Authors: Rayven T. Hill
Hank knew since the victim had died in the hospital under a doctor’s care, there was no necessity for an autopsy. If the cause of death was clear, the body would be released.
“I talked to Wanda a while ago,” Overstone continued. “There’ll be a wake this evening, and the … funeral is tomorrow.”
Hank would be sure to arrange for a police presence at both events. Whoever had tried to kill Niles Overstone might return at the most unexpected moment and, as well as safeguarding Overstone, Hank wanted to be ready for anything.
The door of the interview room swung open and King stood outside. He beckoned toward Hank.
“What do you have?” Hank asked in a hushed voice after he’d stepped from the room.
King handed Hank a thick envelope. “It’s a life insurance policy on Merrilla Overstone. Three million bucks. Made out to Niles Overstone.”
Hank’s eyes widened, then narrowed again. “How’d we not know about this before?”
“The box and the policy are both in Merrilla’s maiden name.”
“Is the policy up to date?”
“It sure is.”
“That opens a whole new can of worms,” Hank said. He opened the package and glanced briefly at its contents. “It’s good, all right. The policy was first made out years ago, long before Merrilla was diagnosed with cancer.”
“It makes a great motive for murder,” King said. “But why was it in a safety deposit box?”
“Let’s find out.”
Hank led the way back into the interview room, laid the policy on the table, and slid it toward Overstone. “What can you tell me about this?”
Overstone picked up the papers, and his eyes shot open a few moments later. “I had no idea.”
“None?”
Niles sat the policy back down and pushed it away. “I’d sooner have my wife than … this.”
King leaned in, about to say something, but Hank stopped him with a look. His partner straightened up and leaned against the wall, frowning at Overstone.
“I went through my wife’s things yesterday,” Overstone said. “Where did you find it?”
“It was in a safety deposit box at the bank where she worked.”
Niles looked bewildered, then he dropped his head and spoke. “That’s why Merrilla was so at peace about dying. She knew I’d be taken care of financially.”
“Unless you had her killed,” King said. “Then it’s void.”
Overstone shot King a look of disgust, then glared at Hank. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”
“We have to look into all possibilities,” Hank said. “In the meantime, you’re free to go anytime you want.”
Overstone stared darkly a moment and then stood. “I’ll be at Richmond Inn if you need me.” Then he brushed past King and strode from the room.
King shrugged and followed, leaving Hank wondering if Overstone knew more than he was saying. Three million dollars would go a long way toward buying the new widower a life of ease.
Thursday, 9:33 a.m.
AFTER JAKE’S LITTLE talk with Hicks the evening before, he’d spent the next couple of hours patrolling the bars and other seedy establishments throughout the neighborhood. He’d asked a few questions, but mostly, he’d watched and listened. In places where everyone seemed to know everyone else, he was the outsider, receiving the silent treatment and drawing curious stares.
After a short talk with Sammy, the homeless man had recommended a secluded spot where he could catch some sleep. Jake had been dog-tired, and he’d finally slipped into the rear of an abandoned building and lay down for what was left of the night.
The streets were quiet now, with only a few hard-working and honest citizens treading the narrow sidewalks. The unsavory side of the area’s inhabitants would likely sleep until noon, then wander out and eventually congregate at their usual haunts for the late-evening hours.
And somewhere among them was a man named Ace—the key to solving Jake’s problem. Finding him wasn’t going to be an easy task.
But right now, his stomach was asking for food. The only restaurant in the area less grimy than the rest was a little dump where he was now headed. He’d been there before, and the place was usually packed at breakfast time. It must have something going for it.
A bell jingled when Jake pulled opened the grubby door. He stepped inside and was greeted by the smell of frying bacon. Finding an empty booth near the back of the room, he sat and brushed the last patron’s toast crumbs off the table, then looked around.
Years of built-up grease and grime covered the walls, the floor much the same. At least the lighting was sufficient, and Jake would be able to see what he was eating.
