Gina’s cobalt eyes flashed with anger. “That was an accident. I was upset and I forgot I’d already taken a Valium. That’s why I called the Hutchins. I wanted to go to the hospital for help.”
“Are you accusing your ex-husband just for revenge?”
Gina’s eyes didn’t waver. “Someone attacked me. He was the same size as Gary and he was a smoker like Gary. And Gary had threatened to kill me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I thought I did.”
“Did anyone else hear his threats?”
“He’s too careful for that.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said, ‘If you fuck with me, I’ll kill you, and I’ll get away with it.’”
“When did he make the threat?”
“A week before the attack. I think he spotted me following him so I quit for a while.” Gina sounded tired.
“I have to ask about your finances.”
“What do you mean?” Gina’s face registered concern.
“The manager at the Riverside Terrace has been holding some of your mail.” Evans felt awkward. “You said I could go through your personal stuff so I opened it.
Gina’s eyes narrowed.
“You were overdrawn at the bank and behind on your bills. Did you owe money to individuals too?”
“No. I’d had health problems and wasn’t able to work much for a few months. And I lost my health insurance when I left Gary. I was just going through a tough spot.”
“I’m looking for another possible suspect. Could your financial troubles have led someone to harm you?”
Gina closed her eyes and didn’t answer.
“Did you hear my question?”
“I need a nap.” Gina struggled to respond.
Evans stood by the bed, watching her face. Had Gina purposely avoided the question or was she simply tired after pool therapy? Either way, she was done talking for now. Evans grabbed her shoulder bag and left.
As much as she wanted to give herself more time, Evans knew she had to update Lammers immediately. If the sergeant heard through the grapevine that she was investigating another officer, her boss would feel blindsided and Evans could kiss her detective career goodbye.
Lammers was in a meeting when Evans returned to the department, so she took a minute to type her notes into a Word document. Jackson always created such a file, and it made sense to follow the lead of the investigator with the best track record of closing cases.
As five o’clock loomed near, Evans worried Lammers would head out after her meeting and their talk would have to wait until tomorrow. She was eager to question Bekker, but it would never happen without the involvement of both their supervisors. There was still the huge possibility that Lammers would take the case away from her and put someone else in the lead. If that happened, she hoped it was Jackson. She trusted him to go after Bekker with the same determination he pursued any other suspect. Yet it would probably be Ben Stricklyn in IA, who’d only been with the department for a year.
Lammers’ laugh came booming down the hall and Evans figured this was her chance. She hustled over to intercept the boss at her office door. “Sergeant, I need a minute.”
The big woman looked at her watch. “You know I’m always available to my team, but really, Evans, can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“It’s important.”
“Then come in and give me the short version.”
Evans pulled case notes from her bag as she sat down. The office door banged shut and she jumped at the sound. Damn. She didn’t want to look skittish. She sat up straight, wishing for the millionth time she were taller. “This is about the coma woman case you assigned me.”
“The short version.”
“Gina Stahl says her ex-husband tried to kill her. His name is Gary Bekker and he’s a patrol sergeant with our department.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Lammers looked ready to throw something. “What do you mean, ‘she says he tried’? Is she filing a complaint against him?”
“The man who attacked her was wearing a ski mask. Gina says he was the same size as Bekker and she has reason to think her ex wanted to kill her.”
“Ex-spouses often feel that way, so that’s not much to go on. Have you investigated other possible suspects?”
“Of course. But I haven’t come up with any yet.”
Lammers abruptly jerked forward. “You haven’t contacted Bekker, have you?”
“No, but I want to question him.”
“Just slow down.” Lammers tapped her pencil, her face scrunched in concentration.
“There’s more I have to tell you.”
“Oh, christ.” Lammers looked at her watch. “Excuse me.” She made a call on her cell phone and told someone she would be late. Evans would have felt bad about keeping her boss, but she planned to work for another three hours so the sympathy didn’t materialize.
When Lammers hung up, Evans launched into the speech she’d practiced. “Gary Bekker used his authority as a police officer to coerce women into sex. Gina, his ex-wife, started documenting his activities. She even talked to one of his victims. Gina believes that’s why he tried to killer her.”
Lammers started to swear again, then stopped short. “This is a very serious accusation.”
Evans glanced at her notes, looking for a name. “I talked to Trisha Cronin. She said Bekker threatened to put her in jail unless she gave him oral sex. Trisha complied. Eventually, he came back and raped her.” Evans pulled out her recorder but held onto it. “I can play the conversation for you.”
Lammers bolted from her chair, making Evans feel small. “You shouldn’t have gone to see her before talking to me. The sexual abuse is a separate investigation.”
“I know, but I needed to determine if Bekker had real motivation in my attempted homicide case and I believe he did.”
“What a fucked-up mess.”
Evans forced herself to stay quiet.
Finally Lammers said, “The abuse of his authority will need to be investigated by internal affairs. I’ll set up a meeting with Ben Stricklyn for the morning. I want you to update him and turn everything over.”
