“What kind of music?”
“She loves funk and rock and anything she can dance to.”
Gina’s father spoke up. “We paid for daily physical therapy as well. That’s why she’s recovering so quickly. They said we could take her home in the next day or so.”
“Wow. That’s fast.”
“She doesn’t have any brain damage.” Sharon beamed. “We’re so excited. We still have to bring her back every day for the therapy pool and the special treadmill, but Gina really wants to come home.”
“Do you think she’ll be awake soon?”
The nurse Sophie had spoken to earlier strode into the room and glared. “Gina needs rest. Will you please leave?”
Sophie ignored her and dug in her wallet for a business card. She handed it to Sharon. “Here’s how to contact me when Gina comes home. I’ll be in touch. Thanks so much for your time.” She gave the nurse a friendly smile and left. If she hurried, she might get the preliminary story into tomorrow’s paper.
Chapter 13
Tuesday, September 7, 4:45 p.m.
Jackson took two naproxen and stood to relieve the pain in his intestines. He’d been on hold with the phone company for fifteen minutes and was glad he’d used his desk phone. The manager at Quest headquarters finally came back on. “I think I’ve found the phone records you need, but my computer is being really slow. I’ll fax them to you as soon as they load.”
Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I appreciate your effort.” He’d been prepared to get a subpoena for the documents, but the manager had been so skeptical about finding eleven-year-old data she hadn’t even asked for one.
Jackson pulled on his jacket and headed out. It was time to connect with his family.
In the car, he checked the time on his cell phone and called his daughter. Katie surprised him by answering. “Hi Dad. I’m glad you called.”
Jackson laughed. “That worries me. Where are you and what are you going to ask for?”
“I’m at the mall with Zoe and her mother, and we want to see a movie. Can I have dinner here with them, please? I’ll be home by eight-thirty or so.”
Having a meal together every day was an important routine that kept him in touch with his daughter. In the past, he’d missed more than a few dinners when he worked tough homicides. Now Katie was more likely to be the one who wanted out of their time together. “I’d rather you came home. You can see the movie this weekend.”
“Why do you get to excuse yourself from our dinner plans whenever you have a hard case, but I never get a pass? That doesn’t seem right.”
The truth was, Jackson felt a little relieved that she had other plans, because he wanted to meet with Evans, which also made him feel guilty. “For starters, I’m the parent. Second, my job is rather important. But to be fair, I’ll let you have a pass this time.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around eight-thirty.”
“Okay. Later.”
Jackson missed the sweet little girl his daughter had been, but he liked this new spunky version too. He just didn’t trust her as much as he used to. No matter how responsible Katie was about homework and chores and checking in, she was still a teenager and Jackson remembered what that was like.
He called Evans and arranged to meet her at the Sixth Street Grill. He was pleased she wanted his help with her investigation and he looked forward to talking about his parents’ case. He would have liked to discuss the investigation with Kera, but some details he just couldn’t share with a civilian. Tonight, his girlfriend was volunteering at the Veterans Rehab Center, so she wasn’t available, anyway.
The restaurant was only a few blocks from the department and offered little parking, so Jackson left his cruiser under City Hall and walked over. The warm breeze felt pleasant on his face and he was grateful for the chance to be outside. As he crossed 8th Avenue, a nearly naked man with dreadlocks to his waist bicycled past, pulling a homemade rainbow-painted trailer with a small dog inside it. Jackson smiled. Summer in Eugene was especially colorful.
Inside the eatery, nearly every booth was filled, reminding him that Tuesday was burger-and-brew night. Not the best timing for an important conversation, but they’d make it work. The hostess sat him near the front window and he saw Evans cross the street. Her heart-shaped face was animated and the wind tousled her freshly cut hair. He’d come to really like working with Evans. She was insightful and energetic and a visual change of pace from looking at Schak and McCray. Jackson was glad he’d met Kera soon after Evans joined the unit. Taking the Evans option off the table made their situation easier. Department romances usually ended in disaster, with one person being terminated or transferred.
Evans slid in across from him and grinned. “You haven’t ordered us a beer yet?”
“I just got here. Rough day?”
“Sort of. I’ve got a stressful case.” Evans had a light sheen on her face and Jackson found it oddly attractive. She signaled a waitress, who came straight over. “I’ll have a Ninkasi Radiant.”
The waitress looked at him and Jackson hesitated. He almost never drank, a byproduct of being married to an alcoholic for fourteen years.
“Come on, have a beer with me,” Evans cajoled. “It’ll replenish your electrolytes after a hot sweaty day.” She laughed at her rationale and Jackson laughed too.
“I’ll have the same.” He probably wouldn’t finish the beer, but it sounded good.
Evans, on the other hand, took a long pull the minute their server set down the beers. They both ordered burgers with salad instead of fries, to take advantage of the special.
“I’ll have to run another five miles tonight,” Evans said. “But I don’t care. They make the best burgers here.”
“I haven’t had one in months so I’m due.”
“Thanks for meeting me. Lammers wants you to work with me on this case.
“The coma woman? Do you have any leads?”
“I do. The victim says her ex-husband tried to kill her.” Evans gave him a peculiar smile. “Guess who her ex is?”
