“You can’t prove anything.” A slight smirk.
“Detectives are searching your house right now. They’ll find the rest of the poisoned honey.”
Gibson jerked upright, eyes wild with fear. “You can’t search my property without my consent.”
“A judge says we can.” Jackson hoped Quince at least had the signed warrant and was on his way.
Evans cut in. “A roomful of law-enforcement officers heard you make a threat to poison more people. You will be convicted. The only thing you can do to help yourself now is show remorse.”
“My life is nothing but remorse!” Gibson tried to shout, but ended with a sob.
“Tell us about it,” Jackson said softly. “What are your regrets?” This could take some time, but Gibson would confess to the poisonings. The shootings were another matter. But with enough coffee, they could keep at Gibson for hours.
Unless he and Evans starting vomiting.
“I lost my daughter to drugs, you know.” The suspect had himself under control now. “I regret not helping her. I should have paid for treatment.”
“She died in an accident?”
“Yeah. People in both cars were drunk and stoned.” He choked up at the end.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jackson felt bad for any parent who’d lost a child, no matter how messed up the parent or kid was. “So the new pot law worried you?”
“It terrified me. What a stupid mistake.”
“When did you start planning your campaign?”
“Right away. I had to.” Gibson seemed eager to talk now. “More people started smoking pot the minute the vote passed. I knew the death toll was coming.”
Almost had him. “Was that your goal with the contaminated pot brownies? To keep other young people from dying?”
“Of course. No parents should have to go through what I did.”
“So you made a special honey?”
“That’s what I do.”
Good enough. A taped confession.
Evans touched his arm, so Jackson leaned back and let her ask a few questions.
“How did you get the honey into the brownies?”
Gibson gave a small shrug, as if it had been too easy. “A syringe. The needle only made a tiny hole, and I only had to use a little bit of honey.”
“How many brownies did you inject?”
“Just three.”
One more was still out there. Evans glanced at Jackson, then back to the suspect. “Were they all contaminated at Hightones?”
“The first time.”
Oh god. Jackson’s pulse ticked up. “There’s more poison in the retail stores?”
Gibson was quiet for a long moment. “If I tell you where it is, can I get a plea deal and avoid a trial?”
Only the district attorney could decide that. But they had to get the toxic honey out of circulation. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I sold a small jar to Ambrosia Kitchen.”
A whole damn jar? Good grief!
Evans stood and left the room. She would track down the business owners. Time to get to the shootings. “Why did you target the pot grower at Riverside Farms?”
A puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
Damn. Gibson was going to make him work for it. “Why did you poison the Riverside marijuana crop? I know you wanted it off the market, but why that grower?”
“I didn’t poison any crops.” The suspect gave Jackson a look, as if he were stupid. “Grayanotoxin wouldn’t have any effect on a plant.”
“So what did you use? A strong dose of pesticide?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jackson’s patience vanished, and he raised his voice. “You shot and killed Josh Stalling as he tended his pot crop. And wounded his girlfriend. Then killed his plants.”
Gibson’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. You’re not going to pin that on me. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“We have a witness who saw your car leaving.” But the neighbor had seen a gray car. Gibson drove a white van, but maybe that was just for deliveries. Maybe he had another car in his garage. Was Quince at his property yet? Jackson hoped Quince had remembered to include the garage in his warrant.
“No.” Gibson’s voice was firm. “Your witness didn’t see my van, because I wasn’t there.”
“Where were you Wednesday, between seven and eight in the morning?”
“Making deliveries.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Sure. I stopped at Ambrosia Kitchen first. I was probably there at seven fifteen or so.”
Well, hell. Maybe Stalling’s death had a profit motive after all. Good thing they had the sister in custody.
Jackson’s phone rang, and he glanced at the ID. Quince. He answered. “What have you got?”
“A freezer with a dead woman inside.”
CHAPTER 33
Saturday, December 5, 9:05 a.m.
Evans turned on her computer and sat down at her desk. Jackson hadn’t insisted she take time off yet, so she intended to keep working. The shooter was still out there, and so was the lying 911 caller. The window of opportunity for finding both was closing fast.
Late the night before, they’d booked Paul Gibson on multiple charges, including murder, attempted murder, and obstruction of justice. He claimed his wife’s death had been an accidental honey poisoning, but a jury would have to decide if that was true. Her frozen body was in the morgue, and the county pathologist would do an autopsy in a few days when it thawed. For now, Evans was focused on Josh Stalling’s murder. Or she was supposed to be. Conner Harron still haunted her. She had to accept that she might never know who made the call that led to his death. But she wasn’t giving up just yet. She had contacted his sister and left a message, still hoping to learn more about Harron.
This morning, she planned to study Shanna McCoy’s financial documents. A judge had granted them a limited search for both of her businesses, and the bank had sent documents over late the afternoon before. Evans finally noticed the paperwork on the fax machine after Jackson had taken Gibson to jail and told her to go home. This morning, Jackson, Quince, and Schak were out searching Gibson’s home more thoroughly, and the task force planned to meet again this afternoon. She hoped to find something solid they could use to pressure or convict McCoy.
