“Still, that is how it works. If we get behind on the rent they’ll kick us out.”
“What are you saying? I have to give you my paychecks?” Lori’s sweet angel face twisted with disbelief.
Carla wanted to crawl in a hole and die rather than continue the conversation. Yet she plunged ahead. “You don’t have to hand them over but I’m asking you not to spend them. Just stick the checks in the bank in case we need to borrow money for rent down the road.”
“You said borrow. You and Dad will pay me back?”
“Of course. This situation is temporary. Your dad had an interview this afternoon, and I’m optimistic about it. I’m just asking you not to buy any more concert tickets or clothes. Put your money in the bank, please.”
“Okay.” Lori stood. “I don’t understand how economies work or why this is happening. We’ve been talking about it in civics class but it’s too weird for me.”
“Me too, sweetie.”
“Are you okay, Mom? You don’t hum anymore. It used to drive me crazy but now I think I miss it.”
“I’m fine. We’ll get through this.”
“Jared, did you decide?” Carla glanced in the back seat at Nick, who still had his earphones in, listening to music. They were headed across town to have dinner with Jared’s sister, who lived in the south hills near Churchill High School. The neighborhood had been considered upscale until all the huge houses on Timberline and Skyridge had been built, leaving those below feeling a little more working class. Carla had given up hope of owning a home long ago and now she was glad for it. Being evicted as a renter was less heartbreaking than losing your home to the bank.
Jared reached over and squeezed her hand. “Stop worrying. I’ll ask Tracy. She’ll tell me she has to talk to Kevin, but it’ll be okay. They’ll loan us some money.”
“How did your interview go today?”
“The guy kept throwing around cooking terms I didn’t understand. How can you pay someone $8.50 an hour and expect them to have chef training?”
“It’s a different world now. People are educating themselves online, and employers expect a lot more for their money.” Carla bit her lip, then said it anyway. “You should take some internet classes at the employment office. I think it would help.”
Jared sighed and didn’t look at her. “I know you’re right, but it makes me feel stupid to have some twenty-year-old kid showing me stuff that seems like a foreign language and then acting like it’s nothing.”
“I know what you mean.” Carla looked up to see they’d missed their turn. “We just passed City View.”
Jared gave her a sad smile. “Some things never change.”
They’d eaten outside on the big deck with the pond and mini-waterfall providing a soothing background. Now they were drinking beer, eating homemade apple pie, and enjoying the sunset. Carla loved this backyard, at least to visit every once in a while. She wouldn’t want the pond in her own yard. It would be too much work and too much money, but she loved sitting here on an early summer evening.
After the kids went into the house to check out Shane’s new CD and Kevin went to the kitchen for more beer, Jared announced, “We’re in trouble, Tracy. We’re hoping you and Kevin can loan us some money.”
“How much money?” Tracy tried to sound casual, but she didn’t pull it off. She was the polar opposite of Jared: short, dark, and tense. But like Jared, she had a good heart.
“Two thousand. Just enough to pay the rent for a couple months while I look for work.” Jared took a long slug of beer. Carla noticed he’d been drinking more than usual, but she understood.
“I’ll have to discuss it with Kevin. His business hasn’t been great lately either.” Kevin owned Pacific Pool & Patio, and Carla could imagine that people were spending less money on backyard luxuries.
“My business has plummeted in the last two months,” Kevin said, coming out of the sliding glass door. “So if you’re thinking of asking us for money, please don’t. I have employees and health insurance premiums to pay no matter how few hot tubs I sell.”
A long moment of silence followed. Carla ached for Jared. She could feel his humiliation and she wished she hadn’t pushed him to make the request. “I’m sorry to hear your business is down,” she said to Kevin, giving him an appropriate look of sympathy. “I hope it’s temporary.”
Jared asked about a basketball game coming up and Carla excused herself. Someone was in the hall bathroom, so she rushed through the master bedroom and into the private bathroom, closing the door behind her. She needed to be alone for a moment. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she pulled in long slow breaths and tried not to cry. Unemployed, broke and pregnant. How could her life have turned to such shit so quickly?
