About This Book

  When a murdered woman’s body is discovered in the park, her hair completely shaved off, private investigators Jake and Annie Lincoln find themselves in the middle of a manhunt for a serial killer.

  As the relentless killer continues to strike, the Lincolns race to apprehend the madman before another innocent woman becomes a victim of his sadistic obsession.

  WEB of JUSTICE

  Rayven T. Hill

  Published by

  Ray of Joy Publishing

  Toronto

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Merry Jones for her hours of editing and proofreading. Many thanks to my beta readers, whose comments, suggestions, and insight, have helped streamline this story and smooth out a few bumps. And not least, thanks to my wife for her patience. (1003)

  Connect with the Author

  You can go to my Web Site to contact me, or sign up for my newsletter to get updates on future releases.

  Follow me on Facebook, Twitter or contact me by eMail at rayven@rayventhill.com.

  Even though this book has been thoroughly edited, typos or factual errors may have been missed. Please eMail me if you find any errors.

  Books by Rayven T. Hill

  Blood and Justice

  Cold Justice

  Justice for Hire

  Captive Justice

  Justice Overdue

  Justice Returns

  Personal Justice

  Silent Justice

  Web of Justice

  Fugitive Justice

  Profane Justice (Coming Next)

  Table of Contents

  About this Book

  Dedication

  Connect with the Author

  Books by Rayven T. Hill

  CHAPTERS

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | Epilogue

  Also by Rayven T. Hill

  Coming Next

  About the Author

  Tell Your Friends About Web of Justice

  Chapter 1

  DAY 1 - Monday, 9:06 p.m.

  OLIVIA BRAGG slipped off her apron, dropped it onto a hook near the back door, and retrieved her small handbag from another hook below. It’d been a busy day, and she was glad it was over.

  Phil had been after her to extend her hours until midnight—again. According to her boss, someone with her looks brought in paying customers and kept them spending. And making money was what it was all about.

  For Phil. But not for her.

  She’d worked that shift before, and though the losers started coming in by eight o’clock or so, by nine the booze had turned them into slobbering drunks. According to Phil, they loved her long black hair and dark brown eyes, and in their inebriated condition, they never seemed to notice the extra thirty pounds she carried around.

  Sure, she could always use the money, but a few extra dollars in tips wasn’t worth the nonstop hassle of sidestepping their crude and rude sexual advances. And at thirty-five years old, she was more than tired of it.

  Besides, she needed a little time with Edgar. She got home late enough as it was, and the couple of hours she spent with her hard-working husband were always the highlight of her day.

  She brushed past Phil, who stood at the sizzling red-hot grill, slapping together a pair of greasy burgers for a hungry customer. “Good night, boss,” she said in a singsong voice, then pushed open the door and stepped into the warm evening air without waiting for an answer.

  She always enjoyed the walk home. The apartment she shared with her husband was two blocks from Phil’s, and though they lived in an older neighborhood, the area was pleasant and quiet.

  The stillness of the evening broke when a car cruised past and came to a quick stop twenty feet away. The backup lights of the vehicle lit up the asphalt as the car reversed and eased to a stop beside her.

  Olivia turned to face the vehicle as the driver rolled down his window and poked his head out. An amiable smile lit up his face.

  “I’m looking for Hackett Street,” he said.

  She frowned and shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  He produced a sheet of paper and waved it out the window.

  Olivia moved toward the vehicle, took the paper, and scanned the single handwritten page. She didn’t see any address on it, and she looked up in bewilderment, then took a cautious step backward as the man swung open the driver door and stepped out.

  “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” he said with a shrug, reaching for the paper.

  She handed it to him, then frowned and took another step back. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  The man folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He glanced up and down the quiet street, then took a long stride forward and gripped her by the arm.

  Her eyes widened and she gasped. She tried to break loose, but with a quick motion, he spun her around, wrapping one arm around her chest, his other hand across her mouth. Her bag slipped from her hand and dropped to the pavement.

  She struggled and tried to scream, producing a stifled whimper. She kicked in desperation at his ankles with one foot and he laughed, then hissed in her ear, “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  Olivia wrenched one arm free, swung it over her head, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. She pulled and he cursed. He removed his hand from her mouth and worked at her fingers, trying to peel them loose.

  She gave one last desperate tug to distract him, then let go of his hair and let her body collapse. Slipping free of his hold, she fell to the pavement, then scrambled away on all fours, bruising her bare knees on the rough asphalt.

  She rolled and stumbled to her feet. “Help,” she screamed, staggering away. Then a hand covered her mouth and muffled her voice, cutting off her air.

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “Do as you’re told or I’ll break your neck.”

  This time he held her tighter, and she resisted in vain as he pushed her toward the rear of his waiting vehicle.

  “If you scream, I’ll kill you,” he said. “You understand?”

  She nodded.

