“Hey, wait!” He scrambled to get out as the boy darted up the path to the white brick building. Only a few cars were at the rest area, but all it took was one pervert presented with an opportunity for a tragedy to happen.
He caught up with Benjie just inside the dark cement-block restroom. Relief made Jackson laugh. He’d forgotten how precarious a parent’s job was at this age.
When Benjie came out of the stall, he asked, “Where’s Mommy?”
Oh no. Did he mean his mother or the kitten? He hugged the boy. “She’s not here anymore. We’ll find you a new mommy.” Could he keep that promise?
Back on the road, he decided that running Andra’s photo in the Utah paper might not be a good idea. What if it alerted the father/stalker to Benjie’s new location? What if he was a criminal or pedophile? Jackson knew he had to be careful. He would try to find Andra’s friend, then call the Salt Lake police department and see what he could find out. The contact would probably be a waste of time. Someone would take his name and number and forget about it. Or wait a few days, hoping the urgency would go away. Law enforcement everywhere was overworked, and no one took on someone else’s problems unless they were forced to.
As he took the Eugene exit, his cell phone beeped. A text. Jackson stopped at the intersection on Franklin and glanced at the message. Katie. She’d finally responded: What boy? Why my help?
He didn’t have the time or patience to explain with keyed-in messages. Jackson put in his earpiece and called her, hoping she would talk to him.
“What’s up?”
The sound of his daughter’s voice filled him with a sense of peace. “Same old. I’m working too hard and still missing you.”
“I text you all the time.” A TV played in the background, so at least she wasn’t on the street somewhere.
“I want to see you.”
“What’s the deal with the little boy you mentioned?”
Jackson closed the glass between the front and back seat, so Benjie wouldn’t hear. The traffic light changed and he looked for a place to pull over and talk. “His mother was killed, and he may have witnessed her assault. He’s pretty sad, and I’d like you to come over for a few days and keep him company.” Jackson counted on Katie’s big heart wanting to help. School would start soon, and he hoped she would decide to stay with him.
“Why isn’t the kid in foster care?”
He was tired of explaining. “Benjie cried the whole time he was with Mrs. Martin, so I took him home with me.”
“You always wanted a boy.” Her tone was only half joking.
It ripped Jackson’s heart. “I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. You’re everything to me.”
“I was teasing. And I know you’re not keeping him.”
Unless no one else turned up. “What do you say? Help me out for a few days? I can pick you up right now.”
“Give me a couple hours to pack some things and talk to Trevor. I’ll call you back.” She clicked off.
Who was Trevor? Another boyfriend, of course. Jackson was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Katie considered herself an adult . . . and had adult relationships. It was best not to dwell on it. Everything had changed between them and he had to accept whatever she offered.
They were parked near the Market of Choice, so he took Benjie inside and picked up a couple of sandwiches, then went next door to Hirons and bought a pack of more-complex puzzles. The boy had mastered the others too quickly. Jackson felt self-conscious about walking around with Benjie, as if one of the victim’s friends or family members would see them and accuse him of kidnapping. Instead, everybody smiled at them. The kid was a cutie.
Later at the department, he settled the boy and his playthings in an open area in front of the windows. He felt grateful for the new workspace. The Violent Crimes Unit had one whole end of the second floor, and no one was around to be bothered by the sound of a little boy playing.
He made a call to the Salt Lake City PD, explained his case to a desk clerk, and was promised a return call. Yeah, that would happen. Concerned that he hadn’t heard from his team, he texted Schak and Quince to set up a task force meeting right after the autopsy the next morning. Now he had to find Christy Blesser Chadwell, who’d been Andra Caiden’s best friend at Skyline High School. The online white pages weren’t helpful, so he keyed her name into Facebook, trying both last names, relieved to find only three Blessers and eight hits for Chadwell. One pretty blonde, aged twenty-four, listed her hometown as Salt Lake. Finally! Something had broken his way on this case. He hoped. Christy might not have talked to Andra since graduation.
He clicked her About section and found a phone number. Nice for him, but what the hell was she thinking? Maybe she didn’t realize she’d made the information public. He called the number, and when she answered, he was so surprised he fumbled a little at first. “Wade Jackson here. I’m a detective, and I’m trying to locate a friend or family member of Andra Caiden. Do you know her?”
A gasp, then she blurted, “I’m not helping you find her,” and hung up.
Jackson mentally kicked himself and tried again. She ignored his call, so he left a clarifying message: “I’m with the Eugene Police Department, and I’m investigating Andra’s death. I need your help. Please call back.”
He put down the phone and rubbed his pounding temples. It didn’t help, so he reached for the aspirin he kept in his desk. He needed more caffeine.
Lammers’ voice boomed outside his cubicle. Who was she talking to? Jackson jumped up and rushed out. His boss was squatted next to Benjie and chatting with him about the puzzle he was putting together. The boy was silent, watching her with big eyes.
Jackson hurried over, feeling protective. “I hope it’s okay to have him here.”
“Not really.” She stood and motioned for him to follow her into her office.
