Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death

by L. J. Sellers

  “Just me.”

  “Who brings in supplies for you?”

  “An employee.”

  “His name?” Schak kept up the questions.

  “He goes by G, but his legal name is Gary Gwartney.” Valder paused and looked over his shoulder. “G had nothing to do with this.”

  At the end of the hall, they reached a stairwell heading down. At the bottom, the steps opened into a small alcove with a door on either side. “The basement was originally built as a bomb shelter,” Valder explained. “So there’s a bathroom and a refrigeration unit down here. I also keep a generator and supplies.”

  Valder opened the door on the left and the three of them entered a room that was about fourteen-foot square. A narrow bed occupied one corner, a couch was in another, and one wall was lined with boxes. Most displayed food labels, and they looked sloppily stacked. There was a narrow door in the corner opposite the bed.

  Jackson took in the gray brick walls and cold cement floor and wondered why in the hell a spoiled rich girl would want to be held captive here. She must have been mentally ill, Jackson thought. What had her boyfriend Brett said? That he thought Courtney had done it for her mother’s attention.

  “Jesus,” Schak muttered. “This is so fucked up.” He looked at Valder with such contempt Jackson stepped in.

  “Did you give her food and water while she was down here?”

  “Of course. She also had a communication unit she could contact me with if she wanted it to be over.”

  “What kind of communication unit?”

  “You know, a walkie talkie.”

  “Did she use it?”

  “Nope. She toughed it out.” Valder’s expression said he admired Courtney’s fortitude.

  “Have you held anyone else down here?”

  Valder shook his head. “I’m not a kidnapper. I’m a businessman who caters to the diversity of human desires.”

  “The strip club business?” Jackson retorted. “What else?”

  “There’s only so much I can do from my house.” Valder tried to look rueful, but he was being evasive.

  “Mind if I look around?”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  Jackson headed toward the bed, not even sure what he was looking for. Bloodstains? Courtney had made a video here, showing herself to be unharmed.

  While Jackson pulled up the blanket and looked for trace evidence on the bed, Schak examined the couch. After a moment, he said, “This is a hide-a-bed.”

  “Yep”

  “Why two sleeping spaces?”

  “I told you. This room was originally built as a shelter for the family. Back in the late seventies, when nuclear war was the big threat.”

  Jackson checked the bathroom, which held only a toilet, a sink, a roll of toilet paper, a small hand towel, and the faint smell of Windex. The space had been recently cleaned. He stepped back out into the main room.

  “I’d like to get some evidence technicians down here.”

  Valder visibly stiffened. “You’ll need a warrant for that.”

  “I’ll get one.” The windowless room suddenly started closing in around him. What else could they accomplish here right now? Valder acted like a man with nothing to hide. Meanwhile Eddie Lucas, the last person to see Courtney alive, was still out there.

  “What was it like for her down here?” Jackson tried to imagine the twisted scenario. “Was she free to roam around? Or read?”

  Valder sounded impatient. “Her hands were cuffed together and she was blindfolded. No entertainment. She wanted the real experience.”

  Jackson had to get out. “What do you say, Schak? Seen enough?”

  “For now.”

  They headed back upstairs with Jackson feeling guilty about needing to escape the room. His next call would be to the pathologist. He needed to know how and why Courtney had died. What if Courtney’s death was some inexplicable freak thing? He wanted to charge Valder with something, but Jackson suspected it would be a waste of time. Victor Slonecker, the district attorney, would ultimately decide if Seth Valder went to trial.

  When they came back into the living area with daylight streaming in through its tall front windows, Jackson felt his chest loosen. Being underground had never affected him that badly before. Was he becoming claustrophobic?

  “How long have you been agoraphobic?” He questioned Valder again, as the suspect turned into the kitchen. It was huge, spotless, all stainless steel and black marble.

