Cold Justice (20 page)

Annie laughed. “Not quite. Mostly pretty dull stuff, but
sometimes we get some excitement.”

“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world, sweetie. I sure
hope you find out what happened to Abby. I’m gonna miss her, that’s for sure.”

“We’ll find out,” Annie said, as she reached into her
handbag and came up with a business card. She handed it to Wilda. “If you think
of anything that might help, be sure to call me.”

“I sure will.”

Annie stood and offered her hand again. “Thanks very much,
Wilda.”

“Come back any time.” Wilda shook her hand and flashed her
smile.

Annie dropped a twenty on the table, waving thanks and
goodbye to Meg on her way out.

Chapter 34

Thursday, August 18th, 10:53 PM

DR. BORIS HOFFMAN was pacing nervously in his favorite room
of the mansion.

He looked at his watch. Not yet eleven. No need to worry
yet, but that idiot had better not screw up.

He poured himself a double of scotch and fingered the glass,
sipping slowly as he looked around the den. He admired the way the dark walnut
floors offset the hue of the stone in the massive fireplace, the crimson
curtains, made of the best fabric available, and the huge desk that dominated
the center of the room.

It would be a shame to lose all of this.

He went to the window, pulled back the drapery and looked
out. From here, he would be able to see anyone approaching up the long drive.
No one was.

He dropped into the huge leather chair behind his desk and
reached for the ornate cigar box, perched proudly on his desk. He flipped it
open and slipped out a Cuban, holding it to his nose, breathing in the sweet
earthy smell. He clipped the end and grabbing his gold lighter, lit the cigar,
and drew in a mouthful of expensive smoke. It relaxed him, and he exhaled
slowly. The smoke circled above his head, dancing in the light breeze wafting
from the air conditioner, before dissipating.

He was startled to his feet by a roar outside. Stepping to
the window, he saw a motorcycle spinning up the long driveway. That must be
Tommy. He hadn’t seen Tommy for so long, he wasn’t sure if he would recognize
him, but of course, it’s him.

Taking another quick breath of smoke from his cigar, he
dropped it into the ashtray on his desk, strode from the room, and into the
lobby. He swung open one of the pair of huge solid oak doors, and peered out.

Tommy had spun up onto the front lawn, damaging the
well-manicured grass, and was now climbing off his bike. He turned around,
shoved the key in his pocket, swaggered up the steps, and grinned. “Hi Unc.”

Hoffman frowned, and beckoned him to come inside.

Tommy strutted in and looked around the lobby, and then up
at the ornamented ceiling. “Jeez Unc. This is sure some fancy place you have
here.”

“Did you get the note?”

“Why are you in such a rush? Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Tommy sauntered across the foyer, his head whipping back and forth as he took
in the sights. He stepped into the den and whistled.

Hoffman followed him in and watched as Tommy strode across
the room and slouched at the desk, dropping his feet onto the polished walnut
top. The cigar still burned. Hoffman went over, picked it up, and butted it
out.

“This your desk?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, yes. It’s mine. Now where’s the note?”

Tommy looked at his uncle. “I have it. Don’t worry.”

Hoffman reached out. “Give it to me.”

“You’re gonna pay me, right?”

Hoffman sighed, reached into an inner pocket of his smoking
jacket and pulled out a packet. He slapped it on the desk in front of Tommy. “Here’s
your money. Now give me the note.”

“Relax, Unc,” Tommy said, as he picked up the packet of
money and sniffed it. He grinned, reached into his pocket and pulled out the
envelope. He waved it in the air. “Here’s your precious note.”

Hoffman reached for it. Tommy pulled it back. “I think this
information is worth a little more than a thou, don’t you Unc?”

“We agreed on a thousand dollars.”

Tommy glared a minute, teasing him, and handed it to him
with a laugh.

Hoffman snatched it from him and opened it, slipping out the
paper. He studied it a moment, his face turned red, and he shouted, “It’s just
a photocopy, you idiot.”

Tommy shrugged. “That’s what she gave me.”

Hoffman paced frantically back and forth. Suddenly he
stopped and spun around. “You have to get the original,” he yelled.

