Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  “Your best friend is dead.”

  His jaw trembled. “It’s not my fault.”

  Why would he have guilt? Had he given the drug to Logan or was his guilt about the car accident? “Was someone in the car with you?”

  He nodded, his eyes watery. “She might not make it. But it was an accident! The truck was in our lane when we came around the corner.”

  Her empathy was limited. “If your passenger dies and you were intoxicated, you’ll be charged with manslaughter.” She flipped open her notepad. “Why don’t you do yourself a favor and tell me who sold you the coke.”

  Silence.

  “Was it Catalina Morales?”

  He blinked in recognition but said, “I don’t know who that is.”

  Liar. “I think you do.”

  “No.”

  “Who was your passenger?”

  More silence.

  She was done wasting her time. She would go to the source—the mystery girlfriend—and call the state police to ask if any cocaine was found in the wrecked car. Leaving a business card on Sandoval’s bed tray, she said, “Call me if you decide to help yourself and tell the truth.”

  Out in the hallway, Evans stopped short. Was that Kera Kollmorgan at the nurses’ station? She remembered Jackson mentioning a family accident, then leaving for the hospital—the day they’d been called out to the homicide.

  Evans had to approach her. If Kera knew the passenger in Trey Sandoval’s car, maybe she could get somewhere. She’d seen Jackson’s girlfriend before but had never met her. Evans’ stomach fluttered. “Kera?”

  The woman turned.

  Damn, she was gorgeous. And tall. “I’m Lara Evans. I’m in the Violent Crimes Unit with Jackson.”

  Kera smiled, but her eyes were sad. “It’s good to meet you.” She held out a hand. “Jackson speaks highly of your work.”

  “Good to know.” The scenario felt awkward on so many levels. “Can I ask who you’re here to see? I just talked to Trey Sandoval and he won’t give me any information about his passenger.”

  Kera bit her lip. “My daughter-in-law, Danette Blake, was riding with Trey. She’s in the ICU. I just came up here to check on Trey. I wanted to ask him some questions.”

  “Good luck. His lawyer advised him not to talk to anyone. He’s worried about his football career.”

  Kera twisted her hands together. “Danette might die, so I don’t really give a shit about his career.” The tall woman stepped away from the counter. “Are you investigating the accident? I thought the state police were.”

  “I’m looking into another incident with a football player.” Evans paused, not sure how far to push. But she had to ask. “Did Danette use drugs? Cocaine in particular?”

  Kera didn’t seem upset by the question. “I don’t think so. I know she drank at parties on the weekends, but she seemed to be doing fine in school.”

  “Have the investigators searched her belongings?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She had pushed the distressed woman far enough. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. I hope Danette recovers.”

  “Me too. She has a little boy.”

  A child that lived with Kera. That Jackson and Kera might end up raising if Danette died. Evans couldn’t help herself. “Have you met Benjie? The boy from the homicide case Jackson and I are working?”

  “Briefly. Have you found his family?”

  So Jackson hadn’t updated her. “Not yet. But Katie’s back home, and she and Benjie are bonding.”

  Kera’s eyes widened and her mouth tightened. After a startled moment, she said, “That’s good news about Katie. I suspect you’re seeing more of Jackson right now than I am.”

  “I just stopped by there last night to discuss the case. This one is a real stumper.”

  Kera looked crushed, and Evans felt guilty. But she had a job to do. She pulled out another business card. “If you find any drugs in Danette’s possessions, please call me, so I can get them analyzed. More lives could be at stake.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Thursday, September 5, 5:45 a.m.

  Jackson dreamed about Lara Evans. They were at the new police department, only it was different, smaller, and they had to share a cubicle. At one point while he was on the phone, Evans rolled her chair over to his desk and kissed him on the mouth. Electrifying!

  He woke up, startled and sweating. Reaching to shut off the alarm, he climbed out of bed. What the hell was that about? He let himself mull it over for a minute and decided it didn’t mean anything. Evans was attractive, and they’d had a little moment the night before, so she’d been on his mind. That was all.

  On the way to the kitchen to make coffee, he stopped outside Katie’s room and quietly opened her door. Yes, she was still here, and Benjie slept next to her. The sight filled him with joy. At Benjie’s insistence, he’d set up a small mattress on the floor next to Katie’s bed, and the boy had started his night there. Jackson wasn’t surprised to see him end up in her bed. Benjie still had a long way to go before he felt secure again. Jackson wanted to talk to Katie before he left for work—an old habit—but the autopsy started at eight, and there was no point in waking her. Communication was so much easier now, and he could talk with her later.

  Feeling energetic, he went for his first run in weeks. Only a couple of miles, but it felt great to be in touch with his muscles and cardiovascular system again. He vowed to do it more often. Back home, he showered and packed an overnight bag for his flight to Utah that afternoon.

  Surgery Ten’s glaring bright lights and small windowless space reminded him of an interrogation room. Which it was, sort of. The pathologist would pry open the victim’s secrets in the only way he could.

  “Jackson.” Konrad greeted him, then looked up at the clock and grunted. The pathologist stood on the right side of the raised table.

