Web of Justice (2 page)

She turned her back and kept her head down, then raised her eyes. A shed the size of a garage stood ten feet in front of the vehicle. The rough wooden exterior was unpainted and weather-beaten, but it appeared solid. Was it to be her prison?

To her right, maybe a hundred feet away, an old two-story house was visible through the gloom. A pale light glowed in the front window. The rest of the house was dark.

He gripped her long hair and prodded her toward the shed. Then, holding her with one hand, he removed a key from his pocket with the other and unlocked the door. It creaked open and slammed against the inner wall. He pushed her through the doorway and into the darkness, stepping in behind her.

Chapter 2

DAY 2 - Tuesday, 9:15 a.m.

ANNIE LINCOLN turned her gaze from the computer monitor toward the ringing telephone on her desk. She swung her swivel chair around, picked up the receiver, and leaned back.

“Lincoln Investigations. Annie speaking.”

A man’s worried voice spoke. “My name’s Edgar Bragg. I … I’m calling about my wife. She didn’t come home last night, and I know something is wrong. It’s not like her at all.” He paused a moment before continuing in a pleading voice. “Can you help me, please?”

Annie sighed to herself. She’d been hoping to get a little free time today. She wanted to relax and take it easy for a while, maybe curl up with a good book in the backyard, or waste a little time at the mall.

She pushed aside a file folder, grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of paper, and scribbled down the man’s name. “We’ll do what we can, Mr. Bragg,” she said, her plan of relaxation dissipating. “Have you contacted the police?”

“Yes. Yes, I did, but they won’t do anything until my wife’s been missing at least twenty-four hours. I can’t wait that long. Something is terribly wrong.”

Annie looked at her watch. Jake had left an hour or so ago to serve some legal papers. She could go and interview the distraught man without Jake, but he should be back any minute.

“Mr. Bragg, my husband and I will pay you a visit right away. Are you home now?”

“Yes. I … I couldn’t go to work today. Not with my wife missing. I’m at 155 Walker Lane, apartment 202. That’s in east Richmond Hill.”

“I know the street,” Annie said, writing down the address. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

“Please hurry.”

That was it, then. Her mini-vacation would have to wait until tomorrow.

She got the man’s phone number, then terminated the call and dialed Jake’s cell. He’d served the papers without incident, and he expected to be home in less than ten minutes.

She reached for her handbag and peeked inside to be sure she had her notepad, a pen, and her digital recorder. She tucked the paper with Mr. Bragg’s address into the bag, put fresh batteries into the recorder, and dropped it back into the handbag. She’d be ready to go as soon as Jake arrived.

Annie turned back to the computer. She finished detailing a research report she’d been working on, then shut down the monitor and pushed back her chair. The rest of the research could wait. She had some background checks to do for Cranston’s, but that could wait as well.

Not so long ago, research and background checks for corporate clients had been her sole business. When Jake had been laid off from his job as a construction engineer at one of Canada’s largest land developers, he’d gotten the wild idea to expand Annie’s business into investigative work. She had balked at first, but he’d persisted, and after a few weeks of intense study and attending classes at Richmond Community College, they’d each gotten their license along with an official certificate.

Jake had dug a little deeper into the books and taken another course, adding a security license to his repertoire. “You never know when it might come in handy,” he had said. At six feet four inches tall, with an impressive physique, he was well suited as a bodyguard or for security service should the occasion demand it.

Since then, they’d never looked back. When Jake’s former employers had begged him to return, offering him a sizable salary increase, he’d politely declined. Thanks to recent successes in tracking down bad guys, their once fledgling enterprise now prospered.

Annie wasn’t sure what they could do for Edgar Bragg. A missing person often returned with a valid reason for their absence, but that wasn’t always the case, and Annie treated every client with the urgency they demanded.

With any luck, they could get this sorted out in no time.

She carried her handbag to the kitchen, set it on the table, and poured the last cup of coffee. As she pulled back a chair and sat down, she heard the unmistakable sound of Jake’s Firebird roaring into the driveway.

