Liars, Cheaters, & Thieves (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

“I have more. I have a baby in my life who could need another twenty years of emotional and financial support. I don’t blame you for not wanting to sign on for that.”

  “But?” Jackson sensed there was something she hadn’t told him yet.

  “I either want a partner who’s committed, no matter how messy my life is, or I want to be alone with the freedom that comes with it.”

  There it was. An ultimatum. In or out. Jackson drew in a deep breath. “What are you asking? To move in together? To get engaged?”

  “I don’t know.” His lover’s eyes watered with unshed tears. “I just don’t want to be an afterthought.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way.” Jackson stood, not sure what came next.

  Kera stood too, her tall, muscular body taunting him. He wanted to grab her, hold on for dear life, and tell her to be patient. But Kera’s arms were crossed, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “I hope you’ll reconsider. Things will settle down for me, and I will have more time. Soon.”

  “You’ve been saying that for a year.” She glanced up for a second, but didn’t smile.

  “I know. I’ve had a lot going on with separating my life from Renee’s, and we’ve had a huge increase in violent crime, combined with diminishing resources.” Jackson thought Kera had understood this. He couldn’t believe he was losing her.

  “Your work and your family will always come first. I respect that, but it’s not good for me.”

  He couldn’t blame her. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I have to go back to work.”

  “I know. I hope you catch a break in the case.”

  Unwilling to say good-bye, for fear it would make the separation final, Jackson spun around and left without speaking.

  CHAPTER 24

  She’s just upset because I blew our date, Jackson told himself. As soon as he had a breakthrough in these homicides, they’d talk it through. He would make some kind of commitment, and he and Kera would be okay. For now, he had to put it out of his mind. Or give up being lead on the case. He’d never done that before. Jackson sat in his cruiser, still parked in Kera’s driveway, and couldn’t move forward. Couldn’t think straight. Finally, he sent Kera a text: This isn’t over. I love you.

  She didn’t respond.

  Jackson forced himself to focus on his investigation. Two men were dead. Best friends since childhood, but despite their murders being two days apart, most of the evidence pointed to different killers. Rafel Mazari’s wife had probably killed him to get out of an unhappy marriage, and Jake Pittman had likely been killed during an argument with a man he owed money to. Jackson’s next move was to question Matthew Dolan—whenever they found him. And he couldn’t forget Cody Sawyer. The third friend in the trio might be the key to the whole mess. He hoped Schak had located him and brought him in.

  He started the car and drove away, his sense of loss expanding in his chest with every mile he put between him and the woman he loved. How had he messed this up so badly? Was it really all his fault? His life had been hectic lately with his house on the market and him in court, testifying in hearings about his parents’ murders.

  Let it go for now, Jackson coached himself. Give Kera a little time. Focus on the case. Come back to it when you’re settled and sure of what to do.

  With his earpiece in, he called his partners and asked to meet at the department. They needed to regroup and update. Jackson wanted to bounce ideas off his team, because he didn’t quite trust his own thinking and judgment at the moment. He swung by Dolan’s home on Silver Lane before heading back downtown, but the white truck was not in the driveway. It could have been in the garage, but he knew that if they were running a landscaping business, they needed every inch of space for equipment. Nobody but the wealthy who owned oversize garages kept their cars indoors. The weather in Oregon just wasn’t extreme enough to justify it.

  The sun dropped in the sky as he drove across Chambers. The looming darkness reminded him he was supposed to pick up Katie and have dinner with her. Guilt stabbed him in the gut as he called his daughter and asked her to stay with her mother another night. Anyone else he could disappoint today?

  Katie took it well, and he promised to pick her up and take her to school in the morning. Jackson hung up the phone, understanding why cops sometimes wanted to beat confessions out of suspects. Maybe they just wanted to go home and see their family.

  As he turned on Seventh Avenue, his phone rang. “Jackson here.”

  “This is Sheila Dolan. I need your help.”

