Justice for Hire (13 page)

“It looks like another murder/suicide. A guy by the name of Harold Garrison, killed by an unidentified boy, who then took his own life.”

Jake and Annie exchanged a glance.

“Let me guess,” Annie said. “The weapon was a 9 mm Glock?”

“Hi, Annie. Yup, you got it right.”

“And no witnesses?”

“No witnesses,” Hank said, and added, “I’ll drop by and see you guys a little later. I’ve been making the rounds talking to friends and neighbors, and I have a few more calls to make.”

“OK, see you later.” Jake clicked off the phone, slouched back and whistled. “This is getting to be an epidemic.” He motioned toward the papers on the desk. “Did you come up with any more ideas there?”

Annie shook her head. “No, but I’m working on it.”

Chapter 24

Wednesday, August 24th, 2:45 PM

DAVID HAINES was tired of his father always harassing him about school, his grades, and studying. Confined in a classroom, or being suffocated in his room memorizing useless information from books, was not his thing. It bored him, and made him feel like he was wasting his life doing the will of other people; doing what they wanted him to do instead of allowing him to pursue his own ambitions.

He realized his parents weren’t all that bad, really. His father was a bit overbearing maybe, but at least they were still together. David knew of other kids who had only one parent, or none, or parents who fought all the time. Sure, they were ok as far as parents went, but they just didn’t understand him. He had no desire to be a carbon copy of his father, tied to the same dreary job for as long as he could remember.

He needed more freedom than that. Why couldn’t they understand?

He had lessened the agony of schooling by skipping classes whenever possible, and hanging about on the streets. What he really wanted to do was get a job, make some money, and be independent. No more pencils, no more books . . .

After all, he was sixteen now and was mature enough to make his own decisions.

He kicked at a carelessly discarded soda can, expertly maneuvered it into position, and gave it a solid kick, sending it tinkling down the alley to land against an overflowing dumpster.

It’s not that he was lazy; he actually wanted to make something of his life, but do it his way. And his way didn’t involve any stupid school or domineering teachers.

He was smart enough to know no one became a success overnight. Sure, he would have to work hard, and put in his time, but he would struggle his way up until he was the master of his own destiny. What’s wrong with that?

He just wasn’t sure where to start.

Of course, he would have to explain everything to his parents. He knew they wouldn’t see things his way, and if they kicked him out of the house, well then, he could, and would make his own way.

Across the alleyway, in the doorway of a deteriorating tenement, an unkempt man was leaning against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. David glanced at him briefly and kept on walking. He could tell a drug dealer a mile away, and even if he’d had the money, he wasn’t interested in their wares.

He had tried drugs once, at the insistence of a so-called friend. It could’ve been cocaine, or maybe heroin; he didn’t know much about drugs. It’d been ok, but he didn’t like the fact he wasn’t in control of his senses, and had no interest in trying it again.

A motorcycle roared behind him, making its way down the narrow alley. David flattened himself against the stained brick building to allow it to pass, and then wandered on, thinking, and planning his future.

He had to have a plan. Perhaps he could find a job flipping burgers, or delivering pizza. He’d heard there was good money in that, maybe enough to find him a place of his own, and start him on the road to better things.

In the shelter of a doorway, a homeless man was huddled on a bed made of cardboard covered with a filthy blanket. As David sauntered by, the bum sputtered and muttered, and peered at him with one cautious eye, clutching his rags about himself as if protecting his domain from an unwelcome intruder.

David paid no mind to the vagrant except to wonder how a guy could get to be that way. He wondered if the aging man had at one time had plans and dreams like his own, and had somehow, somewhere lost his way. He felt a flash of pity for what seemed to be a life gone wrong, and was determined never to end up like that.

He wished he had a couple of bucks he could give to the guy, but all he had was coffee money, and he wanted a coffee badly.

One cup of coffee, a quick drink. He would enjoy it for sure, but then, when it was gone, it was gone.

David sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. All he had. He turned back and dropped the money onto the blanket beside the man. The hardened face of the bum seemed to soften somewhat as he looked up a moment, and then snatched the coins, tucked his hands back under his tattered clothes, and continued with his persistent mumbling.

“Have a good day,” David said, as he turned away and continued down the thoroughfare.

He exited the cramped alleyway and stepped onto the crumbling sidewalk. The streets were narrow in this part of the city, the houses crammed together, disintegrating, and in much need of a repair job they would never see.

He didn’t often make it to this area, but he’d been wandering around most of the day, discontented and frustrated with the way things were going for him, and had ended up here, still filled with hope for the future, yet surrounded by an ambience of despair and hopelessness.

He paused to watch as a shiny black Cadillac Escalade came down the street toward him. It seemed rather out of place in this bleak neighborhood, an area more used to beat up cars and sluggish pedestrians than vehicles worth more than any of the houses in this forgotten community.

David shoved his hands into his pockets, stood and watched curiously as the Escalade drew closer and pulled to a stop beside him, its engine purring, its darkened windows concealing whoever may be inside.

Perhaps they wanted directions. David stood and waited.

Chapter 25

Wednesday, August 24th, 2:45 PM

ANNIE HAD JOTTED down Harold Garrison’s name when Hank mentioned it on the phone. It was another murder/suicide, obviously related, and Annie wanted to find out more about Garrison.

Hank would surely have some valuable information from his interviews, but perhaps she could supplement it with a little online research.

Annie rolled her chair a little closer to the desk, tapped the space bar on the keyboard and brought the iMac from its sleep. A web search for Harold Garrison brought up several possibilities.

The first result looked most likely to be the one she was after. It linked to a web site announcing Garrison’s run for city council. She scrolled through pages outlining his platform, the hopes he had for his ward, as well as plans for the city in general.

It appeared Garrison was an insurance broker who now had political aspirations. She clicked on a link that brought her to the web site for Garrison Insurance. The company appeared to have been in business in east Richmond Hill for over sixty years, passed down to Harold Garrison from his father, and his grandfather before that.

Not a very threatening business, and not likely to create any enemies who would want him dead.

She browsed a bit more, and as expected, didn’t find anything enlightening, just enough to give her an idea of who Harold Garrison was.

Jake came into the office and dropped into the guest chair. The chair groaned, but held. “Hank’s on his way here,” he said. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Doing a little research on Harold Garrison.”

“Anything interesting?”

Annie filled him in on what she’d found online. “As well, I gave Bobby’s aunt, Mrs. Mitchell, a call, to fill her in on what we’ve been looking into.”

Jake jumped up as the doorbell rang. “There’s Hank,” he said, as he left to answer the door.

Annie followed him into the living room, took a seat on the couch, tucked her legs up underneath herself and faced the hallway. Hank came in, gave her a big smile and dropped into the armchair while Jake slouched at the other end of the couch.

“It’s been a busy day,” Hank said.

“What’d you find out?” Annie asked.

“Not as much as I’d hoped, but I’m convinced all three murders are related. The same MO and the same type of weapon was used on all three occasions.”

“But did you find anything else to link the victims?” Jake asked.

Hank shook his head. “That’s the stumper. Until we can come up with a connection, and a motive, I’m baffled.” He leaned forward. “There are a couple of other interesting tidbits, however. First of all, there are the guns.”

“The 9 mm Glocks used for all three murders,” Jake said. “Yes, we know.”

“Not just that,” Hank said. “But we have a definite connection. All three guns were from the same lot. Manufactured at the same time, according to the serial numbers, and so purchased together. I have a call in with the manufacturer to see where those guns were distributed. I didn’t notice this at first, because the first two murders were initially treated as separate incidents, but when I started to put everything together, I took a closer look at the weapons, and that’s when I discovered it.”

