Cold Justice (9 page)

“In the coffee,” Jake suggested.

“Maybe.”

“Granted,” Annie said, “all of these things out of place don’t
mean a lot individually, but taken all together, it makes me suspect something
happened we can’t prove. At least, not yet.”

“My big problem is with the note,” Hank said, “or lack
thereof.” He guzzled the rest of his coffee and pushed the cup away.

“What about it?” Jake asked.

“Suicide victims almost always leave a note. Occasionally
they don’t, but with a suicide note the person who is committing suicide has
the last word, explaining why they felt they had to end their life, and to
bring closure to others, especially their loved ones, so there’s no guilt. And
usually there’s someone they want to forgive, and someone or something they
want to blame.”

“Knowing what we do about Abigail Macy, I’m sure she wouldn’t
want her husband to feel at blame,” said Jake. “I have to agree with you Hank,
it seems out of character for her.”

“But again, it’s nothing conclusive. Certainly not enough to
reopen her file.”

Annie said, “Maybe not, but it’s enough for us.”

“Annie and I are planning to see her psychiatrist this
morning, Dr. Boris Hoffman,” Jake said and shrugged. “Maybe he can tell us
something we don’t know.”

“We talked to him before, regarding Mrs. Macy’s report she
had seen a murder,” Hank said. “At that time, he stated she was showing
tendencies to be delusional and paranoid. Another talk with him might be a good
idea.” He shrugged, and added, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt, anyway.”

Annie was browsing the forensics report. She looked up. “We
don’t have much else at this point. We can talk to any friends or acquaintances
she may have as well. If Mrs. Macy was murdered, as we suspect, then it was by
someone she knew. I think she let him into the house.”

“So,” Jake said, “we need to get a list of everyone she
knew. One of them is likely her killer.”

“What’s the motive?” Hank asked.

“She witnessed a murder,” Annie said. “I believe he thinks
she could identify him, and he had to eliminate her as a precaution.”

“So find out who was murdered. If there was truly a murder.
And then you have your suspect,” Hank said.

“That’s our best bet,” Annie said.

“I have a problem with the pills,” Jake said. “How did he,
or she, get her to down all those pills?”

“Perhaps she was drunk, and then he forced them down her
throat,” Annie said.

“Or, dissolved them in her drink,” Jake said, and then looked
at Hank. “Do any of those reports say whether or not there was anything in the
glass? Any residue of Lorazepam?”

Hank shook his head. “There was no residue in the glass. She
had to have taken them directly in pill form.”

“Or in the coffee,” Annie added.

Hank agreed. “Perhaps.”

“Funny thing is though,” Annie said. “There were no dirty
cups.”

Jake shrugged. “She washed up.”

Annie nodded slowly. “Maybe, but then why didn’t she wash up
the coffee pot. She would have dumped out the rest of the pot. She didn’t drink
much coffee and likely had no plans to have another cup.” She paused, and
added, “And I believe the killer is a he, not a she. Remember, Abigail Macy
said it was a man she saw killing a woman.”

“Yeah, good point,” Jake said.

Annie glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “So, we need
to see Hoffman this morning. He said he could allow us a few minutes. And then,
we need to find out who Mrs. Macy saw being killed.”

“Good luck guys. I gotta run,” Hank said as he stood and
picked up his valise. “You can keep those reports. They’re just copies.” He
turned to leave.

“Oh, Hank,” Annie stood and asked, “Can you get me any
reports of missing persons from Sunday night on?”

“Sure,” Hank said. “I’ll see what I can come up with.” He
waved over his shoulder as he left, and said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

Chapter 15

Thursday, August 18th, 9:50 AM

THE SUN WAS blinking in and out from behind inky clouds. A
few drops of rain were already splashing onto the windshield of the Ford Escort
as Jake and Annie climbed inside. Thunder smacked a few miles away, rumbling
through the air, promising to bring more rain. It boomed again, this time
closer.

