King took another sip and sat his cup on the desk. “One of the druggies robbed by Shaft and his friends.”
Hank sat forward and rested his arms on the desk. “Does Eastwood know who robbed them?”
“I haven’t talked to him yet,” King said. “I got the name from a CI. Had to get him out of bed.”
Hank sighed lightly, shuffled the papers on his desk, and remained patient.
King continued, “Seems like all these criminal types sleep until noon. Guess that’s what happens when you’re up half the night.”
“Does your informant know where to find Eastwood?”
King pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and waved it. “Got the address.” He handed it to Hank.
“Rough part of town,” Hank said, after looking at the paper. “You’d think if they were big-time drug dealers they could afford to live in a better place.”
“Apparently, Eastwood is a flunky. Not one of the big shots. Does deliveries, pickups, that sort of thing.”
Hank frowned. “That’s the best you could get? A flunky?”
“He might not be top brass, but if he knows anything, it’s gonna be easier to get something from him.”
Hank swept the reports into a pile, dropped them into his briefcase, and stood. “Let’s go see if we can find this Eastwood character.”
Chapter 35
Thursday, 10:24 a.m.
JAKE WAS STRETCHED out on the couch, a cushion under his head, his hands tucked behind it. The television was on and muted, but Jake wasn’t watching it. He stared at the ceiling, sorting through the facts, devising a workable plan of attack.
Though Rocky Shaft appeared to be the obvious suspect for Norton’s murder, Jake wasn’t so sure. However, the revelation by Shaft’s neighbors regarding a possible affair was foremost in his mind.
It seemed to Jake, other than the affair, Shaft was trying to hide something and money played a big part in it.
He swung his legs to the floor, stood, and went into the office. Annie was typing furiously at the keyboard, and when he entered, she stopped and looked over at him.
He approached the desk and perched on the corner. “I thought I might go see Rocky Shaft,” he said.
“That suits me fine. I got the cell phone number of one of Michael Norton’s neighbors from Hank, and I have an appointment to visit her at her work at noon, during her lunch break.”
“Great. Then I’ll see you back here this afternoon. I’ll call you if I come up with anything interesting.” Jake gave her a quick peck on the lips and left the office.
He unplugged his cell phone from the charger, slipped it into a holder on his belt, and grabbed his car keys from a hook by the door on the way out.
The Firebird purred like a tiger under control when he turned the key. He looked at his watch; Shaft should be at work, and if not, Jake wanted to know why.
Richmond Distributing sat on a couple of acres surrounded by a chain link fence. A pair of warehouses occupied much of that space, the rest taken up by parking areas, tractor-trailers, and shipping containers.
From the information he’d gleaned online, Jake knew the company did local and national distribution for a number of organizations, as well as drop-shipping services for a variety of mail-order and online firms.
Driving onto the property was not much different from going to the mall. There was no gate, no security, and the public was always welcome to visit the showroom displaying a range of items for retail purchase.
Jake parked in one of the guest spots, grabbed an official looking baseball cap from the back seat, and walked around behind the largest building to the shipping doors at the rear.
A row of vehicles was parked along the back fence and Jake spied a red Ford pickup. That would be Shaft’s vehicle. He wandered over and checked the license plate to be sure. It was Shaft’s. He would be in the building somewhere.
A trailer was backed up to the loading dock and the hum of a lift truck could be heard unloading skids of merchandise to be redistributed. A man door beside the dock was propped open by a concrete block, and from where Jake stood, workers could be seen engrossed in their tasks.
He stepped inside and looked around. No one paid him any attention; perhaps they assumed he was a truck or local delivery van driver.
Jake didn’t know where he would find Shaft. He only knew he worked in the shipping department. Half of the enormous room was filled with rows and rows of shelving, skids piled three layers high, and mounds of shipping material. Shaft could be anywhere.
The entire right wall of the building was one long counter, weigh scales and postage machines at intervals, where pickers filled orders for shipping to individuals and small companies. Shaft wasn’t among those preoccupied workers.
To his left, on the far side of the loading dock, Jake spied a small office. He waited for a lift truck to rumble by, then strolled across the floor and peered into the room.
Rocky Shaft sat at a small desk, filling out some forms. He seemed to have become shipping manager in place of his brother. Certainly the promotion would not be a motive for murder, just a logical step for the company to take in light of Werner’s demise.
Jake tapped on the open door. Shaft looked up and his face darkened. He tossed his pen on the desk, spun around, and glared at the visitor. “What do you want?”
Jake disregarded the surly tone and smiled politely. “I want to talk to you about your brother.”
Shaft’s voice took on a calmer tone. “What about him?”
“Norton didn’t kill him,” Jake said.
Shaft remained quiet a moment, then, “Norton killed my brother. I have no doubt about that, and all the evidence proves he did.”
“Evidence can be planted.”
Shaft shrugged. “And who planted the evidence?”
“Maybe you.”
Shaft slammed a fist on a table. “Are you accusing me of killing my own brother?”
“I’m not accusing anyone,” Jake said calmly. “I’ll let the evidence speak for itself.”
“Fine. Let the evidence speak and it’ll show I had nothing to do with it. You’re making accusations based on nothing.”
“Not exactly nothing,” Jake said. He paused and watched closely for Shaft’s reaction. “Did your brother know you were having an affair with his wife?”
Shaft flew from his chair and took a step toward Jake. His left fist clenched, a finger of his other hand pointing at Jake. “I’m not having an affair, and you know it.”
“According to witnesses, you are.”
Shaft folded his arms. “What witnesses?”
“You can drop the pretense, Shaft,” Jake said. “You might as well admit it.”
Shaft pointed toward the door, his face red. “Get out of here.”
“Maria admits you’re having an affair,” Jake said.
Shaft dropped into the chair, bewildered, frowning. He glared at Jake a moment, then, “Just go.”
Jake noted there was no second denial, just more anger. He took a chance. “I know where the money is, Shaft.”
“What money?”
“From the drug heist.”
A frown took over Shaft’s brow and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
Jake shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. I’m only giving you a heads-up. You aren’t the only one who knows where it’s hidden, and certain people love to talk.”
Shaft stood again, took two steps toward Jake, and stopped. “I don’t have to speak to you or answer any of your questions. I’ve done nothing wrong.” He reached forward, poked Jake in the chest, and spoke in a low, menacing tone. “Get out of here.”
Jake didn’t budge. “I know you killed Norton and I can prove it.”
Shaft’s face flushed with anger. “You have no proof because I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I also know Maria’s in on it,” Jake said. “She knows the whole story.”