Without a job, she didn’t even have health insurance. She couldn’t afford to see an obstetrician, let alone a hospital stay. She had to get an abortion. As much as the idea appalled her, she had no choice. By the end of the summer, they could be living out of a van parked on some side street. She couldn’t bring a child into such circumstances. She couldn’t even take care of the kids she had now. How would she pay for an abortion? It would take every dime they had in the bank. Then what?
Carla took more deep breaths and willed herself to go back out there, smile, and pretend everything was okay. As she crossed the plush-carpeted bedroom, the top shelf of a small bookcase caught her eye. Five baseball cards, each encased in a plastic frame, were proudly displayed. Valuable baseball cards. She’d heard Kevin talking about them. One in particular was worth several thousand dollars. Carla peered at the cards. They seemed rather inconsequential.
Without thinking she grabbed the card in the middle, stuffed it into her purse, and bolted from the bedroom. Her legs trembled and threatened to collapse as she hurried up the hall. Good God, what had she done? She hadn’t even formed an idea about stealing the card. It just happened.
Carla stopped in the crossway. She had to put the card back. This was insane.
“Carla? We’ve got to go!” Jared called to her from the dining room. “I’ll get the kids, while you say goodbye.”
Carla stood frozen. Their hosts followed Jared into the house. As her husband barreled down the hall calling for the kids, Tracy gave Carla a hug and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Carla squeezed her back, unable to speak.
Chapter 10
Jackson bought coffee on his way back to headquarters, then sat in the small conference room waiting for the other detectives to show up at ten. He expected the taskforce meeting to be brief, unless someone came in with something unexpected.
Evans showed up first, looking fresh in pressed black slacks and a pale blue jacket. Her face had no visible signs of sleep deprivation. “Morning, Evans. You look great. Still taking that buzz drug when you work cases like this?”
She flushed a little and rolled her eyes. “Provigil isn’t a buzz drug. You’re just jealous because I have a prescription and you don’t.” She sat and put her oversized black bag on the floor. “Now that you’re seeing a doctor, you could ask him to write you a prescription.”
That reminded Jackson to take some naproxen. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up. He hustled into the restroom at the end of the hall and dug the little pill bottle out of his bag. The steroids he’d taken earlier controlled the growth of the fiber and he would cycle on and off the medication, probably for years. The naproxen was an anti-inflammatory that suppressed the pain he was still feeling from having his belly flayed open like a fish and his plumbing rerouted. He swallowed the tablet with a mouthful of water from the sink and headed back to the conference room. Before his diagnosis, he might have taken aspirin in front of his co-workers, but now that he had this RF thing he couldn’t let anyone see him take any medication. It would just remind them he was less than vigorously healthy. In the world of law enforcement, a perception of vulnerability could derail your career. Jackson worried about the prednisone. One of the side effects was mood swings and/or depression, but he h
adn’t experienced either yet.
Quince and Schak had come in and were still standing, sipping tall coffees and talking about a TV show they’d both missed the night before. When McCray showed up a few minutes later, they all sat and pulled out notepads.
“What’s that smell?” Schak said. “It’s fruity or something.” He turned to McCray, whose under-eye bags were especially puffy this morning.
“It’s herbal tea.” McCray’s voice projected false confidence.
“Tea? Since when?” Schak asked.
“I quit coffee about a week ago. It was ruining my sleep. My tossing and turning was keeping the wife awake too. I miss it but I feel a hell of a lot better.”
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Let’s get started,” Jackson said. “Schak, your turn to take the board. You might as well go first and tell us what you learned.”
“Not a damned thing.” Under Carla’s name, Schak wrote well liked. “Carla Walker was respected by everyone at Silver Moon Jewelry where she worked. She has no enemies and no secrets I can find.”
“She was pregnant,” Jackson announced.
