Cold Justice (5 page)

Annie stood and followed her mother to the foyer. She smiled
as she shut the door, and then sighed deeply, walking back to the office,
irritated and frustrated.

Wednesday, August 17th, 12:55 PM

ABIGAIL MACY had been pacing the floor for some time. What
she was considering doing could be dangerous, but then on the other hand,
perhaps it may help her out of a frightening situation. At any rate, she
assumed it couldn’t make things worse.

She made a decision, strode quickly into the kitchen and
picked up the phone before she could change her mind.

She consulted a pad on the counter, and dialed a number. She
was shivering a bit as she spoke his name, and gave hers, asking to speak to
him.

“Yes Abigail, what is it?” she heard him ask.

“I want to assure you I won’t tell anyone what I saw.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I know you saw me,” she whispered hoarsely, “but I won’t
say anything.”

Silence on the line for a minute, then, “What did you see?”

“I saw you... saw you... and that woman.”

More silence.

Abby was wondering if she had made the right decision in
calling, but continued, “I didn’t tell the police, or my husband, and I never
will.”

Silence, then, “I really don’t know what you are talking
about Abigail.”

Abby hesitated. Did he not know it had been her? But no, he
had chased her home, and he knew where she lived. He surely knows I saw him.

“Please,” she said, “I will do whatever you ask.”

“Anything?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said eagerly.

“Then please don’t call me again.” She heard a click on the
line. He was gone.

She had hoped he would at least admit it, but then realized,
he couldn’t say he had murdered someone over the phone. The line may be bugged,
or tapped, or whatever it’s called. He had to play it safe and pretend he didn’t
know. She hoped he would accept her promise not to say anything, but was still
fearful.

She didn’t know what else to do. Perhaps she should have
told the police. She still can, but then they didn’t believe her when she told
them what she saw, so why would they believe her now.

Suddenly she thought of an idea. Not to save herself, but if
anything happened to her...

She went to her writing table in the den, got a piece of
paper and composed a note. She signed it, folded it neatly, and then tucked it
into an envelope, addressed it, and pasted on a stamp.

She hurried outside. Just down the street, two or three
houses away, she stopped at a mailbox. She hesitated a moment, and then dropped
the envelope in. It would be picked up that afternoon, and probably delivered
tomorrow.

The police would be sure to see it, if...

Wednesday, August 17th, 1:11 PM

ANNIE WAS THINKING about Abigail and Philip Macy, and the
death of their child. She hadn’t asked them what had been the cause, but was
curious to know.

She leaned forward to her keyboard, and googled ‘Abigail
Macy’.

There were several hits. They appeared to be women with the
same name who lived in other cities and towns.

She tried ‘Abigail Macy Richmond Hill’.

She saw it. The first result. ‘Tragic Death Claims Toddler’.

She clicked on the link. It was from the Richmond Hill Daily
Times. When the page loaded, she saw a photo of a happy and proud Abigail,
holding a small child. A boy. He was grinning and waving at the camera.

She read the news story under the picture, dated July 3rd.

Tragic Death Claims
Toddler

Richmond Hill was shocked today to hear of the untimely death
of a toddler, three-year-old Timmy Macy, the victim of a tragic accident.

According to his mother, Abigail Macy, the two of them were
outside on the front lawn when Timmy wandered into the open garage. He pushed
the button that closed the automatic door, and then tried to make it through,
but was pinned by the door as it closed.

The cause of his death was listed as asphyxiation, when the
heavy door crushed down onto his back, shutting off his air supply so he couldn’t
breath.

Despite his mother’s efforts to save the boy after hearing
the door close, the child was found dead when police and paramedics arrived.

Investigators said there was no garage door sensor installed,
and are warning the public that sensors are important, and should be installed
on all garage doors to prevent such an accident.

The death was ruled accidental and not due to the negligence
of his mother. There are no charges pending.

