Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller)

by L. J. Sellers

  Lori gently slid her feet to the floor. Now that she was less nauseated, she decided to sit in the chair by the window. She thought her brain might work better if she pretended to be normal for a few minutes. Lying in the bed gave her horrible thoughts and terrifying dreams. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference.

  Every small step tugged at her wounds. The pain made her wince, yet it was strangely comforting. At first she didn’t understand this feeling, then the term survivor’s guilt surfaced in her foggy brain. Lori thought she might have heard it from a counselor who’d come to her hospital room, but she wasn’t sure. The comings and goings of the last few days were a blur and she’d lost all sense of time. The guilt stayed. She was alive and her family was dead. Why couldn’t she have died too? It would be better than this fog of anguish and fear. Better than trying to have some kind of life, knowing the people she loved most were gone forever.

  Lori positioned her IV stand near the chair and eased into it. Outside, the sky was brilliant blue, the kind of day she always longed for after a cold winter. The kind of day she had planned to have every day after she moved to Maui.

  No! Her family was not gone forever. She couldn’t think that or she would be lost. She told herself they had been hustled off to a new location in a witness protection program. For now, and maybe years to come, they couldn’t contact her, but someday she would see them again. Lori stared at the tree outside her window, thinking of nothing, then finally started to drift. She blinked her eyes and fought to stay awake, but the darkness pulled her in.

  She was back in the restaurant, doing her sidework, getting ready to clock out and go home. She went into the walk-in cooler to grab some vanilla ice cream to bring up front to where they made sundaes. When she turned, he was there. Grabby Greg with his probing eyes and fast hands. He reached out and squeezed both of her breasts. Lori couldn’t even slap at his hands because she was holding a five-gallon tub of ice cream. She hurried out of the walk-in, with a chill on her skin and a hot rage in her belly.

  Then she was in her car, crying and wanting to quit her job. Someone was there with her, but she couldn’t see who.

  Lori jerked awake and sat upright in the chair. The scene at the restaurant had played like a dream in her mind, but was it a memory? Was that night coming back to her? Lori shivered and reached for a blanket from the shelf. She didn’t want to remember. Knowing her family was dead was more than she could handle. The memory of seeing them slaughtered would send her over the edge.

  Lori looked over at the open door to her hospital room. Would the killer come after her? She ran her fingers across the bandage on her stomach. He had intended for her to die with the others. Would he come back to finish the job? If he thought she was a witness, he would want her dead more than ever. The image of a guy sneaking into her room with a knife terrified her. She hoped he would be gentle this time. Maybe suffocate her with a pillow while she slept.

  Lori tried to put it all out of mind, but grief and fear took turns torturing her. She shuffled over to her bed and pushed the call buzzer. She would ask for a different kind of medication this time, something to ease her mental pain.

  At headquarters, the detectives met in the conference room. The small space buzzed with energy as five adrenaline-wired investigators waited to tell their stories from the day. Jackson had ordered pizza and was ready to get through the meeting. He had interrogations waiting. To Evans, he said, “How did the arrest go?”

  “It would have been uneventful if Noni Engall hadn’t come home. Roy was totally cooperative, despite being drunk, then his wife came in and started screeching and crying and begging me not to take him.” Evans pulled her eyes open in mock horror. “Noni started going off about Tyler, her baby, and something happening with him. It was ugly.”

  “What time did you bring Roy in?”

  “He’s been in the main interrogation room since 4:30 this afternoon. I imagine he’s ready to talk.”

  “I’ve got his stepson, Tyler Gorlock, in the hole right next to him.”

  “Gorlock is Engall’s kid?” Evans put down her coffee. “That’s rich. I started hearing the buzz about the hostage situation late this afternoon, but I didn’t make the connection. Was that why Noni Engall was hysterical?”

  “I called her from the scene and asked her to describe Tyler,” Jackson said. “It probably shook her up.”

  “Poor woman.” Evans was the only one to express sympathy. The others had known too many criminals whose wives and mothers were often no better than the lowlifes they spawned and protected.

