Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice

by L. J. Sellers

  Jackson’s jaw was tight and his mouth unsmiling. “I called for patrol backup in case he resists,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Evans hated that he was angry with her. “This is the right thing to do. Don’t forget his sexual coercion victims. If he’s free on bail, he’s free to intimidate them into retracting their stories.”

  “I have bad feeling about this.”

  “Do you have your Taser?”

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  They moved past the truck in the driveway, guns drawn. Jackson pounded on the door and it opened moments later. A boy of about fourteen smiled at them. He wore shorts and a Batman t-shirt and had the round face and innocent eyes of someone with Down syndrome. Evans cursed under her breath and let Jackson take the lead.

  “We’re looking for Gary Bekker. Is he here?”

  The young man turned and yelled, “Dad. It’s for you.”

  Bekker came to the door, looking haggard. His face was unshaved and the bags under his eyes were gray. He spoke softly to the boy, telling him to go back to the living room. When his son was out of earshot, Bekker said, “What do you want now?”

  “We need you to come in for questioning.”

  “We’ve been through this, remember?”

  “We have a new crime,” Jackson said. “Either come with us voluntarily or we’ll have to arrest you.”

  “What crime?”

  “We’ll talk when we get to the department.”

  “I can’t just leave my son. Can’t this wait until tomorrow when he’s in school?”

  “Sorry. We’ll give you ten minutes to make arrangements. If you can’t find someone, we’ll call Child Services.”

  “Fuck that!” Spit flew from Bekker’s mouth. “Cody is already traumatized because I didn’t come last night. I will not let him enter the fucking foster system.”

  “Then start making calls.” Jackson stayed firm and Evans admired him even more. She felt bad for the boy and hoped he had a backup caregiver, because his father might not come home for twenty years.

  “Come on, Jackson,” Bekker pleaded. “You’ve got a kid and you know what it’s like. Have a heart.”

  “Think long term, Bekker. We’ll come in while you make calls.”

  Bekker’s shoulders slumped and Evans could tell he was done resisting. She holstered her weapon and her pulse slowed.

  * * *

  Jackson and Evans stood in the living room while Bekker made a call. The boy was engrossed in a crime show on TV. Bekker’s call went well. Jackson could tell by the tone of his voice and the look of relief on his face. The sergeant came into the living room, muted the TV, and kneeled next to his son.

  “Cody, Mrs. Marshall is coming to take you home with her, and you’ll be there for a while. Daddy has to go to work. It’s a big job and I may not be home for a few days.”

  “You’re going to sleep at work?”

  “Yes. For a day or so. I’ll call you if I can.”

  The boy put his arms around Bekker’s neck and said, “I hate it when you’re gone.”

  “Me too, son. I’ll go pack some things for you.”

  Jackson wished he were anywhere else. He hated arresting people with kids.

  Bekker got up and turned to Jackson. “I need to make a few more calls.”

  Jackson nodded and followed Bekker into the boy’s room. He didn’t really believe it was necessary to shadow him, but if Bekker went out a bedroom window while he stood in the living room, he would kick himself for days.

  Bekker loaded a backpack with a change of clothes and called the boy’s school to leave a message. Bekker conducted a second conversation that Jackson couldn’t follow. He told himself the call was personal and not to worry about it.

  After ten minutes, they were back in the living room. Bekker sat on the couch next to his son and Jackson stood next to Evans, who seemed to be struggling to keep her impassive cop face on.

  For twenty minutes, they waited, watching Bekker and his son watch TV. It was a long uncomfortable stretch, but Jackson had done even stranger things as a patrol cop. Once he’d changed a baby’s diaper while the mother took a shower and washed food out of her hair. Her husband had thrown dinner plates at her and another officer had taken the offender to jail. Jackson had offered to drive the woman to her mother’s home, but she’d wanted to clean up first.