Annie frowned. “But there’s no connection between the victims and the killers.”

“Not that I can find yet,” Hank said. “But there has to be something we’re missing. There’s got to be a connection.”

“All three killers were young,” Jake said.

“That may be a start,” Hank said. “However, two of the victims were older, and successful businessmen, but one was young and an ex-con. No connection with the victims I can see. I interviewed a lot of people. I can’t find any business, church, or anything else they have in common.” Hank leaned back and scratched his head. “I’m puzzled.”

“You said there are other tidbits,” Jake said. “What else did you find?”

“I got the blood results for Cheryl Waters. She volunteered, by the way. They came back positive for LSD, as well as trace amounts of scopolamine.”

“Scopolamine?”

“Apparently, it can be dangerous if not administered properly. Scopolamine can render a victim unconscious, and in large doses, it can cause respiratory failure and death. It’s sometimes used criminally as a date rape drug, and has been known to be used as a truth drug because it can lower a person’s inhibitions.”

“And used in conjunction with LSD?” Annie asked.

“Who knows?” Hank said. “It sounds dangerous to me.”

“So we can assume the third killer will show similar drugs in his blood,” Jake said.

“We’ll see. But I expect you’re right.”

Annie wrinkled her brow and looked at Hank. “So, since we have three seemingly unrelated victims, and three seemingly unrelated killers, there must be somebody, or something out there who’s orchestrating this.”

“To me, it appears the three killers have one thing in common, besides their age,” Jake said.

Hank glanced at Jake. “And what’s that?”

“Two of them are unknown, suggesting they’re either runaways or homeless. The third, Cheryl, almost fits into that category as well. She’s not homeless, but she’s transient. I believe her father called her, ‘flighty and irresponsible’.”

“You may have something there, Jake,” Hank said. “But we’re still lacking a motive.”

“With similar drugs in their system, and similar MOs,” Annie said, “it suggests to me the killers were all part of some type of organization.”

Jake interrupted, “And the fact two of the three killed themselves, shows they weren’t in their right mind.”

Hank said, “We can include Cheryl Waters in that as well. We know she wasn’t in her right mind.”

“So where does that leave us?” Annie asked.

Jake frowned. “Some kind of brainwashing?”

Hank pursed his lips. “It’s starting to look like it,” he said. “Or at least, some kind of coercion.”

Chapter 26

Wednesday, August 24th, 2:54 PM

THE REAR DOOR of the Cadillac Escalade slid open and David took a step forward. Two men in the rear seat looked his way and smiled.

“Excuse me.” The nearest man turned in the seat. He was holding a map, poking at it with one finger. “Could you direct me to this street?”

David took another step, leaned in and looked at the map. The location the man was pointing to was on the other side of the city.

Suddenly, the map whisked away, the man’s hands shot forward, and David was seized by both arms and pulled off balance. He stumbled once, and before he could react, was dragged into the vehicle and something pulled over his head from behind. It felt like a cloth bag.

He struggled, his shouts muffled, “What are you doing?” He attempted to scream, but couldn’t. The rear door slammed and he felt the vehicle surge forward.

He heard a zip as a plastic cable tie tightened about his wrists and held them securely. Strong hands at either side held his arms. He couldn’t move.

“Where are you taking me?”

Silence.

He twisted in the seat and struggled to free his arms. The ties bit into his flesh and held on.

“Stay still. We’re not going to hurt you.”

The SUV picked up speed. The tires hummed as it travelled a short distance, and then he heard the click, click of the blinker, the vehicle swerved, and then the engine labored as it accelerated.

The musty smell of the bag in his nostrils impeded his breathing. He panicked, kicked his feet and continued to struggle.

Where were they taking him? Who were these guys and what did they want with him?

“You must stay still.”

He closed his eyes against the blackness and tried to relax. He was afraid and though he didn’t know how to pray, he did his best. His panic subsided and he sat quietly, confused and bewildered.