Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death

by L. J. Sellers

  “It’s located in Portland and run by Zoran Mircovitch. Courtney hired them to abduct her for thrills. She signed a contract and made a video verbalizing her agreement to be held in confinement for twenty-four hours. She had a safety word she could have used at any time to end it. At the end of her ordeal, her caretaker–if you can stomach that term–made another video in which Courtney again verbalized her consent and appeared completely unharmed.”

  “Good God.” Slonecker looked stunned.

  “Whether any of that is illegal, I don’t know,” Jackson added. “The Portland police are aware of our investigation and are keeping an eye on Mircovitch. Meanwhile, Mircovitch contracted with Seth Valder, owner of Lucky Numbers, to fulfill the contract. Valder, in turn, hired Eddie Lucas, owner of a business called Dirty Jobs, to do the actual kidnapping.”

  “Where did they hold her?”

  “At Valder’s. He showed us the room.”

  “Do we have any of these men in custody?”

  “Not yet.” Jackson had a flash of doubt about his decisions. “Seth Valder is agoraphobic and says he hasn’t left his house in more than a year. A uniform officer is parked in his driveway to ensure Valder doesn’t have a miraculous recovery and disappear overnight. We’re looking for Eddie Lucas now. We were just getting to that when you walked in.”

  Jackson glanced at McCray, hoping he would have something solid to report.

  McCray cleared this throat. “We put out an attempt-to-locate for Lucas and a uniform officer is parked in front of his house.”

  “What about his business?” Jackson tapped his notepad.

  “He runs it out of his house,” Evans reported. “It’s a one-man operation. His ad in the phonebook says he will…” She looked down at her notes. “Crawl under your house looking for the leak or remove the dead squirrel from your attic.”

  There was a moment of quiet while they thought about what it would be like to have that job.

  “Mr. Dirty Jobs kidnapped Courtney and took her to Valder’s home, then picked her up again twenty-four hours later and dropped her behind Autzen Stadium. Is that the scenario?” Slonecker made it sound too stupid to believe.

  “That is the story Seth Valder tells. We don’t have Lucas’ side of it yet.”

  “I know you already know this, but finding Eddie Lucas is critical.” Slonecker grabbed his briefcase and stood to leave. “Meanwhile, I want a 24/7 watch on Seth Valder. I may place him under house arrest for criminal negligence.”

  No one said anything. As much as they all wanted Valder to go down for his part in the charade, Courtney’s video, made at 9:17 Tuesday night, would make it hard to convict him of kidnapping.

  After the DA left, Jackson looked back through his notes of their last meeting. Their focus had been so different yesterday morning. Still, they had to review what they’d learned. He looked up at Evans. “Did you track down the guy named Zack?”

  “Zack Underwood is a musician. He says he and Courtney are friends. They danced together that night, but then she left. Other people at the club say they saw Zack there until closing.”

  “Thanks, Evans. We now know Courtney was kidnapped, by arrangement, from Diego’s that night. According to Seth Valder, she was also dropped off in good health behind Autzen Stadium around ten o’clock the next night. The big question is: What happened then?”

  A rap at the door, then the desk clerk stepped in. “I have a fax for Detective Schakowski.”

  “About damn time.” Schak bolted to the door and grabbed the thick stack of papers.

  While Schak scanned Courtney’s phone records looking for the narrow time frame between Courtney’s drop off and death, Jackson turned to Evans. “Did you run a background check on Lucas?”

  “He was arrested for stealing a car when he was nineteen. It was his aunt’s car and she dropped the charges. He was charged with possession of marijuana a year later. That’s it. Other than a few traffic violations, he’s been a good boy–that we know of–for a decade.”

  “Let’s get out there and find out everything we can about Lucas. We need to know if he has any family or friends he would stay with if he knew we were watching his house. Let’s get word out to our neighboring states to look for his van. If he heard Courtney died, he might panic and run.”

  McCray nodded. “I already did that.”

  “Let’s check Valder’s rental unit too.”

