft’s vehicle. He wandered over and checked the license plate to be sure. It was Shaft’s. He would be in the building somewhere.