“What about the attempted homicide?”
“We can keep that case here in the unit but I want Jackson to take the lead. You can work with him but you don’t have the experience to handle this alone.” Lammers help up her hand. “Don’t argue. I want to be briefed every day and I want to participate in the interrogation. I’ll talk to the chief and get him to compel Bekker to surrender to questioning.”
Evans tried to hide her relief. Working the case with Jackson was a best-case scenario.
Lammers plopped back in her chair and stared hard at Evans. “Do not discuss this case with anyone in the department except Jackson. Do not contact Bekker yet. We have to do this carefully.”
“Do you know Bekker? Is he a friend of yours?” Evans couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out.
“I know Bekker. And he’s no friend.”
Chapter 12
Earlier that day, Tuesday, September 7, 9:15 a.m.
Sophie Speranza’s headache was making her cross-eyed. Some days the stress of trying to do two people’s jobs made her wish she had lower standards. The newspaper kept laying off people to cut costs, but the workload didn’t shrink with the staff. Now she had to write obituaries and short pieces for the City section as well as cover politics and crime, which her new girlfriend kept joking were one and the same. To top it off, she had to open all the email—meaning press releases—that came to the news desk. She hated the task even more than writing obituaries, but she loved being a reporter and would hang on to her job until the paper’s owner dragged her kicking and screaming from the building.
Grudgingly, she started opening emails. A local author had a new book contract (so what?), a yard products company was moving to a new location (snoozeville), and a charity was holding a walkathon to raise money (couldn’t
drag her there if they served free champagne and Euphoria chocolate).
The fourth email announced that Roger Norquist, a local businessman and ex-Senator, had started raising campaign money to run for the Senate again next year. He planned to hold a fundraiser at the Eugene Hilton in late October and charge a hundred dollars a plate. The name and announcement caught her attention. Norquist had lost his re-election race in 2006 by a narrow margin and apparently didn’t want that to happen again, so he was starting early. That had been her first year on the paper and she vaguely remembered an allegation of sexual misconduct from Norquist’s first Senate race, which he’d won. She would have to dig that up if she wrote about him. Sophie googled Norquist’s name while she called the number listed for his campaign manager.
A woman answered: “Patty Smith speaking.”
“This is Sophie Speranza with the Willamette News. I’d like to get a quote from Mr. Norquist to run with this little fundraiser story. Is he available?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m sure the Senator would love to talk to you. I’ll check with him about his schedule and give you a call back.”
“We’ll probably use this press release as filler in the next few days so he should get back to me quickly.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Sophie glanced at her monitor. Norquist’s web page had loaded with an oversized smiling picture of him. He had an aging surfer look, with delicate features and intense blue eyes. She moved the press release to her Maybe file, then opened the next one.
The email came from Rosehill Care Center and she expected some trumped up occasion meant to attract attention. Dutifully, she scanned the text and her heart fluttered with excitement. A woman who had been in a coma for two years had come out of it, thanks to the attentive and professional care administered by the dedicated staff…blah, blah, blah. Sophie read the pertinent part again. The press release didn’t name the patient but she didn’t care. A woman had come out of a coma after two years. This was a story.
She threw her recorder into her big red purse that complemented her short red hair, emailed her supervisor about where she was going, and headed out to her Scion. Every time she left the building, she wondered if she would have a job when she got back. The newspaper was slowly dying and she’d been looking for employment elsewhere, but nobody was hiring print journalists. Sophie had moved to Eugene to take the newspaper job and although she liked the town, she had no real loyalty to it. Her last boyfriend had wounded her deeply, and she’d considered moving out of state, as well as giving up on men for a while. Now she was dating a bright beautiful woman, and leaving Jasmine would not be easy.
As she drove down Q Street, Sophie noted the care center was rather close to the freeway. She wondered if the patients even noticed or cared. Still, the property had nice landscaping and some trees for the old folks to gaze at through the windows of their little medical prisons. She pushed the buzzer and trotted inside, bracing herself for the experience. She loved old people and found them more honest and humorous than most others. Yet she believed the country needed to implement radical changes to keep Medicare and Social Security solvent.
Inside, she popped some peppermint gum in her mouth, then greeted the receptionist. “I’m Sophie Speranza with the Willamette News. I received a press release about a patient who came out of a coma. I’d love to interview her, if that’s possible. Or one of her caregivers.”
“Let me check with Gina’s nurse.”
Now she knew the patient’s name. Sophie was dying to learn the circumstances of her coma. Car accident seemed most likely. She wondered if she could find the original story on microfiche at the newspaper.
The receptionist paged someone named Jeri and they both waited. A nurse dressed in blue scrubs came hurrying up to the desk, looking annoyed. “How did you find out about our patient?”
“The care center sent me a press release.”
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Our marketer is new and young and I don’t know what the hell she was thinking.”
“Still, I’m here and I’d like to talk with Gina.”
