There was no other option but to try Norton’s house in case he’d taken the day off, as well as execute the search warrant they had secured.
According to the information Hank was able to obtain, Norton lived with his wife, Tammy, in an older part of the city. Hank followed a pair of cruisers down the narrow street. Mature maple trees lined both sides, their branches overhanging.
The cruisers pulled in front of the Norton house, a small, weather-beaten bungalow sorely in need of roof repairs. The peeling, clapboard exterior could do with a fresh coat of paint, and the one-time flower bed had turned to a nest of weeds and wild grass.
Hank parked behind the cruisers and the detectives followed two officers past the dark-blue 1996 Ford Probe parked in the driveway. They took the crumbling, concrete pathway to the front door. Two other officers cut around beside the building to the back yard. They would guard against any attempt at escape.
Hank rang the doorbell and waited patiently. The door opened a moment later by a woman clad in a tattered, white housecoat. She brushed back her disheveled, midlength hair with one hand, holding her housecoat tightly around her throat with the other.
She looked at Hank, then at the officers behind him, and frowned. “Yes?”
Hank held up the warrant. “I have a search warrant for these premises. We’d also very much like to speak to Michael Norton.”
Her frown deepened. “He … he’s not here.” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives. “What’s going on?”
Hank pushed gently at the door. “Please open the door, ma’am.”
She stepped back, wrapped her arms around herself, and watched them fearfully.
Hank motioned toward the officers, their hands on their weapons. “Search the house.”
The officers and King moved forward and, room by room, the house was searched. Michael Norton was not home.
Tammy Norton had moved into the living room and stood by a small, brick fireplace. Hank joined her. “Do you know where your husband is?” he asked.
Mrs. Norton shook her head. “He didn’t come home last night. He went to work in the morning and that’s the last I saw of him.” She paused. “What’s this all about? What’s he done?”
“Do you know where he might be?”
Lines of worry showed on Tammy Norton’s face. “I … I don’t know. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in a murder case, ma’am.”
Mrs. Norton’s mouth dropped open and she sank into a chair and leaned forward. “Murder?” She rested her head in her hands and sat still a moment. Finally, she looked up, confusion and pleading on her face. “There must be some mistake?”
“What is your, or your husband’s, relationship with Werner Shaft?” Hank asked.
She sat back and frowned. “I hardly know him. He and my husband were in prison together a few years ago, and as far as I know, they haven’t seen each other since.”
Hank sat on the edge of the couch and pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do either you or your husband own a gun?”
“No, I sure don’t. And I don’t think my husband does anymore. After his time in prison, he settled down and works hard. He hasn’t been in any kind of trouble since.” She tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure you have the right man?”
Hank disregarded her question and looked at his notes. “Does your husband drive a white Honda Accord?”
She nodded.
King came into the room. “There’s no car in the garage.” He looked at Mrs. Norton. “Does your husband own a plaid shirt?”
She looked at King. “Yes, he’s fond of plaid. He owns several.”
“The closet is full of them,” King said to Hank. “According to the witness, the killer wore a plaid shirt.”
“A lot of people own plaid shirts,” Hank said. He made a note in his pad.
King held up a small, green plastic box placed inside an evidence bag. “I found this in the basement. A box of .38-caliber cartridges. It’s empty.”
Hank looked at the box. “No weapon?”
“Can’t find a gun anywhere.”
“Not surprising. If he didn’t come home, he still has it with him.”
Mrs. Norton’s eyes moved back and forth between the box and the two detectives, her face clouded with confusion.
“Keep looking,” Hank said to King, and then turned back to Mrs. Norton. “Do you have any idea where your husband might be?”
She shook her head. “He always comes home after work. I can’t understand it. Something must’ve happened to him.”
“King,” Hank called. He went out to the hallway where the detective stopped and turned around. “Get a BOLO out on Norton right away. And also on his car. If this guy’s on the run, he might be using his own vehicle.”
“Done.”
Hank went back to the front room and sat on the couch.
“Detective,” Mrs. Norton said. “Michael has some family in Toronto. Perhaps he went there.”
“We’ll check,” Hank said. “I’ll need their names and addresses as well as a list of all his acquaintances.”
“I can do that right away. I hope you find him and he can clear this up.” She fidgeted with her hands as she spoke. “My husband didn’t murder anyone. I’m sure of that.”
“The sooner we find him, the quicker we can sort this out, Mrs. Norton. Whatever you can do to help will make things go faster.”
She leaned forward and looked intently at Hank. “I’ll help any way I can. I’m worried about my husband. He might be in danger.”
Hank stood. “We’ll do our best to find him. Thank you, Mrs. Norton.” He tucked his notepad away and turned to leave. “An officer will stay here until you have the list ready.”
Hank found King looking through the kitchen cupboards. “Anything interesting?” Hank asked.
“Nothing.” King closed the cupboard door and turned to Hank. “I guess we’re done here for now.”
Hank instructed an officer to stay and wait for the list. On the way out he gave Mrs. Norton his card and asked her to contact him if she heard from her husband. He and King left the house, went to the car, and got in.
King turned to Hank. “Any more leads to follow?”
Hank leaned back in his seat and let out a long breath. “Not right now. As soon as Mrs. Norton gets that list together, I want you to check them out. Norton’s hiding somewhere.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m going to visit Richmond Distributing to talk to Werner Shaft’s coworkers. One of them might know something.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “And then we’ll wait for the forensic report and the ME’s report and see if they have anything for us.”
As they drove back to the precinct, they discussed what little they knew of the case. Hank was hard-pressed to come up with a motive, and until they found Michael Norton, there was little else they could do.
Chapter 11
Tuesday, 11:39 a.m.
ANNIE CALLED CHRIS and updated him on the arrest of the organization plaguing Cranston’s. The head of security was amazed at the complexity and extent of the black market in boosted goods.
Cranston’s was not the only retailer hit so hard. The group of thieves targeted grocery stores and pharmacies as well, and their inventory of items covered almost every aspect of retail goods imaginable.
Annie was making detailed notes outlining the successful operation when the phone on her desk rang.
The caller introduced herself as Maria Shaft. “Mrs. Lincoln,” the woman said, and sighed deeply. “My husband was murdered yesterday, and although the police have a suspect, it seems he’s fled.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Mrs. Shaft. Please call me Annie. What can we do to help?”
“I want you to find my husband’s killer.”
Annie hesitated. “The police are capable of handling this. They have a lot more resources at their disposal than we do.”