Silent Justice (6 page)

King took the bag and squinted at the contents. “It’s a rose,” he said.

“Obviously,” Hank said. “But it was found in the mouth of the victim. Any idea what it might mean?”

King held up the bag and frowned at the flower. He shook his head slowly, then his eyes brightened. “A red rose represents love and romance. Maybe the killer was in love with the victim, she turned him down, and he wasn’t too happy about it.” He shrugged. “He might be saying, ‘If I can’t have you, nobody can.’”

Hank thought about that. “It’s a good theory. And if it’s true, then this Adam Thor is someone she knew well. Perhaps he’d been stalking her. She obviously knew him well enough to know his name.”

Callaway came over to Hank’s desk. He carried a printout and he slid it in front of Hank. “I went through all the vehicle registrations for variations on the name Adam Thor but found nothing within a fifty-mile radius.”

Hank looked at the printout. “Then what’s all this?”

“I kept looking,” Callaway said. “I searched within fifty miles for any vehicles registered in a last name beginning with ‘Thor.’ I narrowed the search down to only black vehicles and came up with two possibilities.”

Hank ran his finger down the page. “Virginia Thorburn and James Thorbury.”

Callaway continued, “James Thorbury lives out of town and he’s a judge. Not a likely suspect, but not impossible.”

“And Virginia Thorburn?” Hank asked.

“Virginia Thorburn lives north of town. Number 112 Mill Street. Owns a black 2005 Honda Accord.” Callaway paused. “And here’s the kicker. She has a twenty-three-year-old son. Are you ready? His name’s Adam Thorburn.”

Hank sat back and folded his arms, looking at King. “Could be him. Driving his mother’s car.” Hank looked at Callaway. “Does he still live with his mother?”

“From what I could find out, yes, he does.” Callaway pointed to the paper in Hank’s hand. “And he was a student at Richmond North High School. Dropped out seven years ago without graduating.”

Hank sat forward and smiled grimly. “That’s gotta be him. Explains why King couldn’t find anything in the school records or Nina’s White’s files.” He looked up. “Thanks, Callaway. Good job.”

“Need anything else, just let me know, guys. You know where to find me,” Callaway said as he turned away.

“Looks like we have enough for a search warrant, King,” Hank said. “Let’s get everything together and talk to a judge. And we’ll bring Thorburn in for some serious questioning.”

Chapter 10

Tuesday, 1:27 p.m.

WITH THE EVIDENCE Hank had accumulated, he was able to get an immediate warrant allowing a search of the house and property where Adam Thorburn lived, including the vehicle Hank suspected had been used as the murder weapon.

Two police cruisers, along with the two detectives following in Hank’s car, made their way silently down the street and pulled in front of a beat-up house in a rundown neighborhood. A search team was close behind, ready at Hank’s signal to do a meticulous search of the property.

The squat bungalow at 112 Mill Street was one of many in this time-worn community on the edge of town, the dwellings erected decades ago, long forgotten by progress that had torn down and rebuilt other areas of the growing city. Home to the uneducated and the unlucky, ownership in this neighborhood was cheap, the rent even cheaper, and the occupants stubbornly clung to their habitations.

Or perhaps it was because no one wanted to buy cheap, tear down the old, and build bigger, in this undesirable community with nothing but riffraff for neighbors. The nearby steel mill, long criticized for pumping out toxic fumes, was an additional deterrent to much-needed renewal.

As officers sprang from their vehicles and surrounded the house, Hank and King got out and approached a black 2005 Honda Accord parked in the driveway. Hank went immediately to the front of the vehicle.

“Looks like the one,” he said, pointing to a scratched bumper and a smashed fender. He crouched down and examined the bumper. Amid the scratches, flecks of white paint were visible. He examined the fender and saw more flecks of white paint.

Once CSI matched up the tire treads with the track from the murder scene and examined the tires for traces of Nina White’s blood, they’d have their proof and their man.

Officers were now at the front and back of the house. Hank strode to the side door, King following. They drew their weapons and Hank banged on the door.

“RHPD. Open the door,” Hank called.