He reassured Benjie he’d be right back, then left Lammers’ door open so he could see and hear the boy.
“Have you made any progress on this case?” His boss drummed the desk with a pen. One of her many annoying quirks.
“Yes and no.” Jackson summed up his trip to Drain, highlighting that he now knew the victim’s real name and possibly where she was from.
“What about suspects?”
“The victim had a threatening note in her wallet, and I’m trying to find the boy’s father. He may be the assailant.”
“You should take the kid to Family Services and get focused. You usually have someone in for questioning by now.” Deadpan voice, unblinking stare.
He tried not to hate her. She just didn’t understand this case. “Katie will watch Benjie for me tomorrow. After the autopsy, I want to fly to Salt Lake City.”
Lammers made an odd laughing noise, then crossed her arms. “This had better be good. Our travel budget is gone.”
“The victim was hiding from someone. Her grandmother was afraid for her. They’re both from Salt Lake City. I’m betting the father is there.”
“So, run a photo of the mother and child in their paper.” She shook her head, as if dealing with an idiot.
Jackson paused to calm himself. “What if Andra Caiden was running from an abuser or a pedophile? Announcing publicly that his son is in Eugene could be dangerous. I’m not willing to jeopardize the boy.”
After a long moment, Lammers said, “I’ll give you two days. But I think you’re wasting your time and our money.”
“I’ll submit a travel form.” He stood and walked out.
Benjie stood near the door, looking worried.
“We’re fine.” He picked up the boy and his puzzles and took him into his cubicle. A few more tasks and he’d head home.
Jackson checked his e-mail. One from Jasmine Parker, the evidence technician, caught his eye:
The prints on the bloody knife found at the Pershing house don’t match a
nyone in the system. But they are smaller than average. A woman perhaps? Also, the blood type on the knife doesn’t match what the ME sent us from the victim. I sent a sample to the state lab for testing. A strand of hair found on the victim’s chest is definitely from another person. It’s shorter, darker, and thicker. All we need now is a suspect and a DNA swab to compare it to.
He didn’t have either of those yet, so he focused on the knife prints. Smaller than average. A woman, or perhaps a fourteen-year-old boy. He called Quince. “Hey, have you found Dylan Gilmore?”
“Not yet, but I’m downtown showing his photo around.”
“If you find him, bring him into the department for questioning and let me know. The prints on the bloody knife are small, like a woman or a teenager.” Jackson grabbed his jacket and carryall. “After we question him, let’s book Gilmore into the juvie system so we can get his prints. If they match, we’ll get a subpoena for a DNA swab.”
“Should I put out a bulletin?”
“Why not? Call me if you find him. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the conference room at ten tomorrow.”
As he hung up, his cell phone beeped. A text from Katie: Pick me up at the fairgrounds. But don’t get excited. It’s only short term.
Yes! His daughter was coming home, at least for a day or so.
His joy was short-lived as he remembered Danette was in the hospital. Kera needed to hear from him. As he headed downstairs with Benjie in tow, he called. She picked up, sounding resigned. “Hello, Wade.”
No one else called him that. “How’s Danette?”
“Getting worse. Her brain is swelling.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Even if she lives, she’ll probably never be the same.”
“Oh no.” Jackson knew he should ask about her plans for her grandson, but he wasn’t ready for that conversation. Little Micah needed a father too, and the thought overwhelmed him. “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I’ve got a case and a lost little boy too. But you sound pretty calm.”
“Daniel is here, helping me look after his grandson.”
Not good. Jackson’s stomach tightened. Kera hadn’t talked to her ex-husband in months. “You called him?”
“Yes. Micah is his grandson too. And we have to do something about his future.”
Jackson burned with inexplicable jealousy. “Please don’t make any decisions while you’re distressed. I want to be part of the discussion.”
“Then get involved. I have to go.” She hung up.
CHAPTER 16
Evans pulled into the parking lot at the department and saw Jackson walking to his car with the little boy. What a good man. He obviously hadn’t found a family member yet and didn’t want to abandon Benjie to the foster system. Old feelings bubbled to the surface again. Would it always be this way if she kept working with him? Maybe it was time to get out of his department. Ben might be able pull strings and get her a position with Special Investigations.
Parking next to his car, Evans climbed out. “Hey. No luck finding his family?”
“Yes and no. I’ll update you later.” He gestured with a head nod at the boy.
“How’s the case in general?”
“We’re struggling. Schak is searching for anyone who might have seen another vehicle at the house, and Quince is looking for the teenager next door.” Jackson buckled the boy into a car seat. “I have the name of the victim’s best friend, and I’m hoping she’ll tell me something about Benjie’s father.”
“My case might wrap up today, so I should be able to help soon.”
“Thanks, Evans.”
Had he ever called her Lara? She wanted to hear it from him, just once. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I’m fine.” Jackson looked as distressed as she’d ever seen him—and he’d been through hell and back a few times during the few short years she’d known him.
On impulse, she put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re a sharp investigator. You’ll work through it.” What else could she say?
Jackson surprised her with a return hug. For a brief moment, everything was right in her world. Then he let go, climbed in his car, and drove away.
