Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice

by L. J. Sellers

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday, September 8, 1:12 p.m.

  On the drive into town from Durkin’s cabin, Jackson checked his watch. It was after one and he’d missed his opportunity for lunch with either Kera or Katie. He stopped at Taco Bell, bought a burrito at the drive-up window, then parked at the back of the lot. He called Kera between bites.

  Her hushed tone told him she was at the clinic. “Hey, Jackson. Nice of you to call.”

  What had he missed? “I’m sorry. You know what it’s like when I’m on a new case.”

  “I do.” She paused, then softened her tone. “How’s your day going?”

  “I’m having lunch in a parking lot. I thought if I talked to you while I was here it wouldn’t seem as pathetic.”

  Kera chuckled. “That depends on what you’re eating.”

  “A burrito.”

  “You’re at Taco Bell, aren’t you?” She laughed again. “You know their beef is sixty percent filler, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s cheap, fast, and salty, so it’s working for me today.”

  “How’s your investigation coming?” Kera asked. He heard a voice in the background, then a door close.

  “I have a lead, but I need a subpoena to get his DNA and I’m not optimistic.”

  “But you have a lead. That’s terrific.” She was no longer whispering. “What’s his connection to your parents?”

  “He’s a loan shark and my idiot brother borrowed money from him.”

  “Have you talked to Derrick?”

  “Yes, and he lied to me. I’m going over there again now to confront him.”

  Kera paused. “Try to be reasonable, maybe even empathetic. He’s your brother.”

  “He’s an unreliable source of information in this investigation.”

  Kera changed the subject. “How is Evans doing?”

  Jackson had called Kera from the hospital the night before to let her know he wasn’t coming over. Maybe that was why she was irritated with him. “Evans is a little beat up but she seems fine. Lammers wouldn’t let her into the interrogation room with Bekker this morning.” He laughed. “I think the boss was afraid for Bekker.”

  “Rightfully so. I’ve got to get back to my patients. Will I see you tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you. I love you.”

  Jackson hung up, feeling guilty for leaving Kera hanging about his schedule. He pushed his lunch sack to the floor and started the car. What had Kera meant by ‘rightfully so’? Did she feel threatened by Evans?

  Not likely. Kera was the most secure and rational person he’d ever known. Jackson pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Derrick’s house. On Hilyard, the traffic seemed to crawl and he made aggressive lane changes to stay ahead of it. Despite Kera’s caution to be reasonable, Jackson was still furious. Derrick hadn’t told him the truth about the amount of the loan. What else had he lied about?

  He didn’t bother calling because Derrick never answered. His brother’s car was in the driveway, as usual. Jackson jogged up the walkway, pounded on the door twice, then waited sixty seconds. Just as he reached for the knob, the door swung open.

  “I knew it was you. I could tell by the angry knock.” Derrick had shaved and looked ready to go out.

  “We need to talk.”

  “It has to be fast. I have an interview this afternoon.”

  The news pleased him but he couldn’t be distracted by it. Jackson stepped into the foyer, forcing Derrick to move back. “If you stick to the truth, this conversation shouldn’t take long.”

  “Here we go again.” His brother rolled his eyes.

  Jackson cut through the kitchen to reach the dining room table, noticing that Derrick had cleaned up a little. “I talked to Ray Durkin yesterday. He says he loaned you ten grand and you only paid back six. Why did you lie to me?”

  “Because I was embarrassed by the whole thing and six thousand sounds less foolish than ten thousand.” Derrick reluctantly sat across from him. “I’m sorry, Wade, but you were blaming me for their deaths and that was hard to take.”

  You brought a killer into their lives! Jackson found the will to keep the thought to himself. “When Durkin threatened you, what did he say?”

  “He said he would break my fingers. At the time, I was still working out in the warehouse so it would have meant lost wages.”

  “Durkin called here from Lucky Numbers two days before the murders. I’m sure Mom answered the phone because Dad never did. I think he pressured her for the money.”