  “That’s hard to pinpoint.” Valder opened the refrigerator. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Bottled water if you have it.” Jackson never purchased bottled water; it was a waste of money, but he was thirsty and he never drank anything from an open container given to him by a stranger. “When was the last time you left the house?”

  “About a year ago. I went into the club for St. Patrick’s Day, but no amount of alcohol could get me to stay. The disease had been coming on for a while.”

  Valder handed Jackson and Schak each a bottle of water. “What now?”

  “A few more questions.”

  Valder sighed and slumped into a kitchen chair. “I should have never taken this job.”

  “Why did you?”

  “The money was good and it was a favor to Mircovitch.”

  “Did you owe him for some reason?”

  “No. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have him owe me.”

  Schak asked, “How many jobs have you done for ThrillSeekers?”

  “Just two. This was the second.”

  “What was the first job?”

  “We took a couple out into the Deschutes wilderness and dropped them off with just the clothes on their backs and a GPS locator. They were outdoor fitness freaks. They wanted to test themselves.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Eddie did that job too. I don’t venture into the wilderness.” Valder gave him an odd smile.

  “I’d like you to call Eddie right now. Ask him to come out here.”

  “I don’t have to do that.”

  “It would certainly be cooperative and go a long way toward keeping me from hauling you down to the county jail.” Jackson grinned back at him. “It’s not a pleasant experience even for non-agoraphobics.”

  “But you already know that,” Schak added. “You’ve done a little time.”

  “I wondered when you would get around to that.”

  Jackson heard a car pull up outside. He hoped it was the patrol unit backup McCray had called for. He planned to keep a twenty-hour watch on Valder.

  Chapter 17

  The Young Mothers Outreach center on 17th and Oak had once been a small bank, but now looked like a combo daycare/computer center. It smelled like babies, with hints of formula, applesauce, and dirty diapers. Cribs lined the left wall in the front half, and the area rug near them was littered with colorful plastic toys. With Micah snuggled into a harness against her chest, Kera looked around for someone in charge. The two young women who were taking care of the babies didn’t seem like the management type. Eventually, she would talk to everyone here if she had to. Beyond this, she didn’t know what else she could do to find Danette. Mrs. Blake had gone back to Corvallis, and Kera had to make some decisions about how to care for Micah and what to do about her own job.

  In the back half of the partially divided room, she saw young women at computer stations. Kera headed past the cribs and cupboards and walked up to someone sitting at a desk filling out paperwork. She looked nineteen or so and had two eyebrow piercings.

  “Hi. I’m Kera Kollmorgan.”

  “Your baby is so cute.” Micah smiled at the girl, doing his baby-best to attract attention.

  “Oh yes.” Kera kissed his sweaty little forehead. “He’s my grandson, and his mother’s name is Danette Blake. Do you know her? She comes here sometimes.”

  “No, but this is only my second visit. Ask Gwen,” she said, pointing at a young woman standing next to a computer station. “She’s a vol
unteer and knows everybody.”

  Gwen looked up as Kera approached. Gwen was dark-haired, Gothic-pretty, and about twenty-five. The client she’d been assisting muttered under her breath about the ‘damn online applications.’

  “Hi, I’m Kera. This is my grandson, Micah, and we’re trying to find his mother, Danette Blake. Do you know her?”

  “Sure, but she hasn’t been here this week.”

  “She’s missing.” Saying the words made Kera choke up, and she struggled for control. She had hoped she was past this phase.

  Gwen scowled. “What do you mean missing?”

  “She left Micah with me Monday morning and never came back. I found out she came in to this center sometimes, so I’m looking for any information you might have.”

  “Wow.” Gwen reached over and squeezed Kera’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Let’s sit down and talk.” She touched the girl at the computer on the shoulder. “Keep going with the application, I’ll be back.”

  They sat at a scarred wooden table that had likely been donated. “Danette hadn’t been coming here that long,” Gwen said, “so I don’t know her well, but I’ll help if I can. What can I tell you?”