A moment later, the front door opened and Jake appeared in the kitchen. He dropped into a chair across the table from Annie and grinned.

“Got the papers served. The guy was pretty upset when he realized what they were. I hightailed it out of there before he took his anger out on me.” He chuckled. “People are never happy about being sued.”

Annie gave an understanding nod, then finished her coffee and pushed back her chair and stood. She glanced out the window toward the sunlit backyard, her comfortable chair on the deck, and thought of the cold pitcher of lemonade in the fridge. She took a deep breath and turned to face Jake. “Are you ready to go?”

“All ready,” Jake said, pushing back his chair. “We’ll take my car.”

~*~

DETECTIVE HANK CORNING raised his head and looked at the officer approaching his desk. It was Officer Spiegle, and the young cop looked like he had something urgent on his mind.

“Diego wants to see you in his office right away,” the officer said. “Apparently, it can’t wait.”

“Thanks, Yappy,” Hank said. He yawned, tossed his pen onto the desk, and pushed back his chair. There hadn’t been much doing the last few days, so he’d taken the time to catch up on some mundane paperwork. And though the day was still young, he was ready for a break.

He stood and crossed the precinct floor and tapped on Diego’s open door. “What’s up, Captain?”

Diego waved him in and motioned toward a man clad in a postal uniform, sitting in the guest chair across the desk from Diego. “This is Luke Rushton.” The captain leaned back and pointed toward a small, flat box on his desk. “He brought us an interesting package this morning.”

“It’s rather early for mail delivery, isn’t it?” Hank asked.

“This was a special circumstance,” Diego said.

Hank moved in closer and gazed at the package. It had no stamps or special delivery stickers on it. Instead, a handwritten message was taped to the top of the box, scrawled in red ink on a scrap of paper: “Deliver to RHPD ASAP. Urgent.”

Hank looked up. “What’s in it, Captain? What’s so special about it?”

“Take a look,” Diego said, leaning forward. “I had the bomb guys go over it before we opened it, and it’s been checked for fingerprints. Now I want to know what you make of it.”

Hank slid the box closer, folded back the lid, and looked inside. “It’s hair,” he said, frowning at the captain.

“Human hair,” Diego said.

Hank took another look inside the box. It certainly appeared to be human hair—a thick, black lock about twelve inches long, maybe more, nestled in white tissue paper.

Diego nodded toward the postman. “Luke, this is Detective Corning. Tell him how you came across this package.”

Luke Rushton straightened his tie, then turned in his chair to face Hank. He cleared his throat. “I got this from a corner mailbox north of here. Normally, I’d dump everything in a bag and take it to the sorting station along with the rest of the mail. But this one caught my attention.”

“How so?” Hank asked.

Rushton pointed to the box. “If you look at the outside of the package, you’ll see the same note on the top and bottom, and it’s written in red ink. Like the sender didn’t want me to miss his message.” He shrugged. “There’s never much in that mailbox for the morning pickup, so it stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“And so Luke brought it straight to us,” Diego said.

“Thought it might be important,” Rushton added.

Hank leaned against the filing cabinet and ran a hand through his short, bristling hair. He had no idea what the package was all about, but people don’t mail packages of hair to the police every day.

“What do you make of it?” Diego asked.

Hank pursed his lips. “Dunno. It’s strange.” He looked at Rushton. “I need to know exactly what mailbox you found it in and the approximate time, as near as possible.”

Diego waved a sheet of paper. “It’s all here.”

“Not sure if this is my department,” Hank said. “It might be a prank.”

Diego shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’re the best detective I have, so I wanted to run it past you.”

Hank grinned. “It doesn’t seem like I’ve been much help, Captain. I’m as lost as you are.” He paused and glanced at the package again. “But I’ll get a fingerprinter to check out the mailbox right away to see if they can find something.”

“Do you need anything else from Luke?”

Hank looked at the postman. “I don’t think so. Leave a phone number where I can contact you if necessary.”

“Got it here,” Diego said, waving the paper again. He stood and offered his hand to Rushton. “Thanks for your help.”

Rushton stood and shook Diego’s hand, then nodded at Hank and slipped from the office.