It was not hard to understand now why Abigail had been so
depressed. She probably felt fully responsible.

Annie was saddened to hear of such a tragic death. She
closed the browser window and sat back, pondering the senseless death of one so
young, realizing it could have been Matty, and thankful it wasn’t.

Chapter 8

Wednesday, August 17th, 2:30 PM

THE MAN WALKED slowly and warily down the sidewalk toward
the Macy home.

Each time a car passed, he would turn his back, pretend he
was talking on a cell phone, and then continue on when the way was clear.

Once he had to duck behind the wide trunk of a Maple tree
and wait until a pair of women walked by. One was pushing a baby carriage, the
other talking incessantly. He waited until they were safely past before
stepping back onto the sidewalk and continuing.

At the edge of the Macy property, he stopped and looked
around. All clear. He walked along the hedge to the side of the house and
peeked in a window. He could see Abigail sitting in the living room. She
appeared to be reading. No one else was in the room.

He dropped down and continued to the back of the house,
being careful not to be seen by any of the neighbors. He climbed the deck
quietly and looked into the window. It led to the kitchen. No one there. He
smiled grimly.

At the other side of the house he peeked in another window,
same result, no one else around. He continued to the front of the house,
watching carefully for cars or pedestrians, then boldly approached the front
door.

He rang the bell.

Abigail removed the chain and opened the door. She gasped
and stepped back, her hand to her mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I just want to talk to you.”

She hesitated, so he smiled the gentlest smile he could, and
stepped inside.

She backed up a few more steps, and stopped with a jolt as
she hit the bannister of the stairs leading up.

“May I come in and sit down?”

Keeping her eyes on him, she motioned toward the living
room. She didn’t know what else to do.

He went in and turned to face her. She followed him,
terrified.

“Please, sit down,” he said.

She tightened the belt on her housecoat and sat on the edge
of the padded chair, gingerly, watchfully, frightened.

He sat on the couch, and leaned back, relaxed. “Please,” he
said. “I can see you are afraid. There’s no need to be. You must understand, I
couldn’t say anything to you when you called me, but it’s ok now. I believe you
when you say you won’t tell anyone.” He smiled tenderly, his eyes appeared kind,
gentle.

She relaxed a bit.

He spread his hand out, palms up, to appear non-threatening.
“I trust you,” he said. “Can we talk?”

She nodded.

“That woman you saw. I didn’t hurt her. She was just a crazy
I met on the street. She was being rude, and when I tried to walk away, she
began to be violent toward me, so I chased her. I just wanted to scare her a
bit. I let her go and she ran away. She wasn’t harmed, just afraid. I haven’t
seen her since.”

Abigail stared, thinking. Is it possible he’s telling the
truth? I was drinking and maybe I imagined it to be more than it was. She
relaxed a little more.

He smiled at her. “Would you have any coffee?”

She got up carefully and went to the kitchen. She thought
about running out the back door, or maybe calling 9-1-1, but as she turned, she
saw him standing in the doorway watching her. She made a pot of coffee,
returning in a few minutes with a tray containing two steaming cups, along with
cream and sugar. He sat back down, and she set the tray on the coffee table between
them, and dropped into her chair.

“Sorry to bother you again,” he said, “but would you have
just a couple of cookies, or a cracker or two.” He grinned. “I missed lunch
today and my tummy needs something small. I would appreciate if you could be so
kind.”

She nodded and headed back to the kitchen.

He had but a few seconds to get this done. Slipping his hand
quickly into his jacket pocket, he removed a small bottle. He twisted off the
lid, and poured its contents into her cup. Then he stood up, dropped the bottle
back into his pocket, and went to the doorway. Abigail was on her way back with
a plate. She handed it to him, and they sat down.

“Ah. Chocolate chip. My favorite,” he said with another
forced smile. He took a bite and munched it slowly, then leaned forward and
prepared his coffee. He took a sip and set the cup back down.

