“I ran a check on Gorman,” Schak said. “He’s got an extensive record. Most of it drug related. He’s also been charged with, but not convicted of, assault. He’s currently on parole.”
“Remind me to talk with his PO.”
“What’s the plan for now?”
“We stay nonconfrontational and try to get him to come with us voluntarily. But we are taking him downtown, regardless of what he claims. I’ll be right back.” Jackson holstered his firearm and went back to his car for his Taser. The department had finally decided to add stun guns to its arsenal of approved weapons. The decision came after a blast of citizen outrage over a psychotic teenager who’d been killed by police. Everyone outside the department seemed to believe the knife-wielding girl would still be alive if the officers had used a Taser instead of semiautomatics. They might be right, but a Taser wasn’t exactly harmless. Jackson had experienced the 50,000 volts of electricity as part of his training to carry the weapon. It was the most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced.
They approached the trailer in silence, moving rapidly across the open space. Jackson smelled dog shit and hoped he wasn’t stepping in it. The quarter moon gave them very little illumination, and the Gormans weren’t hospitable enough to leave a porch light on. Jackson knocked gently. After a long wait a woman answered the door. She was short and chubby and dressed in tight, teenage-style clothes. Her face looked forty, and her eyes looked sixty.
“Oh shit.” She stood, undecided about her next move.
“Are you Cindy Gorman?”
“You know I am.” She rolled her eyes and stepped back.
“We’d like to talk to you and your husband, Bruce. Is he here?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“Then we’ll talk to you for now. Would you like to chat here or at the station?” Jackson posed it as a straight question, but they both knew better. He saw this as an opportunity to get Cindy’s story, independent of her husband’s, to see if they conflicted.
She let out a big sigh, then stepped aside to let them in. The living room was cramped and cluttered and various odors assaulted his nose—dirty carpet, sweaty laundry, and more dog shit. It was not the worst home he’d entered, by far. A young, blond boy sat watching television.
“Go to your room, Josh,” Cindy commanded. The boy moved quickly, with only a glance at the cops. Cindy shuffled to the kitchen, which was at one end of the trailer, away from the bedrooms. Did she really think they would question her, then leave without waking Bruce? Jackson gave Schak a head nod, and his partner took up a post where the living room met the hallway. He wanted to question the boy as well, but not now.
Jackson and Cindy sat across from each other at a small, scarred wooden table. He was relieved to smell only dish soap.
“Raina Hughes came to your home last night around 5 p.m.,” he said. “Tell me about her visit.”
“No, she didn’t.” Cindy shook her head emphatically. “We haven’t seen her.”
“She told people she was coming here. She bought gas at the station down the road.”
Cindy faked a puzzled look. “I don’t know what to say. She didn’t come here.”
“Did you meet her somewhere?”
“No. Like I said, we haven’t seen her.”
Jackson heard footsteps in the hall and quickly stood. Bruce Gorman was on the move, looking sleepy and pissed off at the same time. Jackson was at least thirty pounds heavier, but without the weapon at his side, Gorman would have made him nervous. He looked like one of those skinny, mean types who like to fight and prove his worth against bigger men.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Gorman stood between the two cops, his body coiled for action.
“We’d like to talk to you about Raina Hughes. And we’d like you to come down to the station.”
“I haven’t seen that bitch, and I have nothing to say.”
Jackson decided to cut it short. Sometimes diplomacy was a waste of time. “One of two things is going to happen here. You are going to put your hands against the wall and let us search and cuff you for the ride, or,” Jackson drew out the word for emphasis, “I’ll hit you with the Taser, then cuff you. You decide.” Jackson had the stun gun in hand.
Gorman was primitive. His drug use had stunted his emotional development and he knew only two responses: fight or flight. Faced with confinement or excruciating pain, he fled. The room was small, the front door was closed, and Jackson was in the best shape of his life, thanks to Kera’s influence. Before Gorman could get the door open, Jackson had closed the gap and hit him in the upper back with the Taser prongs. Gorman’s legs buckled and he went down. In the past, before the Taser was an option, Jackson would have tackled him, possibly getting injured in the scuffle.
Gorman made horrible wounded-animal sounds as he lay on the floor writhing. Jackson remembered what the shock had felt like and had a split second of regret. As Schak cuffed Gorman, his crazy wife threw herself on Jackson, beating him on the back and shoulders with her fat little fists. He took the blows while he pocketed the Taser, then used a wristlock move to take Cindy down and cuff her. She screamed obscenities the whole time.
Crying noises came from the hallway. Jackson looked up to see Josh, watching intently as a cop pressed a knee into his mother’s back. Shit. Had he seen his father get Tasered too? Poor kid. No matter how shitty his parents were, he didn’t need to see them treated like this. Jackson wished he’d called a social worker to remove the boy from the home first.
“Josh,” he called out, trying to be heard over Cindy’s swearing. “It’s going to be okay. We just want to talk to your parents.” The boy kept crying. Jackson didn’t believe his bullshit either. It would never be okay for this kid until he was old enough to make his own choices. Even then, the odds were stacked against him.