“Maybe I can. That might cost a little more, though.”

Hoffman glared, “I’ll give you another thousand dollars.”

“It’s worth two. I have to find her now.”

“Ok, idiot. Make it two. But get it done,” he screamed.

“Calm down Uncle. I’ll get the note. Just relax.”

Hoffman relaxed a bit. “How are you going to find her?”

Tommy laughed, and pulled Samantha’s handbag out from inside
his jacket. “I’m betting her name is in here.” He leaned forward and clipped
open the handbag, dumping its contents onto the desk.

He sorted through the pile, and found a small wallet. He
grinned, and flipped it open. He pulled out a driver’s license and held it up
triumphantly. “Ta dah,” he sang out.

Hoffman scowled. “I hope she hasn’t gone to the police
already.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle.”

“Did you scare her?”

“Yeah, I sure did. I don’t think she’ll be bothering you
again.” Tommy read from the license. “Samantha Riggs. That’s her name. I’ll
find her apartment and get the note,” he said, as he slipped the license back
into the wallet, and dropped it into his pocket.

“Make sure you do. And leave the rest of her stuff here. I’ll
get rid of it.” He picked up her cell phone and tucked it into his breast pocket.
“This has to be destroyed.”

Tommy noticed the box of cigars. He smirked and flipped open
the lid. “Oh boy,” he said. He scooped up a couple and sat back. “You’re in
good hands,” he said, as he dropped his feet back on the desk and slipped the
smokes into his top pocket.

Hoffman wrote his cell phone number on a piece of paper and
handed it to Tommy. “Here’s my cell. Call me as soon as you get the envelope.
And make sure it’s the real one this time.”

Friday, August 19th, 8:25 AM

IT WAS A BRAND new day at the Lincoln’s. Annie was cleaning
up after breakfast, and Jake was downstairs doing his workout.

Matty came charging into the kitchen. “Ready for school,
Mom.”

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

Matty grabbed his lunch, stuffed it into his backpack, and swung
the pack into place. “Bye, Mom.” He opened the door to the basement and yelled,
“Bye, Dad,” and slammed the door again.

Annie watched him go, and heard the front door close behind
him as he left. She finished cleaning up and went into the office, sat in the
swivel chair and leaned forward.

She had transcribed the notes from her notepad onto several
sheets of paper, laid out logically. She was trying to connect the dots, but
there was little to go on, and didn’t know what her next move was.

She perused the paper, going over all of the details
regarding the death of Abigail Macy and Vera Blackley.

The one little piece of information she had gotten the
evening before from Wilda, was that Mrs. Macy never drank vodka, and never
anything stronger than wine. And yet, when her blood had been examined, she had
ingested a large amount of vodka. How had that gotten into her system?

She recalled that Dr. Hoffman said Abby blamed herself for
the death of their child. Therefore, she certainly would have left a note if it
were suicide. Yet, there was no note.

Annie was now totally certain Abby had not killed herself.
It just wasn’t feasible, given the information in front of her. Abby was killed
to cover up what she saw.

If Blackley killed his wife, then how did he manage to kill
Abby as well? No, Annie was not convinced Anderson Blackley was responsible for
either death.

She looked up and leaned back as Jake came in. He plunked
down into the guest chair. “Got anything there?” he asked.

Annie shook her head. “Still struggling to make some sense
of this whole situation.”

“It’s not looking good for Blackley,” Jake said. “I don’t
think he’s responsible for any of this, but the evidence against him is pretty
convincing.”

“Too convincing,” Annie said. “That’s what you said last night,
and I think you’re right. He was framed. He’s not a stupid man, and not dumb
enough to leave such obvious evidence lying around. That hammer they found in
the garage with Vera’s blood on it, just seems too pat to me, and that’s the
one piece of evidence that’s the most convincing.”

“The way I see it, whoever killed Vera knew her,” Jake said.
“It wasn’t just a random killing, because he knew where Blackley worked, and
exactly where to dump the body, and exactly how to make Blackley look guilty.”

Annie nodded. “Vera Blackley must have had a lover. If we
find out who that was, we’ve got our killer.”

