Fugitive Justice (13 page)

It was up to Annie, and she couldn’t afford to sit around and wait for something to happen; she had to be proactive.

Merrilla Overstone was her best bet, but Annie had no access to the woman. The nearest thing was Merrilla’s husband. He had to know something—possibly some knowledge regarding the bank robbery his wife might’ve shared with him before she had been shot.

Whoever had robbed the bank had been an idiot for doing so. And he’d also been careless. Though the killer had been cold-hearted, would anyone foolish enough to rob a bank be concerned about eliminating a witness unless convinced the woman posed a threat? He’d only be putting himself in more danger, and it didn’t seem plausible. Annie was betting there was more to it than that.

Other than Merrilla getting a vague view of the killer from across the room, there had to be another connection between the two.

Was it blackmail?

But blackmail seemed far-fetched. Surely Mrs. Overstone knew the small amount of the take from the robbery. Why would a woman who was financially comfortable risk herself by blackmailing someone for a measly couple of thousand dollars?

What was Annie missing? What were they all missing?

She decided to go for a drive and take her chances. Her objective was to get into the waiting room of the hospital ICU one way or another and pray she’d run into Niles Overstone.

Annie got her handbag and keys from the kitchen and, in a couple of minutes, was heading toward Richmond Hill General Hospital.

She drove into the guest parking lot, marveled at the exorbitant price of parking, and pulled into a spot a few rows away from the front doors. Then, grabbing her handbag, she got out and approached the building.

As she neared the entrance, she stopped short and ducked behind a pillar. Niles Overstone was inside the lobby in the company of a woman, and they were heading for the exit.

The pair came out the doors, down the steps, and moved along the front of the building to a spot fifty feet from the entrance. They stopped and, in a moment, a cloud of smoke wafted above their heads.

Overstone’s back was to Annie, facing the woman, and faint sounds of their conversation reached her.

She approached casually and stopped beside them. “Good morning,” she said, aiming a smile at Overstone.

The man glanced at Annie and nodded an indifferent hello, then turned back to his partner as if to resume their conversation.

“I’m Annie Lincoln,” she said.

Overstone turned his head toward her, a strange look in his eyes. “I should’ve recognized you.” Then he frowned and glared a moment before asking in a demanding tone, “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you about your wife,” Annie said.

Without moving his angry eyes from Annie’s face, Overstone spoke. “Wanda, this is the wife of the man who shot Merrilla.”

Wanda gasped and took half a step back. Annie looked at the woman, who scowled back at her. Probably in her midfifties, Wanda was a good hundred pounds overweight. Hair puffed up in a sixties-style hairdo made her round, fat face appear even chubbier. A cigarette was tucked between her stern lips, one eye half-closed to prevent the swirling smoke from blinding her.

The cigarette wobbled as she spoke, and her eyes flashed in anger. “How dare you even come close to us after what your husband did to my sister?”

Annie looked calmly at the incensed woman and held her cool. “Mrs. …”

“Mrs. Tinker,” the woman said. “As if it’s any of your business.”

Annie forced a calm smile. “Mrs. Tinker, I’m very sorry about your sister, but I have good reason to believe my husband wasn’t involved.”

Overstone crossed his arms and spoke. “My wife said it was him. That’s good enough for me.”

“And me,” Mrs. Tinker chimed in. She raised her voice a couple of decibels and spoke in a mocking tone. “Of course, you’d stick up for your husband. Believing him with no proof.”

“Like you’re sticking up for your sister without proof?” Annie asked coolly.

Wanda Tinker popped the cigarette from her mouth and glared, unable to answer.

Annie turned to Overstone. “You said you should’ve recognized me. Why is that?”

Overstone frowned. “I’ve seen you on the news. Last week, my wife and I saw a story about you two. Claimed you were some kind of heroes.” He leaned in toward her, his eyes growing dark. “But as it turns out, you’re nothing but killers.”

Annie wasn’t getting anywhere by being nice. She decided to try a new tactic. “Mr. Overstone, your wife witnessed the bank robbery, and suddenly she’s deeply involved in blackmail. How do you explain that?”