  Mrs. Marshall, a heavy-set older woman with a sweet voice, finally arrived and Cody left with her. Jackson cuffed Bekker, against his protests, and put him in the back of his car. Evans followed them to the department. Jackson was irritated with her for pushing him to pick up Bekker, but he was also mad at himself for hesitating. The issue for him was that Bekker was not his priority. The patrol sergeant was not a suspect in his parents’ murders, and Jackson didn’t believe Bekker had shot his ex-wife either. Yet Evans was right that Bekker was a threat to the women he’d victimized, and it was a relief to have in him custody again. Disabled son or not. Damn, that had been uncomfortable.

  He asked Evans to order Chinese food while he escorted their suspect to the interrogation room. It was nearly nine o’clock and raw hunger made him irritable as hell. He left Bekker uncuffed with a glass of water, then trudged to the conference room. His legs ached with exhaustion and his surgery scar felt inflamed, yet he still had hours of work ahead. He bought two diet Pepsis from the vending machine in the break room on the way.

  In the conference room, Evans had a small prescription bottle in her hand. “Want half a Provigil?”

  “What exactly is it again?”

  “It was originally developed to keep jet pilots awake on long flights. It’s also commonly prescribed for people with narcolepsy to keep them awake. I only take it when we’re working these late night cases.”

  Evans’ energy made Jackson feel old, even when she didn’t have pharmaceutical help. “Sure.”

  She broke an oblong tablet in half and they swallowed the Provigil with their sodas.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jackson said. “If Bekker has an accomplice, then his accomplice is also participating in the sex crimes. Why else would he be willing to kill Gina Stahl?”

  “Of course.” Evans slapped her folder. “We have to talk to his victims again. Do you think his accomplice is another cop?”

  “Most likely. But we have to stay open to the possibility that Bekker has never tried to kill his ex-wife and another suspect is still out there.”

  Evans made a face. “I don’t know who it would be. Gina still has boxes of paperwork at her parents’ house that I haven’t gone through yet. After we’ve questioned Bekker, I’ll go pick up the boxes and bring them here for us to go through.”

  Jackson braced himself for a long night of tedium. He remembered the stacks of his mother’s letters that he hadn’t gone through yet either. He had no idea when he would get back to them.

  His partner’s cell phone rang and she snatched it from the table. “Detective Evans.” After a moment, she set down the phone and put it on speaker. “Thanks for getting back to me, Joel. I need to ask a few questions.”

  The voice from the cell was scratchy but audible. “I’m on a break at work so I only have a few minutes.”

  “This is important. Your boss will understand. Where were you today at 5:17 p.m.?” Evans leaned toward the phone as she spoke. Jackson thought this speakerphone interrogation was yet another strange moment in his law enforcement career.

  “I was right here at work, where I am now.”

  “Where do you work and what is your shift?”

  “I work six to six at Ridgeline Pipe, twelve-hour graveyard shifts.”

  “Did you loan your Ford Explorer to someone?”

  “No. I sold it today.”

  “What time did that happen and who did you sell it to?”

  “I don’t know his name. He showed up around noon and gave me five hundred in cash. I gave him the title and that was it.”

  “Did he call first?”

  “No. I did
n’t have the Explorer advertised. I just parked it on the street with a For Sale sign.”

  Jackson was impressed with Evans’ line of questioning.

  “Describe the guy.”

  “He was older, maybe in his fifties, but in good shape.”

  “Be specific. I want eye color, skin color, hair color, the shape of his face.” Evans sounded annoyed.

  “I didn’t see much. He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. But he was definitely white, and what little I saw of his hair looked blond or gray.”

  Jackson heard traffic noises in the background. “Where are you right now? I thought you said you were at work.”

  “I’m in the parking lot. The break room is too noisy.”

  Evans picked back up. “What else can you tell us? Did the guy sound crude or educated? Did he have an accent?”

  “He seemed smart and smooth, but the whole thing happened in a few minutes. He started the Explorer to make sure it ran, gave me the cash, and went on his way.”

