“You want to fill me in? Or are you—?”
“Robert and Dana Smith are in the lobby… with Jackson’s brother.” He stuck his index finger in my face. “Your ass is on the line here, Aaron. You just think about Deputy Carlson and his pregnant widow for a minute before you escort Jackson downstairs. And make sure you apologize to him.”
CHAPTER NINE
Alibi
I didn’t know what to say, and I felt like shit. Visions of the jaguar ripping into Deputy Carlson’s flesh replayed in my head while I stood alone in the hallway outside of the interrogation room. I had suspected Jackson of murdering his parents and little brother with no physical evidence to suggest that there was any foul play at his home. Deputy Carlson’s wife was a widow. His child would never meet her father.
I tried to justify the search at the Smith home. How could I have known Jackson’s parents and brother were okay? I’d had every reason to suspect that something was out of place. Something hadn’t felt right. I shook my head and clenched my jaw. I was wrong. I’d screwed up… and a deputy was dead because of me.
I took a deep breath, unlocked the door to the interrogation room and stepped inside. Jackson was still sitting at the table where I had left him.
“Let’s go.”
“About time. I’m ready to get out of this shithole,” Jackson said as he stood.
I closed my eyes for a second to regain my composure and reached behind my back for a pair of handcuffs.
“Turn around.”
“For what?” Jackson protested. “My aunt and uncle are bailing me out.”
“Until you’re processed out downstairs, you’re still in custody.” I snapped open one of the cuffs. “Now turn around. I’m asking you nicely.”
“And what if I don’t?”
I couldn’t believe the kid. “Fine, have it your way.” I motioned for him to lead the way.
Jackson walked past me and mumbled, “Stupid pig.” He then stood by the door waiting for me to open it.
I took a quick step behind him and slapped one end of the cuffs on Jackson’s right wrist.
“What the…” Jackson struggled to keep me from grabbing his other arm. Jackson was a big kid for his age, but I was still taller and easily outweighed him by fifty pounds.
“Get off me, you—”
“Oh, shut up, you insubordinate little bastard.” I grabbed Jackson’s left arm and jerked it around behind him. “Oh, and I’m supposed to apologize to you before taking you downstairs. Well, I’m sorry, you little shit.”
“Screw you.”
I secured the steel cuff just as Officer Tripp opened the door.
“Move.”
I grabbed Jackson’s arm and gave it a good tug. He glared at me as I pulled him into the hallway. He tried to pull away from my grip a couple of times while I escorted him to the elevator. I didn’t say anything while I waited for the doors to open. As I was leading Jackson inside the elevator, he hit his shoulder against the frame.
“Ow! Watch it, asshole!” Jackson protested while staggering into the elevator.
“Oh, quit your whining.”
“Screw you, pig.”
As soon as the door closed, I hit the button for the first floor, and said, “You know if you keep heading down this road, tough guy, a pretty boy like you is going to end up being somebody’s bitch in prison someday.”
I expected Jackson to respond with more verbal poison, but instead he eyed me with contempt.
I stood up straight and stared forward, smiling. “Just saying.”
An electronic bell chimed as we reached the first floor. We met Jackson’s family in the lobby. A tall man in a dark blue suit and brown hair introduced himself as Robert Smith, Jackson’s father.
I kept hold of Jackson’s arm and shook the man’s hand. “Detective Aaron Sanders.”
“Is it true that you’re charging Jackson with aggravated assault?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “He assaulted a boy at Barton Creek Mall.”
“So, he got into a fight.”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.” I led Jackson to the front desk, and without making eye contact with his father, I explained, “He bashed the boy’s head against a bench several times. Put him in the hospital. You’re lucky he’s not being charged with attempted murder.”
Attempted murder. Those words burned in my mind. Jackson glared at me with disdain. I received the same attitude from his aunt and uncle. What surprised me was that neither of Jackson’s parents had apparently mentioned anything about the search of their home. Maybe they didn’t know yet. I found that hard to believe. I assumed Jackson’s parents had finally gotten the messages on their phones, which would explain why they were here in the first place. And I was certain that Jackson’s aunt and uncle had already spoken to Mr. and Mrs. Smith about what happened at their residence.
“Jackson Smith,” I said to the front desk clerk. I still had my hand wrapped around Jackson’s arm. “Has his bail been processed?”
The clerk tapped a few keystrokes on her computer and then confirmed, “Yes, sir. Judge Ramirez signed off on it a while ago.” She handed me a form to sign.
“Hold on a second,” I said, reading. “This says we’re releasing Jackson to his aunt and uncle.”
I handed the form back to the clerk, who then reviewed the contents. “I’m sorry, Aaron. We worked this up before his parents arrived. Give me a minute and I’ll revise the form.”
“Will you let go of my arm now?” Jackson demanded.
I released my grip and leaned against the counter while waiting for the clerk to fix the release form. Jackson’s family observed from a distance. A young boy with curly brown hair exited the men’s restroom, and as soon as he spotted Jackson, he ran across the lobby.
“Jackson!” The boy wrapped his arms around his older brother.
