Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For

by L. J. Sellers

  Jackson almost called Michael Quince, the detective who was working the two unsolved rape cases, but remembered it was after one in the morning. Their conference could wait until tomorrow.

  “How did it go at the Gormans’?” Evans suddenly stood at his desk. She’d taken off the knit cap and looked a little perkier than she had at the crime scene. “Anybody get hurt?” she asked, deadpan

  Now that Jackson knew Gorman had raped and assaulted women, he didn’t feel bad about zapping him with the Taser, but still, he tried to keep it professional. “Gorman bolted, so I Tasered him. Then Cindy attacked me. So I wouldn’t call it a successful encounter.”

  “But you got to use your new toy.” Evans grinned.

  Jackson let a little smile escape. “It’s quite efficient.”

  “I’d like to participate in the interrogations.”

  “Great. Start with Cindy. Try to establish the female bonding thing. If that doesn’t work, threaten her with maximum time for assaulting an officer.” Jackson stood and grabbed a fresh notebook. “Did the friend, Jamie, have anything interesting to contribute?”

  “No.” Evans scowled. “But she’s hiding something. I’ll go see her again tomorrow. Or today, actually. Unless we get a confession from Gorman.”

  Schak strode up and said, “The subpoenas are on their way.”

  Jackson stood. “Let’s go.”

  In the harsh light of the small interrogation room, Gorman’s skin looked gray, as though it hadn’t been getting enough oxygen for some time. A smoker, Jackson realized. Good. Nicotine withdrawals were more effective than anything else in getting suspects to give up information. I’ll give you my mother for a cigarette.

  Gorman’s lean hard body was hunched over the table, but he pulled up quickly when Jackson and Schak came in. It was hard to look proud with handcuffs on.

  “How are you feeling?” Jackson used his friendly-nurse voice.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Let’s get past the bullshit right away. You’re going to be in this hole until you tell us everything about Raina’s visit to your home last night.” The room had recently been updated and wired for sound, so Jackson had the recorder running. “You know the drill. Everything you say can and will be used against you. We are recording, by the way.” Jackson didn’t give Gorman time to react. “What time did Raina arrive at your home last night, Wednesday, February 13?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We know she was at your property. She bought gas at the Crow Road turnoff. A judge is signing a search warrant for your home right now. Raina left a little piece of herself there and we’ll find it. A strand of hair, a drop of blood. If you tell us now, you have a chance to plea bargain.”

  Little beads of sweat formed on Bruce’s scalp where his hair receded. Jackson could smell the nicotine oozing out.

  “She didn’t come to our house. That’s all I have to say.” Gorman squinted. “Aren’t I supposed to have a lawyer?”

  Jackson gave him a surprised look. “Do you know a defense lawyer who will come down here tonight and represent you?”

  “What about a public defender?”

  “They only get involved if you’re charged with a crime and attend an arraignment. We haven’t charged you. We’re just talking here.” Jackson leaned back, nonchalant. “If you want a public defender, we’ll be happy to press rape and murder charges that will be on your record forever. What do you say?”

  Gorman stayed silent.

  “I’ll take that as a no. You know what’s unusual, Bruce?” Jackson leaned over the table. “You haven’t asked me what happened to Raina. That’s because you already know.”

  “I just don’t give a shit.” Gorman slumped to prove his point.

  “In 1993, you raped a young woman. Five years later, you assaulted another woman. Juries like to convict rapists. And other prisoners are known to abuse rapists.”

  Gorman’s eyes registered a little concern. “I’ve never raped anyone. That first bitch lied because she was pissed at me. And my ex-girlfriend needed a beating. I had nothing to do with Raina.”

  Schak let out a little snort of a laugh. “When Cindy finds out you raped Raina, she’ll turn on you so fast. She’ll trade you like a baseball card to make her assault charge go away.”

  Gorman shook his head. “You’re wrong about Cindy. Just because your wife is a back-stabbing bitch doesn’t mean mine is.”

  Schak laughed again. “What about your boy? He probably liked Raina and is not too happy that you killed her. I’m sure he’ll talk about it eventually. Especially once he realizes he’s not ever going back to his parents’ house.”

  Bruce bolted out of his chair. “Goddammit!”

  Jackson and Schak were on their feet too, each with a hand on his weapon.

  “You can’t take Josh!” Gorman yelled, pleading at the same time.

  So the boy was his weakness. Jackson decided to let Gorman chill for a while longer.

  “We’ll be back later,” he said, rising from his chair. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

  “Both. I’d like a cigarette too.”

  “Sorry, this is a nonsmoking building.” They headed toward the door.

  “Hey, take these cuffs off.” They kept moving. Jackson would make sure the detective on duty uncuffed Gorman when he took him food and water.

