Cold Justice (25 page)

“What happened with Pierre Boutin?” Annie asked Hank, and
then glanced at Philip and explained, “Boutin is the one who discovered
Samantha’s body.” She smiled. “He didn’t speak much English.”

Hank laughed. “Somebody dropped by the hotel and took his
statement. Somebody that speaks French, that is.” He shrugged. “He didn’t
really have anything to add. He found the body, hailed a cab, and the cabbie
called it in. End of story.”

Jake gulped the rest of his lemonade, stood, and poured
another one. He offered the pitcher around, but they declined. He set it back
down and took a long swig before asking, “Philip, what’s your plans for the
near future?”

Philip sighed and sat back. “I thought I might just close up
the office for a few days and stay at home. There’s no use being at work right
now.”

“You’re welcome here any time,” Annie said. “Please, don’t
feel like you’re imposing.”

“That’s very kind.” Philip smiled weakly.

Hank stood. “I had better get going. Are you ready Philip?”

“I can drop Philip home,” Jake said. “I’m going that way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.” Hank gave a little wave,
stepped off the deck, walked across the back of the house and out of sight.

“I have to go too,” Annie said as she stood. “We’ll keep in
touch Philip, and don’t forget my offer.” She slid open the back door of the
house, and went into the kitchen. She knew Jake would be leaving soon as well.

She wasn’t satisfied with how slowly things were moving. She
knew it had only been a couple of days, but hoped they could get on the right
track soon.

She picked her cell phone and car keys out of the wicker
basket on the end of the counter, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the front
door.

Chapter 43

Friday, August 19th, 1:00 PM

JAKE DROVE DOWN the boulevard bordering Richmond Valley Park
and pulled into a spot across the street in front of a dry cleaner. He didn’t
really have a plan, just see who’s around, show them Samantha’s picture, and
find out if anyone had seen her. He stepped out and crossed to the other side,
approaching the park near the wading pool. The pool was busy. Mostly mothers
with toddlers, splashing, laughing and giggling.

Since the medical examiner had said the time of Samantha
Riggs’ death had been between eight PM and midnight that would limit the amount
of people who may have been in the area at the time. By eight PM, it would have
been starting to get dark, and by midnight, it would have been pitch black
except for the occasional streetlight. The question is, who would have been
around at that time of the evening?

He ruled out picnickers, families, and splashing toddlers.
Maybe joggers, dog walkers, a few teenagers, or those out for a late night
walk. Perhaps even Sammy Fisher, the homeless man who had found Vera Blackley’s
body. Or maybe some other street person.

He walked across the lawn, and behind the hedge to where
Samantha Riggs had been found, and looked around the area. Everything had been
cleaned up, the tape was long gone, and the spot was deserted.

He glanced around the park. There was a mobile hotdog
peddler down a little further. He approached the vendor, a dumpy man, who
looked like he had consumed too much of his own product.

“Were you set up here last night? In the evening?” Jake
asked him.

Grease sizzled and spit as the vendor flipped some dogs on
the grill. He spoke without looking up. “Sure was. I’m always here, until it
gets dark. Then I pack up for the night.”

Jake pulled the photo from his pocket. “Did you happen to
see this girl? She was wearing a red hat and jacket.”

The vendor dropped the tongs, wiped his hands on his apron,
and took the picture. He looked at it a moment, cocked his head in thought, and
handed it back, shaking his head. “Nope, not that I can recall, and I know she
never bought anything from me. I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like that.”

“Thanks anyway.” Jake took back the picture, wiped off a
greasy fingerprint, and tucked it back in his pocket.

He wandered across the manicured lawn to an old man on a
bench, sitting up straight as a stick, one hand resting on his lap, the other
gripping a cane. The elderly man stopped whistling as Jake approached and sat
beside him.

“Good afternoon, young fella,” the old man said.

Jake smiled and nodded. “Did you happen to be in the park
last night after eight?” he asked.

“Sheesh, no. That’s way past my bedtime.”

Jake thanked him and moved on. He approached a pair of
joggers, a mother with a stroller carrying a whining baby, and several others
who were wandering about alone, in pairs, or groups of three or four. No one
had seen a girl last night, wearing a red hat and jacket.

He walked back to the wading pool, and looked around. A
homeless man was sitting cross-legged, leaning against a lamppost, and
clutching a tattered cap, waiting for spare change.