  He removed his hand from her mouth and popped the trunk. “Inside. Watch your head.” He gave her a shove, and she lost her balance, tumbling headfirst into the trunk. She rolled over and attempted to climb out, but he brought the lid down, whacking her head and stunning her. She drew her hands back to keep her fingers from getting broken as the lid slammed shut.

  Then, except for the faint glow of the taillights, her prison was dark. She lay on her back, screamed for help, and kicked at the solid lid. The driver door slammed and the engine hummed, and the vehicle sped away.

  Before long, she tired and lay still, her mind whirling as the car bounced over potholes and rough pavement.

  Why had he abducted her? Was he going to rape her? And then what? She’d seen his face and could identify him, and she feared he’d never let her go alive.

  She thought about Edgar. Her husband would be heartbroken if anything happened to her. And he’d be lost without her. She had to survive for his sake.

  The vehicle made several turns before gathering speed. The tires hummed. They were heading out of town. Where was he taking her?

  After a few minutes, the car slowed, and she felt it turn, then it bumped and rattled over uneven ground before coming to a sudden stop.

  She cowered deep into the trunk as the engine died. The driver door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded on gravel, then the trunk swung open. By the light of the half-moon she looked into his grinning face.

  “We’re here,” he said, then laughed. His laughter came to an abrupt end and his mouth twisted into a sneer. He stood above her with his arms folded, glaring down at her. “Get out.”

  She remained still, trembling and unable to move.

  “You can scream all you want now,” he said. “No one’ll hear you.”

  Her throat felt constricted, and she couldn’t breathe. “Where … where are we?” she managed to ask.

  “We’re home,” he said, reaching out a hand toward her. “Here, let me help you out of there.”

  Olivia shook her head, folded her arms, and shrank back.

  Her abductor sighed and leaned forward, grasping her by the leg. He dragged her from the trunk, and she fell prone onto the gravel at his feet. She turned her head and looked into his face as he crouched beside her, his hand heavy on her back.

  “Why are you doing this?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “What do you want?”

  He grabbed her by the hair and twisted her head, forcing her face into the gravel. The sharp stones bit into her skin. “Don’t look at me,” he said.

  He kneeled on her back, tightened his grasp on her hair, and pulled her head back until her neck felt ready to snap. She winced in pain as he slammed her face into the ground.

  “Look at me again and I’ll take out your eyes.” He removed his hand. “You understand?”

  She had no choice but to force out a whispered answer. “Yes.”

  “Never look at my face again,” he said.

  “I … I won’t.”

  He slammed the trunk. “Get up.”

  She struggled to her hands and knees, then staggered to her feet and picked away the slivers of sharp stones that still clung to her skin. Her long hair hung around her bruised and bleeding face as she turned toward him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

&n

bsp; “Turn around.”

  She turned her back and kept her head down, then raised her eyes. A shed the size of a garage stood ten feet in front of the vehicle. The rough wooden exterior was unpainted and weather-beaten, but it appeared solid. Was it to be her prison?

  To her right, maybe a hundred feet away, an old two-story house was visible through the gloom. A pale light glowed in the front window. The rest of the house was dark.

  He gripped her long hair and prodded her toward the shed. Then, holding her with one hand, he removed a key from his pocket with the other and unlocked the door. It creaked open and slammed against the inner wall. He pushed her through the doorway and into the darkness, stepping in behind her.

  Chapter 2

  DAY 2 - Tuesday, 9:15 a.m.

  ANNIE LINCOLN turned her gaze from the computer monitor toward the ringing telephone on her desk. She swung her swivel chair around, picked up the receiver, and leaned back.

  “Lincoln Investigations. Annie speaking.”

  A man’s worried voice spoke. “My name’s Edgar Bragg. I … I’m calling about my wife. She didn’t come home last night, and I know something is wrong. It’s not like her at all.” He paused a moment before continuing in a pleading voice. “Can you help me, please?”

  Annie sighed to herself. She’d been hoping to get a little free time today. She wanted to relax and take it easy for a while, maybe curl up with a good book in the backyard, or waste a little time at the mall.

  She pushed aside a file folder, grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of paper, and scribbled down the man’s name. “We’ll do what we can, Mr. Bragg,” she said, her plan of relaxation dissipating. “Have you contacted the police?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did, but they won’t do anything until my wife’s been missing at least twenty-four hours. I can’t wait that long. Something is terribly wrong.”

  Annie looked at her watch. Jake had left an hour or so ago to serve some legal papers. She could go and interview the distraught man without Jake, but he should be back any minute.

  “Mr. Bragg, my husband and I will pay you a visit right away. Are you home now?”

  “Yes. I … I couldn’t go to work today. Not with my wife missing. I’m at 155 Walker Lane, apartment 202. That’s in east Richmond Hill.”

  “I know the street,” Annie said, writing down the address. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

  “Please hurry.”

  That was it, then. Her mini-vacation would have to wait until tomorrow.

