Authors: Rayven T. Hill
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Never mind. But there’s no doubt now, Lisa. He’s connected to the Overstone shootings somehow, and this is the guy we’re looking for.”
“Then I’m happy I did my part,” Lisa said. She waved a hand, then turned and stepped outside. “I hope it helps.”
Annie shut the door. There was no doubt she could ID Ace as the driver of the red Mustang, but as far as she knew, there was still no solid proof linking him to the bank robbery, the shooting of Merrilla Overstone, or the attempt on Niles Overstone’s life. The video evidence was unclear, and the witnesses were unsure.
She looked at her watch. It was getting late, and Matty had school tomorrow, but she had to get one of these photos to Jake as soon as possible.
Thursday, 9:07 p.m.
JAKE MADE HIS WAY to the coffee shop where he’d gotten his burner phone charged earlier. After Annie had called him back to tell him about the photo, he’d given her the address of the shop, and they’d made plans to meet there.
He was looking forward to seeing his wife and son again.
And of course, he was anxious to see the photo of Ace. The sooner he got out of the pickle he was in, the better.
While he waited, he took the opportunity to top up his cell phone. Then he pulled out the iPad. Considering everything he’d been through the last couple of days, he was surprised he’d managed to hold on to it. It still worked, so he looked up the exact location of Backstreet Billiards.
He was familiar with the name; it wasn’t far from home and the area where he’d spent most of his life. But it hadn’t been in business long and, like the name suggested, it was located on one of the backstreets half a mile from the Commerce Bank.
Jake gulped the remainder of his coffee and grabbed his phone and charger. A white Corolla had pulled into a parking spot and blinked its brake lights three times.
It was Annie.
As he approached the vehicle, Matty hopped between the seats and dove into the back. Jake paused and crouched down by the rear of the vehicle, giving it an inspection. The bumper had received a solid whack, but once it was replaced, the vehicle would be as good as new.
He got in the car and grinned at his family. Matty wrapped his arms around Jake’s neck from behind. “Hey, Dad,” was all the boy said.
Jake freed himself from his son’s grasp and turned around, mussing up Matty’s hair. Then the boy let out an impatient sigh and waited while Jake greeted his wife with an extended kiss.
Annie pointed to the glove compartment. “The picture’s in there.”
Jake removed the envelope and pulled out the photo. He frowned at the image, then at Annie. “He doesn’t look like me at all.”
Annie chuckled. “Some people think he does.”
Matty sat in the middle of the seat and leaned forward. “When’re you coming home, Dad?”
Jake held up the photo. “As soon as I find this guy.”
“Is he the one who killed the other man?”
“Yes. And I need to put a stop to him.”
Annie started the car. “Instead of you taking a cab, I can give you a ride there,” she said. “I’d let you take the car after we get home, but there’re two officers in an unmarked vehicle watching the house. I don’t know how we’d be able to do the switch.”
“That’s okay. Just get me there. I’ll take care of the rest.” Jake glanced around the parking area. “Are you sure they didn’t follow you?”
Annie shook her head and backed out, pulling onto the street. “No. I told them I’d be right back, and they didn’t move.” She paused, then said, “I’d go with you, but I have no one to watch Matty.”
“It’s okay. Ace is too dangerous, anyway,” Jake said. “But I know how to handle him.”
Jake directed Annie by the quickest route. Traffic was light, and a few minutes later, he pointed to the side of the street. “Pull over here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Annie pulled over and stopped. “I’ll be waiting by the phone,” she said as he jumped out.
“Don’t wait up. I might be a while.”
“Just call me.”
“I’ll call,” Jake said, then stepped back and watched his family drive away.
He took a look around, then turned and went down the sidewalk, heading for Crestwood Avenue and Backstreet Billiards.
If he was lucky enough to come across Ace, he realized they could always call the police and have the guy arrested. But Jake wanted much more than that. He wanted to nail the guy for two murders.
But to do that, he’d have to get a confession. That might mean putting himself in extreme danger. It wasn’t something he was so hot on doing, but if that’s what it took to keep his family safe, he had no other choice.