  Jackson looked at McCray, who’d been out chasing a lead and missed the hostage situation, and recapped the afternoon’s events. The desk officer came in with pizza while he was talking and Schak stood to take the box. Jackson grabbed a slice as it went around. “Eventually the home invaders released the civilian and her child, then attempted to exit with Whitstone as a hostage. Alverez was killed by a sniper, and Gorlock was taken into custody. Whitstone was unharmed, although her patrol days are likely over.”

  “You think these are the same guys who did the killing at the Walkers?” Evans chewed as she talked.

  “It seems likely. They probably knew about Jared’s guns from Engall as well.”

  “Why didn’t they take Jared’s guns?” Evans asked.

  “They were in a locked safe. Maybe Jared wouldn’t give up the key. Maybe they were high on meth and went a little crazy. Maybe something interrupted them.” Jackson hadn’t made sense of it all yet. “This is what we hope to find out from Engall and Gorlock.” Jackson set aside his pizza slice, leaving most of the crust. He was too wired to eat right now. “We’ll tag team the suspects. Two detectives in each room. After, we’ll confer and switch rooms. We’ll play them off each other. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  McCray spoke up. “I went back out to the Walkers’ neighborhood today and questioned everyone again. The woman across the street, Rose Linley, said she made a mistake about when she saw the van. She first told us it was around ten because Desperate Housewives had just gotten over, but she realized afterward she had recorded the show and watched it later. Now she says she saw the van around eleven.”

  “The same timeframe the woman next door heard the shouting. That makes more sense.” Jackson looked around. “Anything else we need to share before we start?”

  “Does this mean Shane Compton is no longer a suspect?” Evans looked concerned. “He’s still in jail, right?”

  “Shane Compton knows Tyler Gorlock. They both painted houses for Roy Engall last summer. Everyone is suspect until we have a confession. Or two.”

  Jackson paired up with Evans, who had the least experience, and they started with Engall, who they thought was more likely to crack. Once inside the small room, Jackson realized his pain level had become unbearable. “Excuse me for a moment. Evans, please take care of the legalities.”

  While Evans made all the formal statements, Jackson hurried back to his desk for naproxen. He located some in his shoulder bag. He also found the Vicodin his doctor had prescribed. He carried it just in case, and for a moment, considered taking one. He put the container back. Opiates sometimes made him nauseated and droopy and he needed to be fully alert. The anti-inflammatory would take the edge off the pain and that’s all he needed.

  Back in the gray closet-like room he sat next to Evans, their shoulders almost touching. Across the table, Engall sported a two-day stubble and bloodshot eyes. Alcohol and nicotine seeped from his skin, making the room smell like a tavern. Nice, Jackson thought. Next, Engall would piss himself.

  “Will you take these cuffs off please?” The suspect sounded more sober than he looked.

  “Not until you tell us something. Did you participate in the killings at the Walker house? Or were you just there for backup?” Jackson’s strategy was to give him an out, a way he could testify against the others and buy himself some leniency.

  “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “You were there
. The shoeprints in the front hallway match the shoes you hid in the trash. And the blood on the shoes? We’ll soon have a DNA match to the Walkers. It looks very bad. The DA will pin the whole thing on you.” Jackson realized he hadn’t called Slonecker about this new development. Crap. The DA would not be pleased. He would call him right after this.

  “Lots of people have Adidas just like mine. My s–” Engall stopped mid-word.

  “Your what? Your stepson has some too?”

  “I was going to say ‘My shoes are very common.’”

  “Why did you wrap them in plastic and toss them?” Evans jumped in.

  “I threw them away because they were paint stained and worn out.”

  Jackson made a scoffing noise. “No jury will buy it. The prosecutor will convince them your shoes made the print in the blood, then you hid them from the police. Throw in the blackmail letter from Jared, and we have a guilty verdict.”

  Engall closed his eyes and his lips moved a little.

