Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  Evans turned back to the sixty-inch screen and stared at the image of Katie taped to a chair with her mouth and ankles bound as well. Her eyes were wide, but not only with fear. The girl was angry too, and that would work in her favor if she had an opportunity to escape. Starting in the upper left corner, Evans worked her way through the image again, chunk by chunk. The photo had been taken only a few feet from the chair, so not much of the room was visible. Ugly green carpet showed under the chair, but the wall behind Katie was blank. Buckley, thinking like a cop, had been careful not to give away his location. What was in the satchel on the floor? It worried her. But so far, Buckley hadn’t mentioned it.

  A tiny dark spot on the right caught her eye. Was it the corner of something? Like a TV? Clicking the magnify icon, she enlarged the image to the point where it was blurry and she had to scroll over to see the dark object. Yes, in fact, it was the corner of a TV screen, and it contained a curved line, something etched into the hard plastic. Probably a manufacturer’s logo.

  She grabbed a pen and paper and drew the curved line in a bigger size, then tried to visualize the rest of the pattern. When it didn’t come to her, she opened her browser and scrolled through the list of motels again. No help. Most of the hooker/heroin crash pads didn’t even have websites to peruse. Evans looked at the image again. The green carpet caught her attention. An unusual choice. Most motel carpeting was brown or beige or some ugly print. She clicked back to her browser and scanned the list again. The Shamrock. Would it use green carpeting? She picked up the pen and added to the curved line, drawing a four-leaf clover from a single corner. Hot damn! That was probably it. She started to call the motel again, but remembered that the clerk had said she’d just come on duty.

  Evans called Jackson but he didn’t pick up. Not good. Unless he was in the middle of something. She tried Lammers, who also didn’t answer. Something was going down, and they were all focused. She didn’t want to bother Schak or Quince, but instead texted Lammers the information about the motel. Her next step was to get out there herself and start opening doors. She didn’t have a warrant, but the picture of Katie as a hostage should convince any reasonable human being to cooperate. Evans e-mailed the JPEG to herself, so it would show up on her phone, then grabbed her keys and headed out.

  A fool’s errand, she thought, painfully making her way downstairs. Buckley would have Katie with him for the exchange. But maybe if she found his motel room, she’d find a clue that would help them nail the bastard.

  CHAPTER 48

  Jackson ran toward the main boulevard, panic mounting. Lammers and the patrol units were still searching the side streets, but he hadn’t seen McCray since he’d gone over the counter. It was too soon to hear from Schak about the white Buick carrying Katie, but he had to assume they’d stop the vehicle and rescue her. The driver was likely an unwitting participant and wouldn’t flee unless he had another reason to run from the law.

  He passed the patrol car blocking Third Avenue and ran toward the swarming crowd in the intersection. People of all ages and dress, but few small children. This group was spillover from the party at the nearby brewery. He scanned the crowd, moving slowly left, thinking Buckley would be coming from that direction. He heard the train whistle again and spun around. Jogging toward the tracks was a tall man wearing a hooded poncho—and carrying what looked like a large backpack under the fabric. Was that Buckley and Benjie? Jackson broke into a run, pushing people aside.

  “Move!” He didn’t have time for politeness or explanations.

  Going on instinct, Jackson sprinted after the tall man. Ahead, the train crossed the boulevard, blocking the exit from the neighborhood. The perp had nowhere to go, except left, into the mostly empty acreage around the train-switching yard. Was Buckley planning to hop on the train? Please no! Jackson pushed himself, a jarring pain pinching his gut. If Buckley had been alone, he would have pulled his weapon and commanded him to stop. But Benjie was on the perp’s back, so all he could do was try to close the gap and take him down. He hoped like hell a patrol officer was behind him.

  As the man in the poncho neared the train, he turned left and moved in close to the passing freight cars. He was going to make the leap! Jackson raced after him, making the same turn. The massive train thundered along, moving slowly but still creating a wind. He was close enough to reach out and touch the freight cars, and his heart pounded as loudly as the wheels on the tracks. Should he stay with the perp and get on the damn train, or keep his feet on the ground and call for help?

