Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  A car behind him honked. Damn! He needed a moment to check things out, but there was nowhere to park. He also didn’t have time for a confrontation with an asshole driver. For now, he had to circle the block and let the cars behind him clear out. He radioed Lammers and asked for blockades at both ends of the street. As soon as he visualized the setup, he worried that the perp would see the blockade and know he’d brought reinforcements. Jackson almost radioed again to tell the patrol units to wait, then decided to let it stand. Buckley wanted his son more than he wanted anything else, and he’d already demonstrated recklessness and impatience. He wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity to grab the boy and run.

  He put his car in gear and rolled slowly forward. The great, terrifying unknown was Katie. Where the hell was she? And how did Buckley plan to release her? His daughter could be sitting in the information booth right now, thirty feet from him, not moving or speaking under the threat of violence.

  Reluctantly, he turned the corner and began to circle. The side streets had less traffic, and it took less time than he thought it would. In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Schak’s sedan. He hoped Quince and Lammers were hanging back and keeping spread out. He was anxious to hear the radio crackle and someone to announce they’d seen Buckley.

  “Why haven’t we heard from him?” McCray wondered from the backseat.

  “I think he’s waiting for me to tell him Benjie is at the drop spot. Or he’s watching the spot and waiting for me to show up.”

  A patrol unit was moving into place at the Blair intersection when he completed his circle around the block. The officer backed up and let him through, and Schak’s car followed. His phone rang and he jerked his hand up to his earpiece. “Jackson here.”

  “I said no backup!” Buckley yelled.

  “My partner insisted on following me. I couldn’t stop him.” Jackson parked in the street near the information booth, noticing only a woman behind the front counter. Thirty-something with a loose colorful dress, she didn’t look like a kidnap collaborator.

  “Bullshit! I saw two squad cars earlier. I will kill her if you fuck with me!”

  Jackson’s pulse raced and he scrambled for the right response. “The patrol units are here to keep an eye on this crowd. Standard department procedure. They don’t know anything about our exchange.” Nerves jumping, he wanted to get out of the car, but the damn music was deafening even from inside. “Do you have Katie? I want to hear her voice.” Jackson switched his phone to speaker and turned on the radio transmitter. He wanted his team to hear everything as it happened. He turned and gestured for McCray to cover the boy’s ears.

  “You blew that chance.” Buckley said. “If you want your daughter to live, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Jackson fought to stay calm. “Where is she?”

  Buckley ignored him. “Bring Ben to the information booth. Lift him over the counter, so he’s inside. Tell him it’s a game so he doesn’t get upset. Then get back in your car and drive away. Take your cop buddies with you. I’ll be watching.”

  “What about Katie? When do I get my daughter?” Jackson’s heart pounded so hard, he thought it would burst. Had he blown this operation?

  “She’s in the trunk of a car and that vehicle is about to leave. If you want to know which car to follow, you’ll do what you’re told. If I get shot or arrested, you won’t find her until someone smells her dead body.”

  Son of a bitch! Jackson wanted to smash the phone against the dashboard. The crafty bastard! He bit down until he tasted blood. He had to work through this new development, but all he could think about was Katie in the trunk of a car—where she might die a slow, horrible death if Buckley didn’t call again.

  Time to fight back. “I know who you are! And if I don’t get my daughter, every law enforcement officer in this country will be looking for you. You’ll never get the chance to raise your son.”

  Buckley hung up.

  Jackson willed his pounding blood to slow before he had an aneurysm.

  Over the radio, Lammers said, “I’ll get the state police to put up roadblocks at every access point out of town. No one will leave this area without their vehicle searched. We’ll find Katie.”

  “She could be in transit right now. I have to do what he says.” Jackson climbed from the car and opened the back door. “Come on, Benjie. We’ve got to visit somebody.”

  “Who?” His little voice was so innocent.

