Fugitive Justice (3 page)

A man dressed in a guard’s uniform wheeled his chair back from the desk and introduced himself. “I’m Buck,” he said, offering a hand.

Hank shook his hand and King nodded.

“I’d like to see the video from the time of the robbery,” Hank said.

Buck motioned toward the monitors. “All cued up and ready to go. Four different videos from four different cameras. One outside the front door and three inside.”

Hank leaned in as Buck started the first video. It showed a view from the rear of the main room, and they watched the unsettling scene unfold. The robber entered the bank and approached the teller, then the exchange between the killer and Buck took place, resulting in the taking of a hostage. The manager drew a sharp breath as a gunshot sounded and the hostage fell to the floor.

Buck cued up the other videos, one by one, and the group watched the same events over and over again.

Hank pointed to the first video. “That’s the only one that catches the whole thing in detail.”

“But none of them show more than a partial view of the killer’s face,” King said.

“We’ll go over them all a hundred times if we have to. We’ll find something,” Hank said and turned to Buck. “I need copies of these videos at once.”

Buck grinned and scooped up a flash drive from the desk. “Right here,” he said, holding it out.

Hank took the recording and dropped it into his jacket pocket, then turned to King. “You interview the manager, then see what Buck can tell you about the robber. I’ll talk to the other witnesses.”

Hank returned to the main room and approached the group of women. Two were in their early twenties, one a few years older. He was especially interested in what the teller who had confronted the robber had to say.

He sat on the edge of the only unoccupied chair, introduced himself, then said, “We’ll get detailed statements from all of you later, but right now, I have a few questions.”

The older woman nodded. The other two remained silent and waited for him to continue.

Hank pulled out a notepad and pen and started by getting the names of the women, jotting the information down.

“Which one of you is the teller?” he asked.

One of the two girls raised a trembling hand. She appeared still shaken from her ordeal, and Hank smiled in an attempt to put her at ease.

“Can you describe his voice?” he asked, leaning in.

“Just a regular voice.”

“High-pitched? Deep?”

The girl shook her head. “I … I was kinda nervous. It sounded normal to me.”

Hank smiled again. “What about his eyes? Anything distinguishable about them?”

“They were brown … I think.”

“Was he wearing any jewelry?” Hank asked. “Necklace, rings?”

“Maybe. I … I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t notice.”

“A watch, perhaps?”

She shrugged.

“What about the way he spoke?” Hank asked. “Did he have an accent, or anything that sticks out as being different?”

She shook her head again.

“What happened after you gave him the money?”

“He left and I hid behind the counter. I didn’t see anything after that.”

Hank sighed lightly and turned to the other young woman. She was more nervous than the first, and she claimed not to have seen anything useful, unaware of the events taking place until Buck had approached the gunman. She had immediately ducked down behind the counter until it was over.

He looked at the older woman. “Can you tell me anything?”

She motioned toward a glass-walled cubicle not far away. “I was in my office,” she said. “I ducked down behind my desk when I saw what was taking place.” She paused. “When his mask was pulled off, I saw his face, but not very clearly.”

“Do you think you could recognize him again?” Hank asked.

“I … I don’t know. He was tall and clean-shaven. Very muscular. And he had short dark hair.” She shrugged. “Maybe I could pick him out of a lineup, but he didn’t look much different than thousands of other guys.”

Hank glanced at the cubicle and then toward the front doors. It was a distance of about twenty-five feet. He turned back to the woman. “This is important. You might be the only one who saw him.”

“I only caught a brief glimpse of him,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you.”

Hank handed business cards around, thanked the women, and stood. “If you think of something, please contact me. An officer will take your statements before long.”

One of them might remember something after having had a chance to calm down, but right now, he had gotten about all he was going to get from them.

He headed toward the exit. King had returned and was waiting near the front doors, chatting with Jameson. The body of the victim had been removed, and CSI was packing up.

“Get anything?” Hank asked King.