“No shit?” Schak turned and stared. “The autopsy?”
“The pathologist says six to eight weeks.”
Victor Slonecker rushed into the room. “Who’s pregnant?” The district attorney put his briefcase on the floor and tugged up the pant legs of his pinstriped suit before sitting down. His dark hair was perfectly groomed and his sharp features made him look intelligent and intimidating. He delivered on the promise.
“Carla Walker, one of the murder victims,” Jackson answered. “Thanks for coming.” The DA, or sometimes an assistant DA, sat in on at least one taskforce meeting at the beginning of each case.
Schak wrote pregnant, then said, “I wonder if Carla knew.”
“Could the baby have any bearing on the case?” Evans interjected. “A secret lover who killed Carla when he found out she was pregnant?”
Schak shook his head. “It seems unlikely. Everyone says Carla and Jared were very happy together, still in love after eighteen years of marriage.”
The room was quiet for moment.
“How sad,” Evans said, voicing what they were all thinking. “I found out a few things about Lori, but none of them seem critical.”
“Let’s put it all on the board anyway.”
“Her friend Jenna Larson says Lori’s been stressed lately because her parents lost their jobs, and she’s been giving them her tip money. More important, the manager at the restaurant where Lori works has been sexually harassing her. I’m going over there to see him right after this meeting.”
“What’s his name?” Slonecker asked, pulling out a notepad.
“Greg Blackwell.”
Jackson hoped the DA would follow through. Assholes like Blackwell who harassed teenage girls in the workplace pissed him off. His daughter Katie might soon be one of those employees. Jackson handed over Lori’s cell phone, still in its plastic bag. “I picked this up from the hospital last night but I haven’t had a chance to look at it. It’ll be interesting to see if her boss was calling Lori or leaving messages.”
“Was she conscious? Did you get anything from her?” Evans sounded as fresh and eager as she looked.
“Lori was partially awake, and I asked her who had done this to her. She clearly said ‘Shane.’”
Slonecker’s eyes lit up. “Who is Shane?”
“A cousin with a drug problem,” Evans responded. “I knew it.”
“Hold on,” Schak said. “Let me catch up.” His writing had started out messy and was getting nearly illegible.
“I assume that’s who she meant. Did any of you ask about Shane? Do we have any clue where he is?”
Quince leaned forward. “I spoke with Jared’s sister Tracy last night. She’s Shane’s mother and she hasn’t seen him for days. She says it’s typical though. He often stays with his friends and only crashes with them when he has to.”
“Did you get the friends’ names?”
“I asked but Tracy wasn’t forthcoming. I sensed she was protecting her son.” Quince scowled. “I also asked about his drug problem and she said it was all in the past. Then she promptly hung up on me.”
“Did you run a background?”
“Of course. He had two known associates from previous arrests. Tyler Gorlock and Doug McIntyre. McIntyre is in the state prison in Salem, but Gorlock lives in a trailer in Springfield. I was out there this morning and no one was home. Or they were hiding.”
“Get a search warrant,” Jackson said. “Now that Lori has named Shane as the killer, we should be able to search any home he’s known to reside in.”
“I’ll have an assistant write it up,” Slonecker offered. “Maybe Trang will even get it signed for you if he has time.”
McCray spoke up for the first time. “You said Lori was only partially conscious. If she doesn’t pull through to testify, a defense attorney will shred her statement.”
“True enough, but it gives us leverage with a judge for now.” Jackson took a long drink of his lukewarm coffee. “What did you find out about Jared?”
“I’ve talked with two of his co-workers so far. They said he was always upbeat and friendly.” McCray glanced at his notes. “When I asked about Jared blackmailing their boss, they seemed stunned by the idea.”
“What do they think of Roy Engall?”
“They like him too. One complained about working for the same wages for three years, but neither mentioned any problems.”
“They want to stay employed,” Evans commented, making a face.
“Have you talked to Jared’s sister?” Jackson turned to McCray.