  “I’ve got a phone number,” Schak said, his voice charged with excitement. “On Tuesday April 7 at 10:13 p.m., Courtney called 606-1330 and spoke for three minutes and forty-two seconds.”

  “I’ll have the owner of that number in a second,” Evans said, pulling a small white laptop from her bag.

  “That’s handy,” McCray commented.

  “I just bought it. I think I love it.”

  Anticipation hung thick in the air as they waited. After two minutes Evans announced, “Brett Fenton.”

  Chapter 18

  “He lied to me,” Jackson said, feeling neither surprised nor disappointed. “He told me the last time he spoke to Courtney was Monday night when she called from Diego’s.”

  “He must be hiding something,” Schak said.

  “What if he went down to the stadium after Courtney called?” Evans voiced what Jackson was thinking.

  “He said he was home with his parents. Did we check his alibi?”

  An uncomfortable silence.

  Jackson stuffed his notes into his evidence bag. “McCray and Evans, stay on Eddie Lucas. I want him in custody. Schak, call Brett Fenton’s parents and see if we can pinpoint exactly where he is. We’ll bring him in for another round of questioning.”

  Jackson spent the next twenty minutes typing all his handwritten notes into a Word document and organizing them by subject. He’d taught himself to type, and over the years, he’d slowly gotten better despite his oversized fingers. This was an important process because it not only helped him stay organized, it reminded him of the little pieces of information that might otherwise get lost in the constant shuffle of new leads. Such as whether anyone had bothered to verify the main suspect’s whereabouts at the time of the victim’s death. Damn that was sloppy. Brett had told them about ThrillSeekers and sent them off in another direction. No point in dwelling on it. Self-directed anger was too distracting and he couldn’t afford another mistake.

  Now that he knew Courtney had been alive at 10:13 and called her boyfriend, the idea that Eddie Lucas had dropped her off unharmed seemed plausible. In fact, Jackson now felt certain Courtney had died right there in the grass where the cyclist found her. She had probably called Brett to ask for a ride. Why would he lie about that? Unless he’d gone down there to pick her up, then for reasons still unknown, killed her. How? The bruises on Courtney’s neck didn’t appear as though they would be lethal. He’d seen hickies that looked worse. Hopefully tomorrow’s autopsy would tell for sure.

  Jackson stared at the file on his monitor. Under Physical Evidence, he had listed: bruises on neck, abrasions on wrists, asthma inhaler under body, tar on shoe, missing earring. He had nothing.

  He called the crime lab on Garfield and asked for Parker.

  “Hey, Jackson. I was just going to call you before I left.”

  “What have you got for me?”

  “Not much. The search of the area around the body didn’t produce anything significant. Some trash, a couple of needles with heroin residue, a running shoe, a red bandanna, and a very weathered paperback novel. Sorry, no blood and no cell phone.”

  “You were going to call me, so you have something.”

  “The asthma inhaler found at the scene was empty.”

  Jackson’s brain scurried to process the possibilities. “How do you know that?”

  “I opened it up. It felt light, so I checked.”

  “Do we know for sure it was Courtney’s?”

  “Not yet. I extracted some saliva from inside the mouth mechanism and sent it to the state lab for DNA analysis, but I won’t
get the results for a couple of days.”

  “Assuming the inhaler was Courtney’s, it seems likely she had it in her hand sometime before she died.” Jackson was mostly thinking out loud.

  “Seems likely.”

  “Can a healthy twenty-one-year-old die from an asthma attack?”

  “Children sometimes do, but with adults it’s rare. The pathologist should be able to tell you though.”

  “How far was the red bandanna from the body?”

  “Let me check.” After a pause, Parker said, “About twenty feet.”

  “So it could have been around her mouth or her eyes at one point.”

  “I’ll send it to the lab as well.”

  “Thanks. Send the needles too. The victim was known to use recreational drugs.” Jackson tried to remember what else he had planned to ask. “What about the black substance from her shoe?”