  “Yes, I’m five minutes early.”

  Gunderson, the ME, was on the other side, staring at the corpse’s midsection. Together, they removed the sheet, exposing Andra Caiden’s pale body. Jackson braced himself. Dead young women made him think of dead young daughters, and he couldn’t afford those emotions right now. His heart felt pulled in so many directions, it actually hurt. Or maybe the run had been too much.

  “Do all young people have tattoos now?” Gunderson muttered. “On women, they’re just not right.” He was staring at the purple butterfly on her hip.

  “It’s definitely a trend.” Katie had recently tattooed her dead mother’s name over her heart. Jackson was still pissed that some idiot would stamp permanent ink into someone so young, but all he could do was hope it would be her only one.

  “This tattoo is odd,” the pathologist noted. Konrad grabbed his magnifier and leaned in. “It has raised ridges.” A long pause. “No, those lines are independent of the ink patterns.” He handed the magnifier to Gunderson. “Take a look and tell me what you think.”

  After a moment, the ME said, “I’ll be damned. I think it’s scar tissue. She tried to hide the scar with a tattoo.”

  Konrad nodded. “I think it’s a brand.”

  A what? “You mean someone marked her?”

  The pathologist took the lens back and studied the tattoo again. “She was burned with something circular. It could have been an accident, but it looks deliberate. I’ve heard of pimps branding their girls.”

  Jackson’s stomach rolled. “What exactly is the mark?”

  “I’m not sure. But it’s circular with something smaller in the middle.”

  Jackson thought about local gangs and their markings and couldn’t make a connection.

  “We’ll come back to it,” Konrad said. “For now, we’ll start at the feet, like always.”

  As the pathologist conducted his examination and gave a running verbal report, Jackson tuned in and out, and plan
ned his order of business once he arrived in Salt Lake City. The important details he filed away in his head for later: Blood had pooled in her backside, so she’d died right where they’d found her, and the time of death hadn’t changed from the window of eight-to-ten Monday evening.

  When the pathologist cut into the victim’s neck, Jackson snapped to attention.

  “Her trachea and hyoid bones have been crushed.” Konrad’s tone expressed a rare element of surprise. “The lack of bruising isn’t typical in strangulation cases.” A moment of quiet while he prodded the opening he’d made. “Perhaps the assailant pressed something against her throat. Like a forearm. The subconjunctival hemorrhage indicates asphyxiation as well.”

  As Jackson visualized the scenario, the ME spelled it out. “He had one arm over her throat and his other hand over her nose and mouth. Perhaps to keep her quiet while he raped her.”

  “That fits with the physical evidence.” Konrad’s voice had a little catch. “Or maybe he burked her.” The term referred to a killer who had kneeled or sat on his victims, so their lungs couldn’t expand, while he also held his hand over their mouth and nose. The murder left no trace. “But in this case,” Konrad continued, “he would have kneeled on her throat.”

  Jackson felt queasy. Had Andra been branded by a pimp, then escaped with his child—only to be brutally murdered when he found her again?

  After leaving the medical center, he drove by the Pershing house, surprised and pleased to see it still standing. The fire marshal’s truck was out front, so he stopped to find out what he could. Inside, the house reeked of smoke, but little of it seemed burned. He heard movement in the kitchen, which faced the back, and crossed the wet carpet. A fire investigator was scraping up samples of the blackened floor. The cabinets and ceiling were also charred, and it looked as if the blaze had been contained to this part of the house.

  The investigator turned and Jackson introduced himself.

  “Brent Ottovich.” The stocky man wore gloves and didn’t offer a hand. “This is an unusual case, but I’m pretty sure it’s arson.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “The fire originated in the laundry room, most likely around the dryer.” He pointed through a blackened doorway. “If someone were living here, that would seem typical. Overheated lint has started thousands of fires.” He held up an evidence bag filled with blackened clumps. “This was in the barrel of the dryer, and more like it was on the floor nearby. I think testing will confirm that it was soaked in kerosene. We had a canine out here earlier who alerted us to its presence.”

  “You must have gotten here quickly.”

  “The woman next door spotted the fire and kept it under control with a hose.”

  “Tess Gilmore?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you send me your report? I’ve got a suspect in mind that we’ll bring in for questioning. We’ll add arson to our list of possible charges.”

  “You think he was trying to destroy evidence in another crime?” Ottovich asked.

  “Seems likely. Which makes me wonder what we didn’t find here.”

  “Let me know when he’s in custody. I’d like to question him.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jackson headed out. He didn’t have time to search the house again before the meeting, but his team could do it while he was in Utah. Had Gilmore tried to burn any fingerprints he might have left in the house? Or did he think that if he destroyed the crime scene, they wouldn’t be able to convict him?

  On his way to the department, he checked in with Katie, who reported that she and Benjie were going to the park to play. Jackson called Kera too, but she didn’t answer. Troubled, he drove to the hospital but couldn’t find her. The desk nurse in ICU told him Danette was in surgery to reduce the swelling in her brain. Jackson called Kera again and left a message: “I’m at the hospital, checking on Danette, and hoping to see you. I have to make a trip out of town for a couple days. Please call me. I love you.”