  Nausea filled Jackson’s stomach. How could he do this? Benjie trusted him. The boy wouldn’t understand what was happening. Even after they arrested Buckley and rescued Benjie, the episode might scar him emotionally.

  There was no other choice. Katie trusted him too, and she was counting on him to rescue her. He couldn’t risk his own child’s life to spare the boy a few minutes of distress. He vowed to make it up to Benjie by adopting him and giving him the best family life he could—whatever choices that meant.

  Sick with guilt, he took the boy’s hand and walked toward the sidewalk. A family crossed in front, with the father holding the hand of a boy about five years old.

  Benjie looked up at him. “Jackson? Will you be my daddy?”

  His chest contracted, crushing his heart. This kid needed him, and he was about to betray him. But could he become Benjie’s father? If he made a verbal commitment, there was no backing out.

  A dark thought gave him a moment of panic. Benjie’s biological father was, at best, a sociopath who’d kidnapped a young woman, and, at worst, a psychopath who’d killed his wife and the mother of his child. What if that nature was embedded in Benjie’s genes? What if he grew up to be like Carson Buckley? Oh no, why had he allowed the boy to bond with him?

  Jackson pushed aside his fear. He had to do the right thing.

  They were on the sidewalk now, directly in front of the information booth. Jackson squatted to look directly in Benjie’s eyes. “If the authorities will let me, I’ll be your dad. But we have to do something first. It’s like a game.” Jackson had to pause, so filled with disgust and worry he choked on his words. “I’m going to leave you in this booth with a nice lady for a minute. Then another man will pick you up. He’s your uncle, even though you don’t know him. I need you to hang out with your uncle for a minute. Then I’ll get you right back. Okay?” Buckley would probably confuse the boy by telling him he was his father, but Jackson had no control over that. They would just have to work quickly to intercept him.

  The boy shook his head. “I don’t like this game.”

  “Me neither, son. But this will help Katie, and she needs our help.” Jackson couldn’t bring himself to say more.

  He waited for a young man at the booth to leave, then lifted Benjie up to the counter and spoke to the staff woman. “I’m a police officer, and I need you to watch this boy until his uncle gets here. Please just go along. A life is at stake.” Jackson kissed Benjie’s forehead and lowered him to the floor on the other side of the counter. He scanned the back wall, noting the door leading into the gated area. Buckley was probably right outside, listening. Should he vault over the counter, charge through the door, and grab the perp by the throat? Jackson touched his weapon under his jacket. He could put the gun to Buckley’s head and demand the information about Katie.

  Risky and stupid. If Buckley lost his chance with Benjie, he might not care about his own life. Or Katie’s. He might even punish Jackson by keeping silent and letting her die in the trunk. Some killers never revealed their victims’ locations, leaving their families with no closure.

  “Sir, I’ll need to see some identification.” The woman looked confused and worried.

  Anxiety mounting, Jackson turned and walked away. McCray stood in the street, watching the booth. Jackson couldn’t bear to look back and see Benjie disappear. He loved that kid. Back in his car, he grabbed the radio mic and said. “Benjie is in th
e booth, and Buckley has to be nearby. Probably on foot. He’ll grab the boy and take off, any second now. I hope you’ve got this corner surrounded.”

  Lammers came back with, “Schak and Quince are on foot on the back side of the buildings. Two patrol officers are on Blair and another is on the corner of Third and Jackson. We’ll get him.”

  A small measure of relief. “I still don’t know where Katie is, so get eyes on the perp, but don’t move in yet.” Jackson grabbed his cell phone and hit redial. After ten rings, he clicked off and called again. Had Buckley tossed the phone? Or was the son of a bitch going to screw him over?

  “Benjie just went out the back door, but I didn’t see the perp!” McCray shouted to be heard over the loud music.

  Jackson’s call finally connected, and Buckley said in a rush, “She’s in an older white Buick that just headed west from Fourth and Tyler.” The call cut off.

