Wrongful Death (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  Ten minutes after she returned to the newspaper, her boss stepped into her cube. “What are you working on? I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

  She hated to lie to him. There was no point if she planned to turn in the copy anyway. “The sexual predator story. There are more victims.”

  “It’s not your beat.” Hoogstad clenched his fists, but she knew his frustration wasn’t directed at her.

  “One of the victims is from Springfield.” Not exactly the truth, but she needed to give him an out.

  Her boss let out a sigh. “What have you got that’s new?”

  It was too soon to mention the possibility of a police officer’s involvement, whether he was phony or not. “I found the victims’ connections online, and I’m hoping to uncover the predator’s profile.”

  “Be careful.” After a pause, he grinned. “I just heard you’re a finalist for the Northwest Journalism award for your story about the eco-terrorist.”

  Hot damn! “Will a win keep me on this beat?”

  “It might.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Other newspapers cover the awards. If you’re interviewed by, say, the Oregonian, and it becomes news that you’re being railroaded out of your crime beat . . .” His voice trailed off.

  The glimmer of hope made her smile. But she knew better than to hang on to it. Other reporters who’d been with the newspaper for twenty-plus years had been forced out. Her salary wasn’t in the same bracket though, so maybe management could afford to keep her for a while.

  “For the record, as far as I know, you’re working on a Springfield-based story and training the intern.” Hoogstad nodded and left, without the least bit of shame for covering his own ass. She didn’t blame him.

  Sophie turned back to her computer and continued friending every young person connected to Anna Sorenson and commenting on her new friends’ posts. Later, she took a break from writing to check back and discovered that two more students had accepted her on Facebook and Twitter. Taylor Crenshaw and Kelsey Walker. She sent a friendly message to both, knowing it could take time to earn their trust. She suspected Anna Sorenson had paved the way. The girl seemed eager to help find the predator, as well as excited to be involved.

  Sophie kept friending people, posting comments, and working her way in. Her stomach growled, and she heated a cup of instant miso soup in the microwave. When she sat back down, her Facebook notification pinged and a dialogue box opened. Kelsey Walker had messaged her: Hey, I like your hair. What brand and color do you use?

  The comment made her smile. She’d uploaded a photo of herself from college, but she still looked much the same. Or so she told herself. She keyed back: Thanks. It’s my natural color. Lucky me.

  Kelsey messaged again: It must be nice not to have to pay a stylist for color every six weeks.

  Yeah, right. Like she could afford that. She keyed in: Not on my allowance. My parents—

  Sophie stopped mid-thought. A rush of excitement filled her belly. Had Kelsey steered the conversation toward money on purpose? What if she/he was the perp and was trying to scope out whether her parents were loaded enough to pay the blackmail? She’d used Riverside High School in her profile, so it was easy to assume her parents were at least upper-middle class. She recast her message: My parents can afford it, but they’re saving up for me to attend an out-of-state college. If I get in.

  She sat back and ate some soup to keep busy while she waited for a response.

  From Kelsey: What’s your fav?

  Sophie replied: Stanford. It was true. She’d settled on the UO because she’d goofed off too much in high school to get her GPA above 3.7. She added: Too bad it’s not really a party school. :(

  Kelsey took the bait: I know it’s only Tuesday, but I’m in the mood to suck down some blueberry vodka, maybe chill on some benzos. Let’s get a party going.

  Great idea. Your place?

  Ha! As if my parents didn’t exist. If you can find a house, I’ll round up the partiers.

  I’ll get on it.

  Pulse humming, Sophie stepped out of her cube to pace the landing. Could she pull this off? She knew a couple people who might loan out their houses for a party. One being Gabe, the guy she was dating. But the young age of some of the attendees was a problem, both morally and legally. Maybe Zee or Anna Sorenson would have better luck finding someone who would throw a party and not care if teenage girls came. If she did manage to get it set up, she would have to contact Detective Schakowski.