  “I’m trying to determine if she purposely abandoned her baby.” Kera left out the other option.

  “It’s possible,” Gwen said without hesitation. “I know Danette had a conversation with our director about adoption.”

  “She was thinking of giving up her baby?”

  “I’m not sure. A lot of the women who come here don’t have any family in the area. Some of them end up placing their baby into state custody; we never see them again, of course.” She smiled at Kera. “But Danette had family support.”

  “Does the center encourage women to give up their babies?”

  “Of course not.” Gwen paused, reconsidering her answer. “Unless they’re drug addicts or abusive to the child, then we call social services.”

  “Did Danette talk to you about Micah? Did you get a sense she was giving up on being a mother?”

  “Danette was frustrated and depressed. She said she didn’t feel bonded to her baby. Yet she was here, getting help with daycare and participating in group sessions, so she was trying to make it work.” Gwen abruptly stood. “I think you should talk to our director. He’s actually here this morning.”

  Kera followed her down a short hallway leading to two offices. Gwen knocked on one door, then gently pushed it open. “Elias? Do you have a minute? There’s someone here you should talk to.”

  “Of course. Come in.” The voice was friendly. Kera stepped in behind Gwen.

  “This is Kera Kollmorgan. She’s looking for Danette Blake. I know Danette talked to you about some things, so here we are.”

  The man stood and reached across his messy desk to shake her hand. “I’m Elias Goodbe. How can I help?” He was gray-haired and lean, with well-balanced features and a contagious smile.

  As Kera sat, Gwen excused herself and left.

  “My daughter-in-law, Danette Blake, left her baby with me Monday morning while she went to an appointment, but never returned. She hasn’t contacted me or her mother either. I’m trying to figure out if she abandoned her baby purposely or if something horrible has happened to her.”

  Goodbe made a sympathetic sound. “You must be very worried. I’m not sure I can help, but I’ll try. What appointment did she go to?”

  “It was with a psychiatrist named Stella Callahan.”

  “We referred Danette to Dr. Callahan. Stella does some pro bono work for the center, and Danette seemed to be in need of counseling beyond what our volunteers could offer.”

  “Do you think Danette was having some kind of breakdown?”

  “I’m not qualified to say. I’m really just an import businessman who happened into social work though circumstances and need.” He smiled and Kera felt drawn to his charm. Goodbe continued, “We were worried Danette was severely depressed and might need medication to get through her post-partum experience. So we sent her to Stella.”

  “Did Danette talk about giving up her baby?”

  Goodbe hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s ethical to share that information with you. You say she disappeared on Monday?”

  “Monday morning.”

  “I understand your concern. Danette did ask me about adoption, but only in a hypothetical way. She mentioned there was someone she trusted to raise Micah.” Goodbe nodded at the baby. “I assume that’s you.”

  “Most likely. Danette’s biological mother isn’t well.” Kera still felt she hadn’t learned anything new. “Do you have any idea where Danette might be? Where she would have gone if she did decide to walk away from this little boy?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t. Feel free to ask any of the volunteers.”

  “Do you operate entirely on volunteers?”

  “Almost. I have a paid manager, but Gwen and the others are giving their time. Gwen originally came here looking for help and now is a volunteer, and our computer expert, Tasha, is filling a community service order from the court. A few of our volunteers come here as part of their own therapy. So we have a variety of motivations, but it works.”

  “It’s wonderful what you’re doing here. I didn’t even know the center existed until I started searching for Danette.” Kera got an idea. “I think you could use some publicity, and I know a reporter for the Willamette News who would probably give you a great little write up.”

  Goodbe seemed to pull back physically from the idea. “I don’t know about that. I’m afraid we’d be overwhelmed with requests for services and have to turn people away. I think we’re doing fine with word of mouth referrals. Maybe when we have more space and more money coming in.”

