Where had he come from? Sophie glanced at the man in her rearview mirror as she drove away. He was smiling, but it didn’t give her a warm fuzzy feeling.
Chapter 14
That afternoon Jackson met with Evans, Schakowski, and Quince in the conference room again. It was an opportunity to look at the case and its bizarre details with a fresh perspective.
“I know this is what we do, but still, thanks for working on Saturday without complaining,” Jackson said as they settled in.
“Beats doing the weekend housework,” Schak said.
Evans laughed. “I’ll second that.”
“Evans, will you take the board again?” Jackson wanted to get started. “Schak, what have you got?”
“Not much.” Schak scanned his notes. “The two men who fired the shots at the crime scene on Greenhill are Eric Vanderhorn and Sam Brukner. Both have extensive drug and theft records. Both were in possession of methamphetamine when they were arrested. Both deny knowing Raina Hughes and both have alibis for the evening she was killed.” Schak shrugged. “But their alibis are doper friends, so they’re not worth much.”
“Any connection to Gorman?” Jackson asked.
“They claim they’ve never heard of him.”
“What’s your gut feeling?”
“Coincidence. Low-life meth addicts who happened to be driving by and did something incredibly stupid.”
“What about the Children’s Support group? Anything there?”
“The director wouldn’t let me look at the list of volunteers, but he confirmed that neither Amy Hastings or Keesha Williams had ever been a volunteer.” Schak had a little bandage on his cheek and he reached up to touch it. He’d taken a branch in the face during their search of the Gormans’ property. “When I asked if either woman had been involved with the organization indirectly, say, because they had a child in the program, he had no idea. It would require an extensive search of the files. And a subpoena. Should I write one?”
“We’ll let it go for now. Children’s Support is not likely our connection.” Jackson turned to Evans. “What have you got to report?”
“Jamie, the best friend, says Raina dated women.” Evans rolled her eyes. “But she denied being a lesbian and denied being Raina’s lover. I think she’s lying. I also think Jamie is afraid her parents will find out she’s gay. She kept looking over her shoulder as we talked about Raina’s sexual orientation.”
“I have confirmation that Raina was gay. So let’s move forward with the idea that this murder is likely connected to the rapes.” The others looked at him, waiting. Jackson didn’t want to admit he’d heard the information from a reporter. He felt guilty about his source and guilty for not revealing it. “What we need now is another connection. We need to know how our perpetrator is identifying his victims as lesbians. None of the victims looked like a lesbian.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Evans tried to look offended.
Jackson suspected she was playing devil’s advocate, but he was still embarrassed by what he’d said. “Good question. Apparently, not all lesbians have crew cuts and dress in flannel shirts, so we have to let go of that stereotype.”
“Just the butch half of the couple does,” Schak added.
Jackson visualized the three victims. All attractive, yet physically very different. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“The stereotype exists for a reason,” Schak said.
“Maybe, but we can’t let it blind us.” Jackson grinned at Schak. “For example, you’re pretty smart most of the time, for a Polack.”
Schak’s cheeks flushed pink, then he laughed. “Point taken.”
Quince spoke up for the first time. “I’ve been thinking about this. All three women attended Lane Community College sometime in the last three years. We need to look at their schedules, see what classes they took. Maybe our perp is a professor.”
“Great idea. Let me know if you need help. I can pull in another detective.” Jackson looked up at the board, hoping something would jump out at him. The details were still sketchy. “I’m going over to the evidence bay after this. I need to look at everything from Raina’s case with this new perspective that she was the third victim in a string of hate crimes.”
Quince asked, “What about Gorman?”
Jackson realized Quince was out of the loop on Gorman’s story, but it was still a loaded question. “Gorman says he found Raina’s body near his driveway, so he panicked and moved her and her car to the observation point on Greenhill.”
“No shit?” Quince laughed. “You believe that?”
“I honestly don’t know. We found Raina’s cell phone near where Gorman said he found the body. We found blood where he says her car was parked and where he says her body was. But if Gorman committed the crime, he would know exactly where her body had been anyway.” Jackson rubbed his forehead. “There’s something weird going on there. Gorman says the tire on the Volvo was flat and he had to change it to move the car. We found tire tracks in a clearing just off the driveway near the road. A lab technician made a cast and will get back to us with specifics, but the tracks look like they were made by a truck. Or a Bronco, which is what Gorman drives.”
“What’s your theory?” Quince asked.
Jackson shook his head. “Either Gorman killed Raina—and likely raped the other women too—and is now getting very clever about generating a defense for trial, or he’s telling the truth and the rapist was also out there at his property that night. The working theory for the second scenario is that the perpetrator followed Raina to Gorman’s house, probably caused her tire to go flat, then attacked her when she got out of her car.”
