Read Online Fugitive Justice by Rayven T. Hill - Free Book Online Page B

had carved out his niche. Directly under the overhead street, up where the bank touched the underside of the concrete and steel overpass, what Sammy called his “castle” was hidden from anyone who might chance to wander nearby.
    The homeless man had dug out a ten-by-ten cave, boarded up the walls with whatever he could find, and covered the front with a soil-stained canvas. It was invisible to all except those who knew of its existence. Insulated from the wind and the weather, it could be heated by a candle in the winter, and was cooled in the summer by the earth surrounding it.
    Jake pulled back the canvas and peered inside. A pot or two hung from the ceiling, a thick blanket lay on a bed of cardboard, and the rest of Sammy’s meager possessions occupied a small shelf unit. But Sammy wasn’t there.
    Without a watch, Jake was hampered, but the sun told him it was nearing midafternoon. He knew Sammy did his scrounging in the morning, enjoyed whatever he could find for lunch in a park somewhere nearby, then returned to his castle for a quick afternoon nap. He should be along anytime.
    Jake dropped the canvas flap back into place and climbed down the bank to the river. He sat down on a rock and waited.
    He had to come up with a plan. One thing was obvious—if Hank had intentions to arrest him, then there must be more evidence than Jake knew about. What else had Hank found at the crime scene that would force him to take such extreme measures?
    Perhaps the neighbor. There was no doubt she’d seen him, and he had been carrying the pistol at the time. He’d have gunshot residue on his clothes. But he’d explained all that to Hank.
    As he contemplated the events of that morning, playing them back in his mind, a sudden realization hit him. Merrilla Overstone had been delirious with pain when he’d found her, and she’d mistaken him for the shooter. If she’d told the police the same thing, along with the rest of the evidence, her allegation would be severely damaging to his story.
    He stood, brushing his thoughts aside as a man moved toward him from a hundred feet away.
    It was Sammy, no doubt.
    A scruffy man approached, a wide grin splitting his heavily bearded face. He stopped, pulled off his faded baseball cap, and ran a hand through his mop of dark hair.
    “It’s good to see you, Detective Jake,” Sammy said, plopping his cap back on and squinting through one eye. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
    Jake shook his hand. “I need your help, Sammy.”
    “Have a chair,” Sammy said, pointing to the rock.
    Jake sat back down. Sammy kicked off his ragged running shoes and sat on the grass. He leaned back, supporting himself with his arms, and looked at Jake through intelligent blue eyes.
    “I’m in a jam,” Jake said. He told Sammy some of the details of his predicament. “I have no money, I can’t go home, and I need some clothes before I can work this out.”
    “Boy, you sure got yourself in a mix-up. I’ll be overjoyed to do whatever I can,” Sammy said. “But what about Detective Annie? Can’t she do something?”
    Jake shrugged. “I have no phone, and I haven’t been able to talk to her since this morning. I have no idea what’s going on with her.”
    The tip of Sammy’s beard poked against his once-white t-shirt as he talked. “Clothes are no problem, Jake. The folks at Samaritan Street Mission take good care of us when we can’t take care of ourselves. Food, clothes, even a warm bed in the winter.” He gave Jake the once-over and grinned. “I can pop over there and see if they have any extra-extra-large stuff that’ll fit you.”
    “That’d be great, Sammy. I’d go myself, but they know me there, and I have to keep a low profile.”
    “No problem. And I bet Mrs. Pew will lend me a bike from the mission’s thrift shop. They usually have one or two in decent condition.” He tugged at his beard a moment. “Can’t help you with a cell phone, though. And I got no money. I could