“She’s not answering her phone.”
“Find Tracy wherever she is. Ask her about Jared’s blackmail and about the attack on her husband last month. Pressure her if you have to. I think Tracy Compton has key information.” Jackson stuffed his notes into his bag. “I’ll track down Kevin Compton and see what he has to say. Our other priority is finding their son Shane. If he’s using meth and it caused him to lash out violently at his family, then he’s an extreme danger to others as well.” Jackson stood, ready to get moving.
“You think it was Shane who attacked his father in the parking lot?” McCray got up too. “That would explain why Kevin Compton didn’t want to press charges.”
“It’s a working theory. Nothing else about this case makes sense.”
As they headed out Slonecker asked, “What about Roy Engall?”
“We have detectives from vice watching him round the clock. That reminds me. Evans, will you take this warrant to a judge? Let’s bring in every pair of shoes Engall owns and get the crime lab to compare them to the bloody footprints in the foyer.”
“I’m on it.”
On his way to the underground parking lot, Jackson called Katie, knowing she would soon be out of class, and left a message: “Want to have lunch with Dad today? I’ll buy waffles and bring them to the school. We’ll eat in my car. Call me.”
Katie called back while he was pulling up to a little restaurant called Off the Waffle, where two afro-sporting Israeli brothers made the best waffles he’d ever eaten. Jackson doubled his order and added bacon, as recommended by the young owner, then headed south. Seeing his daughter would set him back thirty minutes, but it was worth it. Now that she was a teenager and feeling more independent, it seemed critical to stay present in her life, even for short periods of time when he was working homicides.
He eased into his usual place at the end of the parking lot and saw Katie waiting for him under the oak tree. She wore shorts and a tank top, which seemed inappropriate for school, but it was June and Jackson had learned to pick his battles. As long as she didn’t dress like a hooker, he didn’t comment on her clothes. She was a little too short and thick to get away with the bare-midriff look and he was glad.
Katie hopped in the car. “Hey, Dad. Thanks for bringing waffles.” She
peeked in the bag. “Bacon. Thank you. I’m so tired of eating healthy.”
It was a backhanded complaint against Kera, but Jackson sympathized. He was just glad Katie wasn’t dieting. Those were not good times. “I only bought these because I’m on a complex homicide and don’t have time for anything else.”
Katie laughed. “Yeah, I buy that.” She pulled out the bacon-and-cheese-stuffed waffles and handed him one. “It’s nice to have some time with just us.”
“I agree.” Jackson reached over and gently touched her dark curly hair. “You got my message yesterday, right? You knew I was working late?”
“Of course.” Katie put down her waffle. “I have to ask you something important.”
Jackson tensed.
“Mom wants me to spend the summer with her. I was supposed to let her talk to you about it first, but this seemed like a good time to bring it up.”
Jackson felt blindsided. “I don’t think so.” Katie started to argue, but he cut her off. “Hear me out. I think it’s reasonable to spend some extended periods of time with her while you’re out of school. I’m just not committing to the whole summer.”
“What’s the big deal? Other kids with divorced parents do this.”
“Your mother is still struggling to stay sober. That’s why she’s taking the anti-anxiety medication. I don’t think she’s ready for the full-time responsibility.”
“I’m not a little kid. I take care of myself.” Katie tried to sound offended.
“You’re an amazingly self-reliant young woman.” Jackson smiled softly. It was true. Katie was a mini-adult because her mother was an unreliable alcoholic and he was a workaholic. Feeling guilty, he said, “Renee and I will talk about it and work something out.”
“Can I go stay with her while you work this case? Tomorrow’s my last day of school anyway.”
Jackson finished his waffle. “Okay, but let me talk to Renee first.”
Pacific Pool & Patio sat on an ugly stretch of Highway 99, halfway between Eugene and Junction City. Jackson arrived at the low-slung stucco building just before one o’clock and hoped the owner would not be at lunch.
Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) Page 7