  He could feel Kera pulling away again, and he didn’t blame her. He tended to put work and his own family first. Plus, for the last few months, he’d been grieving his ex-wife’s death and his daughter’s absence from his life. Crappy company at best. Jackson vowed to change all that. He loved Kera and couldn’t bear to lose her. She was the most rewarding part of his life and put up with his crazy schedule the way few women would. He needed to make another grand gesture. No, he corrected himself. He simply needed to invite her, and all her baggage, to be part of his family. Katie and Derrick—and maybe Benjie—would just have to deal with it.

  At his desk, he typed the new case notes into his Word file and filled out travel forms. He wished he had subpoenas to write, but without a suspect, this case was at a standstill. Quince called as he prepared to order lunch for the meeting.

  “I’ve got Dylan Gilmore in custody. A patrol cop spotted him near the university.”

  “Great. Bring him in. I’ll call his mother and let her know we have him for questioning.”

  “Soft or hard interrogation room?”

  “Hard. I want to scare him. I think he set fire to the crime scene last night, making him look pretty damn guilty.”

  “No shit?”

  “Good thing we caught him young. Maybe the juvie system can save him.”

  Jackson ordered sandwiches, poured himself more coffee, and read through his notes about Dylan. Evans had done the initial interview with the kid, so he called her and asked her to come in for the interrogation. Quince could watch from the conference room and monitor the kid’s reactions that they might not see.

  He wasn’t sold on the idea that the skinny fourteen-year-old had strangled Andra, but the little shit’s fingerprints were probably on the bloody knife—and he may have tried to burn the crime scene—so Dylan had something to confess.

  CHAPTER 21

  Thursday, September 5, 10:35 a.m.

  Catalina Morales lived in a small complex made of ugly concrete, not far from a busy South Eugene shopping center. The location was desirable and surrounded by owner-occupied homes, so the rent was likely higher than average. Had Grayson been paying for this apartment in addition to his own plush penthouse near campus? Evans had to wonder about the extent of his scholarship and financial support. And if financial pressures had contributed to his death.

  She knocked on unit six, not expecting a response. But a young woman jerked open the door, looking disappointed when she saw who it was. Evans introduced herself, giving Catalina a once-over as she did. Striking, with sharp features and green eyes, but not exactly pretty. Platinum hair down to her waist and bronze-toned skin. Pregnant too. Maybe four or five months. She was so small-framed, it was hard to tell.

  Grayson’s secret was a little more complex than she’d thought.

  “Why are you here? Is this about Logan?” The woman blinked back tears.

  “Yes. Are you Catalina Morales?”

  “How did you find me?”

  Evans showed her badge. “I’d like to come in.”

  The tiny woman didn’t move. “I can’t help you.” She started to close the door.

  Evans stuck her foot into the gap. “This isn’t optional. And you won’t be the first pregnant woman I’ve cuffed and arrested for not cooperating.” The first had come at her with an umbrella when Evans arrested her boyfriend.

  Catalina glared but finally moved aside. Evans stepped in, startled by all the color and tiger figurines everywhere. The tiny woman curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself. The cover made Evans nervous. Suspects hid knives and guns and did unexpected things. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Oh, please. Do I look like a criminal?”

  Evans shifted gears and softened up. “No, you look like a woman who’s grieving, and I’m sorry for your loss. How long had you known Logan?”

 
“We met last winter at a party. I wasn’t invited, but my cousin has a thing for football players and dragged me along.” A wistful expression. “I never thought I’d end up dating one.”

  Evans wanted to ask about the secrecy but thought it would be better to wait. The subject was probably painful for her. “When did you last see Logan?”

  “He was here Monday night.”

  “When did he leave?”

  She shrugged. “About two in the morning, as usual. He sometimes stayed over on the weekends but never during the week.”

  Evans jotted down the time. “Did you snort coke with him?”

  Catalina made a clucking sound. “As you can see, I’m pregnant. No, I didn’t do any lines.”

  Evans didn’t believe her. “Did Logan?”

  “No.” She glanced away.

  “Tell me the truth. He had a heart attack, and it wasn’t from heart disease.”

  “Okay, he did a line when he first got here, but he was fine when he left. Why would he have a heart attack later at home?” She started to cry.

  “When did he arrive?”

  “Around six thirty.” She spoke through tears.

  The autopsy had revealed that his stomach was empty. “He showed up, snorted some coke, then hung out until two in the morning and left? Is that correct? What am I missing?”

  Catalina let out a bitter laugh. “A few beers, some mind-blowing sex, and an hour of sleep.”

  Just an average night for a college football player. “Did Logan leave any of the cocaine here? I’d like to have it tested for impurities.”

  “No.” She sat up a little and dried her eyes.

  “Where did he get the coke? Give me a name.”

  “I’m not getting anyone into trouble.”

  “What if someone else dies? Two other people are in the hospital. Why are you protecting a dealer who’s putting bad product on the market?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I think his name is Marcos.”