  They gathered in the small conference room, a sparse windowless space containing only folding chairs, a podium, and a five-foot dry-erase board. With a suspect in custody already, the board might not be used to map out this case. Jackson started to speak, and Evans yawned widely. Schak burst out laughing. Evans and Jackson laughed too.

  “Is this case not exciting enough for you?” Jackson asked.

  “I missed out on the electrifying take-down,” Evans retorted.

  “Better get some coffee or take one of your little energy pills.” Evans had a prescription for Provigil, a narcoleptic drug that she took when she had to work round-the-clock cases. Jackson would have liked such a prescription, but it would require him to ask his doctor for it. That was not likely. He got a physical every year because the department required it, but he and his doctor had an understanding. They didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t life threatening.

  “Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute.

  “Okay, down to business. What did you get out of Cindy Gorman?”

  “Not a dang thing. She says the department will drop the assault charge when they sue you for using the Taser on Bruce. She has the idea that it’s considered torture and she won’t talk again without a lawyer.”

  “Did you remind her that she will lose custody of Josh if she’s convicted?”

  Evans grimaced. “No.”

  “It’s okay. There’s always round two.” Jackson looked at Schak. “Who did you send the warrants to?”

  “Judge Cranston. Officer Whitstone should be back with them any minute.” Typically, the detective who wrote the paperwork took the warrant in case the judge needed convincing. Expediency was all that mattered in this situation. Showing Gorman’s record to a judge was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  “Our priority for now is to search the Gorman house. As soon as we have some daylight, I’ll get patrol officers out there to help us cover the area in front of the trailer.”

  Evans shifted in her chair and scowled.

  “What is it?”

  “You always say not to focus too quickly on one suspect. What if the Gormans are telling the truth and Raina never made it to their house?”

  “Good point.” Jackson nodded and glanced at his printed notes. “We haven’t narrowed the investigation yet. I plan to meet with Detective Quince later to see if this case synchs up with his rape cases. And you are going to chat with Jamie again and interview Raina’s male friends.”

  “What do you have for me?” Schak asked.

  “Pull up their files, then go interview the assholes who shot at us tonight.
It’s possible they were returning to the scene of an earlier crime.” Jackson didn’t believe it, but the angle had to be covered. The two men, Eric Vanderhorn and Sam Brukner, had been chased down and arrested twenty-six minutes after firing the shots. They were now in lockup at the county jail.

  “Okay.” Schak sounded disappointed.

  “Next, check out the CSA program. See if either of the rape victims were associated with it in any way.”

  The door pushed open, and Whitstone burst in. “I’ve got the warrants.” Her excitement was palpable. She’d been on the job less than a year, and tonight was probably the first time she’d been involved in anything other than issuing speeding tickets and arresting drunks.

  “Good work, Officer.” Jackson reached for documents, the lifeblood of detective work. “Let’s go search our suspect’s house.”

  Jackson, Evans, and Schak moved in unison toward the door.

  Chapter 6

  Friday, February 15

  Jasmine Parker stood next to the forensics van, barely visible in the early morning darkness, when the three detectives arrived at the Gormans’ trailer. She had kept the van on the gravel driveway, leaving the parking area open as Jackson had requested when he’d called earlier.

  Cold damp air seeped into his bones, and his body felt heavy, as if the gravitational pull were suddenly stronger. He knew the others were dead tired too, but he had nothing to offer that would make a difference.

  “Do you live around here?”

  “Just over on Spencer Creek, across from the fire station,” Parker replied.

  “That explains why you beat me to both crime scenes.”

  “This is my neighborhood.” She gave him a half smile.

  “You don’t happen to know the Gormans?”

  A small shake of her head. “I only meant geographically. I don’t even know the people who own the property next to mine.”

  “Let’s get to work.” Jackson walked into the small clearing in front of the shabby trailer. “We’ll use the floodlights to do a cursory search of this parking area, including that blue Bronco. Then we’ll go into the house. A patrol team will be out here to search this yard again as soon as it’s daylight.”

  “Why the focus on the yard?” Schak asked.

  Jackson was surprised by the question, then realized it was his error. “Sorry, this case is moving very quickly and you weren’t present during most of the discovery at the first crime scene. There’s a blood smear near the top of the driver’s door on Raina’s car. If the killer smashed her head into the car, and Gorman is the killer, then she probably died right here in this parking area.”

  “So finding a drop of Raina’s blood would make the DA happy.”

  “Without daylight, that would require a miracle. I’m just hoping to find a cell phone.” Jackson moved to help Parker with the floodlights.

  For twenty minutes, they crawled, squatted, and bent over the forty-foot-square gravel area, an eerie display of slow moving flashlights. The latex gloves offered little protection against the wet frigid air. Their search produced nothing except a shriek when Evans encountered a dog turd. Where was the dog? Jackson hadn’t seen it during their earlier visit either.