  He couldn’t let Buckley out of his sight. What if he jumped back off a mile down the track and disappeared?

  The perp turned his head to watch the cars, so Jackson glanced over too. Boxcars with no open doors and nothing to grab. He snapped his head forward again.

  Fifty feet ahead, Buckley leapt and caught a metal rung on the back of a V-shaped container. He was getting away! Jackson kept running and turned to watch the train again. Two boxcars went by, then another V-shaped car was right there. He braced for the leap. The metal rungs came into sight. Jackson sucked in a breath and jumped.

  He caught the rung with both hands, but his feet dangled and he ached with fear. Jackson pulled his legs up and groped for a rung. His toe caught one, and he jerked both feet into place. He was on the train, but it was picking up speed and he couldn’t stay like this. Still gulping air after his sprint, Jackson leaned toward the rear of the car to see if it offered a safer place.

  A two-foot-wide platform crossed the back, tucked under the slanting shape of the freight car. Carefully, he worked his way around to the back of the metal structure and climbed through the rungs. He landed on all fours and stayed like that until he could breathe normally.

  When his fear subsided, he sat on his rear and scooted back against the big steel container. He couldn’t see Buckley from this position, but he had to make calls. Hands trembling, he connected with Lammers first.

  “It’s Jackson. The perp hopped a train.”

  She swore loud and long. “I’ll call the railroad. Do you see a number on any of the boxcars?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m on the back of a freight container.”

  “You jumped on a moving train?” Her disbelief was like a slap. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Maybe. But I made Benjie a promise. What about Katie?”

  A pause. “I’m sorry, but she wasn’t in the Buick.”

  No! His heart dropped into his stomach. “The fucker lied to get me out of the area.”

  “We’ll find her. I called the chief and he authorized off-duty officers to join the search.”

  Was Katie dead? Or had Buckley just ditched her? “We need to search sleazy motels in the area.”

  “I’ll check in with Evans. Get me a number from one of those train cars.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And be careful!” She hung up.

  Jackson grabbed his cell phone and called Buckley.

  The perp answered immediately, screaming to be heard over the engine’s roar. “Get off the train or your daughter dies!”

  “Where is she?”

  “That black bag at her feet contains an explosive. And a cell phone that will detonate it. Get off the train and let us go, or I’ll kill her before you can find her.” He hung up.

  Fuck! For a moment Jackson was too freaked out to think straight. He sucked in oxygen, then called Lammers again. “Buckley says the black bag has an explosive. We need to find her!”

  “I’ll get the bomb unit out to the area. What does he want?”

  “For me to get off the train and let him go.”

  “Get the train’s number first. We’ll find her.” She hung up before he could argue.

  Jackson was torn. He couldn’t let Buckley get away with Benjie. But would the bastard blow up Katie? Would he know if Jackson stayed on the train?

  He needed to stan
d up, lean out, and get Lammers what she needed. His body resisted, not wanting to move. The noise and sway of the train was terrifying and hypnotic at the same time. But the sky was nearly dark now, and he had to move quickly if he wanted to see markings on the freight cars.

  Jackson pushed to his feet and grabbed the metal piping. He leaned out and tried to read the number on the side of the boxcar. He could only see part of it, but he texted the information to Lammers. Now what? Did Buckley know he was still back here? The perp hadn’t called again with another threat. Was Katie already dead? He couldn’t let himself think that.

  Suddenly, the train lost speed again. Jackson sensed he was in West Eugene, near the wetlands. Lammers hadn’t had time to orchestrate the slowdown, so the train was stopping for some other reason. Jackson didn’t care. He just hoped Buckley would take the opportunity to get off.

  Brakes squealed, and the massive metal cars slowed even more. Would Buckley exit on the same side he’d climbed on? Jackson stepped across the platform to the other side and saw open grasslands. What if Buckley didn’t exit at all?