  “Okay.” Kera picked up her purse. She didn’t really follow his thinking, but it wasn’t her business. She stood to leave. “I’m a nurse at Planned Parenthood. Is it okay to refer young pregnant women here?”

  “Of course.” Goodbe stood too. “I’m sorry about Danette. Let me know if you find her.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  On the way out, Kera chatted briefly with both of the young women in the daycare area. One had met Danette, but had nothing new to offer. Kera remembered the posters in her car and made a quick trip out to get one. With permission, she taped one of the posters on the front window facing out. Anyone coming near the front door would see it. The effort failed to make her feel optimistic.

  Jackson met with the taskforce at three. The little room was charged with energy. They all had information to share and a sense that they were about to make a breakthrough.

  “McCray, will you take the board? We have a lot to document.” Jackson glanced at his notes, which he hadn’t had a chance to process yet. Where to start? “We now have three suspects: Zoran Mircovitch, Seth Valder, and Eddie Lucas, with Lucas being our most viable.”

  “What about the boyfriend, Brett Fenton?” Evans seemed to vibrate with eagerness. “Did you rule him out?”

  “Make that four suspects,” Jackson corrected. “Mircovitch is spelled m-i-r,” he said to McCray. “In fact, let’s start with the boyfriend. He claims he broke up with Courtney on Sunday. She supposedly called him from the club Monday night. He says she was drunk, so he hung up on her. My instinct says he’s telling the truth.” He turned to Schak. “Did we get her phone records?”

  “Not yet. Verizon was supposed to fax them to me this morning.”

  “Call the company again as soon as we’re done here. We have to know if Courtney made any phone calls Tuesday night after she recorded that video in Valder’s basement. “

  “Will do,” Schak said, sounding a little defensive. “The ex-boyfriends were a dead end. Steve Smith is in jail in Salem, and Tristan Chalmers has a new girlfriend and a solid alibi.”

  “Great news. What’s your gut feeling about Seth Valder? Is he really agoraphobic? Or is it all bullshit?”

  “I think it would be hard to fake that, but I’m happy to hang o
ut at Lucky Numbers and see if he ever shows up in the club.” Schak flashed a grin, then turned serious. “I think he’s hiding something. The more he tried to be all open and honest about Courtney’s little adventure in his house, the more suspicious it made me.”

  “I know what you mean. Like hiding in plain sight.” Jackson turned to Evans. “Did you get anything on Valder from Detective Quince?”

  “Quince says he’s running prostitutes, but they can’t get any of the women to testify against him.”

  “Let’s get a warrant for Valder’s phone records. I’d like to know who he’s been talking to lately. I don’t like the bastard, and even if he’s not directly responsible for Courtney’s death, I’d like to rattle his world a little.”

  The district attorney rushed into the room, late as usual. Despite his hurry, Victor Slonecker looked immaculate in an expensive gray suit. His thick black hair and angular face gave him public appeal, and Jackson believed Slonecker’s controlled ambition would take him all the way to state attorney general.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jackson said, rising to shake his hand. “This is an unusual case, and we could use your guidance.” He and Slonecker worked together well, but Jackson always felt a little unsure of how to address him.

  “What do we know about how Courtney died?” Slonecker sat and put his briefcase on the floor.

  “Not much yet,” Jackson answered. “I called Gunderson last night to see what he found under her clothes. He reported that Courtney’s body has no signs of trauma except the bruises on her neck and the minor abrasions on her wrists. No obvious evidence of sexual assault either. The autopsy is scheduled for early tomorrow, and we’ll know more then.”

  Slonecker was still looking at Jackson. “What do you know about ThrillSeekers? Mrs. Durham called me this morning and she wants someone held accountable for Courtney’s death.”

  Jackson was caught off guard. “When did Elle Durham find out about ThrillSeekers? Did she know about Courtney’s contract before the kidnapping?”

  “I don’t know,” Slonecker said, sounding impatient. “I just know she’s angry and wants me to press charges against everyone involved. What did you find out about the company?”