  Finally! Every fiber in his body wanted to jump in his car and go after the Buick. He needed to see Katie, to know she was alive. He grabbed the mic and relayed the information.

  Lammers came back: “Schak and unit fifty-seven will go after him. Jackson, stay in the area. You’re closest to the perp.” A pause. “Anyone have eyes on him?”

  Quince and two patrol officers checked in with negative responses. Jackson was silent. He wanted to be the one to rescue Katie, but others were closer to Sixth Avenue, the main artery heading west. He’d also made Benjie a promise.

  “Buckley doesn’t know me,” McCray said. “So I’ll follow him.” He rushed toward the booth and pushed aside a couple. The skinny, fifty-something ex-cop hopped up, sat on the counter, and swung his legs to the other side in a single smooth motion. He was out the back door in a matter of seconds.

  The music stopped, and some of the tension drained from Jackson’s body. The street vibrated under him, and a train whistle sounded. He turned to see slow-moving freight cars a block away. He hadn’t realized how close the tracks were. The noise wasn’t as loud as the band had been, but it was still overwhelming.

  Feeling more focused, he tried to put himself into Buckley’s head. The perp knew they had his identity, but he also probably thought he’d cleared his pursuers out of the area by sending them after the Buick. Buckley would be looking to steal a car and get out of the state as quickly as possible. Or maybe a motorcycle. Something unexpected.

  Jackson had to move. Instinctively, he headed west, jogging in the same direction the train was moving. He scanned the area for someone tall, with a toddler on his back, running.

  The train picked up a little speed. The engine was probably pulling out of the track-switching station a half mile ahead—an area where homeless people hopped off after spending the winter in warmer cities down south. The train! Would Buckley try to board the damn train to avoid roadblocks?

  CHAPTER 46

  Buckley hugged his son, holding back tears of joy. He’d prayed for this moment for so long! It filled him with pride and pleasure to know his family line would continue. His mother would be so happy. Even though he couldn’t risk visiting her in the nursing home for a while. If Jackson really did know his identity, he would have to change his name and stay the hell out of Utah. He hated the idea, but Ben was worth it.

  From under the poncho, the boy squirmed to get free. “I don’t like this game.”

  “You will,” Buckley promised. He slid Ben around to his back and secured him with a bungee cord he’d taken off the back of a bicycle. “Hang on, we’re going to have a lot of fun.” He pulled on the colorful striped poncho he’d bought from a street vendor. “We have to hide you from the bad guys for a few minutes, so keep quiet.”

  The boy started to cry.

  “I’ve got candy if you’ll be quiet.”

  Ben didn’t answer, but he settled down. Buckley slipped him a bag of M&M’s, then trotted into the crowd milling around inside the gated parking lot. He moved quickly, nudging people aside, and strode into the art gallery that he’d cut through to enter the gated area. He followed its maze of small rooms to the exit.

  The back door led into a narrow walkway between the gallery and the metal building that faced the other street. He hit the weed-covered path and ran straight for the street ahead. Logic and survival instinct told him to turn left, hot-wire the first unlocked vehicle he came to, and get out of the area as quickly as possible. But that’s what they expected him to do. Instead, he turned right on a side street and ran for the train tracks that bordered the far side of the busy neighborhood. Once he crossed the tracks, he’d be out of their visual scope and could run west through the grassy strip along the railroad. After he cleared the police units’ patrol area, it would be easier to steal a car, or maybe a work van, and head out of town.

  He talked to Ben as he ran, trying to soothe the boy. In an earlier time, it would have attracted attention, but now people just assumed he was talking to someone on a cell phone. He spotted a dark-blue sedan cruising down the street and turned into a private yard. Pulse throbbing in his throat, he sprinted alongside the quirky yellow-and-purple house and ducked into the backyard. A built-up, homemade pond filled most of the space, and he charged past it to the fence on the other side.

  “I need breath,” Ben complained.

