Justice for Hire (10 page)

“I’m afraid I can only tell you the same thing,” Mrs. Pew said. “He was such a sweet young man. He was here every Tuesday and eager to help out. He never missed a week and there wasn’t a job he wouldn’t do.” She took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to . . . hurt Bobby.”

“How long had he been helping out here?” Annie asked.

The woman frowned, thinking. “Perhaps a year. Maybe more.”

“Did he ever mention anyone to you, or anything he did, outside of helping here?”

Mrs. Pew shook her head. “Other than church, helping here, and work, I got the feeling he liked to spend time at home with his aunt. He spoke very highly of her.”

Annie smiled. “She spoke highly of him as well.”

“That poor woman,” Mrs. Pew said. “He was all she had left. She must be devastated.”

“Yes, she certainly is.”

“I must make a note to go around to see her. She’s going to need some help and encouragement. And of course, Pastor Jackson will go and visit her as well.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” Annie said.

Jake spoke, “I know someone else who could use a little encouragement right now.” He told her briefly about Cheryl Waters and her parents. He ended with, “I know you’re busy, but perhaps someone . . .”

Mrs. Pew interrupted, “I’m never too busy for someone in need.”

“I’m sure they would appreciate it,” Annie added.

Mrs. Pew continued, “And we have a prison ministry as well. I’ll make a note of Cheryl Waters’ name, and she’ll be sure to get a visit.”

Jake allowed a moment to pass, and then cleared his throat and asked, “Perhaps you can direct us to where we can find Pastor Jackson?”

Mrs. Pew twisted in her chair, waving over her shoulder in the direction of the far corner of the main room. “He’ll either be in the chapel, or in the youth center.”

“How’ll we know him?”

Mrs. Pew chuckled. “He’s big, and black. You can’t miss him.” She laughed again.

Jake smiled and dug a business card from his shirt pocket. “Please call us if you think of anything else that may be important.”

Mrs. Pew took the card, glanced at it briefly and tucked it into her apron pocket.

Jake turned to Annie. “If there’s nothing else you can think of . . .”

Annie shook her head and they stood. Mrs. Pew motioned toward the door, and followed them out.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pew,” Annie said.

Jake bowed slightly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

They watched as the busy woman went back to her place in the serving line before they headed toward the back of the room, past the tables of hungry eaters, and stopped in front of a door with a small sign, which read, “Youth Center”.

Jake pushed the door and they peeked inside. The room looked more like a gymnasium. A group of boys played basketball at one end of the court. Annie saw three or four blacks, a couple of Hispanics, one Asian, who now had control of the ball, and a few white guys, all playing together. It was a great place to keep youth off the streets and out of trouble.

At the near end of the gym, a handful of guys sat on benches, chatting and laughing.

Jake turned to Annie. “It looks like Pastor Jackson isn’t in here. Let’s try the chapel.”

A sign pointed to the chapel at the far right of the main room. Jake followed Annie and they stepped quietly into the peaceful sanctuary. It was lined with a dozen or so rows of folding chairs, facing toward the front. A large cross hung on the wall at the back of a small stage, behind a portable podium.

In the front row, they saw Pastor Jackson. It had to be him. He looked just as Mrs. Pew described. He was black and he certainly was big. He sat beside a young girl, his arm around her shoulder. Their heads were bowed and they appeared to be praying.

Jake and Annie slipped into chairs in the back row and waited.

In a couple of minutes, Pastor Jackson and the girl stood up. She appeared to be about sixteen years old. Barely to his shoulder, she gave the pastor a hug before turning toward the exit. She walked with her head down, and glanced up briefly at the Lincolns. She was dressed in Gothic fashion with a long black flowing dress, a black lacy shawl around her shoulders, black hair and fingernails, and a ring through her painted black bottom lip. Annie smiled at her. The girl returned a fragile smile and hurried out.

They stood and moved into the aisle. The pastor noticed them and headed their way. “Welcome,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Pastor Jackson.” He was every bit as tall as Jake, but perhaps a hundred pounds heavier.