Overstone scowled. “She had nothing to do with blackmail.”

“What about the text messages from her phone? And the phone calls to my husband?”

Overstone shrugged. “He must’ve been threatening her.”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t she report it to the police, or at least tell you about it?”

“I … I don’t know,” the man said, signs of confusion on his face. “Perhaps she was … afraid to say anything.”

“Mr. Overstone, your wife’s more intelligent than that. By not saying anything, she puts herself in even more danger.”

“Maybe she didn’t have time.”

Annie cocked her head. “But she had time to send and receive text messages and phone calls from the bank robber as well as from the person who shot her.”

Overstone opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. He closed it again and looked at Wanda.

Mrs. Tinker poked the cigarette back into her mouth and put her hands on her hips. “We don’t know why she made those phone calls. But she knows what she saw and who shot her. She also knows your husband robbed the bank.”

Annie disregarded Wanda’s comment and turned back to Overstone. “Your wife claimed you were having an affair. She hired my husband to find out the truth.”

“That’s preposterous,” Overstone said. “It’s a ridiculous assertion your husband made up in a feeble attempt to cover himself. There’s no truth to it. It only proves he’s lying to you and to the police.”

“And you don’t think it’s possible your wife was mistaken about who shot her?”

Overstone gave his head a vigorous shake. “Never.”

“Then why’d she give my husband two thousand dollars?”

Overstone frowned. “That’s more lies.”

“Her fingerprints were on the envelope of money.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what that means. Perhaps your husband was blackmailing Merrilla.”

“Oh? And what could he be blackmailing her about? Does she have something to hide?”

Overstone looked at Wanda for some help, but the woman was at a loss for words.

The man’s face flushed with anger. “I think you’d better go now.”

Annie didn’t move.

Wanda dropped her cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk, then brushed past Annie and strode toward the hospital steps.

Overstone followed her, leaving Annie watching them go.

She understood Niles Overstone’s anger. He believed his wife. But if he ever dared to doubt his wife’s word, perhaps he’d see things more clearly.

Not that Merrilla Overstone was lying, but Annie firmly believed the woman was delusional.

But with the weight of evidence so firmly stacked against Jake, she understood the man’s stubbornness. Given the same situation, Annie would no doubt feel the same.

She had hoped to come out of this awkward interview with something additional she could investigate. But with Niles Overstone refusing to budge, and with Wanda Tinker as his cheerleader, it had amounted to nothing more than an uncomfortable confrontation.

Chapter 21

Wednesday, 10:12 a.m.

WHEN HANK HAD LEFT the hospital, he’d been deeply disturbed. He’d hoped against all odds to hear Mrs. Overstone identify her shooter as anyone other than Jake. He still dared to hope she was delusional, or at least had been delusional when she’d spoken to him directly after being shot.

A couple more minutes with her at the hospital might’ve cleared up a whole lot of questions. Mainly, why?

It nagged at him continually, and perhaps only Merrilla Overstone knew the answer.

Hank sat in his car behind the precinct, running what little he knew of the case through his troubled mind.

He’d sent King to do what King did best. His partner was going to hit the streets, talk to some of his CIs, and see what he could do to dredge up a lead. If Jake was the shooter, he had to have gotten the gun from somewhere. It was a slim chance, probably futile, but there wasn’t much else for King to do at the moment.

At the very least, someone might know where Jake was hiding out.

All the obvious places had been checked. Friends and family of both Jake and Annie had been visited. Jake wasn’t dumb enough to take shelter in a spot Hank was aware of, and Hank had assumed any obvious avenue of investigation would be pointless.

He desperately wanted to find the man he hoped he could still call his friend.

And Jake had been a friend. Not only had Jake and Annie been indispensable to both him and RHPD in many investigations, but also, as long as Hank had known them, the pair had proven themselves loyal and caring.

When Hank had lost his six-month-old daughter many years ago, resulting in a broken marriage, their support had done more to help him through his heartbreaking ordeal than anything else. He’d leaned on them again years later when his parents died. Hank had been best man at their wedding. He’d been there when Matty was born, and he’d witnessed the look on Jake’s face when he first held his new son.