  He sent the other detectives into the house while he searched the Bronco. Dried-up french fries, candy wrappers, and empty soda cans littered the floor of the vehicle. A pile of copper wire was stashed under the passenger’s seat. Stolen, Jackson assumed, to sell for cash. He found a little blue ceramic pipe under the driver’s seat and sniffed the bowl. Definitely marijuana residue. He bagged the pipe, knowing it was probably a waste of time. In this case, paraphernalia was inconsequential. He made no attempt to gather DNA samples. The abundance of dog hair and other unknown fibers was a jumbled mess that the evidence techs would have to sort through under the klieg lights in the big evidence bay.

  No cell phone. Nothing that might have belonged to Raina.

  Jackson hurried into the trailer. Parker was in the kitchen, Schak had the living room couch dumped over and was sorting through its spilled contents, and Evans was in the bathroom. Jackson headed back to the Gormans’ bedroom. He thought about the vibrator that had been used on Raina and hoped to find some link. But what? Vibrators didn’t come in matching pairs like shoes. Even if the Gormans had a collection of sex toys, it didn’t mean they owned the one he’d found in Raina’s car.

  The carpet was barely visible under the scattered dirty clothes. The stink annoyed him as he picked up every item and looked under it. The dark-paneled room was only ten foot by twelve, but it still took most of an hour to search all the drawers, shelves, and pants pockets. Jackson found a stash of white powdered crystals in a plastic bag under the nightstand by the bed. Perfect. Now he had a reason to book Gorman into jail and hold him…for a while. In Oregon, although possession of a Schedule 2 drug was a Class C felony, the typical sentence was thirty days. The DA wouldn’t file rape and murder charges until Jackson had some solid physical evidence.

  The meth was the only thing of significance they found. Parker discovered a bowl of dog food in the refrigerator, and Evans found a douche bag that smelled like beer, but just because the Gormans were peculiar, it didn’t prove they’d killed anyone. A DNA analysis of hair and fiber might eventually prove that Raina had been inside this house, but for now, they had nothing.

  The first rays of sunlight trickled through the trees as Jackson stood in front of the trailer, feeling disappointed and wondering if he could grab an hour of sleep. Evans was yawning again, and Parker’s eyes were bloodshot.

  He looked at Parker. “Go home and don’t answer your phone for six hours.”

  “Me too?” Evans looked hopeful.

  “We’ll meet in the conference room at noon. I should have already talked with Josh by then.”

  A low-pitched growl came from the edge of the trees. In unison, they turned to see a dirt-colored Boxer crouching and easing toward the strangers in its territory. It continued to growl, but the sound was muted by the large bone in its mouth.

  For a long moment, they stared in silence.

  Finally, Parker said, “That looks like a human tibia.”

  Chapter 7

  After an animal control officer manhandled the Boxer into a cage in his truck, Parker was able to examine the bone close up. “This tibia has been degenerating for a year or so. And it likely belongs to a child.”

  “Let’s run the DNA against the missing persons database,” Jackson said. “Maybe we’ll resolve an old case. Give some long-suffering parents closure.” To himself, he wondered if Gorman was a serial killer.

  Two patrol cars arrived soon after the dogcatcher left. Jackson instructed the officers to search the parking area, then spread out from there. “I’ll buy dinner for whoever finds Raina’s cell phone or laptop.” The officers nodded but were not impressed with his offer. Schak and Evans had already headed home to sleep for a few hours, and Jackson decided he would do the same. Even an hour of rest would help pull his brain back into focus.

  After a shower and a nap, Jackson bought a breakfast burrito and ate it with one hand while driving to headquarters. When he saw citizens doing that kind of thing, it irritated him. At least he had a better excuse. He called Katie as he walked from the underground parking lot into the building.

  “What do you have going on today?”

  “Being bored at school, what else?”

  “Everything okay with your mother?”

  “She’s sober, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I want to know if you’re happy about being over there.”

  “Oh sure. We’re working on a huge scrap book that’s all about me.”

  “Sounds fun. I hope to wrap up this case quickly, so I’ll see you soon.”

  Jackson met Michael Quince in the conference room. The basic facts of the rape cases were known to everyone in the violent crime unit, but Jackson needed specifics. Quince, a thin dark man with movie star looks, had been a detective for five years
, working robbery for the first three, then sex crimes for the last two years. He’d been assigned to a bomb investigation a few months back because of his military experience, but he had called in the FBI for help. It had been a one-of-a-kind case for Eugene.

  “What’s the rapist’s MO?” Jackson shifted in the hard metal chair. The city’s tight budget wouldn’t allow anything in the conference room to be updated. The department needed a whole building—because the one they were in would crumple in an earthquake—but voters had decided that idea was just a fantasy.