  The tone of her voice made Jackson pull off the street into a motel parking lot. “Is it your husband? What’s going on?”

  “Matt came home and he’s freaking out. A police officer followed him here, and now two more cop cars are parked out front. Matt locked himself in our bedroom, and I’m worried this situation will get out of control.”

  Jackson’s pulse accelerated with a familiar surge of adrenaline. Police officers hated situations like this, but they also lived for them. They were all adrenaline junkies. It was a lot of what kept them on the job. “Does he have a weapon?”

  “We have a small handgun for protection, and it’s in the bedroom where he is.”

  “Are you still in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to leave. Your safety is critical.”

  “No. I’m not abandoning Matt. He didn’t kill Jake.” She was borderline hysterical. “Hailey called me and told me what happened. She said the cops would be coming for Matt. But he didn’t do this!”

  “Please stay calm. Tell Matt I just want to talk him, then I want you to get out of the house. I’ll tell the officers to back off, and I’ll be there in five minutes.” Jackson hung up his cell phone and got on the radio, ending his communication with, “I repeat, do not enter the house. I’m on my way.”

  He used his cruiser’s lights and siren, something he rarely did, as he sped out River Road, noting that many of the people involved in this case lived in the Santa Clara neighborhood. Even on a late Sunday afternoon, the traffic was thick and slow. A bus pulled out in front of him, and Jackson swerved around it. He had to get to Dolan’s home and defuse the situation before it got ugly. When he’d put out the ATL, he had no idea this would be the result. Dolan’s reaction seemed extreme and signaled either guilt or instability, or both. But dammit, no one was going to get hurt today because he’d wanted to talk to a suspect.

  He made a left at Silver Lane, siren wailing briefly to stop the cross traffic, and flew down the narrow street, passing North Eugene High School. The road ended at North Park, which formed a T with Silver Lane. The Dolans lived just off to the left, and Jackson spotted patrol cars parked in front of the address. Like many of the older homes in the area, the house sat back from the road on at least a half acre of property. Two dark-blue units blocked the long driveway, and another patrol car sat in a gravel strip separating the parklike front yard from the road. Jackson pulled in behind it on the gravel strip and jumped from his car. He wished he had Schak with him, but he hadn’t had time to notify his team. He’d text them at the earliest opportunity, if they hadn’t heard about the incident already.

  Jackson trotted back to his trunk and pulled on his Kevlar vest, another item he rarely used. He touched his Sig Sauer and taser, just for reassurance.

  The three officers stood near the lead patrol car, and the sinking late-autumn sun cast an ominous light over the scene. “Detective Jackson here,” he said, as he approached. “This is my suspect, and his wife called me out to intervene.”

  Officer David Meadows stepped forward and shook his hand. He was about Jackson’s age and height, but bulkier. “Is the suspect dangerous? I’m a SWAT member, and we can call out a partial team.”

  “No SWAT.” Jackson nodded at the other officers. “Matt Dolan has no criminal history. He may have killed someone recently, but we don’t know yet. If I can’t talk him out, we’ll call a crisis negotiator.”

  He turne
d toward the home. The driveway blacktop opened into a wide parking area in front of the garage, and the white landscaping truck sat next to a small silver car. The house was a single level and L-shaped. “The wife says Dolan is locked in a bedroom and has access to a handgun. Has anyone talked to Sheila Dolan in the last few minutes?”

  “No. She told us she would call you, which is the only reason we waited.” Officer Meadows hummed with tension. “I think we should go in. His wife could be in danger.”

  “No! I could be wrong about his involvement with the murder victim.” Jackson heard his own voice get loud, but couldn’t hold back. “Remember Courtney Slaven? She wasn’t the pharmacy robber, and we trashed her house by breaking in and setting off a flash-bang grenade. Remember the Willamette News reporter? He wasn’t suicidal just because he’d purchased a helium-hood suicide kit. The Springfield Police trashed his house too. Either one of them could have been hurt, and the lawsuits may still be pending. We’re moving slowly here today.”