  Was he praying? Bargaining with God? “We have your stepson in the next room. Tyler is likely to blame the whole thing on you. You’re the father, the leader, and the bad influence. He’s just a kid along for the ride.”

  Engall’s eyes flew open. “Why do you have Tyler?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know. He was driving your van.”

  “So? He’s been driving it for months. I wanted the van back, but Noni said to let him use it.” Engall feigned innocence about Gorlock’s criminal activities.

  Jackson didn’t buy it. “Tyler was with you the night you killed Jared Walker. You brought him along to help kill everyone. You wanted it to look like a home invasion. Two birds with one stone. Kill the man who was blackmailing you and steal his guns at the same time.”

  “No.” Engall shouted and shook his head. “I did not kill Jared. Neither did Tyler. My stepson’s an asshole at times but he would never kill anyone.”

  “He participated in a home invasion today and took a police officer hostage. I think we’ve established he’s capable of anything.”

  “Oh shit.” Engall’s face went slack. He was surprised, but not shocked. “Noni will be devastated.”

  “But not you?”

  “He’s not my kid. By the time I met Noni, Tyler was already headed for trouble. She never listened to me about how to handle him.”

  This was not going the way Jackson had envisioned. He needed to get back to the Walker murders. “Roy, you’re not paying attention. We found your bloody footprints at the scene of a triple homicide. We found a blackmail note from the dead man in your van. If a single piece of your DNA comes back from the lab, you’ll get the death penalty.”

  A long silence while Roy stared at his hands.

  Evans spoke softly. “If you weren’t the only one at the Walker house, Roy, tell us about the others. The first one to confess gets the deal.”

  Roy closed his eyes again, lips moving.

  Evans kept up the good cop routine. “I don’t think you actually killed anyone, Roy. I think you went there to confront Jared about the blackmail.” Evans leaned closer and lowered her voice like a conspirator. “You brought your stepson with you. Tyler had other plans. He was after the guns. When Jared wouldn’t give him the key, Tyler went crazy and started killing everyone. You wanted to stop him but you couldn’t.”

  Smart play by Evans. Jackson was proud of her.

  “It’s not your fault, Roy,” she soothed. “Tell us what happened and we can help you. We’ll get the DA in here for a plea bargain.”

  “May I have some time alone, please? I have a lot to think about.”

  Jackson hesitated. He’d had some bad experiences with suspects in this room lately. Evans gave him a subtle nudge. Finally, he stood. “Take the deal, Roy. Your stepson is not worth protecting.”

  He and Evans headed for the conference room where a small closed-circuit TV was set up to monitor interrogations. It was wired to cameras in both little rooms. They checked on Engall first. His head tipped forward and he seemed to be praying again.

  “Do you think God cares about Roy Engall’s little predicament?” Evans said, with more amusement than sarcasm.

  “Roy thinks he does. Nice job in there, by the way.” Jackson touched her shoulder. Not a man-clap, but not a squeeze either.

  Evans broke into a smile. “Thanks.”

  Jackson noticed, and not for the first time, she was really quite attractive when she smiled. At moments like this, when she was a good detective and a pretty woman, he wondered what it would be like to date her. To really get to know her.

  He pushed the thought out of his mind and eased away from Evans. “Let’s check the other room and see how Schak and Quince are doing.” He clicked the TV to the other circuit, but they had no sound. He shut the unit off and turned it back on. Still no sound.

  “This has been a piece of crap since day one.” Evans smacked the side of the TV to no effect.

  They watched without sound for a few minutes. Schak slapped the table and jumped up, while McCray looked casual, leaning back with his arms crossed. Tyler Gorlock seemed unaffected. He shook his blond shaggy head a few times, but his mouth was set in a firm line, not moving. Jackson itched to get in there. He wouldn’t interrupt the other detectives though.

  “I’m going for a soda.” Evans headed for the door. “Do you want one?”

  “Sure. Diet whatever.”

  Schak and McCray joined them in the conference room ten minutes later.

