Annie sat forward. “Leave it with us, Chris. We’ll work on it and see if we can come up with a plan of action. We might not zero in on the ringleaders, but we’ll see what we can do for Cranston’s.”

Chris grinned. “You have an idea?”

Jake looked at Annie. “We’re working on it.” He didn’t have any great plan yet, but he knew between the two of them, they’d figure something out.”

Jake stood, shook Chris’s hand, and followed Annie through the store and back out to the parking lot. “Any ideas?” he asked, as they got in the Firebird.

“Nothing yet,” Annie said.

Chapter 6

Tuesday, 9:05 a.m.

HANK SAT AT THE kitchen table in his small apartment. His pushed his breakfast dishes aside and sipped at a coffee as he reviewed his scant notes regarding the murder of Werner Shaft.

Callaway didn’t have time to take care of Hank’s request, CSI had nothing for him yet, so he submitted to the inevitable and made a phone call to Maria Shaft.

This time, there was an answer.

Hank introduced himself and asked if he could drop by to see her right away.

He heard Mrs. Shaft take a quick breath. There was a pause, and then, “Is … is this to do with my husband? He didn’t come home last night and I’m out of my mind.”

This was not something Hank wanted to do over the phone. He needed to see her in person. “Mrs. Shaft, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He double-checked the address he found for Werner Shaft, was assured it was correct, and hung up the phone. He grabbed his briefcase and keys, strapped on his service weapon, and went to his car.

Hank usually enjoyed his job, but the task he now faced was one he dreaded. As he drove, he thought about the many times in the past he had to do this very same thing, and it always went the same way—denial, anger, acceptance, then mourning. And for him, it never got any easier.

The only positive aspect was the motivation it gave him to catch the culprit, and a determination to persevere until they were brought to justice.

The Shaft residence was located in a middle-class neighborhood on a mature street. There was nothing outstanding about the brick dwelling itself—a double-car garage in front, the odd plant and shrub scattered around, one car in the driveway.

He parked behind a dark-green Mazda, got out of his car, and went up the brick pathway to the front door. He took a deep breath and rang the bell.

Maria Shaft was in her midthirties, with long dark hair and a roundish face. When she answered the door, Hank saw lines of worry on her face, her unsmiling mouth set in a grim line.

He introduced himself and she showed him to the front room. He sat uneasily on the couch as she took a seat in a matching chair. She sat straight, leaned forward slightly, her hands in her lap. “Has my husband done something he shouldn’t have, Detective? He’s been arrested again, hasn’t he?”

Hank gathered his thoughts as he placed his briefcase carefully on the cushion beside him and sat back. He took a deep breath and observed her closely. “I’m afraid it’s more than that.”

She tilted her head slightly to one side, the expression on her face unchanged.

“Your husband was killed last night, Mrs. Shaft.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and she remained still a moment, then, “Killed? How? Are you sure it was him?”

Hank snapped open his briefcase, removed the printout on Werner Shaft, and held it up for her to see. “Is this your husband, Ma’am?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Hank put the paper back in his briefcase. “There’s no mistake. It was him.”

She stared at Hank, her breathing quick and erratic. Then in a hoarse voice, barely above a whisper, she asked, “What happened?”

“He was murdered.”

Her eyes opened wider. “Murdered?”

“I’m afraid so, Ma’am. I’m sorry. I tried to reach you last night.”

“I was babysitting,” she whispered. “For my sister. I wasn’t home until late.” She paused. “Do you know who … killed him?”

“Not yet,” Hank said. “If you’re up to it, I need to ask you a few questions.”

She nodded and reached to the stand near her chair for a tissue. The tears started, and she dabbed at her eyes, sobbing quietly.

“Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm your husband?”

She hesitated and glanced aside. Finally, she looked Hank in the eye and said, “Detective, my husband was involved with some bad characters in the past. As you probably know, he did some time in prison, but I … I didn’t know any of his former acquaintances. Perhaps someone he knew before …”

That caught Hank by surprise. He hadn’t had the time to dig very deeply, still unaware of Werner Shaft’s record. That opened it up to a lot of possibilities, and it also might explain why Shaft carried a weapon.

“We’ve just started the investigation, Mrs. Shaft, so we have no suspects yet. Anything you can tell us might help.”

Maria Shaft sniffed and wiped at her nose. “I’ll help you with whatever you want to know, but I’m at a loss.”

Hank pulled out his notepad and pen and cleared his throat. “Do you and your husband have any children?”

“No, we never did.” She looked away wistfully. “Werner never wanted children and so …” Her voice trailed off, leaving Hank with the impression she unwillingly yielded to her husband’s wishes.

Hank made a notation in his pad. “So, it’s just the two of you here?”

Mrs. Shaft leaned forward. “My husband’s brother lives with us. Rocky. He occupies the basement apartment.”

Hank made another note. “Do you know if he’s home right now?”

She shook her head. “He works at the same place my husband works … worked. He’ll be there now.”

“And where’s that?”

“Werner was the warehouse manager at Richmond Distributing, and Rocky works in the shipping department.”

Hank wrote down the name and put a question mark beside it. “Do they ride to work together?”

“Sometimes. It depends on their shift. This morning Rocky took his own vehicle because my husband …”

“What kind of vehicle does Rocky drive?”

“It’s a red Ford pickup. I’m not sure what year it is.”

Hank nodded and made a note to find out what vehicle or vehicles were registered in Rocky’s name. According to the witness, the killer drove a white, Honda Accord, and Hank wanted to find out if anyone close to Werner Shaft had a vehicle with that description registered in their name.

Another part of this uncomfortable task was asking uncomfortable questions. “Mrs. Shaft, you said you were babysitting last night for your sister. I’ll need her name and address.”

Mrs. Shaft didn’t blink, perhaps not realizing Hank’s intention was to check her alibi. “Her name’s Melinda Windsor. They live at 335 Polimer Street.” She paused. “Detective, you don’t think they had anything to do with this, do you?”

“Not at all,” Hank said, jotting down the information. “I just need to fill in all the pieces.” He looked back up. “What time did you get home last night?”

“It was after eleven.”

“Did you drive there?”

“Yes, I took my car.”

Hank pointed over his shoulder. “The car in the driveway?”

“Yes.”

Hank made a final note, read through what he wrote, and tucked his notepad away. He removed a card from his briefcase, leaned over, and handed it to the grieving widow. “Call me if you think of anything that might be useful.”

“I will, Detective.” She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, took the card, and laid it on the stand beside her.

Hank stood, wished her well, and offered to connect her with their grief counseling services.

She declined the invitation and let him out.

He got into his car and looked at his notes. He had a few people to visit and some phone calls to make. He would assign the least sensitive ones to King and look after the rest himself.