“You’re not family and I don’t think it’s a good idea.” The nurse looked around, as if to find someone who would back her.
“If I got the press release, then the TV reporters probably did too. At least I’m not shoving a camera in your face. I just want a statement from the patient or from you.”
“The patient is doing well and should make a full recovery.”
“What was the cause of Gina’s coma?”
“I can’t discuss a patient’s private information with you.”
“Will you please ask Gina if she’d like to see me?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t, but I’ll tell her you were here.” The nurse spun around and walked away.
Sophie tuned back to the receptionist. “How do you spell her name?”
“G, I, N, A, S, T, A, H, L.”
Sophie suppressed a smile. She’d meant the nurse’s name for the quote. Now she knew the patient’s last name too. “What about the spelling of the nurse’s name? I plan to quote her.”
The receptionist spelled it out as well, then looked up. “Here come Gina’s parents.”
Sophie’s headache vanished. She turned and smiled at the older couple who’d just entered through the glass door. They were both gray, but the woman was tall and lean, while her husband had rounded shoulders and a pot belly. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Stahl? I’m Sophie Speranza.”
“I know that name,” the woman said. “You write for the paper. You did a great job on that story about the Young Women’s Outreach Center.”
“Thank you. That’s nice to hear.” Sophie held out her hand.
The older woman shook it. “I’m Sharon and this is my husband George. What brings you to the care center?”
“I’m here to see your daughter Gina. I’d love to do a story about her recovery.”
They both seemed taken aback. The old man spoke up. “I’m not sure Gina’s ready for that.”
“I understand. Would the two of you be willing to answer a few questions?” Sophie could see they needed encouragement. “The fact that she came out of a coma after two years is so amazing. It’ll be nice to do an upbeat story for a change. People need some good news.”
“Boy, that’s the truth.” Sharon Stahl turned to her husband. “Besides, some media coverage might put pressure on the police to fully investigate this.”
The words police and investigate gave Sophie a jolt of adrenaline. What had she lucked into? She turned back to the receptionist. “Is there a visitors’ room where we can sit down?”
“It’s down that hall.” She pointed left. “It’s right next to the dining room.”
The beige room was windowless, but they were near the kitchen and the yeasty smell of baking bread made it bearable. Unable to hold back, Sophie clicked on her recorder and jumped right in. “What happened to Gina? Why do the police need to investigate?”
Sharon took the lead. “Two years ago, our daughter ingested an overdose of Valium and Demerol. She had a prescription for Valium, but not Demerol. Her neighbors found her and called an ambulance. They told the cops and paramedics it was an attempted suicide. We never believed that.”
Sophie hoped she wasn’t drooling with eagerness. “What do you think happened?”
“We think her ex-husband tried to kill her. Gina had filed for divorce but it wasn’t final yet.”
“What makes you think that? Had he threatened her?”
“He stalked her too,” George cut in. “He’s a prick. One of those guys who can’t stand losing.”
“Did you tell the police this at the time?”
“We did,” Sharon said. “But they told us Gary Bekker had an alibi and that the doctors said it was a suicide.”
“Has Gina talked about the incident since she woke up? Does she remember what happened?”
“She says a man in a ski mask attacked her in her apartment and she blacked out.”
Sharon lowered her voice. “Gary must have forced the pills down her throat or given her some kind of injection.”
Sophie suddenly got a these-people-might-be-crazy vibe, but it didn’t change anything. This was still a good story. “Is Gary a medical professional?”
“He’s a cop, but he used to be a paramedic so he has medical skills.”
A cop? Sophie practically came in her nice linen pants. How juicy was this story? “Is Gary Bekker still working as a police officer?”
“He’s even been promoted,” George said, showing distress for the first time.
“Have the police assigned someone to investigate?”
“A young detective named Lara Evans has been here to ask questions,” Sharon said, “but we worry nothing will come of it.”
Sophie paused her recorder. “Do you think Gina would be willing to talk to me?”
“Let’s go ask her.”
When they arrived in Gina’s room, the patient was sleeping. Her parents each took a seat, prepared to wait. Sophie was less inclined. She turned to Sharon. “Can I take her picture? Not a close up. Just a shot of the room and the bed.”
“I don’t think Gina would want that.”
“Okay.” Sophie stepped near the hospital bed and made a few mental notes for her story: Long gray-streaked hair, pale but beautiful skin, strong jaw line. Had she met this woman before? “What does Gina do? I mean, where did she work before the coma?”
“She’s a clothing designer. She ran her own business, Goddess Garments.”
“How old is she?”
“Forty-six.”
Sophie jotted it down, then decided to turn her recorder back on. “What was it like for you during those years?” It was an idiot question but she had to ask it to get some good quotes.
The couple glanced at each other, then Sharon spoke for both of them. “We visited Gina almost every day and talked to her for hours. We thought the sound of our voices would help keep her connected to us and to the world around her.” Sharon cleared her throat, holding back tears. “We played her favorite music too, hoping that would help.”
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice Page 10
