Free Fugitive Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page A

that much seemed certain, but what’d been Jake’s motive for robbing the bank?
    Jake wasn’t stupid. Surely he knew there wouldn’t be much money had by robbing a bank, and he had enough knowledge of law enforcement never to attempt such a foolhardy scheme. And he and Annie certainly didn’t need the small amount of money that’d been taken.
    And yet, the stack of hundred-dollar bills had been found in a tool chest in Jake’s garage. The serial numbers had been compared to the bank’s records, and they matched.
    Everything pointed toward Jake being the perpetrator of both crimes, and thus far, there was nothing to confirm his story and prove his innocence.
    The only indication Jake’s account might be true was the presence of Merrilla Overstone’s fingerprints on the envelope of money. Hank quickly dismissed it as convincing proof. Jake could’ve handed the envelope to Merrilla before he’d shot her, then taken it back. Certainly that’s what the prosecutor would argue in court.
    He looked up as Detective King approached his desk and sat on the edge of the guest chair.
    “I’ve confirmed Niles Overstone’s at the Richmond Hill General Hospital,” King said. “He went there as soon as he heard about his wife, and he hasn’t left since. He’s expecting us.”
    Hank laid the weapon and bullet back in the evidence box, put the lid on, and stood. “Let’s go, then.” He picked up his briefcase and turned to King. “I’m very interested in what Mr. Overstone has to say.”
    When they reached the hospital, they made their way through the silent halls and took the elevator to the third floor. They found Niles Overstone alone in a small waiting room not far from the intensive care unit. The man looked beaten down, lines of worry etched on his brow.
    Overstone tossed a magazine aside and stood as they approached. He gave the cops a forced smile and shook their hand when Hank introduced them, then dropped wearily back into his chair.
    Hank took a seat in a plush chair across from the distraught man and leaned forward, setting his briefcase on the floor beside him. King occupied an adjacent chair and slouched back, his arms resting on the comfortable armrests.
    Hank began, “Mr. Overstone, I’m very sorry to hear about your wife.”
    Overstone nodded in recognition, then narrowed his eyes and asked, “Have you found out who did this yet?”
    “Not yet. We have some leads, and we’re doing everything we can to find the perpetrator.”
    “You have a suspect?”
    Hank hesitated. “We have a possible suspect.”
    “Has he confessed?”
    “Not yet. We’re still trying to find him.”
    Overstone frowned.
    “We’ll get him,” King put in.
    Hank silenced King with a look. He didn’t like to make promises like that. He could only assure victims they would do whatever they possibly could.
    King shrugged and tapped his fingers silently on the armrest, gazing around the small room.
    Hank pulled out his cell phone, then stood and crouched beside Overstone’s chair. He swiped the screen a couple of times and said, “I’m going to show you some photos. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”
    It was Hank’s mobile version of a police lineup, and most of the photos were of cops. Hank had found it useful in the past to help confirm the identity of someone by adding the person’s picture to the standard group of images.
    Overstone agreed and looked at the cell phone, squinting at each photo as Hank swiped through them. He pointed to the last one, a glint appearing in his tired eyes. “I recognize him.”
    It was a photo of Jake.
    “How do you know him?” Hank asked.
    “I’ve seen him on the news. It’s Jake Lincoln. Just two or three days ago, Merrilla and I saw a news story about him and his wife.”
    Hank watched Overstone’s reaction. “Do you know him from anywhere else?”
    Overstone looked at the photo again and shook his head. “Should I?” He paused and then asked with a frown, “Is he involved