They shook his hand. “We’re Jake and Annie Lincoln,” Jake said. “Can we talk to you a moment?”

“Sure can.” A grin split the pastor’s cheerful face. “Have a seat,” he said, as he flipped a couple of chairs around and motioned for them to sit. They sat and he dropped into another chair and faced them, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re private investigators,” Jake said. “We’d like to talk to you about Bobby Sullivan.”

The smile left the pastor’s face as he sat back. He shook his head. “Tragic. Very tragic.”

“We understand he attends your church, Richmond Baptist?” Annie asked.

“Yes he does . . . did, and he helps . . . helped out here, as well.”

“We talked to Mrs. Pew a few minutes ago,” Annie explained. “She told us we could find you here. We suspect Bobby’s death is related to another case we’re working on, but we’re running out of leads. We don’t know if you can shed any light on it or not, but we wanted to meet you.”

“A Detective Corning came to see me this afternoon at the church,” Jackson began. “I told him all I knew, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of anything new. Bobby attended Richmond Baptist faithfully. He got along with everybody, and when he was here . . . same thing.” He sighed. “So tragic.”

Annie hadn’t expected to learn anything new from Pastor Jackson, however she had wanted to try and get a better understanding of Bobby’s life. She really had no more questions for the pastor. She glanced at Jake. He too, seemed to be unable to come up with anything else.

“Thank you for your time, Pastor.” Annie dug a business card from her purse. “Just in case there’s anything else,” she said, as she handed it to him.

The big man took the card and glanced at it. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said.

Annie stood and offered her hand. “Thanks again,” she said, as she and Jake shook hands with the pastor. “You’re doing a great work here.”

They left the chapel, made their way through the main room, and out to the sidewalk. They walked in silence to the car, climbed in and fastened their seat belts.

Annie sat quietly a moment, wondering if they were on the right track. The victim of the first murder was so unlike Bobby Sullivan. It seemed Bobby was more like Cheryl Waters in some ways, and had little in common with Charles Robinson. One victim was a real estate developer, and one pumped gas. Nothing was making sense about either of the two murders, but her instincts told her there was a connection. Both were confusing, and she knew they were missing something.

She glanced at Jake. He had keyed the ignition, and was leaning forward, staring through the windshield, down the street toward the mission. “Remind me to put this place on our charity list,” he said.

“We don’t have a charity list.”

“We do now.”

Chapter 18

Tuesday, August 23rd, 7:50 PM

HANK HAD SPENT all day interviewing those who knew Bobby Sullivan, and who potentially had information to help him find who had killed Bobby, and why. He’d run out of leads, and though he’d been in constant touch with the medical examiner’s office, they hadn’t revealed anything else he could run with.

He returned to the station and leaned forward at his desk, leafing through the completed reports. The M.E.’s findings on Bobby Sullivan were not a surprise. Forensics had gone over everything from the scene, and the complete forensic and lab reports were in. The observations he’d made at the crime scene proved to be correct.

He slipped the summary report on Bobby Sullivan from the stack of papers, and reread it.

Report of Findings on the Death of Bobby Sullivan

Cause of death:
gunshot wound to the head.

Manner of death:
homicide.

Blood alcohol:
negative.

Blood drug screens:
negative.

Urine drug screens:
negative.

My examination of the body of Bobby Sullivan revealed a gunshot wound to the head, with the entrance wound on the forehead, and the exit wound on the rear of the head. The trajectory of the bullet that went through Bobby Sullivan’s head was front to back, and slightly upwards.

Bobby Sullivan also received a non-fatal gunshot wound to the left shoulder, four inches down from the top surface of the shoulder and three inches in from the armpit.

Trace particles of gunshot residue on the clothing of Bobby Sullivan suggested both shots had been from a distance of three to five feet.

In my opinion, Bobby Sullivan died of a gunshot wound to the head. Manner of death is homicide.