Upstairs in her new cubicle, Evans typed up case notes, unsure of what to do next. Grayson’s death was not likely a homicide, and without a toxicology report, she couldn’t make a case for anything else. Reluctantly, she headed for Lammers’ office. Her boss was just heading out.
“Make it quick, Evans. It’s been a long day.”
“Logan Grayson’s autopsy revealed he’d had a heart attack, but he was also in a fight sometime before he died. Plus, he used cocaine. I’d like to keep investigating.”
“What did the pathologist rule?”
“He’s waiting for toxicology, but his report says”—Evans glanced at her notes—“hypertensive crisis followed by cardiac arrhythmia.” She looked up. “Or, extremely high blood pressure that brought on a heart attack. Which could have resulted from cocaine or a bad mix of prescription drugs.”
“Then wrap it up. Call the DA first, then have our spokesperson issue a statement. She’s tired of media calls.” Lammers locked her office and started toward the stairs.
Evans knew better but said it anyway. “There’s more to this case. Grayson’s mother thinks his coach pushed him to use steroids, he had a secret girlfriend and would disappear for days, and he owed someone money.”
Lammers shook her head. “A jock with bad drug habits. His death doesn’t concern our department. Make the calls, then get back on Jackson’s case. He needs help.” The boss rolled her eyes. “He’ll end up adopting that kid if you don’t find a family member soon.”
With mixed feelings, Evans returned to her desk and called the district attorney’s office, leaving a message for Trang. She notified the department’s spokesperson and told her to make a statement about Grayson’s heart attack to the eager press. More upbeat about her next task, Evans texted Jackson, letting him know she was back on his task force.
But even after opening her notes on Carter/Caiden, she couldn’t focus on the case. The dead football player’s secret girlfriend was a loose end that bugged her. What would she have to say? If Grayson had been with her before his death, she might provide some insight into what had been going on in his life. His parents deserved more than just a medical statement about how his body had shut down. She could drive over to the apartment complex and . . . and what? Knock on every door?
She clicked off her computer and stood to leave. Grayson’s computer! She’d dropped it off with Detective Dragoo, a tech expert, hoping he would be able to get around the password. She hustled down the spacious walkway to the front of the building. The Vice unit had a view of the golf course across the road, but the building was quiet and she suspected everyone had gone home.
Dragoo was still in his cubicle. Yes! “Hey, buddy.”
“Oh no, you must want something.”
She smiled. “Sorry. Just checking to see if you made any progress on the laptop I brought you this morning.”
“I got into it, looked around, and got bored. No criminal activity, unless you consider porn a crime.” He grinned, rolled his chair back, and reached for a laptop in a plastic bag. “Here you go. I turned off the security, so you’ll have free access.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
He held on to the computer. “Enough to go out with me sometime?”
Dragoo was married and the joke was old. “Your wife keeps telling me you’re a cheap date.” She winked, smiled, and pulled the laptop free of his grip. “See ya.”
Evans hurried back to her own workspace. Stomach growling at the late hour, she accessed Grayson’s laptop and opened a browser. His Gmail account loaded automatically. He must have figured the laptop password was privacy enough.
She scrolled through hi
s messages, ignoring anything from a guy or a business for now. The e-mails from Danica Mercado, the cheerleader girlfriend, were mostly annoying. She wanted to know where he was and why he wasn’t talking to her. Grayson had only responded to one and said: I’m going thru some stressful stuff right now. Please give me space. I care about you.
What stress? Evans tried to understand his world. Had he felt pressured to win the Heisman Trophy? As well as the championship? Money had obviously been a concern too. But Grayson had been taking a powerful antidepressant and may have had personal problems or a mental health issue.
Five minutes later, she hit the end of the in-box’s first page and hadn’t found the other girlfriend. She opened several folders and found e-mails from Grayson’s mother, his bank, and a social networking site. Why had he saved those? Not until she spent ten minutes scanning through deleted e-mails did she find a possibility. From a sender labeled [email protected]: I know I’m not supposed to e-mail you, but I miss you. It’s been 10 days! And the rent is due. Please call me. —C
Evans’ first thought was, How could he afford to pay his secret girlfriend’s rent? Grayson didn’t have a job as far as she knew. She suspected none of the players did. Once classes started, they wouldn’t have the time, and they were expected to focus on football. Evans also wanted to know what Cat stood for. Cathleen? Catlin? Catrina? It wasn’t much help without a last name. But the numbers could be a birthday: July 7th, 1990.
If the girlfriend wasn’t supposed to e-mail Grayson, then she probably called or texted. Frustrated that the paramedics or the hospital had lost his phone, she called North McKenzie and asked about it again. The hospital’s receptionist put her on hold, so Evans did push-ups while she waited. She stopped at sixty and was still breathing hard when the woman came back on. “They found the cell phone in the ambulance. The ER will send it to the front desk, and I’ll hold it until you come in.”
“Thanks.” If this had been a homicide, the delay could have been costly. But it was no longer an active investigation, she reminded herself.
Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 10