After checking her email, Evans grabbed the stack of papers and her coffee and headed for the conference room, where she could spread out if she needed to. An hour-long search produced nothing except documentation that McCoy’s spa netted only around twenty grand a year, and that she was behind on payments for a seventy-thousand-dollar business loan. That had to be for the nursery building and start-up equipment. No financial documents for Riverside Farms existed.
Time to get back to basics. Evans opened a file and started with the crime scene photos. Only Stalling’s body was in the pictures, because the DEA agent had been taken to the hospital. And a room full of tall, lush marijuana plants. They knew now that either Stalling, his sister, or both had been trafficking in illegal drugs. But since the courier had shown up at the scheduled meeting, it seemed unlikely their supplier had killed Stalling. A rival drug dealer?
Evans kept flipping through the photos and came to the ones taken inside the house. Jackson had shot a dozen of the attic, where the stolen property had been stashed. She made a note to call the evidence-locker captain and ask if his team had connected any of the items to recent crimes.
Except for the attic, the house had been fairly free of clutter, and had a limited amount of furniture. Photos of the bedroom focused mostly on the space under the floorboards where they’d found the cash. Stalling’s friend Darby Sigler had claimed the money was for a down payment to buy the pot-growing business, but maybe it was drug-trafficking money. Evans flipped past the close-ups of the box of cash. The next picture included the dresser where the knife collection had been found. What were those things on the dresser? Awards?
Evans hurried back to her desk and accessed the crime-scene images from the digital file. Clicking through until she found the one she wanted took too long, and she gritted her teeth. Finally, the dresser appeared on her screen, and she enlarged the photo. Basketball trophies. Just like the ones she’d seen in Conner Harron’s garage. She leaned in and read the inscription. Churchill Lancers. The same school. Evans glanced at the summarized case notes. Josh Stalling was thirty-eight. So was Conner Harron. She’d seen his driver’s license.
What the hell? The two men had played basketball on the same team in high school. That wasn’t surprising in itself. A lot of locals never left Eugene and stayed friends for life. But these two men had died within days of each other. Both shot down. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Especially considering her theory that someone had targeted Harron deliberately with a SWAT call. Someone who knew he had guns and would react badly. She hadn’t shared that theory with the team yet, partly because other shit kept happening, but mostly because she knew it would sound a little far reaching. She worried that the guys would think she was looking to blame someone else for Harron’s shooting. But now, she’d found this connection. She had to probe it further. Because if two members of the old team were dead, maybe a third one—or someone connected to them—had killed both. Maybe Stalling’s death had nothing to do with his pot-growing job.
Had Stalling and Harron stayed in touch all these years? Where the hell were their cell phones? Jackson had Stalling’s phone, and Bruckner had been the last one to handle Harron’s phone. No, wait, she’d picked it up when she’d visited Harron’s house but had gone for a run when she got home, then crashed. Oh hell. Was it still in the pocket of the jacket she’d worn yesterday? She would have to drive home for it. Evans stood and called Harron’s sister again. This time Lynn Harron answered.
“Detective Evans. Do you have a moment?”
“Why is this important? I’m trying to plan a funeral service and make sense of my brother’s financial stuff. Can it wait?”
“I’m trying to make sense of your brother’s death. So no, it can’t wait. I need to speak with you in person.”
“I told you, I’m busy. I’m grieving. And I’m mad as hell at the police for shooting him.”
Guilt ripped through Evans. Should she tell the sister she’d been the one to shoot him? No, that would be counterproductive. No one outside the department ever needed to know. Why the hell had she told Sophie? But she had to say something. “I’m angry too. I think someone called in a false report about Conner.” Evans stopped there, hoping to prompt Lynn.
“I knew it! Conner had problems, but he’d never threatened anyone with a gun.”
“Who would want to harass him that way?” Evans grabbed her shoulder bag and headed out. She needed to keep moving.
“I have no idea. Conner owed a lot of money, but the few friends he had really liked him.”
“Do you know Josh Stalling?”
“I used to. He was one of Conner’s best friends all through school. I saw on the news that he’d been shot. It made me sad. Then Conner was killed too.” The sister pulled in a quick breath to hold back a sob.
“Had they stayed in touch?”
“For a few years after high school, but then Josh went to jail and Conner joined the military, and they drifted apart.” Lynn Harron broke down and cried. “It’s so fucking tragic. They were both still so young. Yeah, they’d screwed up their lives, but so what?”
“How did Conner screw up his life?” He didn’t have a record except the domestic-assault charge.
“He ruined his marriage. He couldn’t manage money. And he had to take all kinds of medications just to get through the day. It’s mostly because of the goddamn war, but Conner struggled even before he enlisted.”
Was his ex-wife bitter enough to have made the call? “What happened with his marriage?”