“Robber got away with forty-eight hundred,” he said. “The hundreds were marked.” King paused and shrugged. “The manager didn’t see his face.”

“And Buck?”

“Buck had nothing he could tell me that would identify the guy. He never saw his face, either. Said the guy had a swing on him like a gorilla. Knocked him down before he had a chance to do anything.”

Unless one of the witnesses remembered something vital, Hank’s best chance of identifying the killer would be from the video. Their technical whiz would soon be taking a close look at it, and Hank had high hopes for its usefulness.

King stepped outside and Hank followed. He glanced around, his eyes stopping on the Channel 7 Action News van, further blocking the already slow-moving traffic on Main Street.

He didn’t want to waste any time talking to Lisa Krunk right now. He scanned the crowd and spied her cameraman, Don, as he took video of the scene outside the bank. But Lisa was nowhere around. She had to be sticking her long nose in somewhere, and he decided to scram before she tracked him down.

He had nothing he could share right now, anyway. She’d have to wait for an official statement like the rest of the media.

Besides, there was a killer out there somewhere, and it was Hank’s sworn duty to bring him in as soon as possible.

Chapter 4

DAY 2 - Tuesday, 8:44 a.m.

ANNIE JUMPED WHEN the front door slammed, and she wondered when Matty would ever learn how to close a door properly. He’d rushed from the house and, along with his best friend Kyle from next door, would walk the two blocks to school, as usual.

Jake was in the garage, changing the oil on his car. Again. He kept his 1986 Pontiac Firebird in top shape, and he was always fiddling with something or other out there.

And Annie had the house to herself. At least for a while, she could enjoy a little peace and quiet.

She and Amelia had talked until late last night. Jake had gone to bed, and she’d taken Amelia home and put off straightening up the house until morning. Last night’s dinner dishes sat in the sink along with today’s breakfast dishes, and though Jake had offered to clean up, she’d declined. Not that he didn’t know how to wash a dish or two. He just wasn’t that good at it.

Maybe it was a guy thing. Who knows? He could spit-shine the Firebird until it sparkled, but couldn’t manage to remove the grease from a kitchen plate. She assumed it was caused by a mental block of some kind, specific to the male of the human species.

She had just dunked her hands in the warm sudsy water when Jake wandered into the house. After washing the grime from his hands, he helped her dry the dishes. He wasn’t too bad at that.

Then a ringing sound came from the office.

“That’s my cell,” Jake said, tossing the towel on the counter. “I wondered where I left that thing.”

He strode to the office, and Annie heard him carrying on a conversation. She poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Jake and settled down at the kitchen table.

Today was going to be a lazy day. She had a couple of hours of research to do for a client and, unless something else came up in the meantime, the rest of the day was free.

She wanted to catch up on some of her studies on crime scene technique. Her small library was bulging with unread books, and she was determined to learn as much as possible about all aspects of criminal investigations.

And maybe she’d go for a ride in her new car—just to get the hang of it. They’d only picked it up from the dealership the morning before, and she was aching to get it on the highway.

Jake came into the room, sat at the table, and took a short sip from his mug. “Looks like I might have to do another stakeout,” he said. “Another cheating spouse.”

“There’s no shortage of those,” Annie said, then sighed. “I assume you’ll be wanting to use my car.”

Jake shrugged. “Not much choice. Mine’s too conspicuous for a stakeout.”

There went the car ride.

“I have an appointment to meet her at nine thirty, and she wants me to get on it this morning,” Jake said. “I have no idea how long I might be. You know how it is with these things.”

Annie knew how it was. In the past, Jake had spent anywhere from a few minutes to a few days staking out a variety of places. As long as the client paid, Jake didn’t complain all that much. At least it was safer than chasing down killers.

Jake took a long sip of coffee, then set it down and went back to the office. He returned a few minutes later with a sports bag stuffed full of the necessary equipment, including a pair of binoculars and a Nikon digital camera with a powerful zoom lens.