The bullet, ascertained to be of 9 mm by the ballistics report, had been retrieved from the pavement below Bobby’s head, and was determined to be from the gun that was found at the scene.

There were also details of a complete external examination of the body of Bobby Sullivan. There were no visible defensive wounds, and the findings revealed nothing unusual.

Hank leafed through the papers and pulled out the summary report on the killer.

Report of Findings on the Death of John Doe

Cause of death:
gunshot wound to the head.

Manner of death:
suicide by a single, self-inflicted shot from a 9 mm handgun.

Blood alcohol:
negative.

Blood drug screens:
negative.

Urine drug screens:
11 ng/ml Lysergic Acid Diethylamide detected.

My examination of the body of John Doe revealed a contact gunshot wound to the head, with the entrance wound on the right side of the head, and the exit wound on the left side of the head. The trajectory of the bullet that went through John Doe’s head was right to left and slightly upwards.

A muzzle stamp was imprinted on the skin surrounding the entrance wound. The muzzle stamp marks the position of the muzzle of the gun on or near John Doe’s head at the time the gun was fired.

Gunshot residue found on the clothing, the right hand, and soot marks at the entrance of the wound, suggest the fatal wound had been self-inflicted.

In my opinion, John Doe died of a gunshot wound to the right temple. Manner of death is suicide.

An external examination of the killer had not revealed anything abnormal. The weapon was determined to be the same 9 mm Glock found at the scene.

An internal autopsy had not been considered necessary on either victim and had not been performed.

Both reports were signed by Nancy Pietek, Deputy Medical Examiner.

The interesting thing was the presence of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, LSD, in the system of the killer. Certainly not a large amount, and probably not enough to have had any effect at the time of the shooting, but enough to show the unknown killer had taken LSD in the recent past.

The sketchy statement of the driver of the red Viper, Benjamin Butler, which had been attached to the reports, had been of little help.

Hank pulled forward the box of evidence gathered from the scene and tipped out its contents onto his desk. It contained a folder of shots the police photographer had taken, along with a Glock 9 mm handgun and four shell casings. There were a few more items, including the recovered bullets, Bobby’s wallet, a single key, and a few coins that had been in his pocket.

Hank sat back and scratched his head, staring intently at the evidence in front of him, trying to determine his next course of action. He spun his chair around and called to Callaway, a few feet away.

Callaway looked up from his monitor. “What is it, Hank?”

“Anything on our John Doe yet?”

Callaway shook his head. “Nothing. Fingerprints turned up nothing in the system. Facial recognition came up blank. His picture has been on the news reports, now nationwide, but nobody has called in to identify him yet.”

Hank frowned.

Callaway shrugged and continued, “It may take a few days, Hank.”

“Let me know the moment you get anything,” Hank said, and turned back to his desk. He gathered up the evidence and placed it back in the box, snapped open his briefcase, slipped the reports inside, and grabbed his cell phone from its holder. He selected a speed-dial number.

“Jake here.”

“Jake, I wanted to see if you guys were home. I have the reports on Bobby Sullivan and want to run them by you.”

“No problem. Come on over. We’re out back.”

“Be right there.” Hank stabbed his phone off, tucked it away, picked up his briefcase and strode from the precinct.

Chapter 19

Tuesday, August 23rd, 8:28 PM

JAKE DROPPED HIS iPhone onto the deck table and slouched back in his chair. “Hank’s on his way,” he said. “He has the reports on the Bobby Sullivan murder.”

Annie was leaning against the railing, watching Matty and Kyle kick around a soccer ball in the backyard. She glanced at Jake. “Anything interesting?”

“He didn’t say. I suppose if there was, he would’ve mentioned it.”

Annie refilled her glass of lemonade from the icy pitcher and dropped into a deck chair across from Jake. She picked up a magazine from the table and leafed idly through it.

Jake sipped at his drink and glanced over toward Matty. With all of the problems he’d seen people immersed in lately, he felt fortunate his family was safe. Sure, they’d had a few harrowing times, but overall, he had nothing to complain about, and much to be thankful for.