  Jackson had no intention of staying on the train for a long ride into the night. Maneuvering back to the other side, he climbed out onto the metal rungs and prepared to jump down. The risk intimidated him. He could twist an ankle, or fall and break an arm. Jackson calmed his mind and formulated a plan. Buckley was only two boxcars away. Now that the train was moving much slower, he could close the gap on the ground. He would be on him before Buckley knew he was coming.

  He held on, waiting for a safer moment. What if the train picked up speed again? Sometimes they slowed briefly for crossings or other trains. Sometimes they backed up, then started forward again. He had no idea where this one was headed or why.

  It was time.

  He let go with one hand and foot and swung out, watching the ground and looking for a safe landing area. A flat spot! Jackson jumped for the clearing, throwing himself as far from the moving train as he could. He landed on his feet but stumbled forward and went down on one knee. After scrambling to get up, Jackson sprinted alongside the train. His Sig Sauer bumped against his side, a small comfort.

  He expected Buckley to be carrying a weapon—he was an ex-cop—but not to have it in his hand. The perp would be holding on to Benjie. It might come down to a physical confrontation. The only edge he had was surprise and two free hands.

  As Jackson reached the back of the other V-shaped container car, Buckley and Benjie came into sight. The kidnapper was sitting cross-legged with Benjie in his lap. The train slowed, and it seemed it would stop at any moment. Jackson pulled his weapon and charged up to the freight car, prepared to leap on if he had to.

  “Let Benjie go!”

  The man and boy both looked up, startled.

  The train screeched to a stop.

  Benjie cried out, “Jackson!” and bolted out of Buckley’s lap. He took two little steps across the platform, then leaped through the opening.

  Jackson lurched forward and caught him with his free hand. He stumbled in the gravel but managed to stay upright, his heart beating like a flock of wild birds. Weapon still trained on Buckley, he set Benjie down and stepped in front of the boy. “Hands in the air!”

  Buckley was on his feet now, and he grabbed a small handgun from an ankle holster.

  “Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Jackson yelled.

  For a moment, Buckley was still.

  “Where is Katie?” Jackson screamed.

  “It doesn’t matter now.” The perp brought up his gun and pointed it at Jackson’s head.

  He had no choice. Jackson fired, and Buckley fell back against the steel car.

  The train started forward again.

  From behind him, Benjie clung to his leg, saying “Daddy” over and over again. Jackson kept his eyes on the perp, who still held a weapon. Buckley lowered his arm and collapsed to the floor of the platform. Jackson ran alongside for a moment, shouting at the bleeding man. “Where is Katie? Tell me! Where is she?” But Buckley was either dead or unconscious. The train picked up speed, and Jackson had to let it go.

  With Benjie on his shoulders, Jackson hurried along the tracks, dodging chuckholes and weed clumps. His legs hurt from sprinting, but all he could think about was Katie. The street-party crowd was even thicker in the growing darkness. He pushed through the crowd until he reached his car and put Benjie safely inside. Grabbing the radio, he pleaded, “Give me an update! Does anyone have Katie?”

  “Negative,” two officers responded.

  Despair filled his veins like wet cement, threatening to drown him with its weight. Had he given up his daughter for Benjie? How was he supposed to live with that? Jackson climbed in his car and stared at his phone.

  Lammers came on the radio. “Where’s Buckley?”

  “On the back of a freight car, wounded and possibly dead. But I have the boy.”

  “Great news. We’ll get units out to find the perp when the train stops, which should be soon.”

  “We need to find Katie first!” Jackson shouted, too distressed to think straight.

  On the seat beside him, Benjie whimpered. “Did the bad man take her?”

  “Yes.” Jackson gave him a quick hug. “But we’ll find her.”

  His phone rang. Evans! “Tell me something good, please.”

  “I just found Katie at the Shamrock Motel on Fillmore. She’s rattled but unhurt. The satchel was empty.”