  “What if he injures or kills his wife?” Meadows challenged.

  “What if we injure or kill his wife?” Jackson shot back. “She’s not a hostage, he hasn’t threatened anyone, and I’ll get her out of there.” He sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll call Sheila now and let her know I’m here. I want this to end peacefully. I believe we just have a misunderstanding.” Jackson walked away from the officers and toward the house. He wanted Sheila to see him.

  She answered in the middle of the first ring. “Thank god you’re here. I want you to talk to Matt. Hailey says you were calm and nice when you questioned her.”

  He would be calm and nice with Matt too. Unless the suspect threatened him in person. Then he would be fast with his taser. He could see the suspect’s wife through the living-room window now. “Sheila, tell me something about Matt. Do you have kids? Does he have any hobbies? What does he do to relax?”

  “Our kids aren’t here, thank god, and I don’t want you to talk about them.” She took a quick breath. “Matt forgot to take his Zyprexa this morning, and I just shoved a pill under the door, so he should calm down in a while.”

  “Good to hear. What can I talk to Matt about to help him trust me?”

  “His trike makes him pretty happy.”

  “Even better news. I also have a trike. Brothers of the Third Wheel.” Jackson hadn’t joined the group, but he’d visited the website. “Tell Matt to call me, then you come out here. I can’t guarantee your safety in there.” He clicked off.

  While he waited for the call, Jackson texted his three team members, grateful for the backlit screen on his cell phone. He keyed in the address, followed by: At Dolan’s. Suspect is resisting. Bring the CU. The command unit was a big white RV with interview areas at each end and equipment in the middle. The front area held a camera so he could record a video statement. Jackson wanted to give Dolan a way to sit down for an interview that wouldn’t intimidate him or force him into custody. He had no reason to arrest him yet. They could take this slow and easy. Dolan wasn’t going anywhere, and if they played this right, he probably wasn’t a danger to anyone but himself. If Dolan had killed Pittman, it was likely a one-time crime of passion.

  Standing in the driveway, with the sky darkening like a bruise and the cold air biting his face, Jackson had an eerie sense of doom. His job had always been dangerous, but the last few years seemed increasingly harsh. People seemed on edge, unpredictable, often desperate. Without optimism, ordinary citizens could feel like they had nothing left to lose. If the economy didn’t pick up soon, he worried that rioting would break out here like it had in Europe. He never wanted to wear a shield and square off against the people he had sworn to protect.

  Jackson shook off the gloom. He had to stay focused and positive. After a painfully long five minutes, his cell rang. He answered, keeping his voice low-key.

  “You’re the cop who’s looking for me?”

  “Yes. I just want to talk for a few minutes.”

  “Hailey Pittman says you think I killed her husband, Jake. That’s crazy.”

  Jackson’s jaw clenched. Hailey shouldn’t have called these people and riled them up. “I don’t know who killed Jake Pittman, but I am investigating. Someone saw your truck at his house last night, so I want to talk to you. Just talk.”

  “I know how the police work. You’ll try to pin this on me.”

  “I just want to take your statement so we can clear you.” It was mostly true.

  “Send all the other cops away. They make me nervous.”

  “They won’t leave me here alone. Especially if you have a weapon. Do you have a gun?”

  “There’s one here, but I’m not holding it and I’m not violent. I just don’t want to be handcuffed and shoved in the back of a cop car like some criminal.”

  “I understand that, and it’s not necessary. Sheila tells me you ride a trike. Did you build it yourself?”

  “I did. Why do you ask?”

  “I built a trike last summer too. I used a Volkswagen squareback. What’s yours?”

  “Type-three engine with an automatic transmission.”

  “I wish I’d gone with an automatic, but I was totally new at it. I plan to take the thing apart and redo the frame soon, make it more stable.”

  “You should just buy a frame. There’s a guy here in town named Hutchison who has an excellent design. I finally bought one and I love it.”

  “Does he have a website?”