Jake stopped at Crestwood and peered down the street. There were several cars parked along the edge of the road, but there was no red Mustang. This might not be as easy as he’d hoped.
A couple of punks stood at the front of a vehicle. Faint sounds of their conversation carried to Jake.
He eased down the dimly lit street. Thirty feet from the building, he paused in the shadow of a large tree and waited.
A souped-up Chevelle roared around the corner and zoomed down the street, well over the speed limit. The driver hit the brakes hard and pulled the vehicle to the shoulder. Two guys got out and crossed the street to the pool hall.
He considered going inside, but if the place was filled with punks like Benson had said, his presence would stand out. Besides, it didn’t appear Ace was in there.
Jake fingered the gun tucked behind his belt. Ace’s old gun. And it was fully loaded. The last thing he wanted to do was to use it—except for defense, or to get someone to talk, but he’d be loath to fire it unless absolutely necessary.
But if Ace had replaced his lost weapon with another, things could get hairy, and Jake might have to reconsider.
People came and went, and fifteen minutes later, Jake was wondering if Ace was planning to put in an appearance.
The guy could be anywhere.
Then a red Mustang breezed down the street and pulled over. Three guys got out. Two of them were short in comparison to the third.
From where Jake waited, he couldn’t make out any facial features, but the tall guy—the driver—had to be Ace.
Jake had hoped to catch him alone. With three guys to contend with, the odds weren’t in Jake’s favor, especially if they were armed.
Easing forward a few feet, Jake ducked behind a concrete garbage receptacle and peered around. The three guys crossed the street, Ace out in front. And it was Ace. They paused under a streetlight and Ace lit a smoke. Jake squinted at the skinny guy. It was the same wimp Jake had encountered the last time he’d run into Ace. He didn’t recognize the third guy.
Jake pulled out his cell phone and snapped a couple of pictures.
The punks went into the pool hall, the door closed behind them, and Jake had to come up with a new plan.
When the door opened again fifteen minutes later and Ace stepped out, Jake was ready. He moved from the shadows at the side of the doorway, the pistol in his hand. One arm went around Ace’s throat, the other hand holding the weapon to the killer’s ribs.
“Don’t move, Ace.”
Ace struggled to get a view of his assailant.
“I’m Jake Lincoln, and we’re going for a little drive.”
“I ain’t going anywhere with you.”
Jake hung on, digging the pistol into Ace’s ribs. “I’m pretty sure you are.”
Ace battled to work Jake’s arm from around his throat. The guy was strong, there was no doubt about that, and Jake was having a hard time keeping his grip. He could only use one hand; the other was holding the pistol. But Ace had two free hands and was fighting for his life.
Jake stuffed the weapon behind his belt. It wasn’t doing him any good. The punk knew Jake would never shoot him.
Ace struggled to bring one hand behind his back. He was going for a weapon. Jake got there first and removed the pistol. He flung it away, then twisted the arm, causing Ace to howl in pain.
A voice came from behind. “Back off, Lincoln.”
Jake held on and spun around to face the owner of the voice, dragging Ace with him. It was the third guy, and he had a pistol pointed at Jake. Skinny stood beside him, and he had a gun as well.
The guy moved in and stopped five feet away. “Let him go.”
“Shoot him,” Ace said. “He ain’t gonna do nothin’.”
The punk moved closer. Skinny stayed back.
Jake had no choice but to let Ace go free. Anything else would only end in a standoff. With three guys about to surround him, and all of them armed with pistols and willing to kill, Jake would be sure to come out the loser.
“Gimme your gun,” the guy said.
Jake removed the weapon from his belt and tossed it onto the pavement, then held up his free hand in surrender. “I’ll let him go,” he said. “Just don’t move.”
Keeping his other arm around Ace’s throat, Jake dragged him back a few feet from the gunman. Then he let go and gave him a violent shove forward. Ace fell into the shooter, and Jake leaped out of the line of fire and raced up the sidewalk to the corner.
No one followed him, but Jake was disappointed in the outcome of his plan.