  What if Kelsey wasn’t a scammer or a predator? She had no way of knowing or checking. Would the police be able to? Would a hacker? She knew a guy with hacking skills.

  Sophie went back to her desk and called Zee, whom she hadn’t talked to since she went to Corvallis to cover the shooting. The intern didn’t answer, so she texted Anna. First, they needed a big house with a casual owner or landlord. Once they had the party rolling, Sophie would try to bait Kelsey into revealing more. Schak wouldn’t take her seriously unless they had a solid reason to think Kelsey might be the predator.

  CHAPTER 31

  Tuesday, November 25, 1:05 p.m.

  Schak watched the last of the protestors leave the department. Didn’t any of these people have jobs? That was always his first thought when he saw groups gathering, regardless of their politics. It was too bad Sidney Willow had ended up in the hospital, but Officer Garcia had probably just been doing his job. Schak hoped he didn’t get fired just to appease the Citizens’ Review Board. He was glad not to be a patrol cop. They walked such a fine line between maintaining control and using excessive force. In the heat of the moment, it could be hard to tell the difference.

  Time to find Gene Burns. Relieved to have another focus besides the social interactions of his teenage victims and witnesses, Schak headed to his desk to check email and update his case notes before shifting gears. A call to Parole and Probation connected him to Gene Burns’ PO, who gave him the ex-con’s phone number and address and asked to be notified if anyone found him. Schak called the number on the off chance that Burns would be stupid or cocky enough to meet with him voluntarily, but his service had been disconnected. He might as well drive over and grab some lunch on the way. Food always made him think about his wife, a great cook who spoiled him. Tracy was still at her friend’s house, and he’d woken up alone that morning for the first time in twenty-six years. Schak called her for the third time since she’d left, and again she didn’t answer. He left another message, this one more desperate: “I love you. I miss you. I can’t do this without you. As soon as I arrest this perp, I’ll start going to AA meetings. Please come home.”

  He pulled on his overcoat and grabbed his carryall, the weight causing a familiar twinge in his lower back. Was it time for his monthly chiropractor appointment? He’d been going since his patrol days, when he carried twenty pounds of equipment around his waist. Law enforcement was hard on the body and the soul. How was he supposed to not have a drink at the end of the day? The thought terrified him.

  He pulled on a knit cap as he crossed the parking lot, not caring that it didn’t look professional. His crew cut didn’t keep his head warm, and the snow kept starting and stopping, keeping everyone on edge. The drive to Burns’ apartment took less than ten minutes, even with slow-moving, snow-scared drivers. The ex-con lived in the new Sponsors complex, charity-based housing that helped people transition from jail or rehab into the real world. Burns had failed, despite the support system. Some people just weren’t right in the head. Schak hoped to help put the ex-con back where he belonged.

  Surprised by how well kept the property was—considering its location at Four Corners, a.k.a. meth central—Schak parked and climbed up to apartment sixteen. Pounding on the door didn’t produce a response, so he tried the knob just to check. Locked. He knocked again then went in search of the manager. An older man with permanent worry lines, the manager refused to open Burns’ apartme
nt for legal reasons but assured Schak that the tenant hadn’t been around for days. Schak gave him a card and asked him to call if he saw the ex-con. Where else would he be? His thought earlier about who had posted the bail echoed in his head: Burns’ mother or his girlfriend. He called the PO, who didn’t have information for either. On impulse, Schak decided to stop by Trisha Weber’s place.

  In his car, he dug out Jackson’s printout of case notes and found her address. Trisha might be at work at the clinic, but Burns could be holed up at her place, running his predator scam from her computer right now. With the ex-con facing arson charges, would he try to score another blackmail payment, then take the money and run?

