Personal Justice (20 page)

The assailant shook his head. Jake moved forward, stepped over Shaft, and then ducked as the weapon whistled over his head. He grabbed the angry man’s leg, pulled, and the man went down.

Jake felt the weapon connect with his ribs. Once. Twice. He grabbed for it, missed, and rolled aside as the club swung again and smacked the asphalt with a dull thud.

He felt his aching ribs. He would be okay. Fortunately, the attacker was on the ground and hadn’t been able to wind up his swing, otherwise Jake might be lying beside Shaft, unable to move.

Jake scrambled to his feet in time to see the assailant straighten up, turn around, and run behind the next car, heading for safety, the weapon still gripped in one hand.

Jake followed, the pain in his side keeping him from making his best speed. He pulled out his cell phone and called 9-1-1 as he ran after the assailant. He gave his location and asked for an ambulance as well as a cruiser ASAP.

The attacker was fifty feet away, heading up beside the warehouse, but not gaining ground. Despite the ache in his side, Jake had stamina, and the man was tiring. It was just a matter of time.

They rounded the front of the building. Jake drew closer as the man dug in his pocket, removed a ring of keys, and slid to a stop beside a pickup.

Jake put on a burst of speed as the man hopped inside and slammed the door. The locks snapped shut and the vehicle roared as the engine caught. The truck began to back out.

Jake was too late.

No he wasn’t.

He dove the last few feet, leaped up, and landed with a thump into the back of the pickup.

If the guy was going to run, Jake was going with him.

The man turned and glanced through the rear window, his eyes wild, panic setting in. Surely he knew as well as Jake did, he wasn’t going to get away.

The truck continued to back up, and then it stopped and spun forward, heading across the lot.

Jake could wait it out. The guy could run as far as he wanted to, but once he ran out of fuel, it would be all over.

But then, Jake had a better idea.

He crouched down and picked up a tire iron laying on the bed of the truck, hefted it in his hands, and struck the tempered glass of the rear window with the sharp end.

The driver and the front seat of the vehicle was sprayed with glass as the window shattered into a thousand pieces. The man hunched forward at the steering wheel, raising his arm as if to protect himself, but the vehicle kept moving.

Jake tossed the iron onto the bed of the truck, crouched down, and smiled in the rearview mirror at the man’s frightened face.

“Maybe you should pull over,” Jake said.

“Never.”

“It might be safer.” He raised his fists for the man to see. “When I wrap these around your neck and squeeze, not only will you get hurt badly, but I’m afraid your beautiful truck will be half destroyed.”

The man’s eyes darted back and forth from the front window to the rear-view mirror. Jake saw him weighing his options.

They neared the gate, when finally, the vehicle slowed and stopped. The driver put the truck in park, dropped his hands to his lap, laid his head back, and sighed.

“Good choice,” Jake said. “Now unlock the door and get out. The police are on their way, and if you surrender now, things might go better for you.”

In perfect timing, a siren whined in the distance. The man flinched. It might be the ambulance, but the man didn’t know that.

A few moments passed, no words spoken, the man reached for the door handle, opened the door, and stepped out as Jake jumped from the back of the truck.

“You’re under arrest,” Jake said. “Put your hands behind your back.”

The man dropped his head and did as he was told.

Jake held the man’s wrists together, gripped in one large fist, and marched him to the rear of the building.

Shaft was sitting up, leaning against his vehicle, a hand holding his ribs.

Jake turned his head as the ambulance pulled up, a police car not far behind.

Shaft looked up at Jake. “Thanks,” he said grudgingly. “You might’ve saved my life.”

Chapter 38

Thursday, 11:44 a.m.

ANNIE GLANCED at her watch. She had an appointment with Sharon Stipple at noon and didn’t want to be late. Sharon was a cashier at Mortino’s, and Annie knew the manager of the large foodmart was a stickler when it came to employees taking extended breaks.

She selected a leather satchel from a shelf behind the desk, slipped in the folder she would need, and snapped it closed. She hung it on her shoulder, and on her way through to the front door, grabbed her keys along with a small handbag from the kitchen counter.