  “It’s roofing tar, so it didn’t come from the asphalt path itself. Unless you have another sample for me to compare it to, there’s not much else I can tell you about it.”

  Jackson let it go. They knew where Courtney had been now. Where she picked up the tar hardly mattered. “Thanks, Parker.” He hung up and keyed the new information into his notes. He suddenly remembered what Elle Durham had said about Courtney’s asthma. That she mostly used her inhaler when she was outside and especially when temperature changes triggered the need for it.

  Jackson played out a scenario based on the information he had. Eddie Lucas had dropped Courtney off in the grassy area behind the stadium. Courtney called her boyfriend to pick her up. While she waited, she got cold and had an asthma attack. She took out her inhaler, used it up, and dropped it like trash. Then Brett showed up and they argued about the kidnapping adventure. He lost control and killed her.

  Or?

  Courtney tried to medicate herself but the inhaler was empty or nearly empty. When Brett showed up, Courtney was already dead of an asthma attack. He panicked and left and later lied about getting the call. Had Courtney died there in the grass because she couldn’t get enough oxygen? How long would it take? Why hadn’t she called 911? Jackson didn’t buy this scenario.

  Either way, it seemed as if her arranged kidnapping was only indirectly to blame for her death. Unless Eddie Lucas had hung around until after Courtney called Brett, then came back and killed her. Weird, but possible.

  Jackson’s stomach growled, reminding him it was getting late in the day. A good father, he thought, would put this case aside, pick up his daughter from her afterschool drill team practice, then go home and have dinner together. Most of the time, he was that kind of father. Last night, he’d asked Renee to keep Katie for another day or so. This was not a case he could walk away from, even for a few hours. There was something inexplicable going on and it pulled at him with a force he couldn’t resist.

  Jackson heard footsteps and looked up as Schak approached his desk. “Fenton’s parents say he’s in class but should be home by five. You want me to handle this?”

  “I’ll go with you.” Jackson grabbed his jacket, gun, and evidence bag. “The more I think about this case, the less sense it makes. I keep thinking we’re missing something big.”

  Later, as they headed downstairs to the parking lot, Schak said, “Now that we know Courtney Durham arranged her own kidnapping, do we assume the other woman’s disappearance is unrelated? What’s her name again?”

  “Danette Blake.” Jackson hadn’t thought about Danette all day or called Kera to see how she was doing. More guilt. “It seems very unlikely the cases are in any way related, but we’ll ask Brett Fenton if he knows Danette.”

  “Eddie Lucas too? If we get him into custody?”

  “Why not?”

  They took separate cars, thinking if Fenton didn’t come home, they could split up for whatever came next. Jackson took the lead, heading up City View, then turned onto Panorama near the peak. The Fentons’ huge home was constructed of white stucco, a rarity in Oregon where timber was plentiful. Jackson went past the driveway, turned around, and parked on the other side of the street. Schak parked near the driveway.

  Twenty minutes later, Brett’s black Nissan 370Z came up the hill. As he approached the driveway, Jackson saw the young man glance first at Schak’s blue Impala, then at Jackson’s similar car across the street. All at once, the Nissan accelerated, speeding past both of them.

  Schak took off, squealing his tires and hitting his siren as a warning. Faced the wrong direction, Jackson had to crank his car around while he radioed in the pursuit. He pressed the accelerator and shot up the hill. What was Fenton thinking? Unless the kid abandoned his car and took off on foot through someone’s backyard, there was no way he would escape. Even then, they would pick him up eventually.

  At the top of City View, the road looped around and turned into Shields Avenue. The street was lined with houses, and Fenton was moving too fast for a neighborhood. Heart pounding, Jackson prayed everyone would stay inside, having dinner. As he crested the hill, he saw Schak’s cruiser make an abrupt right turn on Suncrest. Fenton was heading farther up the forested hillside into the Hawkins subdivision of new homes. Damn. Jackson radioed in the new direction.