  Jackson asked, “He drove away in the Explorer?”

  “Yes. He came on a bike. After he bought the Ford, he put the bike in the back and drove off.”

  “We need you to come into the department tomorrow and work with our sketch artist to create a picture of this guy.”

  They heard a loud buzzer in the background. “Okay,” Joel said. “But I need to get back to work now.”

  Evans warned, “Be here early in the morning so we don’t have to come find you.”

  Jackson loved it when she got into her tough cop mode.

  “I will.” Joel hung up.

  “White guy in his fifties with blond hair. Sounds like Bekker.” Evans jumped up and started to pace. “Yet it can’t be, because Bekker was still in jail at noon.”

  “He either has an accomplice or we need to start over.”

  “Goddamn it.” Evans drummed her fingers. “What if his accomplice bought the Explorer, then picked up Bekker at the jail? They could have driven to the Stahls together in plenty of time.”

  “Did you see someone else in the vehicle?”

  “No, but he could have been lying down in the back seat.”

  “They would have needed two bikes to get away.”

  “Maybe one of them was dropped off at another vehicle for the getaway.”

  “It’s possible.” Jackson wasn’t buying it. “But it would take some planning and Bekker was in jail.”

  “This is pretty fucked up.”

  In the silence, someone knocked on the door and the desk officer stepped in. “This smells incredibly good. What did you guys order?”

  “Mongolian Beef and egg rolls.”

  Jackson noticed Evans ordered the same thing Kera always did. It made him smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Let’s eat, then we’ll go see if we can trick Bekker into talking about his accomplice.”

  Bekker’s interrogation proved to be a waste of time. If he responded at all, he simply said “yes,” “no,” or “I don’t know.” After twenty minutes, he refused to speak again.

  Jackson and Evans stepped out of the tiny room. Jackson checked his watch: 10:05 p.m. “I’ll take Bekker to jail, while you round up Gina’s personal papers. We’ll meet back here.”

  Evans touched his arm. “How is your parents’ case going? I know you must be frustrated to have to work this one instead.”

  “My suspect disappeared after I questioned him so I’m at a standstill until he’s located. I’m glad to help with Gina’s case.”

  “We’ll make short work of it.” Evans gave him a grim smile. “Maybe we’ll get lucky with the ski mask. It could have DNA.”

  “Now all we need is a suspect to compare it with.”

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday, September 8, 9:37 p.m.

  Evans called the Stahls as she headed down to the parking lot, and Sharon answered, sounding sleepy.

  “Sorry for the late call. I need to gather up the rest of Gina’s personal papers and bring them into the department. We plan to look at everything until we find a new lead.”

  “Are you saying Gary Bekker didn’t do this?”

  “He was released on bail this afternoon at four-fifty. Someone bought the Explorer used in the crime at noon, so we’re looking for other suspects or maybe an accomplice.”

  “Are you coming over now?” Sharon’s voice quivered.

  “Yes. We plan to work late.”

  “Thank you.”

  Evans crossed the nearly empty parking area and climbed in her car. She looked through her notepad until she found Tricia Cronin’s phone number. It was late to be making calls, but Tricia was a hooker, so she probably didn’t keep regular hours. It took seven rings, but Tricia finally answered. “Why are you calling so late?”

  “I have a murder to solve, so this is important. Did Gary Bekker ever mention a partner or show up with another cop?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever mention any other adult male to you?”

  “He talked about his brother once.”

  A shimmer of possibility ran up Evans’ spine. “What did he say?”

  “I don’t remember. Gary was drunk and babbling about family.”

  “Think hard, Tricia. What did he say?”

  “Just something about loving his brother even though he was a pain in the ass.”

  Damn. Evans let out her breath. “Think about the partner idea, please, and call me if you remember anything.”

  “Sure.” Tricia hung up.

  Evans visualized Doug Bekker. He fit the description of the man who bought the Explorer. Would he help his brother kill someone? He had talked so freely about Gary’s problems. Had it all been a misdirection? She looked up Joni Farmer’s number and called her too, but the heroin addict didn’t pick up.