On the phone, Sharon Stipple had seemed like a nice person, loved to talk, and though Annie had a few questions lined up, she planned to see where the conversation led and follow it.

When she pulled into Mortino’s, the large plaza was as busy as usual, but she managed to get a spot close by the doors. She got out of the car and looked at her watch. It was 12:04. Sharon would be on her lunch break now.

She opened the front door of the foodmart and headed toward the back of the store. She knew where the break room was. She shopped here often, and when she spied the manager coming toward her from the far end of the aisle, she paused and smiled.

“Good afternoon, Mr. MacKay.”

Somewhat bow-legged with a slight limp, he favored his right leg as he walked toward her and stopped. “Afternoon Annie,” he said. He pushed his butcher cap back and rubbed his prematurely bald head. “How’s Jake?”

“Jake is well.” She paused. “I’m here to talk to Sharon Stipple for a few minutes.” She smiled again. “She should be on break now. I hope you don’t mind?”

MacKay glanced toward the rear of the store, then back at Annie, a barely perceptible frown on his forehead. “I guess a few minutes won’t hurt.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

“Okay, take care,” MacKay said, and waddled off.

Annie went to the rear of the store and stopped at an “Employees Only” sign taped securely to a swinging metal door. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Three people sat at a long table near the side wall. They leaned back, munching their meal, their eyes glued to a television hung in the corner. One was a young man, two were women. One of the women, a pleasantly plump young girl, waved a hand and sported an attractive smile. That must be Sharon Stipple.

“Sharon?” Annie asked, as she approached her. The girl nodded, the smile remaining, and motioned toward the vacant end of the table.

Annie shook her hand, moved down the table, and introduced herself as they sat. Sharon laid her lunch on the table and ate while they chatted about the weather, Sharon’s job, and the high price of groceries. The girl certainly loved to talk.

Finally, Annie moved the conversation toward the reason for her visit. “Sharon, I’d like to ask you about the Nortons. As you probably know, Michael Norton was found murdered yesterday and I’m investigating his death.” She paused. “How well do you know them?”

The smile on the girl’s pudgy face drooped. “So sad to hear about Mr. Norton. I’ve known him for a few years. They’ve lived there as long as I can remember. I didn’t know him real well. We said hello sometimes, maybe chatted a bit, but he always seemed like a great guy.”

“And Mrs. Norton?” Annie asked.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Don’t know her very well. I’ve seen her out the back, gardening, cleaning up, but we never really talked. Seems to keep to herself most of the time.”

“Did you ever notice them together? How did they get along?”

Sharon shrugged. “I never noticed anything unusual.”

“Never heard them argue?”

“No,” Sharon said. She cupped her hands in her lap and cocked her head. “I talked to the police about this already. They asked me the same question, but as far as I know, they got along okay.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been inside their house, so I have no real idea about their relationship.”

“I realize the police have talked to you,” Annie said with a smile. “But if you don’t mind, I prefer to go over it again.”

Sharon smiled wide. “I don’t mind. If you can find out who killed him, I’ll do whatever I can.” Her smile disappeared. “It’s a real shame.”

“Thanks, Sharon. I’m sure you realize how important this is.”

“Absolutely.”

Annie took a deep breath. “Michael Norton was last seen by his wife on Monday morning,” she said. “Can you remember when you saw him last?”

Sharon thought a moment, her green eyes far away. Finally, “I think it was Sunday afternoon. He was mowing the front lawn. I was on my way to work.”

“Did you talk to him?”

She shook her head. “Just waved. He waved back and that was it.”

“And you haven’t seen him since then?” Annie asked.

“No. That was the last time, as far as I can remember. I know I didn’t see him after work that day.”

Annie opened the satchel, removed a file folder, and laid it on the table top. She slipped out a photo and turned it around for Sharon to see. It was a red Ford pickup, the same as the truck Rocky Shaft drove.

“Have you ever seen a vehicle like this in their driveway?”

Sharon looked at the picture and shook her head dubiously. “I can’t be sure. It doesn’t look familiar.”

Annie removed another photo. It was of Rocky Shaft. She held it up. “Have you ever seen this man at their house?”