  He made the turn, feeling slightly out of control. This street was narrower, so he eased off the accelerator. Abruptly, Schak screeched to a stop a hundred feet in front of him. Jackson slammed his brakes and skidded in behind Schak’s cruiser. As Schak bolted from his car, Jackson saw the little black sports car stopped in the street ahead of his partner’s car. A little farther up, he saw a mother and child step safely onto the sidewalk.

  Their suspect had stopped for a pedestrian. So Fenton wasn’t a psychopath. Would he take off again? Was he that guilty? Or just scared?

  The young man had apparently had enough of the chase. He pulled over to the curb, got out of his car, and raised in hands in the air, looking around the upscale neighborhood to see who might be watching.

  Brett Fenton burst into silent tears moments after Jackson sat down at the interrogation table. Jackson waited for him to get control. Tears were not all that unusual from suspects. Confrontation, guilt, frustration—it could all come together to make a grown man cry.

  “This is a second interview with Brett Fenton. It is Thursday, April 9, and the time is 6:15 p.m. Are you ready to begin, Brett?” Jackson glanced around at the closet-sized room. Let him confess, quickly, please.

  “I should wait for my lawyer. I know my parents called him.” Brett wiped his eyes with his sleeve and tried to look brave.

  “You can if you want to. We’ll be back when he gets here.” Jackson clicked off the recorder and stood. Schak followed his cue. Before they reached the door, Brett called out, “Don’t leave me here. Please.”

  Jackson was reminded that Brett was still a twenty-one-year-old kid who lived with his upper-middle-class parents and had never been in trouble. He turned and sat back down. “Do you want to talk now?”

  “Yes.”

  Jackson put the recorder on the table and pressed the red button. The concealed camera was also videotaping. “Why did you kill Courtney?” He’d changed his mind about starting gently.

  “I didn’t!” Brett choked back a sob. “I didn’t even see her that night. She called me and wanted me to pick her up, but I refused. I wanted no part of the whole stupid kidnapping thing.”

  “Why did you lie about the last time you talked to her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I was scared. You had just told me she was dead. It freaked me out.”

  “What did Courtney say when she called?”

  “She bragged a little and said something like ‘I did it. I survived a day of captivity. They couldn’t break me.’”

  Jackson was surprised but kept his face immobile. “What did her kidnappers do to try to break her?”

  “Probably nothing. Courtney was a drama queen. She was just proud of herself for not quitting and getting dropped off early.”
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  “What did she say next?”

  “She asked me to pick her up. I said no.” Brett covered his face. “Of course I feel horrible about it now.”

  “Did she tell you where she was?”

  “Yes. She used it to make me feel guilty about leaving her there in the dark by herself.”

  “Did she specifically say where she was?”

  “Behind the parking lot at Autzen Stadium, near the bike path.”

  “Where were you when you got the call?”

  “I was driving home from a friend’s.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you go after Courtney called?”

  “I went home.”

  “Did anyone see you come in?”

  “My parents were in bed, but my mother probably heard me. She’s a light sleeper.”

  “How did Courtney sound to you?”

  “She was bragging and kind of excited at first, then she was pissed at me for saying no. Courtney had mood swings like that all the time.”

  “She sounds pretty hard to get along with,” Schak said, sounding empathetic.

  “She was. She was also great fun, and great–” Brett cut himself off.

  “What were you going to say? Great in bed? Was Courtney sexually exciting?” Schak followed up.

  “Yes. She was sexually exciting.” Brett looked down.

  Schak continued with a soft tone. “She also made you angry sometimes?”

  “Of course.”

  Jackson picked up. “What about that night after the kidnapping when you went to get her? Did you fight about her abduction adventure?”

  “I didn’t go down there!”

  Jackson was determined to find a crack and worm his way in. Fenton had lied to him before. He wouldn’t let him get away with it again. “Did she ever cheat on you?”

  Brett hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “But she might have?”

  “With Courtney, anything is possible.”

  “Did you ever hit her?”

  “No.” He looked offended.

  “Did you ever squeeze her neck too hard?” Jackson was thinking of the bruises.