“Whatever this is about, I’m not your man,” Engall pleaded. “You’ve made a mistake.”
Jackson set his digital recorder on the table and clicked it on. “Please state your name for the record.”
“Roy Engall.”
“You’re here to answer questions about a homicide last night,” Jackson said for the recorder. “Stand up, please.” Jackson walked to the other side of the table and scrutinized the suspect’s clothing. He saw no blood but he hadn’t expected to. Twenty-four hours had passed. “Roll up your sleeves and hold out your hands.”
Engall did as instructed. His fingers had a grayish tinge from years of paint stain. “Turn them over.” A two-inch gash on his forearm was still fresh, the skin around it raised and red.
“How did you get the cut?”
“I work with my hands and use a utility knife every day. What’s this about?”
Jackson pulled his camera from the bag and took a picture of the wound. “It looks like somebody in the Walker family fought back.”
“It’s a scratch! I come home with these all the time.”
“I’ve already talked to your wife, Roy. I know you didn’t come home last night. Tell me where you were.”
“I was drinking at the Time Out Tavern.”
“What time did you leave?”
“I don’t know.” Roy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I had a blackout. I woke up early this afternoon in my van in the parking lot of Value Village.”
“Your statement is you don’t remember anything about last night or this morning?”
Roy hesitated. “Yes.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Jackson gave him a look of incredulity.
“It happens sometimes.”
“Who were you drinking with?”
“I had a few beers with my painting crew, then they went home. I had a few beers with another friend named Steve Zuckerman. After that I don’t remember.”
“It’s not much of an alibi.”
“Why would I need an alibi?” Engall blinked rapidly as he spoke. He was a terrible liar.
“Jared Walker and his family were murdered last night. A white van was seen outside their house, and you experienced a binge drinking blackout. You also have a defense wound made by a knife. This doesn’t look good for you.”
Engall’s face crumbled. After a moment, he remembered to act surprised. “Jared’s dead? And his family? How horrible.”
“What did you and Jared argue about when you went to his house last night?”
“I wasn’t there!”
“How much blackmail money was Jared asking for?”
Engall’s eyes registered a little panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We found Jared’s list.” Jackson slid the paper across the table. He needed Engall to feel trapped.
“Jared never said anything to me. We haven’t talked since I laid him off. ”
“Your wife called Jared’s cell phone this morning looking for you. I believe you and Jared have been in touch.”
Engall slumped a little. “I called him a few times last month asking him out for a beer but he never picked up or called back. He was mad at me.”
Jackson decided to mix it up. “What have you got against Carla?”
“Nothing. I like Carla.”
“Did she hit or scratch you to defend Jared? Is that why you cut off her hand?”
Engall lost a little of his natural flush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jackson slid an image of Carla’s severed hand across the table and laid it next to the blackmail list. “She must have really pissed you off.”
Engall stared at the wall.
“Look at the photo!”
“You’re wrong about me.”
Jackson stood. “Let me see your feet. Put one shoe up on the table.”
Engall started to object, then thought better of it. He lifted his right foot to display a pair of white, paint-stained running shoes.
“Size ten?”
“So?”
“The tread looks familiar. You left tracks in the blood on your way out of the Walker house. It’s enough to convict you.” Jackson took close-up photos of the shoes, then snapped shots of Engall wearing the shoes. He didn’t have a subpoena yet to seize evidence from Engall. The blackmail list and this photo, alongside the crime scene picture of the footprints, would convince a judge to let them search Engall’s property and collect his DNA.
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“First, let’s get a swab of the inside of your cheek.” It didn’t hurt to ask. Some criminals didn’t know they could refuse.
“Not a chance.” Engall tried to sound tough, but his voice couldn’t contain his distress. “I’m invoking my rights.” He put his foot back on the floor.
“You haven’t been arrested or charged. I’m just giving you a chance to tell the truth and clear yourself.”
“I want to call my lawyer, and I’m not answering any more questions.”
“Refusing to cooperate will not look good to a jury.”
Engall stayed silent. Jackson finally took him out to the hallway and let him make his call. Afterward he made Engall sit in the interrogation room while he wrote a subpoena to collect his suspect’s shoes and DNA.
Engall’s lawyer showed up an hour later, and Jackson grudgingly released his suspect. Without a witness to place him at the crime scene or a DNA match to any evidence, he couldn’t hold him. He’d arrested Engall for obstructing justice, but it wasn’t a serious enough charge to book him into the overcrowded jail. Jackson would ask Lammers to assign uniform officers to watch Engall round the clock in the meantime. He thought about the officer watching Lori Walker. He still held hope she would be alert soon and able to identify the family’s attacker.
As Jackson finished the subpoenas, he tried to assess Engall’s demeanor during the interrogation. He had been holding back and worried about something, yet his face had shown no dishonesty when he said he’d had a blackout and couldn’t remember anything. Was it possible Engall had killed the Walkers during an alcoholic rage and didn’t remember it? The suspect hadn’t seemed very concerned about Jared’s list of infractions. Yet he was involved in this mess somehow, Jackson was certain. He would have to explore Engall’s connections. For example, did Roy Engall know Jared’s brother-in-law, Kevin Compton, who’d been assaulted at the Time Out Tavern where Engall liked to drink?
