Fugitive Justice (6 page)

“He said to call 9-1-1. So I did.”

Hank nodded. That’s what Jake had told him.

“An officer will take your statement, Mrs. Ford. Thank you for your time.”

She grunted and Hank went back into the kitchen. King was still working at the phone. “Did you get the number?” Hank asked.

King nodded, held the phone up, and Hank transcribed the number to his notepad.

Hank’s phone rang and he answered it. It was an officer who’d taken up a post at the hospital, guarding the victim in case the shooter attempted to finish the job.

“Mrs. Overstone wanted to talk,” the cop said. “I told her to wait for a detective, but she wouldn’t. She looked in pretty bad shape, like she could die at any minute, so I wrote it down.”

“What did she say?” Hank asked.

The cop spoke in a slow voice as he gave Hank the message. “Merrilla Overstone said it was Jake Lincoln who tried to kill her.”

Hank glared at the phone in confusion. It didn’t make sense. Jake couldn’t be a killer. But it all fit. The woman herself had IDed him as the shooter. And the witness had said there was only one man who had come out the back door, directly after the second shot. Jake Lincoln. And he had gunshot residue on his clothes as well as on his hands, and his prints were on the weapon.

Did that mean he’d also robbed the bank the evening before?

King’s mouth was hanging open, and he stared into Hank’s eyes in disbelief.

Hank spoke in a hoarse voice. “It’s impossible. There’s no way Jake had anything to do with this. He gave us a perfectly logical story that explains everything.”

“I hate to say it, Hank, but it’s just a story. I believe Jake, but the evidence says otherwise.” King paused and scratched his head before continuing. “With this kind of evidence, the captain would have our tails and maybe our badges if we didn’t bring him in.”

Hank blew out a long breath and looked at the floor. King was right. They really had no choice.

King continued, “The evidence points overwhelmingly to a charge of first-degree murder.”

Hank nodded, unable to believe the words he found himself saying. “It looks like we have to arrest Jake.”

Chapter 9

Tuesday, 11:25 a.m.

JAKE STRODE DOWN the pathway leading from the front door of the Overstone residence. He ducked under the tape and crossed the street to the Toyota.

He couldn’t remember if he’d locked the vehicle or not, but Jameson had been kind enough to give him the key from the stash of his stuff they were holding along with his clothes. It turned out he’d left it unlocked in his haste to investigate the shooting. He got in, set the key on the dash, and picked up the camera, laying it in his lap. Hank would need the photos to help ID the shooter. The camera hadn’t caught a view of the man’s face, but it would be better than nothing.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat and dialed Annie’s cell number. He hadn’t had a chance to call her earlier, and she’d be wondering what he was up to.

She listened with dismay, interjecting a “wow” or a gasp here and there as he explained the unusual situation he was in. “I have to give Hank the camera, then fill out a statement, and I’ll come home,” he said. “And I have a lot of questions for Merrilla Overstone once she’s able to talk to me.”

He hung up and searched for a pocket in his jumpsuit. There didn’t seem to be any. He put his phone in the glove compartment, picked up the camera and the car key, and stepped out. He stopped short, his hand on the open door, and glanced across the street.

Hank and King were coming down the pathway toward him. The two detectives were flanked by a pair of uniformed officers, their eyes on Jake.

Was Hank in such a hurry to see the pictures on the camera he couldn’t wait a couple of minutes? And why was he bringing a pair of cops with him?

As they drew closer, Jake frowned at the somber look on Hank’s face. One of the uniforms moved his hand to his weapon, and King looked like he was about to draw, as well.

The truth hit Jake and hit him hard. They were going to arrest him.

He froze, unable to move a muscle as he realized what he was up against. His head spun, confusing questions speeding through his mind. Why would they arrest him unless they thought he was somehow involved in the shooting? Perhaps it was on the strength of the neighbor’s testimony. She’d seen him run from the house with the gun in his hand. And Merrilla Overstone had somehow confused him with the real shooter, as well.

But he’d given Hank his story, and as unlikely as the situation seemed, surely his friend had believed him.

The cops were closer now.

Maybe Hank hadn’t believed him.