He dropped the bag onto the table, then picked up his coffee and went into the living room. In a moment, the sound of the television could be heard.

Annie put together some sandwiches, tucked them into the bag along with a few bottles of cold water, and sat down to finish her coffee.

“Come here a minute,” Jake called from the other room.

He was pointing at the television when Annie joined him in the living room. “You missed it,” he said. “It was a story about the bank robbery last night. I haven’t talked to Hank yet today, but according to the reporter, they haven’t caught the guy yet.”

“Do they know who they’re looking for?”

“Apparently not. He wore a mask, and he killed the only person who saw his face. A woman. She happened to come in when the guy was leaving.”

Annie frowned. “Did he get away with any money?”

“A few thousand.”

Annie’s frown deepened. The cold-blooded killer had traded the life of an innocent woman for chump change. And now the family of the dead woman would suffer a lifetime because of one heartless act.

Jake turned off the television and they went back to the kitchen.

He looked at his watch. “I guess I’d better get going. I have to meet Mrs. Overstone at a coffee shop on the other side of town, and I’d better not be late. She sounded rather anxious on the phone.”

Annie pointed with reluctance to a wicker basket on the counter. “There’re my car keys. Be careful with it,” she said, and she knew he would.

Jake grabbed the keys, checked his cell phone, then slung the bag over his shoulder. He turned to give Annie a quick kiss and then went out the front door.

Annie stood in the doorway and watched him get into the car and drive away. She hoped his task wouldn’t take too long. She had really wanted to take the car for a spin.

She went back to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee, then went to the office and buried herself in research.

It wasn’t all that bad. At least it was quiet, and she had the house to herself again.

Chapter 5

Tuesday, 9:28 a.m.

JAKE ARRIVED AT Crosstown Coffee two minutes early and went inside and glanced around. He knew from experience, this small shop on the edge of town was famous for some of the best coffee around. It was usually packed with coffee lovers, and today was no exception.

He maneuvered his way around a long lineup of customers waiting for service and scanned the seating area with his eyes.

The name of the woman he had an appointment to meet was Merrilla Overstone. She had said she’d be wearing a dark green suit. She signaled him with a short hand wave when he spied her over in the far corner, huddled at a small table, her back to the wall.

He acknowledged her wave with a nod and weaved down the narrow aisle between the occupied seats, approaching her table.

“Merrilla Overstone?”

She nodded and motioned for him to take a seat opposite her. “Please, call me Merrilla,” she said.

Jake introduced himself and shook her hand, giving her one of his business cards. She glanced at the card as he settled into a hard chair, brushed aside a container of sugar and artificial sweeteners, and dropped his arms on the tiny round table.

Merrilla Overstone was dressed in a well-fitting, dark olive-green business suit with a white frilly blouse underneath the jacket. Jake estimated the woman to be in her midforties. Her slightly roundish face gave her a youthful look, but the worry lines around her troubled hazel eyes showed she was under some recent strain. She sat straight-backed, a small handbag in her lap and a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Thank you for coming,” she said in a low voice. Her friendly smile grew wider and she pushed a paper cup toward him. “I thought you might like a cup of coffee. I didn’t know how you take it.”

Jake popped the top off and took a sip of the hot liquid. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

She cleared her throat and glanced at a couple enjoying a donut for breakfast at a table barely an arm’s length away. They paid no attention, and she brought her gaze back toward Jake and leaned closer, speaking in a hushed tone. “As I told you on the phone, I’m sure my husband’s having an affair.”

“And you want me to get some evidence of his infidelity,” Jake said matter-of-factly, keeping his voice low to match hers.

She nodded. “I need real proof.” She sipped at her coffee, holding the cup in two hands, pleading with her eyes as she watched him over top.

Jake took a deep breath and sat back. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I can surveil him and document where he goes and who he meets. I can take all the pictures you want, but I don’t break into houses or pop into bedrooms with a camera in my hand and catch them in the act.”