Annie tossed her handbag and umbrella into the back seat,
fastened her seatbelt, and turned the key. The engine spun and came alive.

She glared up at the sky and touched the wiper control,
slipping it into intermittent. It squeaked across the glass and settled again
into place.

Jake’s machine was parked in the garage, safely out of the
way of the rain that had been threatened that morning. It wasn’t used to seeing
rain. Annie’s car was. Jake wanted to keep it that way.

Annie looked over. “Fasten your seatbelt,” she said.

Jake could never get used to wearing seat belts. They didn’t
seem safe to him. All tied in like that. Hard to control a vehicle when you can’t
move around. Nonetheless, he wasn’t driving, so he snapped his belt on, and
powered down his window. Not enough rain yet to worry about a few drops. He
stuck his elbow out, and settled back.

Annie tugged on the shifter and touched the gas pedal. She
drove carefully from the driveway, down the street and took a left turn.

Traffic was thin. Usually was this time of day. Most people
were either at work already, or didn’t work at all. There wasn’t enough rain to
slow things down yet, just a dampening of the streets, making the tires squish
as they turned onto Main Street.

Dr. Boris Hoffman’s office was located on the second floor
of Midtown Plaza, above a pizza restaurant. Eat in, take out, and delivery, the
sign promised. Jake had ordered pizza there once. It was as good as any.

The steps to the second floor were to the right of the
restaurant. Annie slipped into a parking space directly in front of the doors
leading up, and they stepped from the vehicle.

Inside the lobby, a placard on the wall listed the
establishments occupying the second floor.

Annie pointed. Dr. Boris Hoffman. Suite 204.

There was no elevator, just stairs, and they climbed them,
entering through a door leading into a wide hallway extending for a distance in
both directions. An arrow led them to the right. They passed a few suites, and
stopped in front of a door with a shiny faux gold banner, the doctor’s name
stenciled in plain black letters. A handwritten sign below said, ‘Ring Bell and
Come In.”

They did.

A pretty young receptionist looked up as they entered. She
smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Jake and Annie Lincoln. We have an appointment to see Dr.
Hoffman,” Annie said.

The receptionist consulted a ledger. She frowned. “I don’t
see anything here.”

“We’re not patients,” Annie said. “We called earlier and
were promised we could see him for a few minutes at ten o’clock.”

The girl peeled off a sticky note stuck to the computer
monitor. “Here it is,” she said, looking up. “If you would like to take a seat,
Dr. Hoffman will be right with you.”

She picked up a phone and stabbed a button. She spoke into
it as Jake and Annie took a seat along a wall of chairs, packed together in a
row of four or five.

Jake browsed through a stack of magazines on a table in
front of them. Psychiatric Times. Journal of the American Psychiatric
Association. He looked for something worth reading, and settled on a three
month old copy of Time.

Annie was already browsing a magazine, flipping impatiently
through the pages.

The receptionist looked up. “You may go in now,” she said,
as she stood and went to a door to their left.

They dropped their magazines back onto the pile, stood, and
the girl swung the door open and motioned inside as they approached it. They
stepped inside the room, Annie leading, Jake followed.

Dr. Boris Hoffman was seated behind a large, and intricately
carved walnut desk, containing only a delicately decorated lamp, a photo, and a
pen resting on the blotter in front of him. Jake glanced at the photo. It was a
woman, nice looking, sophisticated, probably his wife.

Hoffman was resting back, his elbows on the armrests, his
hands in a praying position, tucked under his neatly trimmed dark beard. He
motioned toward a pair of guest chairs in front of the desk.

They sat.

Jake studied Hoffman. Maybe about forty years old, slightly
thinning hair, with no gray. Probably touched up. Looks like an expensive
suite. Maybe Armani, or Gucci. Jake didn’t know the brands too well. Nice tie,
too.

