King stood at the end of the table, spread his legs, and crossed his arms. Hank pulled back one of the chairs on the near side, dropped a file folder on the table, and sat down. He stared at the suspect. Punky stared back, his chin in the air.
Hank opened the folder, leafed through it casually, and then looked back up. “What’s your name?”
No answer.
“According to your driver’s license, your real name is Francis Spankly.” Hank grinned up at King. “Not the kind of name you would expect from such a tough guy as this.”
King leaned over the table and glared at Spankly. “The thing is, he’s not so tough without a gun in his hand.” The cop straightened up and laughed. “Are you, Mr. Spankly?”
The suspect attempted to jump to his feet, the cuffs stopping him from getting more than halfway. He glared up at King, hatred in his eyes. The detective put both hands on the suspect’s shoulders, forcing him back down. “Stay there, punk.”
Hank leaned in. “Who hired you to kill the Lincolns?”
Spankly spoke for the first time. His squeaky high-pitched voice came out as a whine. “I don’t know them.”
“Annie Lincoln knows you,” Hank said. “She can identify you as the man who entered her home, attempting to kill her.”
Spankly looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t me. Probably somebody who looks like me.”
King laughed. “Nobody looks like you, Spankly.”
Hank knew lying to a suspect about evidence often got results, and he had no qualms about it in this case. “We have a slug from your pistol. As soon as ballistics compares it to your gun, we’ve got you.”
“I lent my gun to somebody. Must’ve been him.”
Hank glanced at the folder in front of him. “You fired on officers when you tried to kill Jake Lincoln. We have shell casings with your prints on them. That puts you at the scene.”
Spankly glared at Hank a moment, his eyes narrowed, then he looked away and was silent.
Hank leaned back. “We all know it was you, Spankly. But here’s the good thing. Maybe because you’re so inept, or maybe from sheer luck, but as far as we know, you never killed anyone.”
Spankly squeaked again, “That’s right. I never killed nobody.”
“Then all you have to do is tell us who hired you to kill the Lincolns.”
The suspect stared silently toward the mirror as if seeing right through it, his face flushed with anger—or was it fear? Or both?
King leaned in again, grabbed Spankly by two hands full of denim, and pulled him from his seat. The cuffs reached their limit and clunked against the metal ring. King glared down into the cold, green eyes from a distance of six inches. “You’re going down for two counts of attempted murder if you don’t talk to us.” King let go and Spankly dropped back into his seat.
“You’re not allowed to do that,” Spankly said, a sullen look on his face.
King shrugged. “That’s nothing. Wait until I get started.”
Hank leaned forward and spoke gently. “I think it would be safer for you if you talk to us.” He jerked a thumb toward King. “Detective King is kind of hard to control sometimes.”
The door opened and an officer poked his head in, a sheet of paper in his hand. He gave it to Hank and went back out, closing the door behind him.
Hank studied the paper, smiled, and looked back at Spankly. “Says here you just got out of prison. Paroled for good behavior. That’s hard to believe, but anything’s possible.” He laid the paper carefully on the table and leaned in. “Here’s the thing, Spankly. I could put you away right now for parole violations. Consorting with known ex-cons. Carrying a concealed weapon. That would give you an automatic three more years.”
“I say let’s do it and be done with this guy,” King said.
A hint of fear appeared in Spankly’s eyes. The cuffs tinkled as he fidgeted with his hands.
“Last chance before I turn you over to King,” Hank said. “Who hired you?”
“I don’t know,” Spankly said.
King leaned down again. “How can you not know?”
“I didn’t see him.”
Hank lifted a brow. “Then how did he hire you?”
“I got a phone call. Offered me five large to off the two of them.”
“And how did you get paid?”
Spankly shrugged. “Didn’t yet. After the job’s done.”
King laughed. “You’re a real businessman, aren’t you?”
“He said he knew me from prison. He dropped some names and it seemed like I could trust him.” Spankly’s head swung back and forth between Hank and King. “He said he would call me again when the job was done and arrange for payment.”
“And you have no idea who it was?” King asked.
Spankly shook his head violently. “No idea.”
“You’d better not be lying. If you are, we’ll know, and you’ll find out pretty quick we know.” King leaned in close to reinforce the threat.
“I ain’t lying,” Spankly whined. “And I didn’t kill nobody.”
“You’re sure it was a man?” Hank asked.
Spankly nodded vigorously.
“What was his voice like?”
“Normal voice, I guess.”
“Like yours?” King asked, and then threw his head back and laughed.
Spankly said nothing, his eyes burning with renewed hatred.
Hank stood, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.
“Don’t go anywhere,” King said, laughed again, and followed Hank from the room.
Jake turned as Hank opened the adjoining room and stepped inside. The cop glanced through the glass. Spankly sat quietly, his head down, his hands clasped together.
“It’s too bad we couldn’t find out who hired him,” Hank said. “But at least we know he’s the one who tried to kill you. You two should be safe.”
“Safe for now,” Jake said. “But whoever hired him might find another way.”
Hank nodded. “Unfortunately, you might be right.”
Chapter 27
Wednesday, 3:27 p.m.
ALFIE OWENS always protected his little sister—from other boys. But when no one else was around, Amber was the subject of as much torture and teasing as any eight-year-old could muster.
And like most boys he knew, he was quickly becoming an expert at making girls mad.
Amber, a year younger, was entrusted to his care each day as they walked home from school. This day was no different from any other.
Amber walked ahead, stepping carefully on each railway tie in perfect rhythm, one foot, and then the other, counting as she went.
One, two, three, four, five,
Once I caught a fish alive.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
Then I let it go again.
Alfie stopped and crouched down. He had spied a small tree branch by the side of the tracks. He picked it up, grinned, and used it as a prod to hurry his sister along.
It didn’t take her long to get tired of it. She spun on her heel, put her hands on her hips, and faced her bully brother. “Alfie Owens, if you don’t stop that I’m going to tell Dad and he’ll give you a good lickin’.”
Alfie laughed. “I doubt that. We all know you get mad a lot about nothing. Who’s gonna believe you?”
Amber moved closer, her eyes flaring, and grabbed for the branch. Alfie laughed, backed away, and stuck out his tongue. “Scaredy Cat.”
She stopped and glared. “I’m not a-scared of you,” she said.
“Maybe I’ll tie you to the railroad tracks and let a train run over you,” he said, with as mean a face as he could muster. “Then you’ll be afraid.”
Amber stuck her nose in the air. “Leave me alone.” She spun around and marched away from her tormentor.