“Hey, bro,” Jackson greeted him. “Feeling better?”
“Uh-huh.” Austin nodded with wide, hazel eyes. “I’m ready to go back to school.” Austin looked up at me and then at the handcuffs. “What’s he in trouble for?”
“It’s nothing,” Jackson assured. “Just got into a little fight. It’s all okay now.”
I glanced away, shaking my head slightly. For a kid with such a bad attitude and disrespect for authority, his family sure acted like he was some sort of a saint. I understood love of family and all, but it was a bit of a Yin and Yang contrast based on the short time I had gotten to know Jackson.
The clerk handed me a revised release form stating that the Austin Police Department was releasing Jackson Smith to his parents under a five thousand dollar bond. There were spots for Jackson and his parents to sign.
I set the release form on the counter and called over Jackson’s parents. His parents signed it while I removed the handcuffs from Jackson’s wrists.
“Can I go now?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, Jackson, you can go.”
He and Austin followed his aunt and uncle outside, but both of his parents remained inside. Robert Smith motioned towards a set of chairs and couch in a secluded corner of the lobby. “Do you have a minute, Detective?”
I wasn’t quite ready to talk about what happened at their home, so I took the lead with Jackson as the subject of the conversation.
“I know what you want to discuss, but before we go into that I need to remind you that your son is facing some serious charges. Jackson really did a number on that kid at the mall. And to be honest, I don’t think he’s looking at probation.”
“He really is a good kid,” Jackson’s mother said, but that’s the same response I’ve always heard from every delinquent’s mother. He’s such a good person. It’s so out of character. They can never believe their child could do such a thing. Yada, yada, yada. “That’s what shocks me about his arrest. Jackson is on the varsity football team, you know? And he’s only a freshman.”
And that was where the mother tried to back up her claims that her kid was
an angel and it was all just one big misunderstanding.
“I understand that you don’t want believe your son is capable of violence, but I promise you, Jackson has some serious anger issues.”
His mother’s tightly pursed lips told me that I was full of shit. Not her boy. No way. I didn’t know him.
“Has Jackson ever been in trouble before?” I asked. “Has he had problems at school with fighting?”
“No, he hasn’t,” Jackson’s father answered. “That’s why we don’t understand his arrest in the first place. He wouldn’t do such a thing.” And there was the backup from Daddy. “He knows if he gets in trouble or doesn’t keep his grades up that he’ll get kicked off the football team.”
Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched Jackson running around with his brother on his back. He acted like a different person compared to the disrespectful and repulsive asshole that I had dealt with earlier.
“What’s going to happen to Jackson?” Mr. Smith asked.
“I don’t know for certain, but I suggest you get a good lawyer.”
Jackson tickled his little brother.
While watching the boys play outside, I suggested anger management counseling before he faced the judge. “He won’t want to do it, but if you can get him into counseling, and he takes it seriously, it may help him. You’ll want to settle this out of court if you can.”
“So, if he gets some counseling,” his mother said, “he’ll get the charges dropped?”
“No, I’m not saying that. There were too many witnesses.” And I would make sure he didn’t get off without the proper consequences, but I wasn’t going to tell his parents that. “I’d say he’s looking at probation at best. He’ll have fines, community service, and probably court-mandated anger management therapy.”
“So, why go through the trouble of therapy now?” Jackson’s father asked. “Maybe we should just fight it.”
“That would be a mistake.” Actually, I wouldn’t have minded for them to take that route. Nothing would make me happier than to see that disrespectful pain in the ass behind bars. “Trust me. You’ll want to settle this out of court.”
His face reddened. “Trust you? And why exactly should I do that?”
“I’m sorry?”
I knew what was on his mind, but I played dumb anyway.
“You know what I’m talking about. My sister told me all about it. You had cops poking around my property. For what?”
“In light of recent events, we assumed you were missing. And we had a warrant.”
“Missing?” Mr. Smith laughed. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”
“You are aware of what happened at Memorial Heights Cemetery, right?”
“Yes, I am,” Mr. Smith said and lowered his brow. “How exactly does that explain cops snooping around my home?”
“We thought Jackson might’ve been one of the victims. When he didn’t report to school we assumed the worst.”
“Why would you think that?” his mother asked.
“We based that on the relationship between the boys we could identify. To make a long story short, when we couldn’t find Jackson, we tried to locate the two of you. There was nobody home, both of your vehicles were at the house, and according to Austin’s school, he was home si—”
“Unbelievable,” Jackson’s father said. “Dana took Austin to see a specialist in San Antonio. He has a blood disorder. And how did you know our vehicles were there? We keep the garage door closed.”
“Why haven’t you been at work?” I said, avoiding the man’s counter probing.
“I’ve been away on business.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward as a man and a woman approached the information desk. “What are you implying?”
I also leaned forward and asked, just above a whisper, “Is it normal for you to go on a business trip without your boss knowing about it?”
“Yeah, I think we’re done here, Detective.” Mr. Smith stood, and motioned for his wife to do the same. “Let’s go, Dana.”