If he was arrested and held, he’d be in deep trouble. Besides Annie, whom could he depend on to figure this whole thing out? Surely the photos he’d taken would exonerate him. But they might not be enough, and if no one believed his story, it could be a very long time before the real truth was revealed. Too long for him to wait and rot in jail.

Now ten feet away, the uniformed cop tightened his hand on his weapon as if ready to draw.

Jake’s mind whirled. He couldn’t see himself held with the rest of the common criminals. Not that he was afraid, but how would he ever figure this out from behind bars? It would be impossible, and he’d only be able to depend on Annie and Hank. But Annie would be limited, and Hank had to follow the evidence wherever it led, and right now it was leading in the wrong direction.

There was only one choice to make.

Jake dove back into the car, hit the starter button, then pulled it into gear and rammed the gas pedal to the floor. The vehicle sprang ahead, and he was glad they’d bought a car with a lot of pep. But would it be enough?

He glanced in his mirror. One officer was chasing the vehicle on foot, while the other now had his weapon drawn. Hank stood stock still, his arms folded, and King seemed to be reaching for his handgun. Jake assumed they wouldn’t shoot at him. Certainly Hank wouldn’t, but he had to get as far away as possible.

Was he doing the right thing? Of course, the right thing was not to run—according to the law. But he wasn’t a criminal. He hesitated and let up on the gas pedal. Perhaps he should go back. Running from the law was never the proper reaction—unless you were guilty.

But he wasn’t, and he had to prove it.

He touched the brake and spun the steering wheel, turning onto a side street leading off Mulberry Lane. A siren sounded somewhere behind him, and he glanced in the rearview mirror. Flashing red and blue lights were closing in, and he stepped on the gas, gradually widening the gap between him and the law.

Jake took a left-hand turn at the next street. This was nuts. What had he gotten himself into? He thought again about pulling over and getting out. He’d drop obediently to the pavement, facedown, and put his hands behind his back and wait for the inevitable handcuffs. Then they would lead him away, lock him up, and bring the law down on his head.

No. He couldn’t let that happen.

Someone had set him up, and whoever was involved had done a good job of framing him. But why had they chosen him? Was he a convenient pawn in the wrong place at the right time? It seemed likely Merrilla Overstone was supposed to have died on the spot and had no idea what was going on, either.

But then, why had she returned home when she’d said she was going directly to work? Had she forgotten something and dropped by the house on the way? But if so, how had the would-be killer known where she’d be? Or perhaps he hadn’t expected to see her there, and she’d surprised him, and he’d had to deal with her.

Jake wanted to talk to the woman in the worst way, but it seemed out of the question now. He’d never get close. He had to get away, then talk to Annie about the whole mess. She might be able to come up with some much-needed answers. Of course they’d be keeping an eye on his wife as well, but as long as she wasn’t under any suspicion, she’d be free to ask questions of people Jake couldn’t get to.

And he had a lot of them.

He took another turn, the police not far behind, their siren still blaring. There was only one vehicle chasing him, but it would be more than enough. No doubt they’d already arranged to set up roadblocks in the area. He’d be trapped soon, with nowhere to go.

He had to ditch the vehicle; it wasn’t much good to him now. If by chance he happened to outrun the cops, they’d be scouring the city for the car. It would just be a matter of time before it was spotted.

But first, he had to get out of this neighborhood and get to somewhere more populated. Then he’d have time to think through the situation and come up with a plan.

Jake held the pedal to the floor and the Toyota zipped past a line of parked cars. He wasn’t all that used to the vehicle yet, but he clung to the steering wheel, leaning forward as the engine hummed. At least he was in familiar territory now, and he knew Main Street wasn’t far off.

He took another left turn and peered through the windshield. The stoplight at Main was red. He couldn’t afford to stop for traffic, and he prayed the light would turn green before he reached the intersection.

It didn’t.

He looked left and right, touched the brake lightly, and hoped he had judged it right. A truck rumbled through the intersection at Main, Jake’s vehicle nearing clipping its tail as the Toyota sped through the red light. The driver of another vehicle coming from the opposite direction laid on his horn and squealed to a stop in time.

