“Will do.”
Hank turned to King. “That’s about all we’re going to get from here. You might as well go home. I’ll go back to the precinct. There’re a few things I need to check out, and then I’ll see if Shaft has any family. I might need to make a visit.”
“See you tomorrow, Hank,” King said without hesitation, and strode to his vehicle.
Though Hank always hated the uncomfortable task of notifying the family of victims, he would sooner King wasn’t there. The crass detective’s manner wasn’t something Hank wanted to subject them to if it could be helped.
Hank got in his car and drove to the precinct. He had a few errands that couldn’t wait until morning.
The too-small room at RHPD was a hub of activity when Hank arrived. A drug bust had gone down in the early evening, and handcuffed suspects paraded through on their way to interview rooms or jail cells.
“Ten kilos of coke, all ready for the streets,” Captain Diego informed him as Hank cut his way through the noise.
He blocked out the commotion and pulled up at his desk. A quick database search returned the personal information on Werner Shaft, complete with a picture. He would have to get Callaway to do a thorough background search later, but right now, it appeared Shaft was married, no kids. His wife’s name was Maria, same phone number as her husband—probably a landline.
He printed the information, then dialed the listed number and waited. It rang several times. No answering machine kicked in so Hank hung up. He would try again before he left for home.
He called Amelia, gave his apologies, wished her sweet dreams, and said he would talk to her in the morning. He wondered how long she would put up with his crazy hours, never knowing when he would be called in, or when he would get off.
Another computer search netted him phone numbers for the managers of the two stores near the crime scene, Nortown Bakery and Master Footwear. Both managers informed him their respective shops had been closed, with no one in the buildings during the time in question. Neither had any cameras installed outside the property, so that was a dead end.
He wrote a note for Callaway, the technical wiz everyone depended on to set up wire taps, traces, or when they needed a thorough background check done on a suspect or person of interest. He dropped the note on Callaway’s desk where he would be sure to see it first thing.
After checking out the witness’s story with his place of employment, Hank went over his notes. He didn’t have much to start with. The description of the car was too vague. Another phone call to Maria Shaft had gone unanswered, the CSI report would be awhile, so there was little else to do.
He shut down his computer, pushed back from his desk, and made his way back through the hubbub, heading for home.
Chapter 5
DAY 2 - Tuesday, 8:20 a.m.
JAKE STEPPED OFF the treadmill, wiped his brow, and did some dynamic stretches to cool down. The intense thirty-minute workout he went through each morning always made him feel refreshed, prepared for anything.
He went to the kitchen, downed almost a quart of water, took a quick shower, and dressed. Now he was ready.
Annie and Matty were in the kitchen when he came back downstairs. Matty popped the last bite of toast into his mouth, finished his orange juice, and pushed back his plate. He sighed, a troubled look on his face. “Guess I’d better get to school.”
Annie turned away from the sink, sat at the table, and looked at Matty. “Is something wrong?”
He sighed again. “Not really.”
“Did something happen at school?”
Matty looked at his mother, then shrugged and turned away, pushing back his chair.
Annie put a hand on Matty’s shoulder as he tried to stand. “Sit down, Matty. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Jake sat and leaned his arms on the table.
“Aw, Mom. You wouldn’t understand,” Matty said, his shoulders slumped.
“Try me.”
Matty raised his eyes. “It’s the girls, Mom.”
“The girls?”
“They won’t leave me alone. They think I’m some kind of hero because of what happened up north, and they keep hanging around.”
Jake laughed. “That’s a terrible problem.”
Matty looked at his father, disgust on his face. “I don’t want no girls hanging around all the time. All the guys think I’m a sissy.”
Annie ignored the bad grammar and chuckled. “The other boys are jealous, that’s all.”
Matty frowned. “You think so, Mom?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“You’ll just have to deal with it, son,” Jake said. “It happened to me when I was your age. Get used to it.”
Annie gave Jake a dry look and rolled her eyes. “Your dad is right. Well, half right. You have to put up with it and they’ll leave you alone after a while.”
Matty nodded, got up, and went to the fridge. He retrieved his lunch and stuffed it into his backpack. “Guess I’ll get going.”
“Brush your teeth first,” Annie said.
“Yes, Mom.” Matty dropped the pack on his shoulder and walked slowly from the kitchen.
Jake looked at Annie, a twinkle in his eye. “Matty doesn’t know how lucky he is.”
“Every girl loves a hero,” Annie said. “And I’ve found mine.” She stood, picked up Matty’s dishes, and put them in the sink. “I’ve got work to do.” She washed her hands and headed to the office.
The front door opened and closed; Matty was off to school. Jake washed up the dishes, put them away, and went to the office. He dropped into a chair and stretched out his long legs.
Annie hung up the phone. “That was Chris,” she said. “From Cranston’s.” Cranston’s Department Store was the anchor of the busiest mall in the area, and the retail giant occasionally turned work toward Lincoln Investigations.
Chris, as head of security, once complained to them how his department was underfunded. The owners of the store preferred to maintain a skeleton security staff and farm out work to independents if unusual circumstances demanded it.
“What does Chris need this time?” Jake asked.
“It seems like they’ve had a rash of shoplifters lately. Chris feels it’s more than that. It’s his opinion Cranston’s is being targeted by an organized retail crime ring.”
“Shoplifting networks have always existed,” Jake said. “I don’t mean your occasional person who lifts a pair of pants, or a CD. I’m talking about professionals who hit the easiest targets. Cranston’s needs to beef up security. They’ll never put a stop to it, but they can deter it.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but I think we should go and see Chris,” Annie said. “We have no other major tasks at the moment.”
“I’m ready.”
Annie called Chris back, and fifteen minutes later, Jake tapped on the door of Cranston’s security office located on the main floor of the massive store.
“Come in.”
A burly man in his late twenties rose from his desk when Jake pushed the door open. He and Annie stepped in. The man leaned over his small desk and offered a hand and a huge grin. “Welcome, guys.”
Jake shook his hand and Chris motioned toward a pair of chairs. “Sit.”
Annie sat and crossed her legs while Jake dropped into his and stretched out, folding his arms. “We’re happy to help out, Chris,” Jake said. “But I think all you people need is more security personnel.”
Chris leaned forward at his desk. “I told them that, but they aren’t willing to shell out the cash on an ongoing basis. Gave me the long lecture about how shoplifting is part of the cost of doing business.”
“That’s true,” Annie said. “But you gave me the indication it’s unusually high right now.”
“It is. It is.” Chris rubbed the stubble on his chin. “We’ve either been proved to be an easy mark, or we’re being targeted by a shoplifting ring.”