Blue Justice - Thomas Anthony (читаем книги txt) 📗

He opened the door and greeted the man with a smile.  The man was tall, with a slender build. He was wearing a uniform with a Signal Gas Company logo.  The Reaper invited the man inside and closed the door behind them.

“Is...the...owner around?” he asked.

“Yeah, he is right over there on the floor.”

The man turned to where The Reaper pointed and before he could register what was happening, he was stabbed in the back of his neck.  He collapsed to the floor.  The Reaper moved quickly to wipe the blood off his knife onto the man’s clothes and exit the door before somebody else showed up.

Fortunately, the man didn’t block his truck in the driveway.  He walked casually to his truck and backed out the drive way.  Pulled out his new phone and sent a text to Detective Jackson.  After sending the message, he removed the blonde wig and dark sunglasses and placed them in a bag beside him and turned on the radio.  The newsflash caused him to panic.

“Police need your help in locating a white utility truck with the name Billy’s Pest Control on the door…..”

He turned off the radio.  He saw a narrow dirt road coming up on the right that led to Lake Tuscaloosa.  He reached a secluded embankment and saw that nobody was around.  He grabbed the bag on the seat that had his change of clothes in it and threw them to the tree line.  He looked around again and put the gear in neutral and released the brake.  The truck rolled down the embankment and crashed into the lake taking the phone he had used and everything else that was incriminating.

The truck slowly submerged in the water and disappeared.  He walked over to the tree line to conceal himself as he changed into a white T-shirt and blue jeans.  He then opened his zippo lighter and burned his pest control costume beyond recognition.  As he walked out to the main road he looked down and saw a bamboo fishing pole lying on the ground still intact but with no hook and picked it up.

He was in luck.  There was a gas station about a quarter of a mile away.

The rain was gone and the sun beat down on the asphalt causing him to sweat profusely.  He walked through the parking lot up to the front sliding doors.  He felt immediate relief from the air conditioning system.  The place was packed with people going fishing and people who already gave up for the day.  With that fishing pole in hand, he mixed in with the crowd.  He knew he could pass for anybody.

He observed the brown haired clerk behind the counter with a frustrated look on her face, waiting on a guy at her register who thought he was some sort of Romeo by complimenting her blue eyes.  The guy wore a fishing cap, faded blue overalls and cowboy boots. Probably a truck driver, he thought.

The Reaper walked to the other side of the store.  A pay phone was on the wall between the restrooms.  He smiled at the ancient artifact.  How convenient, he thought.  Ruffling through the yellow pages, he found the number to a cab service.  He reached in his pockets and pulled out two quarters.  The cab dispatcher told him it would be about a 20 minute wait.

He thanked the woman and hung up, then walked back toward the counter.  The smell of fried chicken had his attention.  He realized he hasn’t eaten anything that morning and was hungry.

“Hi, can I help you?” asked the clerk.

“Yes.”  He looked at her name on her shirt.  “Uhm—Tabitha, I would like a two piece dark with fries and a coke, please.”

She grabbed a box off the counter and placed the chicken and fries inside.  That will be $5.25 please.”

He gave her a $20 and added two packs of Marlboros to the list.

“Your total is $19.70, out of $20.”

He thanked her and walked out the door and sat down at a table to wait for his cab. Most of  the fries were gone and he was finishing the chicken when the cab pulled up.

A heavy set black guy with glasses was driving.

“Excuse me sir, did you call a cab?”

The Reaper nodded.  He threw what was left of his food in the trash bin near the door and opened the rear door of the cab and got in.

“Where downtown are you headed?” asked the driver.

“Take me to the YMCA.”

“All right, that’ll be $15, sir.”

He pulled out a twenty dollar bill.  “Keep the change.”

“Yes sir, and thank you sir.”

The driver was talking.  His son was going to Auburn in the fall.  His wife was so proud—all her family had been to Auburn.  The small talk fell on deaf ears as the Reaper was lost in his own thoughts.  He contemplated his next disguise.

Hmm…A cab driver is not a bad idea.

Chapter 6

My head was pounding.  Everything was hitting me at once.  Although I didn’t care too much for Dave Robinson, still, I didn’t wish him death.  The other guy appeared to be an innocent who just happened to see who The Reaper was before meeting his death.  Who the hell was The Reaper?

My thoughts were interrupted by the CSU tech Chris, who I met on the other scenes.

“Detective, did you ever get that information I sent to you?”  I turned to face him…puzzled.

“What information?” I asked.

“It was about the prints we picked up off the ball peen hammer, and the bloody flier you discovered.”

He had my full attention.  “Go on.’

“Well, we were able to get a thumbprint from around the small end of the hammer and also we discovered that that flier was made locally once we used protein removal substance to lift the blood for sampling. We discovered a partial address of the publishing company under the blood.  West End Publishing to be exact.”

The words woke me up and my adrenaline took over.

“Thanks for the information.”  I turned to walk out the door but then turned again to the tech.

“By the way, who did you give that information to, to be passed on to me?”

“Detective Burncutt.” He said

I smiled.  I was pissed, but I smiled.  Burncutt thinks I be playing checkers when I really be playing chess.  My brain is always in Sherlock mode. I suppose by now he was trying to get me off the case.  I walked to my car and drove toward the highway.  I called dispatch.  April Johnson was on duty, which was good.  We always talked in code whenever I needed something that I didn’t want recorded over the 911 system or any unsuspecting ear hustlers hanging around.

“Thanks for the number, April.  Congratulations on getting married.  Give me a call sometime and let’s catch up.”

She understood.  “Ok, will do, Detective.”

She called me on my cell phone immediately after we hung up.  She didn’t just get married, in case you’re wondering.

“Hey Jared, what’s up?”

“April, I need some info and I need it fast.”

“Ok?”

“Where is Burncutt?”

“He is in Capt. Davis’ office right now.”

“Has he been anywhere today, outside the station?”

“No. he just came on duty about 30 minutes ago and has been in with the captain ever since.”

“Okay, good.”  I was relieved.  “Hey, who is that guy that likes you over in CID?”

“Oh, you mean, Adam?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“You up to something Jared, but okay--what do you need?”

“See if you can finagle the name of whose print that is on the hammer.”

“Sigh.  I’ll see what I can do, but you are going to owe me dinner for this one.”

“I’ll definitely take care of that.  See if you can get it for me in the next 15 minutes.  I’m on a trail and I need a name.”

“Ok, I’ll text you later.”

April was good.  I got the text 10 minutes later as I drove into the parking lot of West End Publishing.  Carl Minton

I put the car in park and shut off the engine.  I texted her back and told her to send me a photo of him.  A few seconds later I had an email notification showing that the photo was there.

Carl Minton was had thin, light brown hair and pale blue eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had seen him somewhere before.  I shifted my mind back to why I was here at the publisher’s.