He heard a rustling and the door moved inward, scraping along the floor as it opened. A woman in her late thirties appeared in the doorway. Her mouth dropped open and she raised her hands halfway, then took a step back, an astonished look on her face.

Hank held up the warrant in his free hand. “I have a warrant to search these premises.”

The woman’s large eyes became larger and she lowered her hands, clasping them above the waist of her tight, short skirt, her low-cut blouse revealing an immodest amount of cleavage. Cheap costume jewelry adorned her neck and one wrist. Gaudy earrings swung under her long brown hair, all in sharp contrast to her faded and worn slippers.

Hank moved inside and the woman stepped back, allowing him to enter the kitchen.

“Does Adam Thorburn live here?” Hank asked, glancing around the room.

She nodded uncertainly. “Yes … yes, but he’s not here right now.”

“Are you Mrs. Thorburn?” King asked.

“Yes. I’m Virginia Thorburn. Why’re you looking for Adam?”

Hank didn’t answer. He waved an officer inside to stay with Mrs. Thorburn as the detectives went through the house, clearing each room, searching for the suspect.

Adam Thorburn was not there.

Hank approached Mrs. Thorburn. “Where is he, ma’am?”

“I … I don’t know. What’s this all about?”

Hank paused and looked at the distraught woman. “Your son is suspected of murder.”

She gasped and a hand went to her painted mouth. “It’s not possible,” she said. “Adam would never hurt anyone.”

“Does your son work?”

“Yes … sometimes, but I don’t think he went in today.”

“And you don’t know where he is?”

She shook her head.

A search team had moved into the house. They would look for weapons as well as anything connecting Adam Thorburn to the crime.

Mrs. Thorburn dropped into a chair at the table, lines of worry now on her brow, her hands in her lap as she watched the proceedings. She looked at Hank as he sat at the other end of the table and removed a pad and pen from his pocket.

“Where does Adam work?” Hank asked.

“Mortino’s.”

“What does he do there?”

“He brings in the grocery carts people leave outside.”

“Do you work, Mrs. Thorburn?”

She nodded. “I’m a waitress. I work evenings, four days a week at a bar two blocks away.”

“Did you work last night?”

“Just Thursday through Sunday.” She shrugged. “The place isn’t busy enough the rest of the time.”

Hank made a notation in his pad then pulled out his phone. He found the number for Mortino’s, called the store, and was notified Adam Thorburn was not at work today. He was assured by the manager Hank would receive an immediate call if Adam was heard from or came into work.

Hank hung up and looked at Mrs. Thorburn. She was watching the search team as they browsed through cupboards and rifled through drawers.

“Mrs. Thorburn,” Hank asked, “did Adam go out last night with the car?”

She turned back, leaned in, and clasped her hands in front of her on the table. She dropped her eyes a moment, then raised them toward Hank, nodding her head briefly. “I was next door and came home late. But this morning, I saw Adam had taken the car out while I was away.”

“You noticed it was smashed up on the front?” Hank asked.

She nodded. “Yes. That’s how I knew Adam took it.”

“Does he drive it often?”

She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t have a license anymore. They … took it away from him.”

Hank leaned in. “Who took it away?”

She took a deep breath. “His doctor notified MOT that Adam has schizophrenia and it’s not safe for him to drive.”

Hank sat back and narrowed his eyes. “Why is it not safe?”

“He has delusions and hallucinations on occasion. And lately, periods when he blacks out entirely and doesn’t remember anything.” She frowned deeply. “Did Adam have an accident?”

“We believe he ran over someone. A woman.”

She tilted her head slightly. “But you said murder?”

Hank looked at the woman, distraught, worried, and fearful for her son. “It looks like he might’ve done it on purpose.”

She shook her head adamantly and spoke in a firm voice. “Never.”

“Perhaps there’s another explanation,” Hank said. “But it’s important we find him.”

She nodded and dropped her eyes toward her fidgeting hands.

Hank stood and went outside where CSI was examining the Honda. He approached an investigator who crouched by a front tire, scraping at a tread with a special tool. The investigator looked at Hank and said, “There appear to be traces of blood between the treads.”

Once the blood was examined, Hank was certain it would prove to be that of Nina White. “Do the treads match up with the track at the scene?” he asked.