Jake approached him. He was unkempt and his skin looked like
horsehide from years of too much sun. Thin gray hair dripped down the side of
his head, exaggerating his hairless and hardened crown. He stared blankly
ahead, unmoving, and unmindful of Jake’s presence.

Jake dug in his pocket, came up with a handful of coins and
dropped them in the cap. He crouched down and held up the photo.

“Sir, did you happen to see this woman last night?”

Horsehide shrugged, looked away, and stared blankly across
the park.

“She would have been wearing a red cap and jacket.”

He stared at Jake for a moment. Something glinted in his
eyes, and then he looked away.

Jake had seen the spark. “It’s very important,” he said. “This
woman was murdered and I need to find out who killed her.”

The wrinkled man paid no attention.

Jake pulled out his wallet and found a five-dollar bill. He
snapped it between his fingers to draw attention. The weathered eyes turned
back and ogled the bill. Jake folded it and dropped it into the cap.

“No cops.” The man’s voice was as rough as his skin.

“I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator.”

“No cops,” he repeated and looked away.

Jake sensed the man knew something. He tried again, this
time with a twenty-dollar bill. A hand shot up, snatched the bill, and Rawhide
rolled to his feet, limping away, his hat still in his hand.

Jake watched him go and shook his head. He needed a new plan
of attack. He sat on the bench by the wading pool and thought for a while.

“That’s it!” He snapped his fingers and jumped from the
bench, striding across the park to the street. He crossed and climbed into the Pontiac,
peeling away.

In five minutes or so, he turned onto Front Street, crossed
an overpass, and pulled to the side. He jumped out, walked back thirty feet,
and approached an embankment. He could see Richmond River below, flowing
smoothly past on its way to lower ground. He was on the north side of the
river. He climbed down a few feet, ducked under the overpass, and looked
around.

He grinned. Sure enough, there’s Sammy’s castle. Barely
noticeable, but he could see a concrete colored canvas hanging loosely, the top
wedged in under the overpass and held firmly.

He pulled the covering aside and laughed at what he saw.

The hole in front of him was about ten by ten, and maybe
four feet high. It appeared to have been burrowed into the side of the
embankment like a cave. The floor had been covered with strips of wood, neatly
laid side by side, making a solid base. Against one wall, a thick blanket and a
tattered pillow served as a bed. The back wall was also shored up with wooden
posts, and covered with a piece of drywall. There was a small shelf unit
containing several drawers, and a pot or two hung from the ceiling.

Sammy wasn’t there.

Jake dropped the flap, made sure it fell properly in place,
and climbed down the steep bank to the river.

“Detective Jake,” a voice called.

Jake spun around. Sammy had just stepped from the overpass
and was coming down the bank toward him. He carried a grocery bag over his
shoulder. It jumped and rustled as he climbed. A grin split his face. “Did you
ring my doorbell?”

Jake stepped forward to greet him. “Sammy. Good to see you
again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Detective Jake. How’s Detective Annie?”

Jake laughed. “She’s doing great.”

Sammy slipped his hat off, fanned his face with it, and
wiped his brow, before dropping the cap back in place. “Did you come to apply
for an apartment?”

Jake grinned. “Not today, but I could use your help.”

Sammy sat on a rock by the lip of the river and faced Jake.
Jake crouched on the grass beside him.

“What can I do for you?” Sammy asked.

Jake tugged the photo of Samantha from his pocket and
flipped it around. “This girl was murdered yesterday. We think it’s related to
the murder of that woman you found in the bin.”

Sammy looked at the picture. “Oh, that’s sad. Pretty girl,
too.” He squinted at Jake. “So how can I help?”

“The murder took place in Richmond Valley Park. I was in the
park asking folks about it, and I talked to a homeless guy. I think he saw
something, but he won’t talk to me.”

“And you think he’ll talk to me?”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I can give it a shot. Tell me about the guy.”

“He had long thin hair. Bald. He was begging, with his cap.”

Sammy wrinkled his brow. “That describes a lot of folks.”

“He had a limp.”

Sammy grinned. “Was he a little slow up here?” he asked, as
he touched his temple with his forefinger.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Sammy nodded his head slowly. “That’s Lenny. Lenny Romeo.
Not too bright, but he wouldn’t hurt a flea. He lives in the park, and keeps
his stuff hidden in a group of thick bushes, where he sleeps.”