I followed them outside. “Why don’t you answer the question?”
Jackson’s father turned around and jerked his index finger at me. “You listen to me. I didn’t come here for an interrogation. I appreciate your advice about Jackson, but we’re done talking.”
“I’m just trying to find out what happened to those kids. I’m glad your family is okay, but three kids are still dead. What about their families?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know in your twisted investigative mind, you believe I’m concealing something. I have no earthly idea why, but from what I’ve seen and read, a wild animal is your prime suspect. I don’t see how any of this has to do with my family or why you’re even investigating this at all.”
“If you keep up with the news, you would have also known about the deputy that died on your property.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. And I’m sorry he died.” He took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. “But maybe if the police would have stayed off my property, that never would have happened.”
That statement hit me hard, because he was right. That didn’t change the fact that my gut suspected he was withholding information. I didn’t know what, but I was going to find out, one way or another. “You heard about the deputy’s death, yet you failed to contact the authorities. Care to explain that? And why couldn’t your own family reach you until now?”
“You want proof of my business trip? Fine.” Mr. Smith reached inside his suit pocket and handed me a receipt from a Marriott Hotel in Miami. It had his name, address, and phone number on it. The checkout date also confirmed his alibi.
I handed the receipt back to him. “Still doesn’t explain why your vehicles were still parked in the garage. If you and your wife were out of town—”
“Have you ever heard of a thing called a rental car?” Mr. Smith said, as he placed the receipt back inside his pocket. “If you’d bothered to check—while you were illegally searching my garage—you would have noticed the big oil stain underneath my car. And my wife’s Camry has a problem with the alternator.” He raised his eyebrows. “Need to see the receipts for the rental cars too?”
I was speechless. How could I be so stupid? But why had his boss told me that he hadn’t reported to work? Why hadn’t he just said he was out of town?
Austin ran up the steps with tears in his eyes. Jackson quickly turned away from my gaze.
“What’s wrong?” his father asked.
“It’s Jason,” Austin whimpered through shedding tears. “Jackson… He told me…” He coughed and cried, glancing at me for a second.
“What?” Austin’s mother said. “What did he tell you?”
“Jason…” He cried some more and spoke through choked words. “He’s dead. Jackson said he’s dead!”
Mr. Smith wrapped his arms around his grieving son and glared at me. “I think we’re done here. If you have any further questions, you know where to find me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Friends
It had been over five years since I had smoked a cigarette, but the urge for nicotine hit me hard after slamming into one roadblock after another. While relieved I didn’t have another set of victims to worry about, I still had one unidentified body in the morgue.
Robert Smith’s alibis about his business trip to Miami and his wife and son’s appointment with the doctor checked out. Leaning back in my office chair, I chewed on the end of my pen, and then tossed it on my desk. I stared at the top drawer that housed a pack of cigarettes tempting me to light up. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and forced myself to go outside for some fresh air.
As I approached the front doors, the front desk clerk called out to me,
“Aaron, I was just about to call you. You have a visitor.” She pointed to a man sitting in a chair near the entrance. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore dark sunglasses, blue pressed jeans, and a green Polo shirt.
“Detective Sanders?” The man stood up
and removed his sunglasses.
“Yes, can I help you?”
The man’s brown eyes were bloodshot, his voice solemn. “I’m Jonathan Dexter.” He slipped his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and said, “I’m Jason’s father.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dexter. Please accept my condolences.” I shook the man’s hand.
“Thank you.”
I took a couple of steps towards the entrance. “I was just heading out for some fresh air. You mind talking outside?”
“Um… Yeah, okay.”
Mr. Dexter followed me to a row of benches. There was a light breeze, and the warm sunshine felt good on my face after being stuck indoors for so long. Vehicles traveling on I-35, impatient commuters honking their horns, and sirens, filled my ears as I sat on the bench and contemplated what I should say next. Mr. Dexter sat down and saved me the trouble.
“Do you know what happened? How’d Jason die?”
That was usually the first question I received from a grieving family member. I gave him a cut and paste response. “I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you, Mr. Dexter, but we’re doing everything we can to find the person responsible for your son’s death.”
“What was he doing there, at the cemetery?” Mr. Dexter’s question didn’t appear specifically directed towards me. He watched the cars pass by in front of the building.
“You know Kenneth Chandler, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He informed me that Jason would stay with his friend Austin Smith when you were away on business?”
“Yeah, that’s right, but…” Mr. Dexter looked away for a moment.
“But, what?”
“Jason and Austin haven’t been friends for at least a couple of weeks.”
“He wasn’t supposed to stay at Austin’s house while you were away?”
“No.” Mr. Dexter shielded the sun with his hand, and then pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket. “He was supposed to stay with his friend Cody.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Cody Sumner?”
“Yeah, they were best friends. Ken told me what happened to Cody’s parents.” Mr. Dexter slipped his sunglasses on, and then slouched over and pinched the upper ridge of his nose between his eyes, lifting his sunglasses slightly. With tears in his eyes, he said, “I haven’t been able to see Jason yet.”
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