“A visual examination tells me they’re similar, but I can’t tell for certain yet, Hank. Once we get the vehicle back and do a computer analysis of the tire, I’m betting we’ll find it’s the right car.”

The vehicle would shortly be transported back to the lab for further examination, carried on a flatbed truck to avoid disturbing evidence. But Hank felt certain they had the right vehicle and the right man, and he hoped the BOLO he’d issued on Adam Thorburn would soon bring him in.

He turned and walked around to the back of the dwelling and stopped short. He wasn’t a botanical expert by any means, but the red rosebuds on the plants along the rear wall of the house looked like the one found in Nina White’s mouth.

He plucked off a bud and tucked it into an evidence bag. The lab would know whether or not the two buds were the same species.

But even without that comparison, Hank knew they had more than enough evidence.

Now all he needed to do was find Adam Thorburn.

Chapter 11

Tuesday, 1:55 p.m.

ANNIE HAD CALLED Crystal McKinley on her cell phone as soon as they arrived home. The woman was out, but she arranged to meet Annie at a small cafe off Main Street at two o’clock.

Annie printed out several of the most incriminating photos and tucked them inside a manila envelope along with the flash drive containing the video. She grabbed her handbag and poked her head into the kitchen, where Jake sat at the table, browsing the newspaper.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she said, holding up the envelope. “I’m going to give this to Mrs. McKinley.”

“What about a refund?” Jake asked. “It didn’t take us all that long.”

“We’ll see,” Annie said. “I’ll offer most of it back.” She turned her head as the office phone rang, then looked at her watch. She was running close on time. Maybe she should let the call go to voicemail. She changed her mind and dashed into the office, answering the phone.

“Lincoln Investigations. This is Annie Lincoln.”

“Ms. Lincoln. Hello. My name’s Teddy … Teddy White.”

Annie sat and pulled her chair in to the desk. “Yes, Mr. White. How can I help you?”

“My wife was … killed yesterday. Murdered. I’ve talked to the detective several times. He said they have a suspect.”

“You would be better to let the police handle it, Mr. White. If they have enough evidence, they’ll make an arrest.”

Teddy White sighed and his voice shook as he talked. “The murderer has disappeared, and I don’t think they’re doing enough to find him. At first the detective wouldn’t tell me who it was, but I persisted, and he gave me the man’s name.”

Annie hesitated. She knew most victims are content to wait until the police have done all they can, but occasionally, there are those who are unsatisfied, don’t trust the police, or just can’t wait. That’s when Lincoln Investigations often got a call.

“I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to find him,” Annie said.

“Perhaps they are,” Mr. White said. “But there’re only two detectives on the case and I don’t feel confident.” He paused. “Can you help me?”

“Was the detective you talked to named Hank Corning?”

“Yes. Detective Hank Corning. That’s what his card says.”

“He’s very capable,” Annie said. “My husband and I have known him a long time.”

“Nonetheless, can you help me? Are you too busy?”

Lincoln Investigations had nothing pressing at the moment, but she didn’t want to interfere when she knew Hank would have everything under control.

She hesitated, then said, “We’ll come and see you before we decide.” She jotted down Mr. White’s address, looked at her watch, and agreed to meet him at home by 2:30 that afternoon.

She told Jake about the call, then hurried out the door, making it to the cafe a few minutes late. Mrs. McKinley sat at a table on a small patio out front and Annie sat opposite her, declining her invitation for a drink.

“I’m afraid your suspicions were correct,” Annie said, pushing the envelope toward her.

Mrs. McKinley opened the envelope and removed the photos, running through them slowly. Her face grew sadder with each shot. When she finished, she sighed and looked at Annie. “Thank you,” she said, her voice weak and lifeless.

“I’m sorry,” Annie said. “It must be hard.”

Mrs. McKinley smiled feebly. “Now I have to decide what to do with these.”

“The video is more of the same,” Annie said.

The woman nodded and tucked the photos back into the envelope.

“It didn’t take us more than a few hours,” Annie said. “I’ll give you a refund for the extra.”

Mrs. McKinley shook her head. “You earned it.”

“Are you sure?”