“That seems more elaborate than the earlier rapes,” Evans said.
“Maybe just more desperate.” Jackson shifted in the hard chair. “Maybe he had been stalking Raina for days without finding an opportunity, so he just took it when he discovered her alone out in the middle of nowhere.”
There was a short silence.
Finally, Schak said, “And he brought the dildo with him?”
“He’s organized. He assaulted Amy Hastings with an object that he carried on his person. And he had a pillowcase with him too.”
“Why kill Raina and not the others?” Evans asked.
“His rage is building. He can’t control the level of violence.” Jackson felt like he was winging it. “I have a call in to Stevens at the FBI. I hope to have a profile to work with soon. Anything else?”
“What did you learn from the autopsy?” Evans jotted rage building under the perp’s column.
“Raina was a drug user. I don’t know yet what her poison of choice was, but it opens up new possibilities.”
“Oh shit. You mean a pissed off drug dealer,” Schak moaned. “That will really muck up this case.”
“Still, we have to go back to her friends and neighbors and ask about the drugs. By we, I mean you.” He looked at both Schak and Evans.
Jackson turned to Quince. “While you’re at Lane Community College, talk to the school health clinic. Find out if Raina had any prescriptions, particularly narcotics.”
Jackson stood, anxious to get to the evidence lab. “We’ll meet again Monday at eleven o’clock. Call me if you discover anything significant in the meantime.”
Ryan waited for the Scion to drive away, then broke into a run. Jamie had been carrying a travel bag when she left her house. Was she leaving town? The thought made his heart pound even more than the running. Ryan climbed into the van and gunned it down the sloped street. His breath was so ragged, he made a vow to switch off the menthols and start smoking a light cigarette. The Scion turned left at the bottom of the hill, but he didn’t see Jamie’s Toyota. Who was the hot chick with the short red hair and what was she doing at Jamie’s house? Had the redhead been watching Jamie too? Another dyke sniffing around his golden girl?
Damn. Could he still pull this off? He was so close to being ready. Ryan hated to be rushed and couldn’t afford to ma
ke any mistakes. He was still on parole from that time he’d set fire to his ex-girlfriend’s car. The bitch. It was just a car, but he’d done almost five months in jail for it. The worst five months of his life, even worse than watching his dad die. If he got caught for snatching Jamie, he’d go to federal prison, where his skinny blond ass would be popular with the tough guy fags.
Ryan took his turn at the stop sign and checked both directions, looking for Jamie’s little blue Toyota. He didn’t see it, so he followed the Scion. His gut told him the hot redhead was keeping an eye on Jamie. Once they were on Polk Street, Ryan could see from the top of the hill that the Toyota was just passing the ball fields. Jamie turned left on 24th. The Scion kept going. Yes! Ryan slapped the dashboard. He had been prepared to deal with the dyke bitch, whoever she was, if she got between him and Jamie, but he was relieved he didn’t have to.
Ryan was tired of waiting. He hadn’t had a girlfriend in months. Jamie was different. She was sweet and pure. She wouldn’t call him names or make fun of his slightly crooked penis. He knew he would have to be patient with Jamie. She would need a little time to become emotionally attached to him. He believed it would happen. Ryan knew he was her type—strong, blond, and blue-eyed. He’d heard somewhere, maybe on the news, that people who were held captive eventually bonded to the guy who was holding them. Sometimes they even fell in love. If he could just avoid the cops and keep it together long enough, Jamie would start to love him.
The Toyota turned down Garfield Street, traveled three blocks, then turned into the driveway of a small white duplex. Ryan quickly pulled over and parked a few houses back. As Jamie got out of her car, a young man with a ponytail came out of the duplex and opened his arms wide. Jamie stepped in and they hugged for a long time.
Ryan’s legs shook with rage. He wanted to pound the guy. Grab him by the hair and smash his head into the side of the car. How dare he touch Jamie? Nausea filled his gut. Ryan closed his eyes and counted to ten. His father had taught him the control technique when he was still in middle school and got into fights so often they threatened to expel him. That was before he started taking the meds.
When he opened his eyes, Jamie and the ponytail guy were walking into the house. Had they kissed? How long had she had this boyfriend? Did this change his plans? Ryan shifted in the seat, realizing he had a stiff hard on. He wanted Jamie more than ever. And he would take her.
What if he couldn’t make her love him? What then?
Chapter 15
For a moment, Sophie regretted not following Jamie when she turned down 24th. The temptation had been nearly overwhelming. Instinct told her to keep tabs on this young woman. Jamie was the central piece of this story; Sophie could feel it in her journalism bones. Knocking on someone’s door unannounced was one thing. Following them around until you found an opportunity to present yourself was something else entirely. Some people called it stalking. For public figures, especially ones who had broken the law or a public trust, stalking was permissible. Jamie, on the other hand, was a private citizen who had just suffered a terrible loss. Sophie would wait and get what she needed from people who knew Jamie…for now.
