Free Justice for Hire by Rayven T. Hill Page A

since he was released from that awful place.”
    Hank said, “I was wondering if something happened in prison, ma’am, and somebody was looking for revenge. Did Bobby ever mention anyone from there?”
    “No, never. He didn’t like to talk about that. He was always an optimist, and looked forward to the future. He never dwelt on the past.”
    Hank looked at his notepad. He would talk to the pastor and anyone who knew Bobby from the mission, but he’d hoped to find some kind of solid lead. He looked up and asked, “Do you mind if I take a look at his room?”
    Mrs. Mitchell nodded. “Certainly,” she said, as she stood. Hank followed her to the hallway entrance where she pointed up the stairs leading to the second floor. “It’s up there, first door on the left.”
    Hank climbed the steps, pushed the door to Bobby’s room open and stepped inside. He flicked the light on and took a quick glance around the sparse, but immaculate room. A look through a dresser beside the door revealed nothing more than neatly arranged clothing; socks, underwear, and t-shirts.
    The closet contained a variety of the usual items you would find in a man’s closet; shirts, jackets and pants, along with a well-tailored suit and a couple of ties.
    Hank swung open the double doors of a shelving unit along the far wall. It was lined with long white cardboard boxes. A peek inside revealed they contained complete sets of baseball cards, many dating back to the early ‘80’s. Binders on a shelf below contained plastic sheets containing even more cards. Hank recognized many of the star players sheathed safely in the pages. Mickey Mantle, Reggie Jackson, Hank Aaron, Ted Williams, and many of his own boyhood heroes. It looked like a valuable collection.
    On the nightstand beside the bed was a Bible. Hank leafed through it. It looked well-worn and often-read, with several bookmarks and many portions of scripture underlined. In the top drawer of the nightstand he pulled out a stack of photos held by an elastic band. There were pictures of Bobby taken several years ago, posing in his baseball uniform with his team-mates. There were also a couple of pictures of him with a girl, posing and smiling, taken back in happier times.
    But there didn’t seem to be anything in the room that could shed any light on the reason for Bobby’s murder.
    Hank flicked the light off and left the room, closing the door behind him. He went back downstairs to the front room. Annie and Mrs. Mitchell talked quietly, the heartbroken woman occasionally dabbing at her eyes, crying softly.
    Annie looked up as Hank came in and stood by the doorway. “Thanks, Mrs. Mitchell,” he said. “Unfortunately, there doesn’t appear to be anything in Bobby’s room that can help us.”
    “I wish I could tell you more,” she said.
    Hank dug in his pocket, withdrew a card and held it out. “If you think of anything, you can contact me at this number.” She took the card, glanced at it briefly and tucked it under the edge of a lamp on the stand beside her.
    Annie put her hand on Mrs. Mitchell’s arm. “Will you be ok?” she asked.
    The woman nodded and forced a smile. “I’ll be ok.”
    Annie found a Lincoln Investigations business card in her purse and tucked it under the lamp with Hank’s card. “If you need to talk, or need anything at all, call me,” she said, as she stood.
    “I will.”
    Mrs. Mitchell saw them to the door. “Do you think you can find out what this is all about?” she asked, as they stepped outside.
    Hank turned back to face the devastated woman, “I’ll do everything I can,” he promised. “And I’ll keep in touch, and let you know what I find out.”
    “Thank you both.”
    The door closed behind them, and Hank and Annie walked quietly to the car and climbed in. Hank flipped open his pad and looked at his notes. “I’ll drop you home, Annie, and then I’ll swing by the church and see what the pastor can tell me. Until we find the identity of