Through thick and thin, and in spite of ups and downs throughout the years, their friendship had not only endured, but had grown.

There was no doubt arresting Jake would be a painful experience, but if the chance presented itself, he’d have no choice but to do the very thing he loathed.

If Jake was guilty of the accusations against him, he could be anywhere. But, assuming Jake was innocent, Hank figured he’d be close by, doing whatever he could to get at the truth. That meant Jake would need some support. He could hardly depend solely on Annie. He’d never put her in that kind of danger and risk her being arrested as an accomplice.

He had to be with someone he knew—someone Hank didn’t know.

Hank closed his eyes and rested his head back. There had to be an answer. After a while, he smiled grimly to himself, opened his eyes, and started the car. He had an idea.

A few minutes later, Hank pulled his vehicle to a stop on the shoulder of the road short of the Richmond River overpass. He stepped out, hopped over a railing, and faced the embankment that ran down and touched the river below.

And that’s when he saw Jake.

His friend was sitting on the grass and leaning against a rock, his legs stretched out in front of him. He faced the river, his back to Hank.

He recalled that some time ago, a homeless man named Sammy had discovered a body and reported it. He’d gone on to aid Hank and the Lincolns further in their investigation. It’d slipped Hank’s mind and, in hindsight, Hank recalled that Sammy and Jake had struck up a strange friendship at that time.

And now that Hank had found Jake, he almost wished he hadn’t.

He stood still a moment, torn between calling for backup and trusting his friend to surrender on his own. The right thing, of course, was to call it in, but Hank couldn’t bring himself to do it. This was all too personal for him—for both of them.

Hank trod with caution, struggling to remain quiet as he eased down the bank, avoiding loose rocks and gravel. Halfway down, his foot loosened a clump of dirt, setting off a small avalanche of stones and soil that tumbled to a grassy patch ten feet below.

Jake rolled to his feet, poised as if ready to run.

Hank held up a hand in front of him, palm out. “Jake, wait.”

Jake stood upright, glanced down the riverbank toward freedom, then looked at Hank.

Hank moved down the bank a few more steps and stopped. “We need to talk.”

Jake edged away.

By the time Hank reached flat ground, Jake had moved twenty feet away and turned back, and was now facing the cop.

Hank stood still a moment and faced his friend. This wasn’t going to be easy. He knew Jake would never surrender without some assurance it was only temporary. And Hank couldn’t give him that assurance.

Jake folded his arms. “I didn’t do it, Hank. You know better than that. And if you can’t trust me, then you can’t trust anyone.”

Hank turned his head and watched the river flow by a moment. A handful of minnows swam in safer waters near the shore. A wild duck moved about lazily a few yards away, free to do as it pleased. Hank was the one imprisoned—caught in a wave of anguish, and he couldn’t escape.

He turned back to face Jake, bit his lip, and moved his hand under his jacket. His fingers caressed his service weapon, then his hand tightened around the grip and remained still.

“I have to take you in, Jake,” he said, hating every word that came from his mouth.

Jake shook his head, his eyes never wavering. “You’re not gonna arrest me, Hank.”

Hank blinked and hesitated.

Jake spoke. “Hank, it’s not that I don’t trust you to do your job properly and get to the bottom of it, but I have to be free to do this. I have to find out who set me up.” He shrugged. “If you can’t do it, that only leaves me.”

Hank fingered the trigger of his gun.

“If I can’t figure this out in a couple of days,” Jake said, “I’ll turn myself in. You have my word on it.” He paused. “But to prove my innocence, I need to know what you know.”

“Jake, I’ve searched desperately, and I haven’t found anything to back up your story.”

“It’s not a story, Hank. It’s the truth. And I need you to help me prove it.”

“Merrilla Overstone said you shot her.”

“She’s delusional. Confused. I tried to help her, not hurt her.”

“Jake, we’ve looked into Niles Overstone. He has a solid alibi and no motive. I can’t see any way he might be involved. And there’s no evidence either one of them was having an affair.”