He had made it through the intersection safely, but it’d been a close call. Now all he had to do was ditch the cops, then ditch the Toyota. He’d have to go on foot. Otherwise they’d catch him eventually.

He looked in his rearview mirror. The police cruiser had slowed at the light, and it was now easing through the intersection, not far behind him.

Jake took a right turn, pulled to the curb behind an SUV, and jumped from the vehicle.

He was on his own now, wearing a pair of coveralls that would be recognizable anywhere, with no place to run and nowhere to hide.

He was a wanted fugitive, running not from justice, but from injustice.

Chapter 10

Tuesday, 12:05 p.m.

HANK PULLED HIS Chevy in behind Annie’s Toyota, and he and King climbed out. Although he’d arranged for roadblocks in the area, he wasn’t surprised to hear the officers had found the abandoned car. Jake was much too smart to keep driving it around.

What bothered him most was that Jake had vanished. Given the overwhelming evidence, Hank knew he was duty-bound to bring Jake in, but he was finding it hard to believe his friend was a criminal. He’d known him and Annie a long time.

There had to be another explanation.

Hank went to the passenger side of the Toyota and opened the front door. A camera lay on the seat beside a pair of binoculars. Jake had said he’d taken pictures of the mysterious visitor to the Overstone home, and Hank was anxious to see them.

He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and handed another pair to King. Picking up the camera, he turned it on and fumbled his way through the controls. He raised his head a few moments later, a deep frown on his brow.

There were no pictures on the camera.

Not even one.

Why had Jake lied about that?

“Found a burner phone here,” King said, ducking out of the back door of the vehicle. “It was under the seat.” He handed the phone to Hank.

Hank took the cell and swiped through it. He consulted his notepad and said, “This is the phone that sent the text message to Mrs. Overstone. It’s the same number.” He swiped a couple more times and held the phone up for King to see. “There’s the message.”

“Am on my way. Bringing money,” King read.

Why would Jake have been bringing her money? If he’d been doing a surveillance job for her, like he’d said, he wouldn’t have been taking her any money. And if he’d gone to Mrs. Overstone’s house with the purpose of killing her, he would’ve had no reason to bring her cash.

Hank pulled out his cell phone and called a number.

“Jameson, it’s Hank,” he said into the phone when a deep voice answered. “I need to know the contents of Jake’s pockets.”

“Hold on a sec,” Jameson said, then returned a moment later. “There’s a business card here. Richmond Realty. It’s Niles Overstone’s card. The house address and a phone number’s on the back.” He read out the number.

Hank glanced at his notepad. “That’s Mrs. Overstone’s cell number,” he said. “What else?”

“There’s an envelope here stuffed with bills.” The sound of rustling paper came over the line, then Jameson continued, “All fifties. Do you want me to count it?”

“Yup.”

A few moments later, Jameson said, “Two thousand in fifties.”

“Anything else? No cell phone?”

“His wallet, his watch, a few loose coins, a photo of Niles Overstone, and a ring of keys. That’s everything.”

“Thanks, Jameson,” Hank said and hung up. He scratched his head. The take from the bank robbery was forty-eight hundred. Two thousand was less than half, but if Merrilla Overstone had been blackmailing Jake and demanding a cut, that might’ve been the agreed-on amount.

According to the bank manager, each bill in the stack of hundreds stolen during the robbery was marked. The fifties weren’t marked, so there seemed to be no way of tracing the envelope full of cash back to the robbery. He made a note in his pad to check with the manager again, but it seemed doubtful she’d be able to identify the cash.

Hank wondered why Jake would have a business card from Richmond Realty, and he was anxious to talk to Niles Overstone. Had Mr. Overstone hired Jake to kill his wife? If so, where did the bank robbery fit in?

Or perhaps Mrs. Overstone had recognized Jake at the robbery, told her husband, and the two had concocted a scheme to blackmail Jake. All the evidence appeared to fit that scenario. If so, Niles Overstone’s life might be in danger. Did Jake have a photo of Niles Overstone with him so he’d know what the man looked like when he came for him?