Jackson waited.
Evans leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Sergeant Gary Bekker, Eugene Police Department.”
“I’ll be damned.” Hearing the name of one of the cops who’d browbeaten Hector Vargas surprised him. Jackson wondered if he should tell Evans. If it were his case, he’d want to know.
“What is it? Don’t tell me you and Bekker are friends.”
“We’re not. I’ve got some information for you, but first tell me about your case. Have you told Lammers about Bekker?”
“An hour ago. That’s why she wants you to get involved. She thinks I don’t have the experience to interrogate Bekker.”
As much as Jackson wanted to focus exclusively on his parents, Evans’ investigation intrigued him. “Is this case going to come down to a he-said, she-said situation for the jury?”
“It’s worse than that. The attacker was wearing a ski mask, so Gina can’t say for sure it was her ex.”
“The DA won’t want to press charges.”
“I know, but there’s more.” A wave of disgust passed over Evan’s face, then she caught herself. “Here’s our food, I’ll update you in a moment.”
While they ate, Evans told him about Gary Bekker’s sexual-predator visits and how his ex-wife had documented them, thus leading to her near-death experience. Jackson put down what was left of his burger, no longer hungry. “You’re saying the sexual coercion has been going on for years.”
“For one of the women, it started in 2006. We have to nail this guy.” Evans’ voice had an edge he’d never heard before.
Jackson sipped his beer, trying to decide how much he should tell her about Bekker’s involvement in his own case. Lammers had asked him not to discuss it, but how could they work together if she didn’t know? “I’m working a case from the past too. My parents’ homicides.”
“What the hell? Wasn’t that a decade
ago?
“Eleven years.” Jackson explained about Vargas’ letter, the coerced confession, and Bekker’s role in it. “You can’t tell anyone else in the department about the allegations of abuse. Lammers wants to keep this under wraps.”
“What a total bastard. We have to get him off the force.” Evans reached over and squeezed Jackson’s hand. “It must be painful for you to work your parents’ case. Since you’re going to spend time on my investigation, let me help with yours. Do you have any leads? Is there anything I can do?”
Jackson told her about the guy in the sedan sitting outside the house and leaving shortly after the sound of gunshots. “I hope to have phone records soon, so maybe I’ll find something.”
“Do you have the old case file? Did they investigate anyone besides Vargas?”
“I have the folder but it’s slim. They focused on Vargas immediately, forced a confession, and never looked at anyone else.”
Evans raised her nearly empty beer in the gesture of a toast. “Here’s to our cold-case success.”
Jackson tapped glasses with her, thinking they would both need to catch a lucky break to bring justice to any of the victims.
Later at home, he carried in the boxes he’d gathered from Derrick’s. As he removed his Sig Sauer, jacket, and shoes, he wondered what his brother was doing at that moment. He pictured him sitting in front of the TV, alone, drinking. Jackson considered asking Derrick over for dinner some night, then anger flared. Why was his brother wallowing in his troubles instead of fighting for a good life?
Jackson set a box labeled Personal Papers on the table and sat down to his task. As an investigator, he often spent hours scanning through bank statements and phone recorders and he’d learned to be patient with the process. This time it was personal. He was digging through his parents’ private life. He wished he’d finished his beer.
His first task was to prioritize. He set aside his father’s sports scores and crossword puzzles and his mother’s family recipes. Seeing his father’s familiar neat print and inhaling the faint scent of cigar made Jackson realize why Derrick had not been able to throw all this in the recycling. It would have been tantamount to pushing away a warm hug.
Jackson started with a little yellow notebook that had a dollar sign on the cover. In his mother’s handwriting was a list of charitable contributions and the date of the donation. They’d given money to the Mission, Food for Lane County, Planned Parenthood, and Womenspace. The list went on for pages and dated back three years. He started to set down the notebook, then flipped through the empty pages to see if he’d missed anything. Near the back was another list of dollar amounts and at the top of the page, his brother’s name. Were these loans or gifts to Derrick? Jackson mentally added up the entries: $1500, $3000, $1500. All the notations were dated and had been recorded in the two months before the murders.
Why had Derrick needed six thousand dollars? His brother had been working and making decent money. The timing of the loans and the homicides was too close for Jackson to write off as coincidence. He reached for his cell to call Derrick, then changed his mind. This needed to be handled face to face. It was too easy to lie over the phone. The money given to his brother unsettled him. How much of a burden had Derrick been? Had his parents made sacrifices in their own lives to help him?
Jackson checked the time: 7:35. Katie wouldn’t be home from the movie for an hour. Since he wasn’t technically on duty, he decided to take his personal car. Still, he grabbed his weapon and shoulder bag before heading out to the garage. In the harsh fluorescent light, he took a moment to admire his midnight blue ‘69 GTO. He’d spent years restoring the vehicle on weekends, buying the materials one paycheck at a time.
Next to the muscle car sat the trike he’d recently completed with the help of his daughter. He’d been so pleased when Katie had decided to join him on the project and even learned to weld. The three-wheeled motorcycle had a Volkswagen engine/rear end and a Goldwing front end, which they’d welded together with a home-built frame. He’d painted the body a dark burgundy at his daughter’s request and he loved riding the damn thing. Especially when Kera or Katie rode with him. He knew he hadn’t done a professional job, but he got compliments from everyone who saw it.