Jackson made a quick call to the front desk officer at headquarters and asked her to track down Josh’s caseworker. After Jackson questioned the boy, Josh would need a familiar face and a place to stay.
Chapter 5
Jamie dreamed about flying, zooming high across the valley, the river below looking like a tiny squiggled pencil mark. Then a big hand roughly shook her shoulder, and her father said her name. “Jamie, wake up. It’s important.”
She sat up quickly, responding to his urgent tone. Her father was not easily rattled. “What’s going on?” she asked, needing to know, yet afraid.
“Get dressed and come into the living room.” Her father turned and left without saying another word. Jamie’s heart fluttered, then began to pound. This would be bad; she could feel it in her bones. Was it Mom? Had her mother been in a car accident? What time was it anyway? She glanced at the clock: 11:13 p.m. Her mother was never out this late. Jamie grabbed the jeans she’d worn earlier off the floor and pulled them on.
Maybe her grandmother had died. Nana had been in a nursing home for years and had another stroke just last month. Jamie pulled on a sweatshirt and hurried down the hall in her fuzzy slippers. You can handle this, she told herself. She saw an unfamiliar woman seated on the couch. Her black slacks and beige sweater seemed harmless enough, but the gun at her waist was alarming. Why was there a cop in her house? Jamie’s nerves jangled and her skin tightened. This would be very bad.
Her mother moved in and put an arm around Jamie, guiding her to the couch across from where the cop sat. Her mother’s expression was braced, like it had been the time she announced Jamie would be attending the local YMCA camp instead of cheerleader camp in California. “Jamie, this is Detective Evans. She needs to talk to you about Raina.”
No! Not Raina. Jamie had known from the moment her father said it was important. She just hadn’t let herself think it. Jamie had been a little worried about Raina—and herself—ever since that night they had been followed. Then Raina hadn’t shown up or called last night. Jamie took a deep breath. Maybe Raina is okay, she told herself. Jamie held her breath and waited.
“I’m sorry, but I have some
bad news,” the cop said, trying to be gentle. “Your friend Raina was killed last night. I need to know everything you can tell me that will help me find the person who did it.”
Jamie missed most of what she said. Her brain had shut down after the word killed. She rocked back and forth, eyes closed, wanting desperately for this woman to disappear.
“Jamie, stay with me. I need your help. When was the last time you saw Raina?”
Shut up. Shut up. Jamie refused to open her eyes.
Her father’s voice broke in. “Answer the question, Jamie.”
“I don’t know.” Crying now, she could barely speak. “Not for a few days.”
“Raina’s grandmother, Martha Krell, says Raina planned to get together with you last night. What happened?” The cop’s voice was not so gentle now.
“I don’t know. She didn’t show up and she didn’t call.”
“Did that worry you?”
Everything worried her. “Not really. Raina is unpredictable. Sometimes she needs space, and I don’t see her for days at a time. We’re just friends.” Why did she say that? It sounded weird, like something she would say about a guy.
“I need to know the names of Raina’s other friends, anyone she might have spent time with lately.”
Jamie began to sob. Beautiful, brave Raina was dead, and Jamie’s pathetic life would go on. It was so wrong.
They let her cry for a while, then her father said, “Suck it up, Jamie. You can grieve later. Detective Evans needs you to be helpful.”
Jamie fought for control. Grieve later? She would grieve forever. The questions came at her again.
“Did Raina have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Did she date anyone?”
“No. We have some guy friends, but they’re just friends.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Raina?”
Jamie shook her head. She wanted to tell the cop about the night in the park, but she couldn’t. It would open doors that needed to stay closed. Raina had brushed off the incident, but Jamie had worried that they had been stalked—and maybe by the rapist who had attacked those other women. Those other lesbians. Jamie couldn’t believe the cops or the media hadn’t made the connection yet. She sure wasn’t going to make it for them now that Raina had been attacked and she was closely associated with Raina. Jamie wasn’t totally sure she was a lesbian, but even if she was, her parents must never know. Never!
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jamie,” the cop prodded. “If it can help us find Raina’s killer, I need to know.”
“I can’t believe anyone would want her dead.” Jamie couldn’t continue. She eased herself down on the couch and wept, her whole body trembling. She felt her own life force draining out through her tears. What would she do without Raina? They had been best friends since senior year in high school. She couldn’t imagine her life without Raina. What was the point of becoming a social worker now? How could she help anyone?
Her mother tried to console her, but Jamie pushed her away. She heard Detective Evans talking with her parents for a while, then the house was quiet. Her parents had gone to their bedroom to talk about her, like they frequently did. Jamie wondered what plan they would come up with this time. Some new idea to send her away somewhere. As if a change of scenery would transform her into a go-getter. This time, she didn’t care. Maybe the attacker would find her and kill her too, then she wouldn’t have to feel this pain anymore.