  Trisha Weber lived in a small cottage on a panhandle lot, about a half mile from the Sponsors complex. Schak pulled down the long driveway and parked between the fences bordering it. Neither of the two vehicles in front of the house was going anywhere until he moved his car. One was the red Toyota that had been burned, and the other, an old Ford Escort. He glanced in the Escort as he passed. No weapon on display and no packed bags.

  Trisha opened the door as he approached. “Hey, Schak.”

  She seemed older and less pretty than he remembered from the one time they’d met at a family dinner. She’d lost Danny too, he reminded himself. But he didn’t trust her. “I’m looking for Gene Burns. Is he here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m done with him.”

  “Then who’s driving the Escort?”

  “I am. Gene trashed my car, so I bought something cheap to get me by.” She stood in the half-open door, wearing leggings and a bulky sweater, and didn’t invite him in.

  What was she hiding? “Can I come in for a minute? I want to talk about Danny.”

  A flash of fear in her eyes. “Now is not a good time. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

  A door closed softly inside the house.

  Liar! “I just need a minute of your time, and it’s too cold to stand out here.” He stepped toward her.

  She didn’t budge. “I’ve got to go.” She started to close the door.

  Schak grabbed the door, bracing to have his hand slammed. “Get back!”

  Trisha froze and gave him the stink eye. “Just leave. It’s not what you think.”

  “I think your ex killed Danny, and if you don’t get the hell out of my way, I’ll cuff you and charge you with obstruction.”

  Trisha finally stepped back and opened the door, shouting over her shoulder, “He’s here, but you’re wrong about Gene!”

  The betrayal burned him, and Schak charged into the house. “You screwed your ex three days after Danny was killed? Two days after Burns torched your car? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Don’t judge me.” Trisha burst into tears. “And don’t judge Gene. He’s changed.”

  Schak wanted to laugh, but it would have hurt his already tight chest. He shook his head. “You go from dating a criminal to dating a cop then back to the scumbag? Can’t you make up your mind?”

  She shrugged. “Cops are bad boys too. They just get away with it.”

  Burns waltzed through a door near the kitchen. Schak yelled, “Hands in the air!” Itching to pull his weapon, he reached for his cuffs instead.

  “Why?” Burns pretended to be casual. “I’m out on bail, and Trisha isn’t going to press charges.”

  Idiot. “Get ’em up! This isn’t about arson. It’s about murder, sexual assault, and blackmail.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Burns put on a good show of innocence as he raised his arms.

  Schak moved toward him. “Turn around. Now!”

  Trisha rushed up, looking worried for the first time. “What sexual assault and blackmail? I thought this was about Danny. Gene has an alibi for that night.”

  “Quiet!” Schak took another step toward the suspect, wishing he had his Taser handy.

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “I’m taking you in for questioning.”

  Burns’ face registered relief, and he finally complied. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Schak cuffed him, read him his rights, then turned to Trisha. “Don’t come to Danny’s funeral. You’re not welcome.” She started crying when he led the suspect out the door.

  On the drive to the department, his phone rang on the dashboard. He usually used the speaker function, but he had Burns in the backseat, so he put his earpiece in. He hoped it was Jackson. “Schakowski.”

  “It’s Sophie Speranza. I wanted to update you on my progress.”

  “Go ahead, but I might have the suspect in custody.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I’ve got a party rolling for tonight with all the players.”

  Sophie was setting up for a sting. A surge of excitement jangled his nerves. He hadn’t felt that in a long time.

  She continued. “And I invited a profile that could be the predator.”

  “What profile?”

  “Kelsey Walker.”

  Interesting that she’d come up with it too. “We’re watching that profile already.”

  “Great minds and all.” Sophie gave a nervous laugh. “What happens if the Kelsey profile stays active while your suspect is in custody?”

  Good question. “As I said, we’re monitoring the situation. But text me with the location of the party.” Just in case they were wrong about Burns. The man almost seemed too stupid to run a blackmail scheme. But Schak would hold him for as long as they needed to. The prick had threatened Danny, then fucked his girlfriend. He could sweat about murder charges for a while.