He took a quick look around the spacious area. Dark paneling
on the walls. Maybe walnut, or mahogany. A bookcase filled with rows of
matching books. A few paintings on the walls. Could be originals. Jake didn’t
know. There was a comfortable looking couch to the right, with a pair of
matching armchairs. The whole room had a rich, elegant look.

Hoffman spoke. His voice was slightly deeper than most. “I
promised you a few minutes, however I don’t know what I can tell you that may
help.” He sounded refined, well educated. Rich.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Hoffman,” Annie said. “We’ll
try not to take up too much of it.”

Hoffman nodded slightly.

Annie continued, “As you are aware, a patient of yours,
Abigail Macy, was found dead yesterday. An apparent suicide.”

Hoffman nodded again. “I am aware,” he said.

“We don’t think it was suicide.”

Hoffman’s brows shot up.

“We believe she was murdered,” Jake said.

Hoffman looked thoughtfully at Jake. “What brought you to
that conclusion?”

“There’s some evidence. A few things don’t make sense.”

“Such as?”

Jake ignored the question. They weren’t here to answer
questions. They were here to get answers to their questions. “Dr. Hoffman, we
had hoped to get some insight into Abigail Macy.”

Hoffman frowned. “I can’t tell you a whole lot,” he said. “Patient
confidentiality precludes me from discussing certain areas.”

Annie spoke, “I understand Doctor, but Mrs. Macy is dead
now. Confidentiality in many areas doesn’t apply, such as...”

Hoffman interrupted, “I am well aware of the exclusions. I
will conduct our conversation accordingly.”

Jake thought the guy was a bit of a jerk, but didn’t say
anything.

Annie spoke, “Dr. Hoffman, Mrs. Macy had an appointment to
see you yesterday morning. We are trying to piece together her day. Could you
tell us, did she keep her appointment?”

Hoffman shook his head. “No, she never showed up.”

“Was that unusual for her?”

Hoffman nodded. “I believe it was the only time.”

“She had been seeing you quite often over the last month,”
Annie said. “Can you tell us a little bit about her state of mind?”

“I already spoke to the detectives regarding this.” He
frowned.

“Yes, I realize that, but we would like to hear it first
hand. And perhaps there may be something you can add.”

Hoffman thought a moment. “As I stated, she had anxiety
disorder brought on by the death of her child. This had been making her
delusional and paranoid at times.”

“Did she express any of her delusional thoughts to you?”

“Not explicitly, but her overall state of mind suggested it.”

“Did she ever appear suicidal, or have any thoughts of
suicide?” Jake asked.

“Yes. She certainly did. She occasionally expressed her lack
of the will to live. She was very depressed at times, and a deep depression can
cause you to take actions you wouldn’t normally consider.”

Annie nodded. “Yes, I understand that, however, did she ever
mention specifically any attempts she had made?”

“No, she never specified any attempt. I believe she had been
considering it for some time, however, before finally acting on it.”

“So it’s your professional opinion then, that she took her
own life?”

“Yes. I believe she did. She felt she was to blame for the
death of her child.”

“And yet, she didn’t leave a note. Isn’t that unusual,
Doctor?”

“I can’t speak to that. I don’t have any information on why,
or why not, suicide victims write notes. Frankly, in the years I have been
involved in this field, I have only counseled one other person, many years ago,
who eventually took his own life.”

Annie hesitated. She looked at Jake for a moment before
looking back at Hoffman, “Dr. Hoffman, Mrs. Macy had claimed to have witnessed
a murder on Sunday evening. What’s your opinion of that claim?”

“Again, I believe she was delusional. When the police
interviewed me, they told me she had consumed a significant amount of alcohol.
I believe the alcohol, coupled with the medications, had caused her delusion
and paranoia.”

Annie nodded. “Is there anything else you could tell us,
Doctor?”

“I really can’t think of anything else. Unfortunately,
Abigail Macy was in an unwell state of mind. Her death is sad, but not totally
surprising.”