Jackson sat at his desk in an ugly room crowded with other desks, file cabinets, and a printer or two—but at this late hour, there were no other detectives. The building’s hideous design, which included wooden slats outside the windows, often made him feel like he was the one in jail. He reached into his drawer for a Vivarin. He might sleep for an hour or so later, but for now, he had to stay awake. The Gormans were here at headquarters in separate interview rooms, waiting. Jackson had decided to let them chill for while. After being Tasered, Bruce needed time to start thinking straight again. Cindy needed a moment to ponder the charge of assaulting a police officer. Jackson was prepared to press that charge if she covered for her husband—and to drop it if she told him the truth.
Josh was sleeping in the ‘soft’ interview room they used for kids. It had overstuffed couches and serene landscapes on the wall. The boy had fallen asleep in Jackson’s front seat on the way to the station and had not woken up when he carried him in. Jackson waited for Mariah Martin, Josh’s caseworker to show up, so she could be present when Jackson interviewed the boy. Dealing with children was a political hot button and Jackson tried to be careful. Meanwhile, Schak was preparing the paperwork for two subpoenas, one to search the Gormans’ home and one for a DNA body standard from Bruce Gorman. Evans hadn’t come back from her interview with Jamie Conner, the young woman whose picture was in Raina’s glovebox.
Jackson wondered if Sergeant Lammers had forgotten to call McCray, who had never shown up at the scene or called him. Abruptly he remembered that McCray was on vacation. The seasoned detective had taken his wife to Hawaii for their twenty-fifth anniversary.
Jackson’s phone rang and the front desk officer informed him Mariah Martin had arrived. Relieved, Jackson headed out to the front area, another crowded space separated from the small public entry by a plexiglass wall.
Ms. Martin was short and thick and strikingly pretty even though her eyes were swollen from crying. It occurred to Jackson that the caseworker must have known Raina, at least casually. Now she looked distressed. “Where’s Josh? Is he okay?”
“He’s sleeping. This way.” Jackson moved quickly down the hall, and Martin matched him stride for stride.
“You haven’t questioned him yet, have you?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
“Good. I want to take him home with me for now. You can talk to him tomorrow.”
Jackson stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “This can’t wait. A young woman was been brutally raped and killed. I need to know if Josh saw anything.”
Martin spoke slowly, as if Jackson might be a little dense. “If Josh witnessed a crime, he’s undoubtedly traumatized. He needs time. He needs to feel safe and secure. You’ll get better information if you wait.”
Jackson held back a groan. “I need to know now, before I interrogate his father, if Raina came to their house last night. I won’t press for details. I just need to know if she was there.”
Martin’s hands went to her hips. “Raina was Josh’s friend. He cared deeply for her. But Bruce and Cindy are his parents. Josh will be conflicted. Don’t force him to make that choice right now. He’s likely to protect his parents.”
Shit. There had to be a way to do this now. “What if we bring in a child psychologist?”
Martin shook her head, finally losing patience. “No person worthy of the title will come in tonight and help you interrogate an eight-year-old boy. They’ll tell you what I’m telling you. Let him sleep for now. Then talk to him tomorrow after he’s accepted the idea that he’s not going back to his parents’ house and that it’s okay to tell the truth.”
They stood, locked in silent disagreement. Jackson tried to think about his daughter in this situation. What would he want for her? He would want Katie to talk to the police. What if she had to speak out against her parents? How hard would it be for her? She had already been through that to some degree while covering for Renee’s drinking all those years.
“You win,” he said finally. “I want him here at 10 a.m. tomorrow.”
Martin nodded. “I’ll call you when Josh is ready.”
After carrying the sleeping boy out to Martin’s minivan, Jackson went back to his desk and typed his notes into a Word document. Typing did not come easy to him, but it was a necessary skill and he had forced himself to adapt. As he went though his scribbled notes, he realized he’d forgotten to ask Martha Krell about Raina’s flat tire. Bruce Gorman as a suspect made the question almost moot. If Gorman had driven Raina’s car
to the observation point, the technicians would find a piece of him in the car. That trace evidence, plus all the circumstantial factors, would make the case against him. The assault with the vibrator was the one thing that didn’t fit as neatly into the scenario as Jackson would have liked. Then again, maybe it did. Maybe Gorman had been enraged and tried to rape Raina, but couldn’t get it up. So he’d assaulted her with an object as punishment for his impotence.
Jackson keyed Bruce Wayne Gorman into the CODIS database and waited for the upload. He was looking for anything he could find in Gorman’s file to use as leverage, to break him down and get a confession. A confession meant a plea bargain, which saved the DA a lot of trouble.
There it was at the top of the screen. Gorman, who was new to the Eugene area, had been charged with rape in Washington when he was twenty-two. The charge had later been dropped because the girl had recanted her story. Another assault against a woman five years later had never made it to court either. So Gorman liked to beat and rape women, then intimidate them into not testifying. Was he the serial rapist? His DNA results would put him away if he was.
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For Page 4
