Personal Justice by Rayven T. Hill Read Free Book Online

unit,” Jake said. “They’ll be unloading through a back door.”
    Annie started ahead, moving toward the side of the building. “I want to make sure this is the right place before we call the police.”
    Jake followed her along the side of the unit to the back of the building. “This is it,” he whispered, glancing around the corner. The van was backed up to an overhead door and men unloaded the goods, carrying everything inside.
    “We got them,” Annie said, dialing Hank’s number. When the cop answered, she gave him a quick version of the story along with the address of the building as they hustled back toward the street.
    “Wow. Good job, guys, but I can’t come now. King and I are about to execute a search warrant. I’ll talk to dispatch and we’ll get some cars there immediately.”
    Annie hung up. “We’ve done our part. We might as well wait.” They crossed the street and sat under a tree. In a few minutes, a black van pulled up silently, spun into the lot, and an elite team dressed in full SWAT gear poured out and surrounded the building.
    The Lincolns crossed the street, keeping well back as they moved to the rear of the unit. Through the large overhead door they saw row after row of items, sorted and stacked on shelves.
    Half a dozen men were cuffed and loaded into a paddy wagon that had followed the team in.
    Jake put his arm around Annie as they watched the arrests. “Those guys will be going away for a while. Congratulations, my dear.”
    Annie smiled up at Jake. “Thanks, but you helped a little bit.”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
     
     
    Tuesday, 10:49 a.m.
     
    HANK WAS ABLE TO obtain a warrant for the search of Michael Norton’s residence, and after contacting Sterling Auto Parts where Norton worked as a production line operator, Hank was informed he hadn’t clocked in to work that day. According to Sterling’s records, Norton had left the day before at 5:00 pm. That’s all they could tell him of the whereabouts of Michael Norton.
    There was no other option but to try Norton’s house in case he’d taken the day off, as well as execute the search warrant they had secured.
    According to the information Hank was able to obtain, Norton lived with his wife, Tammy, in an older part of the city. Hank followed a pair of cruisers down the narrow street. Mature maple trees lined both sides, their branches overhanging.
    The cruisers pulled in front of the Norton house, a small, weather-beaten bungalow sorely in need of roof repairs. The peeling, clapboard exterior could do with a fresh coat of paint, and the one-time flower bed had turned to a nest of weeds and wild grass.
    Hank parked behind the cruisers and the detectives followed two officers past the dark-blue 1996 Ford Probe parked in the driveway. They took the crumbling, concrete pathway to the front door. Two other officers cut around beside the building to the back yard. They would guard against any attempt at escape.
    Hank rang the doorbell and waited patiently. The door opened a moment later by a woman clad in a tattered, white housecoat. She brushed back her disheveled, midlength hair with one hand, holding her housecoat tightly around her throat with the other.
    She looked at Hank, then at the officers behind him, and frowned. “Yes?”
    Hank held up the warrant. “I have a search warrant for these premises. We’d also very much like to speak to Michael Norton.”
    Her frown deepened. “He … he’s not here.” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives. “What’s going on?”
    Hank pushed gently at the door. “Please open the door, ma’am.”
    She stepped back, wrapped her arms around herself, and watched them fearfully.
    Hank motioned toward the officers, their hands on their weapons. “Search the house.”
    The officers and King moved forward and, room by room, the house was searched. Michael Norton was not home.
    Tammy Norton had moved into the living room and stood by a small, brick fireplace.