He really wished he could call Hank. Ace would be more careful in the future, and Jake might not get a second chance.
In a minute, the Mustang roared by and disappeared from view.
He dropped down onto the sidewalk and leaned back against the brick wall, thoroughly disgusted. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Annie’s number. She’d be disappointed as well, but she’d know, as he did, he was far from giving up.
Tomorrow would be another day.
DAY 5 - Friday, 7:33 a.m.
HANK SAT AT THE kitchen table in his apartment, deep in thought. He’d worked into the wee hours of the morning and been up with the sun. The case had been weighing heavily on his mind, and he knew he had a decision to make.
He’d discussed it at length with Amelia last evening, and her opinion had cemented his resolution. As soon as he got to the precinct, he was going to ask Diego if he could withdraw from the case. He could no longer do his job.
Sure, he could do half a job. He could follow the evidence and see where it led, but the evidence led straight to Jake. And that’s where the problem started and his resolve stopped.
It was true there was some circumstantial evidence in Jake’s favor, but in the eyes of the law, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the rest. It wasn’t sufficient to warrant giving Jake his freedom. That wasn’t Hank’s decision to make.
Amelia had been fully on Jake’s side, convinced he was a victim of a malicious frame. She could never bring herself to admit someone who’d endangered his own life to save the life of her daughter could be so cold-hearted.
And Hank agreed.
Though Hank was a well-trained cop, with more experience on the job than most, Amelia was so much more intuitive than he was. She saw things he couldn’t, and this was only one of the countless reasons he loved her.
For the third time that week, he opened his briefcase and slipped out a small velvet-covered box. Flipping up the top, he looked at the sparkling diamond ring inside.
What was he waiting for? Was it because she outclassed him? Not really. Sure, she had a lot of money, but she was as down-to-earth as he was.
It wasn’t the small size of the diamond that bothered him, and he knew it wouldn’t faze her for a second.
And it wasn’t because he didn’t know what her answer would be. He’d never been surer of anything in his life.
But something was holding him back, and he vowed to solve the mystery as soon as his current dilemma was taken care of.
Hank tucked the ring safely back into a pocket of the briefcase and snapped the case closed. He looked at his watch. He’d better get to work.
Diego wasn’t in his office when Hank arrived at the precinct. Yappy explained that the captain had been delayed due to a family matter and was running a few minutes late. Hank nodded and went to his desk.
He set his briefcase beside his chair, then retrieved Jake’s camera from the evidence box and took it to Callaway’s desk. He set the camera in front of the whiz and sat in the guest chair.
Callaway looked at the camera. “What’s up with that?”
“It’s Jake’s,” Hank said. “All the images have been erased. Is there a possibility you can look at the memory card and recover any deleted pictures?”
Callaway picked up the camera. “As long as they haven’t been overwritten, there’s always a chance.”
“I need to see what was on there ASAP. It’s important.”
“It might take a while. Leave it with me.” Callaway flipped open a small cover on the camera, removed a memory card from the slot, and turned it over in his fingers. “It’s a thirty-two-gig SD memory card. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get right on it, Hank.”
“Thanks, Callaway.”
Hank went to the break room. Detective King sat at the table in his usual position, one running shoe cocked up on the tabletop, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Morning, King,” Hank said and King grunted.
Hank went straight to the coffeepot. Someone had made a fresh pot and, for a change, it didn’t look half bad. He poured himself a cup and sat at the table opposite his partner. He took a sip of his drink. It didn’t taste half bad either.
“No word on the street about Dewey Hicks,” King said. “Guys I talked to don’t know who he was.”
“Keep on it. There’s a connection somewhere.” Hank told King about what he hoped to find on the memory card. “I’ve come to believe Jake’s totally innocent. I’ve been over this a thousand times, and there’s too much that doesn’t make sense.”
“Such as?”
“The burner phone found under the car seat, for example. First of all, why was it necessary, and secondly, why would he put it there? And it didn’t have Jake’s prints on it.”
“True,” King said. “But if he was up to no good, he might’ve been wearing gloves.”