He looked up at her. “How do you take your coffee?” he
asked.

“Just a bit of cream.”

“That’s smart. I should cut back on sugar too.” He rubbed
his belly and laughed as he dumped a few drops of cream into her cup. He
stirred it, and leaned forward, handing it to her.

She took it from him and sipped at it, watching him.

“Now Abigail... Abby, I hope you know now you have no reason
to fear me.” He took another bite of his cookie. “Mmm. Very nice.”

He sipped his coffee and watched as she sipped hers.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then she heard him
talking to her, but she was unaware of what he was saying. She couldn’t connect
the words together. She felt tired, so tired. She slumped.

He got up quickly. He dug a pair of surgical gloves from his
side pocket. He put them on, and then going to her limp body, he pushed back
her eyelids, checking her eyes. They were hazed over, unseeing.

He smiled and removed a 16 oz. bottle of vodka from an inner
pocket. He twisted the top off and put it carefully on the stand beside her.
Lifting her by the back of the neck, he forced her head back, her throat open.
He slowly poured the alcohol down her throat. She choked on occasion, but he
covered her mouth, let it pass, and then poured a little more. He patiently
continued the process until the bottle was half gone, then satisfied, he
wrapped her right hand around the bottle, being sure her fingerprints were on
it, then set it on the stand beside her.

He took the tray with the coffee cups and plate of cookies
to the kitchen. He carefully washed and dried each item, finding where they
belonged, and putting them away.

Looking through the cupboards, he found a small glass. He
brought it into the living room, poured a few drops of vodka into it, swished
it around, and put that into her hand as well. He raised it up and looked at
it. Her fingerprints were clearly visible on the glass. He set the glass on the
stand.

Next, he hurried up the steps to the second floor. He knew
where her room was. Her bottle of pills was on the stand. He grabbed the bottle
and looked at the label. Lorazepam. He hurried downstairs, and popped the top
off. He placed the lid on the stand, then counted out some pills, and dumped
them in his pocket. He put the now nearly empty bottle of Lorazepam on the
stand beside the glass.

He reached into another inner pocket and withdrew a cash
register receipt. The receipt was for a bottle of vodka he had purchased that
morning from a nearby store. He hurried to the kitchen. Her handbag was in a
basket on the kitchen counter. He snapped it open, dropped the receipt in,
snapped it shut again, and carefully put the handbag back into the basket.

He stopped and thought for a minute, looking around. Everything
seems to be fine. He went and checked her pulse. It was getting weaker.
Satisfied, he moved quickly to the door. He opened it a bit and looked out. All
clear.

He turned the lock on the doorknob so it would lock when
closed, and being extra careful now, he stole out the door, shutting it firmly
behind him. He strode quickly to the street. Again, he avoided passing traffic
once or twice, and before long, he was safely gone.

Chapter 9

Wednesday, August 17th, 5:15 PM

PHILIP MACY closed the ledger and gathered up the loose
papers on his desk, stuffing them into a file folder. He dropped them into a
drawer and pushed back from his desk.

He had tried to reach Abby a couple of times that afternoon
but she wasn’t picking up the phone. He tried once more now, but got the same
result. No answer. He dropped the phone back into its cradle.

Samantha had already gone home for the evening, and the
office was empty except for him. He sighed wearily as he stood up, grabbed his
briefcase, and left the suite of offices, locking up behind him. He hurried
down the two flights of stairs to the underground parking.

He tossed his briefcase into the back seat of his Lexus and
headed for home. He tried again to call her from his cell phone. Still no
answer. This is not like her. She always answered the phone if the caller ID
showed it was him.

He spun into the driveway and threw the gearshift in park.
Forgetting his briefcase, he jumped from the car and sprinted up the steps to
the front door.

As he pushed the key into the lock and swung it open, he
knew something was wrong. The door wasn’t chained the way Abby had always left
it lately when she was there alone. Perhaps she had gone out for a walk.