  “The shithead says he’s never been to the Walker house.” Schak’s face was flushed on his cheeks but pale everywhere else.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Jackson kept it casual.

  “I’m fine.” Schak scowled and peeled off his jacket. “Why?”

  “You look a little flush.”

  “It’s hot as hell in that room.”

  Jackson had never noticed the heat, but the proximity of the walls definitely got to him. “Did Gorlock tell you anything useful?”

  “Not a damn thing.” McCray glanced at the clock. Jackson looked too: 8:35 p.m.

  “Go home, McCray. There’s no need for all of us to be here. You too, Schak.”

  “I think I will,” McCray said. “I’m meeting with Detectives Bohnert and Rios in the morning. Lammers assigned me the home invasion case, and she hopes to connect it to the carjackings.”

  “I’m staying,” Schak said with a grin. “I want to get in Gorlock’s face for while.”

  “Let’s go.” Jackson downed his soda and tossed the can in the trash on the way out. In his head, he heard Kera and Katie both nag him about recycling. At the moment, he didn’t have time for it.

  The second interrogation room was even smaller than the first. From the chair, if he leaned hard, Jackson could touch the walls on either side. he realized the claustrophobia he was now experiencing elsewhere stemmed from too much time in these damn windowless rooms. How bad would it get?

  Jackson plopped down and grinned at Tyler Gorlock. Next month was Jackson’s twenty-year mark with the department. He hadn’t let himself think about it much, but right now it pleased him to know he didn’t have to do this much longer. He could retire and collect his pension if they didn’t lay him off first.

  “What are you smiling about?” Gorlock was hard to look at. His face was too narrow, his eyes were too close together, and he had a plethora of scars and sores. Acne as a teenager and meth use as an adult had ruined his skin and made him creepy.

  “I’m smiling because you and your father are both going to prison for a long time. The town I love is already a better place.”

  “My father is dead.”

  “Your stepfather, on the other hand, is sitting in the next room talking about how you killed Jared Walker and his family.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “About how you decided to steal Jared’s guns and when he wouldn’t open the safe you took a bat to his head.”

  “I wasn’t there.” Gorlock popped out of his chair. W
ith his hands cuffed behind him, he was relatively powerless, but Jackson and Schak leaped to their feet.

  “Sit down!” They shouted in unison.

  Gorlock hesitated long enough to show defiance, then eased back into his chair.

  Jackson kept it up. “When Carla tried to defend her husband, you killed her too. You took the knife to the kids, just to take out the witnesses.”

  “That is such bullshit. I don’t hurt people.” Gorlock must have remembered his actions earlier that day, because for a moment he looked chagrined. Then the defiance was back. “Today was fucked up. I never intended for anyone to become a hostage. It was supposed to be a smash and grab, but the cop came to the door and Rico went a little nuts.”

  “You fired on a police officer.”

  “That was Rico. He was high. I don’t have a death wish.”

  “Yet, you’re likely to get the death penalty,” Schak said, smiling.

  Jackson added, “Based on your stepfather’s testimony about last Sunday night, you’ll be convicted of three counts of premeditated murder.”

  Tyler looked confused, then stunned. “You’re saying Roy was at the Walkers’ house when they were killed?”

  “And you were with him.”

  “This is unbelievable.” Gorlock shook his head. “He’s blaming it on me?”

  “He says you killed everyone and he tried to stop you.” Jackson sometimes felt a little guilty about lying to suspects, but not this one. Hostage-takers were less than human.

  Gorlock coughed up a strange laugh. “The bastard. I can’t believe he hates me that much.”

  “All criminals turn on each other eventually.”

  Gorlock scooted forward on his seat and tried to look earnest. “Listen, I did not go to the Walkers house with Roy or anyone. I did not kill Jared and his family. I was not there.”

  Tyler was a skilled liar. No blinking, good eye contact, and earnest expression. Jackson was tempted to uncuff him to see what Tyler would do with his hands, but he couldn’t take the risk.