Chapter 28

Wednesday, 3:54 p.m.

RHPD WAS NOTIFIED when the 9-1-1 call came in and cruisers were dispatched immediately to secure the scene. Hank was informed, and by the time he and King pulled to the shoulder of the road behind a cruiser, its lights still flashing blue and red, the CSI van had already arrived.

The access lane leading to the tracks was taped off, and the main focus of attention seemed to be near a group of bushes, down the lane, along the side of the railroad tracks.

The coroner’s van pulled in behind Hank’s vehicle and Nancy Pietek stepped from the passenger side. She joined the detectives. “Lovely afternoon, Hank, King,” she said.

“Nice day to be alive,” Hank answered.

King nodded, grunted, and said nothing.

The small group went up the lane where investigators did what they do best. Trace evidence was being photographed, collected, and documented. Most of it would be meaningless, but the search for any elusive piece of telltale evidence would be thorough.

Hank approached Rod Jameson, lead CSI. “What do we have?” he asked, glancing at the body on the ground a few feet away.

Jameson consulted his clipboard. “Thirty-three year old male. Looks like he was shot in the chest. I’ll defer that to Nancy. According to his driver’s license, his name’s Michael Norton.”

Hank whistled. “Michael Norton?” He moved closer to the body and leaned over. There was no mistake; the pale white face was that of Michael Norton. The body lay flat on its back, facing upwards, the arms resting at each side. He looked like he might be sleeping, except his eyes were open, and he was very, very dead.

Nancy stepped over beside Hank and crouched down. She pulled aside the red, plaid shirt, soaked with crimson, and made an examination of his chest wound.

“Gunshot wound to the heart,” she said. “Small caliber weapon.” She pointed to the shirt. “Appears to be gunshot residue on the front of the shirt. As close as I can guess right now, he was shot from a distance of eighteen to twenty-four inches.”

“Close up and personal,” Hank said.

Nancy rolled the body slightly and examined the back. “Livor mortis shows he might’ve been killed here, or dropped here within a few minutes of death.” She pointed to a light, purplish discoloration of the skin. “See how the blood has begun to settle. It starts to pool a few minutes after death and congeals after a few hours.”

Jameson had come over, listening to Nancy’s report. “It makes sense he was killed elsewhere, Hank,” he said, pointing to the laneway. “We found evidence the body was dragged from over there. And there are trace amounts of blood on the ground. That would indicate he was dead already.”

“Or at least, mortally wounded,” King added.

“I’d say he was already dead at the time the body was deposited here,” Nancy said. “The shot would’ve killed him immediately.”

King turned to Jameson. “Probably brought here in a vehicle. Any tire tracks?”

Jameson shrugged. “They’re still looking closely at that, but the ground is hard. It’s possible, but unlikely.”

“Time of death?” Hank asked Nancy.

“Rigor mortis hasn’t started to set in,” Nancy replied. “I’d put the approximate time of death at two to three hours ago.”

“So he was dumped here in broad daylight,” King said.

Nancy nodded. “Almost certainly.”

Hank crouched a little lower and rolled the body halfway over. “Looky here,” he said. “He’s carrying a weapon.” He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket, worked them on, and then carefully removed a pistol from behind the back of the victim’s belt. He held it up.

“A .38-caliber revolver,” King said.

“Werner Shaft was killed by a .38,” Hank said. He stood and turned to Jameson. “Better bag this.”

The weapon was placed in an evidence bag, sealed, and labeled.

Hank crouched down again and patted the pockets of the victim’s pants.

“We removed his wallet,” Jameson said. “And we found a cell phone in his front pocket.”

Hank stood. “Where’s the phone?”

Jameson turned away and returned a moment later with an evidence bag containing a cell phone. Hank removed it carefully. “It’s not locked,” he said. A moment later he looked up at King. “Last call was to Annie Lincoln. 12:13 p.m..” He dropped it back into the bag and handed it to Jameson. “Looks like he was killed not long after he made that call.”

“So, if this guy killed Shaft,” King said. “Who killed him—and why?”

“Good question,” Hank said, and turned to Jameson. “Who found the body?”

“A couple of kids.”

“Kids?”

Jameson pointed. “They’re waiting in the house over there. They were walking the tracks on their way home from school, and there he was.”

“Are their parents around?”

“The mother’s on her way here from work. Father couldn’t come.”

Hank motioned to King. “We’d better go talk to them.”

They walked to the house where Hank tapped on the back door. He introduced himself and King when a woman answered. She led them into the kitchen and motioned toward a boy and a girl, sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over steaming hot chocolate.

“This is Alfie and Amber Owens,” she said. She motioned toward chairs, took a seat at the far end of the table, and sat quietly, her hands in her lap.

King leaned against the fridge while Hank pulled back a chair and sat forward, resting his arms on the table. He looked at the girl, then the boy. “I’m Detective Corning,” he said. “And this is Detective King.”

The boy glanced at King then back at Hank, his eyes widening. “Real live detectives?”

Hank chuckled. “As real as they get.”

“Are we in any trouble?” the girl asked in a low voice, her brown eyes narrowed.

“Of course not,” Hank said. “In fact, we want to thank you for waiting to talk to us.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you see the dead guy?” Alfie asked.

“Yes, we saw him,” Hank said. “And I only have a couple questions for you.”

“Fire away.”

“Did you touch the … man, or move anything around him?”

The boy frowned.

“Alfie touched him,” Amber said.

Hank’s head whipped toward the boy. “Did you move him?”

Alfie swatted Amber on the arm. “I only touched his foot with a stick. That’s all.”

“That’s the truth,” Amber said, pulling her arm back and frowning at her brother. “I saw him.”

Hank suppressed a smile. “That’s okay. It’s always better never to touch anything and call the police right away. That helps us a lot.”

“I was a-scared,” Amber said.

Alfie straightened and pushed back his shoulders. “She’s just a girl,” he said. “They get scared real easy.”

Hank nodded as if he understood and then looked at Amber. “It’s okay to be frightened.” He screwed up his face. “I get scared sometimes too.”

Amber giggled, raised her chin, and gave Alfie a tight smile.

King shook his head, rolled his eyes, and went back outside.

Hank removed a notepad and pen from his inner pocket. “I need your mom’s name and phone number in case I have to talk to you again.”

He wrote down the information Alfie dictated and Amber confirmed it was the truth. He turned to the woman. “I assume you didn’t touch anything at the scene?”

“Land sakes, no,” the woman said. “We came straight here and called the police.”

Hank nodded and flipped his pad closed. “That’s all I need.” He put the pad away and pulled out two business cards, handing one to the woman, and one to Amber. “Give this to your mom.” He pointed to his phone number. “She can call me here anytime if she has any questions.”

Amber took the card, tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, and gave the detective a wide smile.

Hank stood, nodded at Alfie and winked at Amber. “Thanks, guys.” He went back outside and joined King. “Let’s go,” he said. “That’s all we’re gonna get from here.”