  Derrick was silent.

  “You knew! What did that scumbag say to Mom?” Jackson shouted, his cheeks burning.

  “You’re making too much of this.” Derrick’s hands were on the table and they were shaking.

  “What did he threaten her with?”

  “Durkin told Mom he would hurt me if he didn’t get his money in twenty-four hours. Naturally, that upset her and she called me.”

  “And?”

  “She said she couldn’t get her hands on any more money without bringing Dad into it. I told her not to do that. I couldn’t let Dad know I’d screwed up again.” Derrick glanced over at the fridge, like a man longing for a beer. “I told Mom not to worry, that I would get the money somewhere else.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t have time! Mom and Dad were murdered the next day and I was devastated. Mom was my best friend.”

  “How did you plan to pay off the additional money?”

  “I sold my car and started driving Dad’s Buick.”

  Jackson remembered that soon after the funeral, Derrick had claimed his car was stolen. “You lied to me about your car.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Derrick pushed his hands through his new haircut. “I never wanted you to know about the loan.”

  Jackson wasn’t in a forgiving mood. “Ray Durkin drives the same blue sedan that he owned back in 2000. Mr. Grayson saw a blue sedan parked outside the house the day of the murders. I think Durkin came here looking for cash and ended up killing Mom and Dad.”

  “Oh, christ.” Derrick covered his face.

  The remorse was a breakthrough but it didn’t change anything. “What kind of gun did Durkin own?”

  “I never saw him with a gun or heard him talk about owning one.”

  “But he came here with a weapon and shot our parents. I’d sure like to know what he did with it afterward. Any ideas?”

  “I don’t think he brought a gun.” Derrick stared at his hands, still shaking.

  “Why not? What do you know?”

  “I think they were killed with Dad’s Jennings.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dad kept a handgun for self-protection, but it wasn’t registered, which is why he never told you about it. It disappeared after that day and I always assumed it was the murder weapon.”

  Jackson was stunned. “Did you tell this to the investigators?”

  “No. They arrested Hector Vargas, he confessed, and I didn’t think it mattered who owned the gun.”

  Jackson slammed his hand on the table before he could stop himself. “Of course it matters! It’s about motive. If the killer didn’t come here with his own weapon, then the murders may not have been premeditated.” He stood and fought for control. “Goddammit, how I can solve this crime without the right information? What else have you not told me?”

  “There isn’t anything else.”

  They stared at each other in silence. Finally Derrick said, “I don’t know if this is important, but right before the murders, Mom was really upset about something in the news. I heard her mumbling that she couldn’t let it happen again. I asked her what was going on and she wouldn’t tell me.”

  His brother glanced at the clock. “I have to go.” Derrick stood and waited for Jackson to do the same. “Listen, Wade,” his brother continued, “I made some mistakes back then and I tried to hide them from you and Dad. I also had some bad breaks too. But I got it together after t
hat. I worked hard and I got promoted. I settled down and got married. I really tried to be someone you would respect.”

  Jackson nodded but he wasn’t listening. What had his mother tried to stop that might have cost her life?

  On the drive back to the department, he made a difficult call. Sophie Speranza picked up right away. “Jackson. Good to hear from you. This must be important.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “You name it. I’m all over it.”

  She wasn’t just being nice. He would owe her something in return. “I need you to look back through old newspaper stories to September, 2000. Specifically, the week before September 23. I’m looking for anything a middle-aged woman might react to emotionally.”

  “That’s a little vague. Can you tell me why? I could be more effective in my search.”

  “This is confidential. You can’t write about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “My parents were murdered on September 23, 2000. I just learned that my mother was upset about something in the news right before they were shot. She said something about not letting it happen again.”

  Sophie made a sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry for your loss and I’m glad to help.” Voices in the background spoke to Sophie and she was gone for a moment. “Sorry. I’m with Gina Stahl in the care center right now. She’s getting reading to go home.”

  “Is Detective Evans there?”