  Did he have time to stop and be nice? Yes. Building rapport with the scared child who’d never known him seemed worth a moment. Ten seconds wouldn’t matter now that he was away from the drop site and Jackson was racing after a dummy car. He lifted the poncho, unstrapped Benjie, and pulled him around front. The boy was stressed and panting like a dog.

  “Take some deep breaths. You’re gonna be fine.” He bounced the boy a little, hoping to soothe him. “We’ll soon be in a car, heading home, like a family.” Buckley didn’t know much about taking care of kids. His own father had only been around on weekends to take him hunting and fishing and scavenging for things to resell. They hadn’t talked much. “We have to go.” He slid the boy around to his back and hooked the ends of the stretch cord. “We’re off!”

  His first awkward attempt at fatherhood both excited and embarrassed him. He would get better.

  Buckley climbed over the fence into the next yard and did the same for two more houses. At the last perimeter, he scanned the street for cop vehicles. None that he could see.

  As he hopped the fence, the deafening music shut down. His first thought was Thank goodness. But the quiet made him feel suddenly more visible. He ran toward the intersection, head down, with Ben bouncing against his back. As he weaved through the crowd, the ground below him trembled, as if a minor earthquake were happening. What was that noise? He looked up and saw the train.

  Fuck! What now? He couldn’t cross the tracks, and he couldn’t stand there and wait.

  Then he saw it. Another gift from God. Fast-moving transportation out of town and out of the state—with no one following or stopping him. Thank you! He vowed to go back to church and take Ben, as soon as they settled into their new life.

  Could he jump on a moving train? Why not? Teenagers and old drunks could manage it. He sprinted down the street, passing the vehicles that were stuck, waiting for the train. He kept his eyes on the freight cars as they rolled by and tried to observe details. Most seemed to be closed boxcars, but some looked like V-shaped container units. Those had metal rungs to climb on and hollowed out spaces across the back, with a platform to sit on.

  Twenty feet from the train, he turned left and started running parallel with the moving giant. Buckley kept sprinting, watching the color and shapes beside him.

  There! Now! “Hang on, Ben!”

  He leaped and grabbed for a metal rung above his head. His hands made good contact, and he pulled up with his arms and lifted his legs at the same time. His feet found a bottom rung. He was on board. Buckley reached around to the back of the metal frame and grabbed another rung. He swung his feet again, praying the strap around his che
st wouldn’t slip and that Benjie would be safe. After another awkward maneuver, he stepped onto the narrow platform. He pulled off the poncho and strap and set Benjie down. With a tight grip on the metal frame, Buckley leaned out to see if anyone had followed him.

  Fifty yards back, Jackson sprinted next to the train. Fuck! Time for plan B.

  CHAPTER 47

  Evans stood and stretched, needing a break. She’d already stared at the damn picture until her eyes watered. Before that, she’d been on the phone with a department tech expert, who’d coached her on how to check the photo’s metadata for location, only to discover the information wasn’t there. She’d learned that savvy users, who wanted to protect their privacy, could download an app that helped them disable the location technology. So far, the image was a bust.

  As were her phone calls to every crappy little motel in the West Eugene area. They either hadn’t rented to anyone matching Buckley’s name and/or description, or the evening clerk had just come on shift and couldn’t be helpful. She’d accomplished nothing and had let down the team.

  She hated being left behind! But Evans didn’t feel competent to join a takedown. She was moving too slowly, hurt too badly, and didn’t feel right about being in a scenario where she might need to use her gun or protect her teammates. Maybe when the pain meds wore off . . .

  The SWAT physical on Monday. Damn! She’d have to wait for the next one, which could be a month to another six weeks before they set up for it again. More time to train, she told herself, trying not to feel disappointed. Evans walked around the table just to keep from getting stiff, but it hurt like hell and she sat back down. Why hadn’t anyone called with an update? She checked the clock. They’d been gone forty-six minutes. That was too long. Something wasn’t right. Please don’t let it be Katie. Jackson couldn’t take another personal blow.