  “Yeah. Hutchison Trikes.”

  “I’ll check it out.” Jackson knew it was time to make progress. “Will you sit down with me and answer questions?”

  “Where? I’m not coming out with all those cops here. Some itchy-fingered asshole will shoot me.”

  “I won’t let that happen. The command unit is on the way. It’s a big RV with an interview room.” Jackson scrambled to work through the logistics. “First, send Sheila out with the weapon so we know your wife is safe and you’re unarmed. Then when the command unit is here, the patrol cops will leave. You’ll come out with your hands in the air and let me search you. Then we sit down in the RV and take your statement.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “Another detective will be watching from the back. It’s policy.”

  “Let me talk to Sheila.”

  Dolan clicked off before Jackson could respond.

  Another five long minutes passed, Sheila Dolan pushed out the front door. A halide floodlight lit up the yard, triggered by her movement. She clutched her jacket closed with one hand and held a weapon down at her side with the other.

  “It’s me, Sheila. Everything is fine.”

  She walked past her husband’s truck and down the driveway toward him. Jackson had his hand on his weapon from the moment he saw the door open. “Put the gun on the ground.”

  “All right.” She did as directed. “It’s registered and legal, and Matt didn’t threaten anyone with it.”

  “We’ll just take it temporarily.” Jackson strode quickly toward her and scooped it up. “Why don’t you wait in my car where it’s warm?” He pointed at his unmarked cruiser.

  “I’ll stay here until Matt comes out. I want him to feel safe.” Sheila trotted into the middle of the yard where her husband could see her from the bedroom. The blinds moved a little as Dolan peeked out.

  While they waited, Jackson checked his text messages. Quince had responded with: In Cottage Grove, talking to more fraud victims. Get there when I can.

  A few minutes later, they heard the rumble of the CU’s engine idling in the street.

  “Let’s get these patrol cars out of the driveway so the command unit can park close to the house.” Jackson hollered orders, not wanting to take any flak about his decision. The two officers moved quickly to their cars, backing out of the driveway. He watched them pull down the street and park a few houses away. He turned to Officer Meadows. “My team is inside the CU, and that’s all the backup I need. This will go better if you all leave.”

&n
bsp; “Your call.”

  “I appreciate your responsiveness in getting here and keeping Dolan detained.”

  “Good luck.”

  Meadows waited for the giant RV to pull down the driveway, then drove down to rendezvous with the other patrol officers. Jackson wondered how their reports would read. He felt confident he’d handled this well. The last thing the department needed was another news story about officers breaking through a door or setting off a flash-bang grenade near an innocent citizen. Not that Dolan was necessarily innocent, but Jackson preferred to use a subtler approach. He wanted information, and relaxed suspects talked more than terrorized suspects.

  Schak climbed down from behind the wheel and stood next to Jackson. “First time I ever drove that rig. You made my day, pal.”

  “Then my work here is almost done.” Jackson glanced at the rig. “Is Evans coming?”

  “She’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Let’s get Dolan out here.” Jackson called the suspect again. “We’re ready for you. Hands in the air and move slowly.”

  “I’m not armed and I plan to cooperate. Just don’t cuff me.”

  “Okay.” He hoped the man’s meds kicked in soon.

  A moment later, Dolan stepped out the door. In the halide light, he looked pale, thin, and young, but as he moved closer, with his hands on his head, lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and a deep furrow creased his forehead.

  Sheila started to rush over.

  “Not yet! Stay back, please.”

  She froze, but blew a kiss to her husband.

  “Stop and turn around,” Jackson instructed.

  “I thought you weren’t going to cuff me.”

  “I’m not. This is just a weapons search. Standard procedure.”

  After patting him down, Jackson stepped back. “You can put your hands down. Follow my partner into the RV.” He turned to Sheila. “I’d like to interview you as well. You can wait in the house for now, but don’t make any calls.”

  “I have to call my sister. I don’t want my kids to come home until this is over.”