“So, how do we go about finding that out? We already talked
to everyone that knew her.”

Annie shrugged. “Everyone we know about. But if she had a
lover, somebody, somewhere, must have seen them together.”

“Stands to reason,” Jake said. “But tracking him or her down
is the problem right now. Where do we start?”

Annie sighed and looked back at her notes. “It’s in here
somewhere,” she said.

Chapter 35

Friday, August 19th, 8:37 AM

TOMMY SALAMANDER drove slowly past the apartment building
where Samantha Riggs used to live. He examined the building. It wasn’t much
better than the dive he had. Just a huge red eyesore, down a side street,
somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

He coasted another half block, pulled his motorcycle to the
curb, shut it down, and kicked the stand into place. He would leave his helmet
on to cover his face. Just in case. Can’t be too careful.

He pulled a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket
and slipped them on, climbed from the bike, and strode back up the street
toward his destination.

There were no security locks on the outer door, so Tommy
turned the knob, kicked the door open, and slipped in. There’s no elevator in
this dump, but there’s a set of stairs to his right. Apartment 202 would be up
one flight. He took the steps two at a time, humming to himself, counting the
money he would make.

He pushed open the upper stairwell door and peered in. The
hallway was deserted, so he made his way down the dimly lit passageway and
stood in front of 202. The lock didn’t look very strong. He took another glance
around, and then all it took was a credit card, something he was adept at, to
slip the latch back, and the door swung open. He stepped inside and closed the
door quietly, locking it behind him.

He slipped his helmet off, set it on a table by the door,
and fingered his hair back out of his eyes. He rubbed his hands together. Time
to get to work.

It wasn’t a large apartment, a front closet, a small living
room, a bathroom, looks like one bedroom, and a tiny kitchen. A thorough search
shouldn’t take long.

Start with the bathroom. All the obvious places. The
medicine cabinet contained nothing of interest, just toothpaste, some Midol,
Tylenol, and floss, but no note. He lifted the top off the toilet tank and
peered inside. Nope. The cupboard under the sink was searched. Cleaning
supplies and extra tissue. He felt around the edges, the top, moved things
around. No note.

Next stop, the bedroom. The most obvious place is under the
mattress. He flipped it up and peeked under. Then he went through her closet,
moving things back and forth on the rod. He checked in the pockets of her
dresses and sweaters. There were a several pair of shoes on the floor
underneath, but he disregarded them and moved his eyes up. On the shelf above,
he found a box holding some photos and a few envelopes. He opened the envelopes
one at a time. Looks like a bunch of old love letters. The note he was looking
for wasn’t among them. He looked through the photos. Boring family stuff.

He slammed the closet door and turned around. The dresser,
maybe.

He spent some time going through the drawers of clothes. Her
underwear drawer was especially interesting. He fantasized about her as he
browsed her frilly things. He should have had a little fun with her before he
killed her. That would have been a blast.

He slipped out all the drawers, checking in the cavity
behind, and under the drawers to see if anything had been taped there. All he
got was a sliver for his trouble, and he cursed as he kicked the drawer shut.

Nothing went untouched or unmoved, as he searched the
bedroom thoroughly. Behind pictures, under the alarm clock, under the bed,
behind the faded curtains. No joy.

On a small nightstand by the bed, he spied a little wooden
box. He flipped it open. Just some junk jewelry and cheap ear rings. Except for
this. He picked up a necklace that looked like it could be gold. Might be worth
a few bucks. He chuckled and slipped it into his pocket. Maybe he would give it
to his girlfriend. Tell her he bought it, especially for her. She’s dumb enough
to believe it.

Back to the note. Have to find it. He stood and looked
around the bedroom, scratching his head. It must be in this apartment
somewhere, maybe the kitchen. He would leave the living room for last. Nice TV,
though. That would look good in his place, toss out the old piece of crap and
drop this one in. Hmmm.

He strolled into the kitchen and went to the fridge. Not
much food in there. Pepsi, water, some leftovers, a few veggies. He grabbed a
carrot and munched on it as he slammed the door shut and opened the freezer.
Sometimes people hide things in there. He rummaged around inside but came up
empty.