On the far side of a narrow counter lined with stools and hungry customers, the cook expertly flipped some sputtering eggs onto a plate, then spun around and slipped it onto the counter behind him. The establishment’s only waitress swooped up the plate, delivering the meal and a refreshing smile to a waiting customer two booths away.
Jake ordered the king-sized breakfast from the friendly waitress and waited.
The bell on the door jingled again, and Jake looked toward the sound. He slouched down and pulled his hat low when two men stepped into the restaurant.
They were cops.
Jake recognized the two narcos. He’d seen them around the precinct, and like most of the cops there, he knew their names and had talked to them several times in the past.
And they knew him.
Detective Benson was the biggest of the pair. Almost as large as Jake, the cop spent a lot of time undercover, busting drug dealers and drug lords. With his cold beady eyes and whiskered face, he could easily be mistaken for one of the many lowlifes who hung around the neighborhood.
The other guy was Detective O’Day, and he was as Irish as his name. Not more than five foot seven, the beefy cop’s arrogant demeanor said he wasn’t a guy you wanted to get on the wrong side of.
The truth was, they were a couple of the nicest guys Jake had ever talked with. According to Hank, the pair were incorruptible. Tough when they needed to be, their looks served them well, and they fit comfortably into their undercover roles.
But their presence was a threat.
When they slid into a booth three tables away, Jake kept his head low and slipped over a few inches, now out of Benson’s view behind O’Day’s meaty head.
The restaurant was a dangerous place to be right now, and Jake weighed his options. He could keep his head turned, then work his way to the front door and make tracks out of there. Or perhaps he could wait it out. But that was risky, too.
The third option was the most sensible. These joints always had a back door, and that was the way out of his dicey situation.
His meal would have to wait.
He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table and raised his head. His eyes met Benson’s, and for a moment, both men froze.
Then the cop’s mouth fell open and his eyes enlarged, and Jake didn’t wait around.
“Lincoln! Stop!” It was Benson shouting from behind Jake, who was now halfway toward the back of the room.
A hand-painted arrow on the wall pointed to the bathrooms downstairs. A door led off to his right, another one dead ahead, and for a valuable split second, Jake paused.
“Lincoln!”
Jake took the door ahead of him and dashed into a storage room. Directly ahead, an exit sign hung above another door. Jake dove forward and rammed against the push bar, and the door swung open.
He raced into an access lane and looked at his surroundings. An overloaded dumpster sat to the right. A rat skittered away, frightened out of his meal. Further down, the lane led to a side street.
Ahead he faced a brick wall, and to his left, the alley ended at a ten-foot chain-link fence.
He went left, electing to outmaneuver his pursuers rather than outrun them.
The door crashed open behind him.
Jake whipped down the alley, then, three feet short of the fence, his powerful leg muscles vaulted him upwards. His fingers clung to the wire a foot short of the top, and his feet struggled to gain some footing.
“Lincoln. We have to talk.”
Jake got one hand on the top and, with the help of his feet, managed to work himself up. He did a handstand, then dropped to his feet on the other side.
“Jake. Wait.”
Jake glanced toward the voice. Benson had stopped short of the fence, O’Day coming to a standstill beside him.
Benson held out one hand, palm out, and O’Day crossed his arms and frowned.
Unless one of the cops pulled a weapon, they were no longer an immediate threat. He’d be long gone before either one of them could make it over the high barrier.
Jake moved closer to the fence, crossed his arms, and looked at the detectives through the wire.
“Jake, you should surrender,” O’Day said.
“I can’t. I didn’t do what they say I did, and I’m the only one who can prove it.”
Benson took a step closer and faced Jake through the fence, his small, steady eyes burrowing into Jake’s. He stared and breathed, then finally spoke in a soft voice. “O’Day and I don’t think you’re guilty, either, Jake. But we’re cops. Our hands are tied.”
“Not if you didn’t see me,” Jake said.
O’Day moved up beside Benson and looked at his partner, his frown now replaced by a confused look. “Who’re you talking to? I don’t see anybody.”
Benson chuckled.