Had Jared been blackmailing more than one person? Did he have something on his brother-in-law too? Jackson reached in his desk for some aspirin and checked the clock: 9:12 p.m. Why did he feel so damn tired already? He pushed himself to finish the paperwork, then grabbed the evidence bags with the family’s cell phones. He started on Jared’s first.
He found the Recent Calls menu, then scrolled through the Sent Calls option, which held the last twenty calls Jared had made. Most were to his wife and kids, two were to the Employment Division, and three had no ID available. Jackson entered the numbers in the Lane County database and came up with three businesses: Caldwell Construction, Olive Garden, and Umpqua Credit Union. Just a man looking for work. He would call each business to ask about Jared’s contact, but he didn’t expect much. He would have to wait for the cell phone records to see if and when Jared Walker had called Roy Engall. Maybe Jared hadn’t called his ex-boss at all. Maybe he’d made the blackmail threat in person.
The Received Calls menu showed more of the same, mostly calls from Carla. At the end of the list was a call from Kevin Compton, made Friday at 5:32 p.m., two days before Jared was murdered. Jackson made a note, curious to see if Kevin would mention the call when he questioned him tomorrow. The call seemed a little unusual. In Jackson’s world, brothers-in-law didn’t chat on the phone. They saw each other at family gatherings and made small talk three times a year.
As he slid Carla’s cell phone from its evidence bag, his own phone rang, startling him. “This is Alisha. I’m t
he nurse you talked to earlier. I found Lori Engall’s cell phone in the ER. You should come get it now. She’s starting to regain consciousness.”
Chapter 7
Northwest McKenzie was still operating downtown near the University of Oregon, but construction had been completed on a new hospital at the edge of Springfield near the McKenzie River. Most of the staff would make the move later that summer. The massive new complex was in a wide river plain, not far from the newspaper’s new home on the Eugene side of the boundary. Jackson was sad to see the major institutions leave the heart of Eugene. The city was losing its core.
Because it was late, he found a space in the small parking lot next to the hospital. He tried to hurry inside but his legs felt tired and his scar hurt. The receptionist in the middle of the huge lobby told him Lori Walker was on the third floor in the critical care unit. He took the elevator and in a few minutes was pleased to see a patrol officer sitting in the waiting room outside critical care.
“Anything to report?”
“No, sir. Only her aunt has been here to see her. She’s in there now. Room 317.”
Jackson pushed through the double swinging doors, then entered the quiet corridor lined with rooms where people were trying not to die. Disinfectant hung heavy in the air. He spotted Rita Altman sleeping in a chair in a room midway down. Next to her, Lori was covered to her neck by a white blanket, her eyes closed and a tube running out of her nose. Both arms held IV lines. The pale teenager did not look as if she were regaining consciousness. Under any other circumstances, he would have walked away and let her rest. But this girl might know the identity of a homicidal maniac. Jackson eased close to her bed. “Lori, can you hear me?”
Her lips moved in the smallest response.
“Lori, I need you to wake up for a minute. I need to ask some questions.”
Her eyes stayed closed and her lips were still.
“Detective Jackson?” A nurse in yellow scrubs had come into the room behind him.
“Are you Alisha?”
She smiled and motioned with her head that he should follow. “I have her phone in a bag at the nurses’ station.”
Jackson walked with her down the hall. “Do the doctors think Lori will pull through this?”
“They’re optimistic. The knife missed her celiac artery so her blood loss was slow and steady, which is why she survived at all. There is some concern she may have suffered brain damage.”
“Has she spoken yet?”
“Not really. She mumbled a little when her eyes were open earlier. That’s when I called you.” They reached the desk, and she retrieved the cell phone from a zipped plastic bag.
“What about her clothes?”
She grimaced. “They were cut from her body in the ER, then discarded with the medical supplies used during her revival.”
Jackson hated the loss of trace evidence, but with three other victims in the morgue, he hoped he wouldn’t need anything from Lori but her testimony. “When she regains consciousness again, please have the officer in the lobby take a statement from Lori. It’s very important and I may not be able to get here quickly enough.”
“I’m going off duty soon, but I’ll let my replacement know.”
Jackson started in the direction of the swinging doors, then changed his mind. He turned and headed back to Lori’s room. He might as well try again while he was here.
Her aunt woke up when Jackson came into the room. “Hello, Ms. Altman.”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Lori’s still not awake, but the doctors think she’ll make it.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Has she spoken to you at all?”
“She woke up and mumbled something an hour ago. It gave my heart such a lift.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Rita braced herself. “Okay.”
“Does Carla have any other relatives in town?”
“Our parents live in Veneta.”
“Did Carla ever say anything to you about blackmail?”
“What?” Rita scowled. “Why would anyone blackmail the Walkers?”
“Was Carla having an affair?”