  “I interviewed Mara Andrade’s father this morning,” Sophie said. “He never thought the police could catch the guy.”

  “He’s wrong. We’ll get him.” Schak started to hang up. “Hey, don’t do anything stupid at the party. Stay sober and alert.”

  “I plan to. Will you be there? I mean, as a backup?”

  “Of course.” Before that, he had to see a judge about subpoenas and call Mara’s father to get the name of the officer. Schak hoped like hell it wasn’t Quince.

  At the department, he put Gene Burns in an interrogation room, leaving him cuffed, then went to round up some coffee. He stopped by his desk to call Mr. Andrade. Mara’s father didn’t answer, so he left a voice mail, then checked his email. A message from Agent Ward at the FBI: I found another perp in Washington who loosely fits your profile. He wore a security officer’s uniform and lured young girls from shopping mall parking lots, then drugged and raped them. He was never caught and could be operating in Oregon now.

  Oh hell. He didn’t need another suspect. He needed search warrants and evidence. Or a confession would be nice. Schak responded and thanked Agent Ward, then checked Jackson’s cube. His partner had his feet up and his eyes closed. Was he sleeping? Jackson’s eyes popped open and he sat up, looking embarrassed. “I was processing information, hoping for a breakthrough on this case.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “I had a strange thought.” Jackson stood to look him in the eye. “Your cousin had a heart condition.”

  “So do I. It runs in the family. I think that’s why my aunt became a heart surgeon.”

  “He also had a drinking problem.”

  Schak stiffened. “So?” Why was he drawing this out?

  “Trisha Weber told me he was depressed too, and he had the prescription for it. What if he was burnt out? And didn’t want to live? What if he wanted to kill himself and not have it look like a suicide?”

  “What the hell are you saying?” The idea was crazy. Yet, he remembered Danny talking about suicide when he was thirteen and still reeling from the guilt of putting Kurt in a wheelchair. But that was long ago, and his cousin had made peace with himself.

  Jackson shrugged. “It’s just a thought. The drifter who had Thompson’s gun also had cash, and the t
wins both saw someone in the truck with Thompson after he finished handing out blankets.”

  “How could he trust someone like that to follow through? And why would the drifter kill himself afterward and not spend the money?”

  “Good points.” Jackson changed the subject. “Did you find Burns?”

  “He’s in the interrogation room. Want to join us?”

  “Sure.”

  On the way downstairs, Jackson asked, “When was the first girl assaulted?”

  “Mid-May.”

  “Burns went to jail in June, then was released three weeks ago, right before the second assault and blackmail. The timing fits for those two cases.”

  Schak stopped in front of the interrogation rooms. “Sophie already pinpointed the Kelsey Walker profile as a possibility too. We have to see if the profile stays active while we have Burns in custody. Who’s monitoring it now?”

  “Evans.”

  Schak called her, knowing she was probably right upstairs, and put her on speaker. “Hey, are you watching the Kelsey profile?”

  “Yep. Earlier, Kelsey invited a bunch of people to a party this evening. Then the profile went quiet for a while. I’m working on a subpoena for Facebook to see if we can get the profile’s location.”

  “Thanks. We’re interrogating Burns, then I’ll pick up the subpoena and go see the judge. Stay on the profile, please.” Schak hung up.

  “Is the perp trolling for his next victim?” Jackson’s eyes sparked with intensity.

  “Seems likely. If he’s desperate for the money, he’ll try again.” Schak decided to give Jackson the whole story. “Sophie set up the party, and she plans to be there.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Jackson looked worried. “It’s a long shot, but we need to be outside that party, in our cars, ready for anything.”

  Doubt flooded Schak. Did he have the wrong man in the interrogation room? They would know soon enough. “If the Kelsey profile stays active while Burns is in the hole, we’ll focus on our other suspects. But let’s hold him as long as we can. I hate the prick.”