So she grudgingly kept driving and headed for Raina’s home where she had lived with her grandmother. Sophie laughed out loud when she saw Martha Krell’s house. Purple paint and pink flamingos! She liked this woman already. Anyone who decorated with that much color was likely to produce an attention-grabbing quote.
Martha was a tiny woman with a long gray braid and an expression that dared anyone to mention either. She led Sophie into the living room but didn’t offer her anything. “I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have to leave to meet with a funeral director, so let’s move this along.”
“Okay. First, let me say that I’m very sorry for your loss. I wish I could be talking to you under different circumstances.”
“But you’re not. What do you want to know?” Martha was holding herself together by projecting an attitude.
Sophie knew the strategy well. She had spent her whole life checking the box that said ‘Other’. Her father was Italian, Indian, and black, and her mother was Irish and Puerto Rican. She wasn’t heterosexual or homosexual. Her parents weren’t well off enough to help her with college or poor enough to help her qualify for financial aid. She had never fit in anywhere, and she always had more questions than answers. “Why did you agree to this interview?” she finally said.
“I think Raina would have encouraged me to talk about all this. She wanted to be involved with the gay rights movement, but she kept a low profile because of Jamie and her parents’ prejudice.” Martha paused, her face finally signaling distress. “It’s bad enough to lose a child to an accident or to drugs. But to think that someone killed my lovely Raina just because she was different is unbearable.” Martha shook her head. “So what else can I tell you?”
“Had Raina ever been harassed for being a lesbian?”
“In high school, yes. She came out of the closet early even though I advised her not to.” Martha smiled. “I’m proud of her for that. Raina always did what was right, not what was easy.”
“What about as an adult? In her workplace?”
“She went to work as a nurses aide straight out of high school, and there was only one employee at the nursing home who ever said anything to her about being gay. But he was a jerk to everyone. And the old people who Raina took care of didn’t know or care. They loved her. They cried when she quit.”
“Why did she quit?”
“She started college and it was too hard to keep up all the hours. The nursing home was always short staffed, and they wanted her to stay past her schedule. It was just too much.”
“Where was Raina working recently?”
“She had a part-time, work-study job on campus in the college cafeteria. She was focusing on school for a few terms, trying to get her core classes out of the way.” Martha’s expression tightened, and Sophie sensed that this may have been a point of contention.
“What was Raina studying?”
“Sociology, psychology, that kind of thing. She wanted to be a social worker, a child services case manager.” Again, Martha frowned. “I thought it was a bad idea, but Raina never listened to me.”
That struck Sophie as odd. “Why was it a bad idea?”
“Raina had a rough childhood. Her mother was a drug addict, and child services were in and out of their lives as often as Desi’s new boyfriends. Raina’s attraction to the profession was too personal.” Martha took a deep breath. “I think she wanted to save other children in a belated attempt to save herself.”
“Jesus. Poor girl.” The expression shot through Sophie’s censorship filter unchecked. “Sorry, if I offended you.”
Martha made a funny sound. “My daughter died from drug abuse, and my granddaughter was murdered. I’m not a fan of Jesus right now.”
“I’m so sorry for your losses. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“No, you can’t.” Martha sat up and pulled her shoulders back. “What else do you want to know? I’ve got about two minutes.”
“Tell me more about Raina. Who was she?”
“She was a bleeding heart. She loved people, kids especially. Couldn’t say no to anyone in need. As a kid, she was always giving away her stuff because someone needed it more than she did. It drove me crazy because I paid for it all.” Martha smiled at the memory. “Raina was like that as an adult too. I saw her take off her sweatshirt once and give it to an old homeless woman on a street corner because she looked cold.” Martha stood up. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Do you have a recent photo of Raina I could borrow for my story?”
Martha pulled a photo album from the bookcase and flipped it open to the end. “This is one of my favorites. She’s smiling and wearing green and getting ready to go somewhere. This captures Raina’s spirit really well.”
As they walked to the door, Martha said, “When you write about Raina, please don’t make it sound
like her troubled childhood turned her gay. It’s just who she is.” Martha squeezed her eyes closed. “I mean, who she was.”
From headquarters Jackson drove west toward the evidence lab, taking a moment to call Kera. He planned to leave her a message, figuring she was at work at the clinic and wouldn’t answer her phone. She surprised him and picked up.
“Hey, sweetie. Good timing. I’m on a break.”
“Lucky me. Can you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Sure. I’d like that. Where?”
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For Page 12