Annie looked at Jake and then stood. She offered her hand to
Hoffman and they shook. Jake stood and shook as well.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jake said, as they turned and left.
They smiled and thanked the receptionist as they left the office.

Chapter 16

Thursday, August 18th, 10:43 AM

ANNIE SLIPPED the paper from the fax machine and glanced at
it. It was from Hank. It was a list of persons reported missing in the last
month.

She sat at the desk, dropped the paper in front of her and
studied it.

There were five names on the list.

The first name she was able to eliminate immediately. It was
a twelve-year-old boy who had been reported missing two weeks ago. She grabbed
a red marker from the penholder and crossed it out. Immediately, she felt
guilty about slashing his name out as if he didn’t matter, and felt sorry for
the boy, and his parents, and hoped he would be found safe.

She paused a moment before continuing down the list.

The second name was Betty Barnoble. Thirty years old. A
possibility. She ticked the name.

The third one. Nope. An eighty-four-year-old man had gone
missing two weeks ago. A note beside his name said he had turned up two days
later, wandering in the park.

She stroked that one out, and was glad he was safe.

The fourth name looked possible. Thirty-eight-year-old Vera
Blackley. She put a tick beside the name.

The last name was another man. Abigail Macy had said it was
a woman she had seen murdered. She crossed out the name and sat back, twiddling
the marker in her fingers.

She realized the victim could have been from anywhere. From
another city, or town, but she suspected they were local. That left two
distinct possibilities. Vera Blackley and Betty Barnoble.

She leaned in and powered up her Mac. In a couple of
minutes, a picture of Matty and Jake, wrestling in the back yard, appeared on
her monitor. She smiled at the sight of her two boys. It always made her smile.

She booted up Safari and went to Google. She did a boolean
search. ‘“Vera Blackley” AND “Richmond Hill”’. Nothing. Another search. ‘“Betty
Barnoble” AND “Richmond Hill”’. Nothing. It seemed missing persons were not big
enough stories to rate mentioning, even in the local papers.

She picked up the desk phone and dialed Hank’s cell.

He answered on the first ring. “Detective Hank Corning.”

“Hi, Hank. It’s Annie. I got the list of names you faxed me
and I see a couple of possibilities. There’s two local women on the list. Do
you have the police reports on Betty Barnoble and Vera Blackley?”

“One second,” Hank replied. She could hear the faint tapping
of computer keys. Then, “Betty Barnoble. Thirty years old. Reported missing by
her husband on August eleventh. Last Tuesday. According to the report by the
attending officers, Mrs. Barnoble had gone shopping out of town the day before
and never returned. Because there was no evidence of wrongdoing, only the basic
investigations were done. She was unable to be reached via her cell phone, and
after contacting her friends and family, there was still no trace of her.”

Annie was furiously taking notes. “Is she still missing?”
she asked.

“According to a follow up by the investigating officer, she
was still missing as of yesterday.”

“And the other one?” Annie asked.

“What’s the name again?”

“Vera Blackley.”

A few more key taps could be heard, and then, “Vera
Blackley. Thirty-eight years old. Reported missing this Monday, August
fourteenth, by her husband. He was out of town for several days and came back
on the fourteenth. He was unable to reach her by phone and he had tried calling
her friends and family. No one had heard from her since Sunday, the thirteenth.
Again, there was no evidence of foul play, so after the basic investigations,
it was filed away. A follow-up yesterday showed she was still missing.”

Annie scribbled a few notes on the paper beside Vera
Blackley’s name.

“There’s a note here by the attending officer,” Hank
continued. “The officer was of the opinion the husband didn’t seem concerned.
The husband stated, and this is a quote, ‘She probably just left me again.’
Unquote.”

Annie laughed, and then said, “Ok, that’s great Hank. This
gives me somewhere to start. Will you fax me over those two reports?”