  Evans made four trips from the Stahls’ guest bedroom to her car with boxes and another four trips from her car to the conference room at the department. The Provigil was doing its job and she felt great. Jackson was still not back from booking Bekker into jail, and Evans suspected he’d made a stop at home to check on his daughter or maybe a stop at Kera’s to tell his girlfriend he didn’t have time for midnight nookie. Too bad.

  To get comfortable for the long tedious task ahead, Evans took off her jacket and holster and laid her weapon on a nearby chair. She grabbed one of the boxes from the floor and unloaded the contents on the table. The pile was mostly mail, with stacks of unpaid bills and letters from banks, insurance companies, and medical clinics. Evans hoped to move through it quickly and get into more personal items. She started with correspondence from the two clinics. Both had sent letters telling Gina they were turning over her debt to a collection agency.

  Jackson came in a few minutes later. He grinned as he sat down. “The Provigil is quite effective.”

  “Isn’t it? I love my doctor.”

  Jackson pulled a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup from his pocket, opened it, and handed her one of the candies. “I stopped for coffee, realized I didn’t need any, and bought this instead.”

  “Thanks, I love these.”

  “I know. That’s why I chose it.”

  He remembered her favorite. Evans didn’t try to hide her pleasure. “I’ll have to burn off these calories tomorrow.”

  “You don’t look like you have anything to worry about.”

  “Thanks.” That was as close as he’d ever come to complimenting her appearance. Evans didn’t know why he was suddenly being friendlier, but what the hell, it was about time. She remembered her jacket was off and the shape of her body more prominently displayed. She hoped it was more than that.

  “What are we looking at here?” Jackson asked.

  “Mail, mostly bills. I knew Gina was in debt, but her financial situation was even worse than I realized. Look at this.” She handed him a letter from the hospital. “She owed North McKenzie more than nine thousand dollars and they turned her over to a collection agency.”

  “Un
less she borrowed money from a loan shark, I don’t see how the debt could get her killed.”

  “Gina doesn’t seem like the type to get involved with lowlifes. What made you say that?”

  “My brother Derrick borrowed money from a loan shark right before he moved in with my parents. I think it may have gotten them killed.”

  “Oh, shit. Is that your suspect who disappeared? The loan shark?”

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “We haven’t been close for years.”

  “Is he a criminal?” What made her ask that?

  Jackson looked up, seeming surprised by her question. “He had trouble as a teenager, but as an adult he just lacks good judgment. And he fails to see how his actions affect others.”

  “Sounds like my brother. Only Trevor is lazy too.”

  “Are you in contact with him?”

  “Not really.” Evans shrugged. “I call him on his birthday. That’s it.”

  Jackson abruptly shifted in his chair and grabbed a stack of mail. “Let’s get through this.”

  It took an hour to scan the mail that had piled up after Gina went into a coma. One collection agency had been relentless in its attempt to contact her, sending fifteen letters in two years. Evans wondered if Gina had fully realized or remembered how much financial trouble she faced re-entering the world. She hadn’t seemed to.

  The next box contained Gina’s business documents: client orders, invoices, material costs, letters, and printed emails from happy customers. “I wonder if the Stahls still have Gina’s old computer,” Evans said. “I didn’t even think to ask about it.”

  “Call them tomorrow. If they do, it’s worth checking out.”

  After a few minutes, Jackson said, “Here’s a letter from the Compassion Center, thanking Gina for her volunteer work. Did you know she had connections to a marijuana clinic?”

  “I did. She dated a guy who worked there. I talked to him and decided it was a dead end.”

  “Maybe we should revisit that.”

  “Okay.” Evans was skeptical but she didn’t have any better ideas.

  After another hour, they concluded that Gina’s business papers held nothing of interest. Evans stood. “I’m taking a lap around the halls to stretch my legs. Coming with me?”