“So, do you think he’ll talk to you?” Jake asked.

“I think so. I’ve known Lenny for a long time. Everybody
knows him. He’s been on the street longer than anyone can remember.” Sammy
stood. “You wanna go right now?”

Jake nodded. “If it’s convenient.”

“Just let me put my purchases in my pantry, and I’ll be
right there,” Sammy said, as he hiked back up the mountain.

Jake followed him and waited on the street above until Sammy
joined him. “Nice wheels,” Sammy said as they climbed in the Firebird. He spun
down the side window and stuck his arm out.

The tires protested a bit as they pulled a u-turn and peeled
away. A few minutes later, as they drove up by the park, Jake could see Lenny
Romeo had returned to his spot by the lamppost. They jumped from the Pontiac
and dodged traffic, hurrying across the street.

As they approached Lenny, he looked up and dropped his hat
into his lap. A hint of a smile touched his lips when he saw Sammy.

Sammy crouched down. “Hi Lenny,” he said gently.

Lenny didn’t move or speak for a moment. Finally, he nodded
his head slightly.

Sammy pointed at Jake. “This is Jake. He wants to talk to
you.”

“No cops.” Lenny looked away.

“He’s not a cop.”

“Looks like cop.”

Sammy sighed and stood up. “Why don’t you sit over there for
a minute, Detective Jake,” he said, as he pointed to the bench by the wading
pool. I’ll see what I can get out of him.”

Jake turned and went to the bench. He sat and watched Sammy
as he knelt down beside Lenny, talking to him. Lenny didn’t seem to want to
speak. Finally, he opened his mouth and mumbled something.

Sammy stood and looked at Jake, then ambled over and said, “He
wants twenty bucks, and then he’ll tell you what he saw.”

“I already gave him twenty-five.”

Sammy shrugged. “That’s the best I can do.”

Jake nodded. “All right,” he said, as he slipped his wallet
out, dug out a twenty, and followed Sammy back to the beggar.

They squatted beside him, and Jake handed over the bill.
Lenny took it, held it up to the sun, and then crumpled it and stuffed it in
his pocket. He looked cautiously at Jake. “Salamander,” he said quietly.

Jake looked at him, puzzled. “Pardon?”

“Salamander,” Lenny repeated, a little louder.

“Lenny,” Sammy said. “You saw Tommy Salamander?”

Lenny nodded vigorously.

“What did you see him do?” Sammy asked.

Lenny looked around nervously, and then at Jake. “Not cop?”

“I’m not a cop.”

“Salamander kill girl.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open for a moment. He held up the photo
so Lenny could see. “Is this the girl?”

Lenny nodded.

“Did you see what she was wearing?”

“Red. Wearing red.”

“That’s her,” Jake said, as he turned to Sammy. “Who is this
Salamander character?”

Sammy looked at Lenny. “Thanks Lenny.” He straightened up
and glanced around. Jake stood and waited. Sammy frowned and shook his head
slowly. “He’s bad news. A thug. He sells drugs, he’s a petty thief, and if he
killed Samantha, then I don’t think she’s his first victim.”

Jake was elated. This is the break he was waiting for. “Where
can I find him?” he asked.

“Can’t say for sure. He could be anywhere right now. But I
know where he lives. Well, not exactly, but I know the area he lives in.”

“And?”

Sammy pointed toward the street. Down here about four
blocks, you’ll see a street that has three or four old apartment buildings.
Just small buildings, and not very attractive. He lives in one of those.” He
shook his head and said slowly, “Not sure which one.”

“I can find it,” Jake said.

Sammy grinned. “Oh, I’m sure you can, Detective Jake.”

“And how will I know him? What’s he look like?”

“You can’t miss him. He’s got a tattoo of a cobra running
down his arm.” He stretched out his arm and demonstrated. “It runs from his shoulder,
and right down. The back of his fist represents the cobra’s head.” He twiddled
his two forefingers. “And see these fingers here? That’s the cobra’s tongue.
His nails are sharpened to a point, and his fingers are blood red.” He paused. “It’s
actually quite impressive, and realistic.” He laughed. “Like I said, you can’t
miss him.”