Jackson was tempted to take the trike, wanting Derrick to see it, but again, his instinct told him to be prepared for anything. He climbed in the GTO and the engine roared on the first turn of the key as always. The rumble warmed his heart.
Only a dim light shone in the back of Derrick’s house, but his Town Car was in the driveway so Jackson knew his brother was home. He pounded on the door, assuming Derrick was drinking and watching TV and would not hear anything less.
After a short wait, Jackson pounded again, then used the key he’d found earlier to let himself in. Since Derrick had never bought him out, Jackson still had half ownership in the house. It was odd, and frustrating, to be in that position with both his brother and his ex-wife. He would be glad to get at least one of the situations resolved.
“Derrick.” Jackson stepped into the house as he called out, but his brother didn’t answer. Jackson moved through the foyer into the living room.
Derrick, who’d been half asleep on the couch, jerked upright. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry, but I pounded on the door and you didn’t answer.”
“So come back later. You can’t barge in here like this.” Derrick tried to sound angry, but he lacked the will. “What do you want?”
Jackson pushed an empty pizza box off the recliner and sat down. “You borrowed money from Mom and Dad in the weeks before they were killed. I want to know about it.”
“What makes you think that’s any of your business?”
“I’m investigating their homicides. I have to look at every possibility.”
“Forget it. The money had nothing to do with their deaths.”
“Don’t make me subpoena your financial records. What was it for?”
“Don’t go all authoritative on me, you little shit.” Derrick rubbed his face. “Why do you always get like that? You’re so self-righteous.”
“I’m just doing my job. Why did you need six thousand dollars?”
“It was for a business I bought into.”
“What business?”
“Eco Solar Panels. A guy at work decided to start his own company and he asked to me come in as an investor. I didn’t have the money so I borrowed it from our parents.”
“I’m surprised they loaned it to you. Mom and Dad didn’t usually take financial risks.”
Derrick was quiet, then looked away.
“What are you not telling me? Did you lie to them about what it was for?”
“Mom gave it to me and Dad never knew.”
Jackson didn’t believe him. “Tell me what really happened. Mom didn’t keep things from Dad.”
Derrick made a snorting sound. “You’d be surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Derrick pushed himself off the couch, moving like an old man. “Want a beer?”
“No thanks. What happened to the business?”
“It went to shit, like everything else in my life.”
“You lost your investment?” Mom’s investment, Jackson mentally corrected.
“Yep.” Derrick shuffled into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of beer. “None of this matters now. Can you let it go?”
“How can a solar panel business not survive in Eugene? Especially ten years ago? That was ahead of the curve.”
“Sam was killed in a car accident a few months after I gave him the money. The business fell through.”
“Sam who?”
“Forget it, Wade. It has nothing to do with their deaths.”
“How do you know?” Irritated, Jackson raised his voice. “What if Sam invested the money in a drug deal that went bad? What if Sam’s associates came here looking for you?”
Derrick rolled his eyes. “His name was Reinhart, but he’s d
ead and you’re wasting your time.”
“How you do spell it?” Jackson would have to search the databases because Derrick was clearly not going to help him.
“It doesn’t matter.” Derrick shifted in agitation. “This isn’t about Sam. He’s not the bad guy.”
Something in his tone caught Jackson’s attention. “Who is the bad guy? You got involved in something shady, didn’t you?”
“You’re like a pit bull, Wade. You get your teeth into something and you don’t let go. You were like that as kid too.”
“And you’re evasive as usual, trying to turn this on me instead of answering the question.” Jackson wanted to say, You were like that as a kid too, but he resisted. “Who did you owe the money to?”
Derrick took a long gulp of beer. Jackson watched him try to decide what to tell him. Finally his brother said, “Ray Durkin.”
“Who is he and how did you meet him?”
“Seth Valder introduced me to him at Lucky Numbers one night.”
The name slammed into Jackson like a fist. “I had a run-in with Valder recently and he’s heartless son of a bitch. How did you get mixed up with him?”
“I met Valder at the club and he seemed like a decent guy. I was talking to him one night about the business I wanted to invest in and he introduced me to Durkin. Durkin offered to loan me the money so I borrowed it.”
“At what cost?”
“Ten percent interest on the cash and one percent of the business.”
“What happened when you didn’t pay?”
Derrick’s shoulders sagged. “Durkin threatened me, so I borrowed money from Mom to pay him off.”
“Did he know you got the money from your parents?”
“No.” Derrick’s mouth turned down and Jackson didn’t believe him.
“You owed more than six thousand, didn’t you? Durkin came here looking to collect the rest.” Jackson bolted out the chair, heat building in his chest. “Our parents were murdered over your asinine debt, weren’t they? And you’ve known all along!” At the end, he was shouting.
Derrick stood and shouted back. “Bullshit! I paid Durkin and it was over.” His brother stepped toward him, shoulders tensed. “You’re out of line and I want you to leave.”
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice Page 11