“They fought about money all the time. And about how to raise their son.” A hesitation. “Loni claimed Conner was abusive sometimes too, and she pressed charges once and sent him to jail for a while. But I think she exaggerated.”
“Is his ex-wife the vindictive type?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”
Evans would check her out, if she could find the time. “What’s Loni’s last name?”
“Marquette. It’s her family name. She never changed it, and that bothered Conner too.”
This would be a tough question. “Any idea who might want Conner dead?”
“What do you mean? I thought you said the 911 call was a prank.”
“It probably was. I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“Oh hell.” The sister sobbed so hard, Evans had to take out her earpiece.
Finally, Lynn was under control. “Sorry. Somehow his death is harder to take thinking that it was on purpose, that someone wanted him dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you care enough to investigate. I wish I could help you.”
“Tell me who else Conner and Josh hung out with in high school.”
“That was a long time ago. But there was a third guy on the team they considered a best friend. The three were even roommates for a while after high school while they went to Lane Community.”
“I need his name.”
“His first name began with a V. Vince or Victor something. But Conner didn’t meet him until high school. And I was out of the house by then, so I didn’t know him personally like I did Josh. That kid was at our house all the time.”
“Do you have a high school yearbook you could look at?”
“Maybe. I have to go. I’ll call you back.” Lynn hung up.
The third friend was intriguing, but the lead didn’t mean anything unless he had some kind of motive. What the hell could it be? Keeping the other two quiet about something he’d done as a teenager? But why now? She had to get her hands on a Lancer yearbook that included the season Harron had received the basketball trophy. Stalling or Harron might have a copy. She had access to both houses. But she had to talk to Loni Marquette first. If Harron had partial custody of their child or even visitation, his ex-wife might have decided her life would be simpler if the kid’s father were permanently out of the picture. She wouldn’t be the first spouse to conclude that.
After a quick Google search, Evans found Loni Marquette on LinkedIn. She worked as a hair stylist at a day spa called Solar Beach. Evans called the spa, asked to speak with Loni, and was informed she was with a client. Excellent. Evans shut down her computer and jogged to her car. This wouldn’t take long, so no need to feel guilty about investigating Harron instead of Stalling. She would stop by Riverside Farms afterward to look for a yearbook, then pick up Harron’s phone. And still make it back to the department before the rest of the team did.
CHAPTER 34
The salon was just off the corner of Eighteenth and Chambers, an older building that had been renovated and decorated with a tropical theme. A chest-high L-shaped counter took up most of the entry space. Evans introduced herself to the friendly long-haired woman who greeted her. Probably the owner. The woman was middle-aged and too happy to be just a receptionist. “I need to speak with Loni.”
“She’s with a client, but it should only be another few minutes. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Sure. Black is fine.” Evans glanced around. The space was long and narrow, and a sign listed a variety of services: hair, nails, massage, tanning, and heat wraps—whatever those were. The business had a good vibe, friendlier than one of those high-end places staffed by gorgeous young women in tight dresses who made customers feel old and ugly in comparison.
The proprietor came back with coffee and said Loni would be out in a moment. And she was. A petite woman with an asymmetrical dark haircut, the ex-wife approached her with a nervous look. “Is this about Conner?”
“Yes. Where can we talk in private?”
“This way.” Loni led her to a laundry room.
The strangest space Evans had ev
er conducted an interview. But at least the machines were quiet at the moment. “I assume you’ve heard about your ex-husband’s death?”
“Of course. Our son is devastated.”
“But you’re not?”
The woman looked offended. “I’m sad for Conner, but we’ve been divorced for years, and I have a new boyfriend.”
“Were you having problems with Conner? Custody issues?”
“Not anymore. We worked it out long ago. The only problem was that Conner was sometimes too agitated or depressed to spend time with Caleb. It made me hurt for both of them, but it wasn’t a problem for me personally.” Loni narrowed her gaze. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just trying to make sense of Conner’s death.” Evans shifted positions, suddenly annoyed by the small, crowded space. “Had Conner threatened you lately?”
“No.”
“Was he abusive during your marriage?”
The ex let out a big sigh. “Sometimes he got physical when we fought. Grabbing and pushing, but nothing crazy. I regret pressing charges. Why is this coming up? I read that he was shot by a SWAT member after having a bad morning.”
A stab of guilt every time someone said it out loud. “Did you know Conner to threaten people? Particularly with a weapon?”
“Not with a gun.” She gave a small shrug. “But he could be intimidating to others when he was agitated.”
Evans found it hard to believe this woman had wanted to harm her ex, but she had to ask. “Where were you Thursday morning?”
Loni looked both confused and worried. “Right here. Why?”
“Do you know Josh Stalling?”
“No. Who is he?”
“Do you own a prepaid phone?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
Evans believed her. “Thanks for your time.” She opened the door, hurried down the hall, and left the building. Once in her car, she realized she hadn’t offered her condolences. Another mistake. But she was in a hurry now. She pulled into traffic and headed toward River Road.
Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 22