Sharon leaned in and squinted. “I don’t think so.” She looked at Annie and giggled. “I don’t usually pay a lot of attention, but sometimes they have guests over for a barbecue in the back yard.” She looked at the photo again. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him, though.”

Annie put the photo back in the folder and slipped out a shot of Werner Shaft. “What about him?”

Sharon’s eyes brightened. “I recognize him. He’s been there before.”

“Can you remember the last time you saw him?”

“Not sure. Maybe a couple of weeks ago. He was in the back yard having a beer with Mr. Norton and one other man.”

“Was Mrs. Norton there?”

“No. Just the three guys.” She paused and pointed at the photo. “Who’s he? Is he important?”

“He’s Werner Shaft. The man who was murdered Monday evening. Did you hear about that?”

Sharon caught her breath. “Oh. I heard about that. Did they find out who did it yet?”

“Not yet,” Annie said. “The police are still investigating and so are we.”

“So that’s what this is all about,” Sharon said.

Annie nodded, and then asked, “The other man in the back yard that day—do you know who he was?”

Sharon pursed her lips, shook her head, and spoke slowly. “No. That might be the only time I saw him there.” She tilted her head slightly. “I hope you don’t think I’m a nosy neighbor. I’m really not, but sometimes it’s easy to notice little things like that.”

“Of course not,” Annie said, tucking the photos back into the folder. She flipped it closed, dropped it into the satchel, removed a business card, and handed it to Sharon. “You can call me if you think of anything else that might be important.”

Sharon took the card, glanced at it, and smiled. “I’ll be happy to.”

“I’d better let you finish your lunch and get back to work before Mr. MacKay gets after you,” Annie said, as she stood. “I know what he can be like sometimes.”

“He’s okay,” Sharon said. “I know how to handle him.” She giggled. “His bite’s not half as bad as his bark.”

They said goodbye and Annie left the room, waved at Mr. MacKay on the way out, and went to her car.

The revelation Werner Shaft and Michael Norton socialized on occasion was interesting. Though Tammy Norton claimed otherwise, Annie wondered if the woman was more aware of that relationship than she let on.

Chapter 39

Thursday, 12:54 p.m.

WHEN HANK AND KING returned to the precinct, they were notified of the arrest of Stanley Asher. According to the report, Asher attacked Rocky Shaft in the parking lot behind Shaft’s place of employment. Hank grinned when he saw Jake’s name on the report.

A background check on Asher turned up nothing unusual—no criminal record, no prior arrests, and no pending warrants.

Hank let Asher stew in the holding cell while he went over his notes from the Harland Eastwood interview. It hadn’t broken the case open, but they had gleaned some information about the heist.

He was convinced Eastwood told the truth when he said his boss had no idea who robbed them of their ill-gotten gains. Once this case was over and done with, the names of any surviving robbers would be made public, and Hank suspected there would eventually be repercussions. The drug lords couldn’t afford to let that go—it was bad for business.

Hank pushed back his notes, stood, and turned around. King sat at his desk, his chair tipped back, one foot resting on the faux oak top. King browsed some paperwork, and Hank was surprised to see him putting in some rare desk time.

“Let’s talk to this Asher character,” Hank said, as he approached his partner.

King’s chair dropped forward with a clunk and his feet hit the floor. He tossed the papers onto his desk, yawned, and stood. “He’s in interview room one. I had him brought up a few minutes ago.”

King led the way across the floor and down a short hallway to the interview room. An officer stood outside the door to make sure Asher stayed put. He nodded at the detectives and stood aside as they approached.

Stanley Asher sat at the metal table gazing at his fidgeting hands. He glanced up briefly, a sullen look on his face when Hank pushed open the door and entered.

King stood and folded his arms, leaning against the wall, while Hank took a seat across the table from Asher, sat back, and observed the suspect.

Asher avoided Hank’s gaze for a few moments longer as the cop sat in silence. Then the man’s curious eyes turned upward, caught Hank’s stare, and his hands became still.

“Why’d you attack Rocky Shaft?” Hank asked.