Vengeance Road Read Online Free PDF Page B

going to sit on a story this big and risk letting the Buffalo News scoop him.
    There was only one more person to confront with the story.
    Karl Styebeck.

7
    K arl Styebeck’s address and phone number were not listed, a step most cops took to protect their families.
    Gannon had a hunch.
    After he finished eating his sandwich, he picked up his phone and punched an internal extension.
    â€œCirculation, Ashley speaking.”
    â€œHi, Ash. It’s Jack in news.”
    â€œJack Gannon?”
    He’d dated Ashley Rowe a few times after meeting her at the paper’s Christmas party. They got along but they didn’t think it would go anywhere. They’d parted as friends, or so he thought.
    â€œHello, are you there, Ashley?”
    â€œI’m here, Jack. What is it?”
    â€œCan you check a name for me? See if they’re a subscriber? Styebeck, Karl Styebeck. Karl with a K and last name spelled S-t-y-e-b-e-c-k.”
    â€œYou know it’s against policy for us to share the paper’s subscriber list.”
    â€œI completely understand. But it’s for a story.”
    Gannon heard an annoyed sigh then typing on her keyboard.
    â€œI cannot tell you that yes, we do have a subscriber by that name and the number and address are as follows.”
    Gannon wrote the information down.
    â€œI appreciate this,” he said.
    â€œI’m sure you do.”
    Gannon called Karl Styebeck’s home. The phone was answered by a woman.
    â€œNo, I’m sorry, Karl’s not here at the moment.” She was pleasant. “He’s coaching the game at the Franklin Diamond. May I take a message?”
    â€œNo, no message, thanks.”
    Gannon did not identify himself.
    He made a copy of Styebeck’s photo from a recent profile of him in one of the community newspapers then drove to Ascension Park.
    It was an established middle-class neighbourhood of streets lined with mature trees that arched over well-kept homes. Franklin Diamond encompassed a playground, basketball and tennis courts that were busy with activity. The bleachers at the ball diamond were sprinkled with parents cheering the players of a game in progress.
    He neared the benches, getting close enough to scrutinize the coaches until he was satisfied he’d locked onto Styebeck. The cop was leaning against a chest-high chain-link fence, drinking from a can of soda, watching his players in the field.
    â€œLet’s go, Bobbie!” he shouted to his pitcher. “Big swinger!”
    Gannon sidled up to him then waited for a lull in the game. Styebeck pulled a rolled roster from his rear pocket when Gannon interrupted.
    â€œExcuse me, Detective Styebeck?”
    Deep-set intelligent eyes turned on Gannon from a face as cold and still as a frozen lake. The man was in his early forties, stood an inch or so over six feet. He had a medium build with firm, large upper chest and arms. He wore a ball cap, baseball shirt and jeans.
    â€œDetective Karl Styebeck?”
    Styebeck nodded.
    â€œJack Gannon from the Buffalo Sentinel .”
    â€œThe Sentinel? You guys never cover our games.”
    â€œI’m not here for that, sir.”
    Gannon nodded to an empty picnic table by a tree, thirty yards away from the first-base line.
    â€œCan we go over there for a moment?” Gannon asked.
    â€œI’m kind of busy. What’s this about?”
    â€œBernice Hogan.”
    â€œYou better show me some ID.”
    Gannon produced his press ID. Styebeck examined it, gave it back, then went to the picnic table with Gannon.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Styebeck folded his arms across his chest.
    â€œI need to ask you a few questions for the record.”
    Gannon extended his small recorder.
    Styebeck looked at it but didn’t move.
    â€œSir, I’d like your response to a story we’re running tomorrow that will name you as a suspect in the murder of Bernice Hogan.”
    Styebeck’s eyes