  “No, but she’ll be back soon to escort Gina home. I’ll start your search in the microfiche first thing in the morning.”

  Jackson stopped at a traffic light and pressed speed dial #7. He knew using a cell phone while driving could be dangerous, but if he didn’t multitask, he’d never get his job done. Jasmine Parker didn’t pick up so he left her a message: “It’s Jackson. Please compare the fingerprints from the double homicide back in 2000 to an ex-con named Ray Durkin. I hope to have DNA for you soon.”

  On the way up to his desk, Jackson tried to visualize the murders from a new perspective. Someone, probably Durkin, had come to the house and threatened his mother, or maybe both his parents. In fear, his father had pulled out his handgun, but the assailant had taken it away and shot them both. His father had died first, maybe during a struggle for the weapon, accounting for the bruises. Yet even if his father’s death had not been deliberate, the bastard had then executed his mother with a bullet to her brain.

  Grief and anger threatened to overwhelm him. Jackson suppressed his emotions and played the scene again. The killer brought his own weapon, but didn’t use it because his father had surprised him by pulling a gun. Why had the perp taken the murder weapon from the house? Were his prints on it? Had he not worn gloves? Was it simply easier to carry the gun out and throw it away rather than spend a few seconds wiping it down?

  Jackson opened a form on his computer and began to write a subpoena for Ray Durkin’s DNA. As he keyed in his rationale, he realized how little circumstantial evidence he had. Derrick’s testimony about Durkin’s threats would help. He’d have to try Judge Cranston and play on his sympathy.

  As he crossed the underground parking area, heading for his city-issued Impala, Jackson suddenly stopped. He drove an unmarked dark blue sedan and so did every other detective in the department. Bekker had said he first thought the homicides were professional hits, committed by someone who practiced at a shooting range. Good god. Had an officer of the law murdered his parents? It made no sense and Jackson didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility.

  Once inside his car, he froze again. Did Bekker commit the murders himself? If he did, it would explain why the investigation was so sloppy and why he’d pressured Vargas so ruthlessly to confess. Jackson used his cell phone to call the reporter again.

  “Hey, Sophie. When you search the September 2000 newspapers, pull stories that involve police officers.”

  “This sounds juicy. You will give me an exclusive at some point, correct?”

  “When I can.”

  “Does it involve Gary Bekker?”

  Surprised again by her ability to make connections, Jackson hesitated. “Why do you ask about Bekker?”

  “I spent the afternoon listening to Gina, his ex-wife. So I know what he’s capable of.”

  “This is a completely different case.”

  “I’m headed back to the office now. I’ll try to get to the microfilm this afternoon if I can.”

  “Please print everything and fax it to me.”

  “Of course. Thanks for trusting me with this.”

  Jackson could visualize her pixie face grinning, maybe even smirking. “I didn’t say I trusted you, but thanks for your help.”

  Judge Cranston was not available, so Jackson reluctantly entered the office of Marlee Volcansek. He’d seen her once at home with her hair down and snug-fitting clothes and that’s how he visualized her now. The fact that she was attractive didn’t make her any easier to persuade. She was liberal and protective of an individual’s rights.

  “Detective Jackson,” she said, looking up. “I’d ask how you’ve been, but I read the news. We’ve had a lot of homicides this year.”

  “We passed our annual record and it’s only September.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m investigating a double homicide from the year 2000. The wrong man was convicted, but I have a good lead on the right suspect and I need you to sign this subpoena for his DNA.”

  She scowled and took off her glasses. “What case was that? And who presided over the trial?”

  “The Jackson murders. Hector Vargas confessed and entered a plea. Judge Ramusson was in court that day.”

  “The Jacksons are your relatives?”

  “My parents.”

  “I’m disappointed to hear that justice was not served in our courts.” She held out her hand. “Let me read your subpoena.”

  Jackson handed it over and held his breath.