Rita made a scoffing noise. “Not a chance. Carla loved Jared, no matter what he did.”
Jackson heard the implication. “What did Jared do?”
“Nothing serious,” Rita said quickly. “He’s just never been good with money.”
“Had Carla seemed different or worried about anything?”
“She was worried about being evicted.” Rita started to get teary eyed. Jackson gave her a minute.
In the quiet, Lori made a moaning sound.
“Lori?”
She didn’t respond.
Jackson gently picked up the girl’s hand and stroked the back, being careful of the IV line. “Lori, can you open your eyes?”
She rolled her head as if to say no. Jackson couldn’t believe this girl was eighteen. Her blond eyelashes and pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles made her seem younger. “I need to ask you some questions. Just a few, then you can rest again.” Her eyes came open, made direct contact with him, then closed again. “Lori, I need to know who did this to you.”
Her mouth tried to form a word.
“Who did this to you, Lori?”
A small “shhh” sound came from her lips.
Jackson leaned closer. “Who did this? Say it again, please.”
“Shane.”
Chapter 8
Tuesday, June 2, 2:08 a.m.
Jackson pulled into Kera’s driveway and cut his headlights and engine. The house was dark and he hoped everyone was sleeping. Except Kera. If she woke up when he climbed into bed it could turn out well. He was exhausted but he would find the energy for sex. For weeks after his surgery, he’d been in too much pain. With all the young people in the house, they’d had to be sneaky and look for opportunities to be alone. Their relationship was still in the honeymoon phase and he wanted her all time, but their families were always present. Sometimes he resented all of them—Katie, Danette, and little Micah—for their intrusion into his intimacy with Kera. The last few years of his marriage to Renee had been angry and mostly sexless, and he was tired of doing without.
Jackson hurried though the big house, guided by the night light in the hall. In the kitchen, he made himself half a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and washed it down with a diet Dr. Pepper. It was Kera’s preferred soda and he’d come to like it too.
As he stood at the sink, Kera slipped into the room and into his arms. He kissed her neck and breathed in the sweet melon scent of her body wash. Now he felt like he was home. “I’ve missed you.” She responded with her lips on his. Jackson loved Kera’s tall strong body, her long copper hair, and her exotic face with its prominent cheekbones. Most of all, he loved her full generous lips.
The baby began to cry. Kera stiffened and pulled back.
“Danette will take care of him.” Jackson drew her to him again, but Kera resisted.
“Sometimes Danette’s slow to wake up.”
“Micah will be fine. Let’s go to bed.”
Neither moved. Danette was still struggling with post-partum depression and post-traumatic shock, and the prescriptions she took made her a heavy sleeper. Jackson tried to cut Danette a lot of slack. First her boyfriend had been killed in Iraq, then she’d been left pregnant and alone. While struggling with a newborn baby, Danette had been kidnapped and held captive for days. After her ordeal, Kera had taken her in and Danette was recovering, but slowly.
The crying grew louder and Kera hurried away. Jackson sighed and went to bed.
The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. and Jackson bolted out of bed. His head pounded and his abdomen burned with pain as he rushed for the bathroom. After swallowing his prednisone, he slipped the pill bottle into his shoulder bag, deciding to keep the medication with him. In the shower, he alternated between hot and cool water, trying to clear his head after three hours sleep. By the time he dressed, strapped on
his weapon, and hurried into the kitchen, Kera and Katie were already there.
“What are you doing up so early?” he said, kissing his daughter’s forehead. Still in her pajamas, Katie had one hand on the open refrigerator door. Her dark curly hair was tangled from sleep and she seemed to be losing weight again. Kera, wearing workout clothes, made coffee and smiled at him.
“We have a graduation planning session before school this morning.” Katie pulled out a carton of eggs and set it on the counter.
“Do you need a ride?” Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Emily is picking me up.”
“Emily doesn’t drive.”
“I mean Emily’s brother Jason is taking us.”
Jackson chose his words carefully. “Have I met him?”
Katie let out a sigh. “I thought we were past that.”
Last fall, Katie had been involved with a group of kids who had some very adult ideas. Two of the girls had ended up dead and one was pregnant when she died. Jackson had watched his daughter more closely ever since. “You can’t get into a car with a boy I haven’t met.”
“That’s ridiculous! I’m almost in high school.”
“All the more reason for me to know the people you hang out with.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Come out and meet him when they get here at seven.”
“I’ll be at the department by then. Sorry.” Jackson had driven Katie to school since they’d been staying with Kera, but he needed to start work earlier today.
“I’ll take her,” Kera offered. “First I’ll make scrambled eggs. Who wants some?”
“Not me.” Katie left in a huff.
Kera gave Jackson a gentle smile. “It may be time to ease up a little. Jason is important to her and she’s earned some trust.”
“I don’t think so.” Jackson poured his coffee into a travel mug.
“Are you staying for breakfast?” In the back of the house the baby let out a wail.
He shook his head. “I have to get going. Three people are dead, and I still have no idea why.”
Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) Page 5