“Look, guys,” Jake said, “I had a little conversation with a punk named Dewey Hicks—”
“Hicks?” Benson interrupted. “You’re right about Hicks being a punk, but he’s not smooth enough to pull this off.”
“No, he sure isn’t,” Jake said. “But he told me a guy named Ace was behind this whole thing. And Ace hired Hicks to plant the evidence in my garage.”
O’Day shook his head, pursing his lips. “Never heard of Ace.”
“Hicks said Ace isn’t from around here.”
Benson spoke. “And this Ace guy is the one you’re looking for?”
“I hope it’s him,” Jake said. “I don’t think Hicks was trying to pull a fast one.”
O’Day laughed. “That depends on how nicely you asked him.”
“Only as nice as I needed to be.”
“Hicks is a coward. I’m betting it’s the truth.”
“Then, I have to find Ace,” Jake said.
Benson glanced at O’Day, then back at Jake. “We can ask around, but it’s not really in our field of expertise. Unless he’s a druggie, we might not have any luck.”
“I don’t know exactly what he’s into,” Jake said. “But I’m pretty sure he killed two people.”
“How can we contact you?” O’Day said.
Jake hesitated. The cops seemed like they were on the up and up, and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t go out of their way to track him down after this. Nevertheless, he couldn’t take that chance.
“You can contact Annie if you find out anything,” Jake said. “But if you come across any ironclad proof, talk to Hank.”
Benson breathed out a long breath, almost like a groan. “You’re putting us on the spot, Jake. It’s not our case, and if we go breaking a few arms and asking questions on behalf of a fugitive—”
“You won’t be sorry.”
O’Day looked at Benson and shrugged. “What’s the harm in giving him a break? Especially since it’s all a setup. Besides, we never saw him, and our breakfast is getting cold.”
Benson pointed a finger at Jake. “You’d better get out of here before you land us all in jail.”
“I’m gone,” Jake said. “Thanks, guys.”
Benson and O’Day disappeared inside the building, and Jake turned away.
Once this was cleared up, he’d have to remember he owed them a favor.
Thursday, 11:00 a.m.
ANNIE HAD FOUND IT impossible to concentrate on anything but thoughts of her husband. She’d spent another sleepless night, the second without Jake beside her. Her dreams had been filled with horrible visions of her and Jake chained in a dungeon, with no possibility of escape, while Hank lounged outside their cell and laughed uncontrollably.
The morning light had washed those nightmares away, and after seeing Matty off to school, she’d spent most of the morning at her desk, going over her growing file of evidence.
Jake had called her late last night, and today she’d been digging for information on a man called Ace. It was futile. There were too many guys who went by the name of Ace, nothing more than a nickname designed to impress the easily impressed.
After all the time she’d spent agonizing over every note, every report, and every scrap of paper in the folder, there still didn’t seem to be any clear answer to the largest problem they’d ever faced.
When her cell phone rang, and Hank’s number appeared on the caller ID, she answered it, hoping he had some good news for her. Instead, what she received was a gentle scolding.
“Annie, I appreciate that your life has been turned upside down, but please, let me do my job. Do what you have to, but do it legally.”
Annie took a deep breath. “Whatever are you talking about, Hank?”
“I think you know.”
She knew, all right. But of course, she couldn’t admit anything. Not to a cop, even if he was a close friend.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
Hank chuckled. “Other than what I found in my mail this morning, yes, I did.”
Annie waited for Hank to continue. He didn’t, and she was getting impatient. “What did you find, Hank?”
“A motive.”
“A motive? For who?”
“Niles Overstone.”
Hank was taking his sweet time getting to the point. He was either not going to tell her, or he was punishing her in some small way for her illegal transgression.
Annie sighed. “Hank, if you ever want to be invited to this house again for a home-cooked meal, you’d better spit it out.”
“Are you bribing a cop?”
“Absolutely.”
Hank laughed out loud. “Then I’d better tell you. We found a life insurance policy for three million dollars on Merrilla Overstone, payable to her husband.”
“And it’s good?”
“It’s good.”