  Volcansek read quickly, then asked, “Ray Durkin is currently a law-abiding citizen?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “This is weak, Jackson. You’re basing your supposition on a threatening phone call and a matching vehicle description.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “I’m going to sign it anyway, because if it were up to me, every convicted felon would have his or her DNA processed and logged into the system. It would save all of us a lot of work and prevent countless crimes.”

  A wave of relief washed over him. “Thank you. Everyone in law enforcement feels the same.”

  “Good luck with your investigation.” She handed him the signed paperwork.

  Jackson resisted the urge to run from the room. If Durkin’s DNA matched the unidentified hair found on his mother or the saliva from the cigarette butt, it was enough to convict him.

  Chapter 19

  Wednesday, September 8, 4:15 p.m.

  Evans stood next to the Geezer and breathed in warm September air. She’d never been so happy to exit someone’s house. Except for the home where the triple homicide had taken place. She’d never get those mutilated bodies out of her mind. Doug Bekker’s hoarding was mild in comparison.

  One last deep breath and she climbed in her car and drove back toward the Rosehill center. She couldn’t get Bekker and his pain medication out of her mind. Did he use Demerol? Had he tried to kill Gina with his own meds? Or had he taken the opioid from one of the drug addicts he victimized? Bekker’s doctor wouldn’t tell her without a subpoena, but the department might have some information. Evans was tempted to pursue the lead, but she’d told Gina she would escort her home from the care center and it seemed important to be there. She’d learned from Jackson that making connections with the victims and their families could be critical in solving a case. Yet it was more than that. She felt protective of Gina.

  As Evans pulled into the Rosehill parking lot, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Stahl enter the building, pushing an empty wheelchair. Evans checked her cell phone: 4:27. She hoped to wrap this up in an hour or so, then gra
b some dinner. Her stomach ached from drinking coffee and not eating all day.

  Inside the facility, food smells from the kitchen mingled with the stink of unflushed toilets. Her stomach heaved. God damn. Why couldn’t they do something about that? She flashed her badge at the receptionist and strode down to Gina’s room, where she was happy to find the reporter had left. Gina sat in her new wheelchair, dressed in street clothes, still gaunt, but flushed and happy. Her mother took photos and blinked back tears, and her father kept saying, “We’ve been praying for this day.”

  The emotion in the room was too much for Evans and she felt embarrassed to witness it. Her own parents had not been inclined to hug or cry. She was relieved when Gina’s doctor stopped by to give her patient some final instructions and the family had to be serious for a moment. Two nurses came in to say goodbye and the emotions flowed again.

  Finally George pushed Gina out of the room she’d lived in for two years and Sharon held her gray-haired daughter’s hand. Evans followed. Part of her wished she’d skipped this drama fest and another part was jealous that no one had ever cared for her that lovingly.

  * * *

  A warm wind caressed Gina’s face and the sun felt glorious on her exposed arms. Tears of joy welled in her eyes. She was leaving the medical center and resuming her life! She had months of rehab still ahead to build up her strength, but she was functional. She could get around with a walker for a few minutes at a time and her hands were already strong enough to draw sketches for five minutes at a time. In a few months, she would be back to normal and she couldn’t wait to start making goddess clothing again.

  They reached the minivan, a new vehicle she didn’t recognize. Her mother opened the backseat door and her father lined up her wheelchair as best he could. Detective Evans stood by, squinting in the bright sun and looking uncomfortable. Gina thought it was sweet for her to be there. With Gary in jail, she felt safe, so Evans’ presence wasn’t really necessary.

  “Ready, honey?” her dad asked.

  “I’m so ready.”

  Her parents lifted her from both sides, and Gina pushed as much as she could with her weak legs. Standing felt glorious too. The pain of her bedsores was already receding. Her mother let go and moved out of the way. Gina shuffled sideways to get closer to the van. Her legs shook but held. Stepping into the car and lowering herself down to the seat took every bit of strength and coordination she had gained. Even with her father hanging on, she flopped over at the last minute and ended up lying on the seat with her legs sticking out the door.