  She got the man’s phone number, then terminated the call and dialed Jake’s cell. He’d served the papers without incident, and he expected to be home in less than ten minutes.

  She reached for her handbag and peeked inside to be sure she had her notepad, a pen, and her digital recorder. She tucked the paper with Mr. Bragg’s address into the bag, put fresh batteries into the recorder, and dropped it back into the handbag. She’d be ready to go as soon as Jake arrived.

  Annie turned back to the computer. She finished detailing a research report she’d been working on, then shut down the monitor and pushed back her chair. The rest of the research could wait. She had some background checks to do for Cranston’s, but that could wait as well.

  Not so long ago, research and background checks for corporate clients had been her sole business. When Jake had been laid off from his job as a construction engineer at one of Canada’s largest land developers, he’d gotten the wild idea to expand Annie’s business into investigative work. She had balked at first, but he’d persisted, and after a few weeks of intense study and attending classes at Richmond Community College, they’d each gotten their license along with an official certificate.

  Jake had dug a little deeper into the books and taken another course, adding a security license to his repertoire. “You never know when it might come in handy,” he had said. At six feet four inches tall, with an impressive physique, he was well suited as a bodyguard or for security service should the occasion demand it.

  Since then, they’d never looked back. When Jake’s former employers had begged him to return, offering him a sizable salary increase, he’d politely declined. Thanks to recent successes in tracking down bad guys, their once fledgling enterprise now prospered.

  Annie wasn’t sure what they could do for Edgar Bragg. A missing person often returned with a valid reason for their absence, but that wasn’t always the case, and Annie treated every client with the urgency they demanded.

  With any luck, they could get this sorted out in no time.

  She carried her handbag to the kitchen, set it on the table, and poured the last cup of coffee. As she pulled back a chair and sat down, she heard the unmistakable sound of Jake’s Firebird roaring into the driveway.

  A moment later, the front door opened and Jake appeared in the kitchen. He dropped into a chair across the table from Annie and grinned.

  “Got the papers served. The guy was pretty upset when he realized what they were. I hightailed it out of there before he took his anger out on me.” He chuckled. “People are never happy about being sued.”

  Annie gave an understanding nod, then finished her coffee and pushed back her chair and stood. She glanced out the window toward the sunlit backyard, her comfortable chair on the deck, and thought of the cold pitcher of lemonade in the fridge. She took a deep breath and turned to face Jake. “Are you ready to go?”

  “All ready,” Jake said, pushing back his chair. “We’ll take my car.”

  ~*~

  DETECTIVE HANK CORNING raised his head and looked at the officer approaching his desk. It was Officer Spiegle, and the young cop looked like he had something urgent on his mind.

  “Diego wants to see you in his office right away,” the officer said. “Apparently, it can’t wait.”

  “Thanks, Yappy,” Hank said. He yawned, tossed his pen onto the desk, and pushed back his chair. There hadn’t been much doing the last few days, so he’d taken the time to catch up on some mundane paperwork. And though the day was still young, he was ready for a break.

  He stood and crossed the precinct floor and tapped on Diego’s open door. “What’s up, Captain?”

  Diego waved him in and motioned toward a man clad in a postal uniform, sitting in the guest chair across the desk from Diego. “This is Luke Rushton.” The captain leaned back and pointed toward a small, flat box on his desk. “He brought us an interesting package this morning.”

  “It’s rather early for mail delivery, isn’t it?” Hank asked.

  “This was a special circumstance,” Diego said.

  Hank moved in closer and gazed at the package. It had no stamps or special delivery stickers on it. Instead, a handwritten message was taped to the top of the box, scrawled in red ink on a scrap of paper: “Deliver to RHPD ASAP. Urgent.”

  Hank looked up. “What’s in it, Captain? What’s so special about it?”

  “Take a look,” Diego said, leaning forward. “I had the bomb guys go over it before we opened it, and it’s been checked for fingerprints. Now I want to know what you make of it.”

  Hank slid the box closer, folded back the lid, and looked inside. “It’s hair,” he said, frowning at the captain.

  “Human hair,” Diego said.

  Hank took another look inside the box. It certainly appeared to be human hair—a thick, black lock about twelve inches long, maybe more, nestled in white tissue paper.

  Diego nodded toward the postman. “Luke, this is Detective Corning. Tell him how you came across this package.”

  Luke Rushton straightened his tie, then turned in his chair to face Hank. He cleared his throat. “I got this from a corner mailbox north of here. Normally, I’d dump everything in a bag and take it to the sorting station along with the rest of the mail. But this one caught my attention.”

  “How so?” Hank asked.

  Rushton pointed to the box. “If you look at the outside of the package, you’ll see the same note on the top and bottom, and it’s written in red ink. Like the sender didn’t want me to miss his message.” He shrugged. “There’s never much in that mailbox for the morning pickup, so it stuck out like a sore thumb.”

 

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