Diego dropped back into his chair, brushed at his bristling black mustache, and looked at Hank.

Hank shrugged. “I’ll let you know if I find anything, Captain. But don’t hold your breath.”

Diego dismissed him with a wave. “It might be nothing,” he said. He closed the box, handed it to Hank, and pulled over a file folder.

Hank went back to his desk, cleared a corner, and put the box down. He’d have to give it a little thought, but right now, he wanted to finish up the overdue reports.

Chapter 3

Tuesday, 10:13 a.m.

JAKE TOUCHED the brakes and swung into the circle driveway of the building Annie was pointing at. He found a vacant slot in the guest parking area and shut down the engine, and they stepped out and surveyed their surroundings.

Number 155 Walker Lane sat half a block down a winding street that led in and around a thirty-year-old subdivision. The three-story apartment building was one of a pair facing each other across the narrow street.

The stingy lawn bordering its concrete-and-asphalt surroundings looked like it hadn’t seen a lawnmower in a couple of weeks, and the grass could use a good watering. The building itself had known better days, its white enamel brick starting to chip and fall away. Rusty iron balconies jutted out, some now occupied by residents having a smoke or relaxing in the morning sun.

Jake led the way up the concrete path to the front door. Inside the lobby, Annie scanned the panel for apartment 202 and poked the button. Mr. Bragg must’ve been waiting. “Come in,” came immediately over the speaker, and the inner door buzzed. They entered the main lobby. Much like the outside of the building, the inside could have used a little loving care as well.

They took the stairs to the second floor and Jake knocked on 202. The man who answered the door looked agitated, beaten down, and stressed out.

“Edgar Bragg?” Jake asked.

The man nodded.

Jake introduced them, and Mr. Bragg stepped back and motioned them in. He pointed toward the living room and followed behind as they made their way into the room. The distraught man breathed out a weary sigh and dropped onto a stiff-backed chair. He leaned forward and waited while the Lincolns were seated on a flowery, outdated couch.

Bragg appeared to be in his early thirties and sported a massive shock of uncombed blond hair. He looked at them through tired brown eyes and worked his hands nervously. “I … I hope you can help me. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

Annie dug out her digital recorder and switched it on. She moved aside a drooping plant on the coffee table and set the recorder down. “We’ll do whatever we can, Mr. Bragg. Do you mind if I record the interview?”

“Not at all. And please, call me Edgar.”

Annie found her notepad and pen and sat back. “Edgar, when did you see your wife last?”

“Yesterday morning,” Edgar answered. “I went to work as usual. I left about eight and got home around five. Olivia wasn’t here. She works from noon until nine, and I expected to see her shortly after.”

“Where does she work?” Jake asked.

Edgar motioned vaguely toward the window. “A couple blocks away at a place called Phil’s Burgers & Booze.”

“She’s a waitress?”

“Yes. She’s worked there for a couple of years or so.” He paused and looked down at his clenched hands a moment, then back up. “I called there at nine thirty when I started to get worried. Phil said she left as usual just after nine, and he hadn’t heard from her since.”

Annie jotted in her notepad, then looked up. “How long have you been married, Edgar?”

“Almost twelve years,” Edgar answered without hesitation. “It’ll be twelve years next month.”

“In the past twelve years, has she ever stayed out all night without telling you where she was?”

Edgar shook his head adamantly. “No. Never. In fact, there’s never been a night we haven’t spent together since we got married.”

“Does she have a cell phone?” Jake asked.

“No. Neither one of us does.” He motioned toward a telephone hanging by the entranceway to the kitchen. “We have a landline, but cell phones are an additional expense we can’t afford right now.” He forced a weak smile. “We’re not much for talking on the phone, anyway.”

“What about her friends?” Annie asked. “Does she have any close friends?”

Edgar reached into his shirt pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and leaned forward, handing it to Annie. “I made a list. She knows two of the girls at work quite well. Other than them, she has a close friend, Jasmine Hyde. But with Olivia’s hours, she doesn’t socialize a whole lot. We spend most of our spare time together.”