  “Thank god! Thank you. I’m on my way.” Sweet relief washed over him, and he struggled to keep his composure. “Update the team, please. Lammers called in off-duty officers to search and they need to go home.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Jackson turned to Benjie. “They found Katie. Your sister’s okay.” It was the first time he’d ever said your sister, but it felt right. His family had grown and Benjie was here to stay. He started the car and turned it around in the now empty, blocked street. Later he would go back over this day step-by-step, and question every decision. But not yet. For now he could only rejoice.

  CHAPTER 49

  Sunday, September 8, 7:15 a.m.

  Jackson entered the elevator, aware that Kera might be in the building somewhere, dealing with the grief and trauma of watching someone she cared about die. He was on his way up to see Carson Buckley, who hadn’t died. The relief of not having that death on his conscience barely outweighed the guilt of not being there for Kera. Yet this had to be done. Andra deserved justice, and he still didn’t know if Buckley had killed her. They had two other viable suspects. In the coming weeks, his team would trace Buckley’s movements and attempt to build a case against him. Questioning him now, while he was wounded and medicated, might elicit a slipup or maybe even a confession.

  A patrol officer stood watch outside Buckley’s hospital room. Jackson nodded as he passed but didn’t stop to chat. He wanted to get this done and get home before his kids got up. The thought almost stopped him. Kids. Plural. He’d never used the expression before.

  Shackled to the bed railing at both wrists, Buckley had his eyes closed but the TV was on. Gauze covered his left shoulder.

  Jackson moved in closer. “Buckley. I have some questions.”

  The kidnapper opened his eyes but didn’t focus for a minute. Jackson said his name again and waited.

  “You’re like a dog with a bone,” Buckley mumbled.

  Jackson considered it a compliment. He wanted to get to the heart of questioning but knew he needed to ease into it to get Buckley to cooperate. “How did you finally find Andra?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did you track her to Eugene?”

  “I didn’t. You led me here.” Buckley’s voice was even scratchier than he remembered.

  “We’ll dig through your credit card expenses and phone records and track your whereabouts all last week. Lying to me will only
work against you.”

  “The paperwork will prove I never set foot in Eugene until yesterday morning.” Buckley looked over at his tray table. “I need some water.” The shackles kept him from reaching for it.

  Jackson didn’t believe him. Buckley could have driven here from Utah, used cash, and never showed his ID to anyone. The man was careful. “Why did you kill Andra? Because you couldn’t find Benjie?”

  “Water.”

  Grudgingly, Jackson held the plastic bottle and straw to his lips. He hated the man for what he’d done to Katie, but he needed information. Closure for his case.

  Buckley took only a few sips. “I didn’t kill her. I wanted to sometimes when I thought I would never see my son again, but I’m not a violent man.”

  Jackson made a scoffing sound. “You threatened to kill my daughter. And the Salt Lake City police think you killed your wife.”

  “I didn’t!” The outburst made him grimace in pain. “Innocent people are accused all the time. You’re a cop; you know it happens.”

  Innocent? “You kidnapped my daughter, so you don’t have any credibility.”

  “I only used her as leverage for Ben. She wasn’t hurt.”

  Rage flared in Jackson’s veins. “She was traumatized! And she could have died in that motel room before we got to her.”

  The perp blinked. “I knew someone would find her. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  In Buckley’s twisted mind that might even be true. “What about Lucille Caiden? Did you traumatize her too?”

  “What are you talking about? My friends the Wagners stopped in to see if Andra and Benjie were living there, but they didn’t threaten her. They’re nice people.”

  Jackson made a mental note to call the sheriff’s office and see how Lucille Caiden’s autopsy had come out. But he leaned toward thinking the old lady had died of natural causes—perhaps brought on by stress. But was Buckley telling the truth about Andra? He didn’t seem inclined to confess.

  “We’ll compare your DNA to trace evidence found on Andra’s body. This is your last chance to tell me what happened and get a plea deal that will let you out of prison someday.”