“Fine.” Jackson would have liked to call his daughter too, but it would have to wait. He had a viable murder suspect about to make a statement. If Dolan would admit to being in the victim’s house at the time of death, that was half their case.
The fluorescent light of the command unit made Jackson blink. As he turned on the camera and the video feed, his stomach growled, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. The food he could get by without, but he would have given just about anything for a cup of coffee.
Dolan appeared ghostly white under the harsh lights, and his leg vibrated under the small table they shared. He wore a blue shirt and jeans, both dirty from yard work. The tips of his fingers were stained a permanent shade of mud brown, and he smelled like damp earth. The scent made Jackson think of camping trips he’d taken with his brother.
Jackson sat across from the suspect, their faces only four feet apart. Being inside a vehicle, the space they shared was about twelve feet square. It would have been just as bad as the interrogation room back at the department, except for the hallway opening. That two-foot escape route kept Jackson’s claustrophobia at bay. With no room for a second interrogator, Schak stayed in the back of the RV, sitting on a comfortable couch, watching the live feed, in case Dolan went squirrelly again.
“This is Detective Jackson, Eugene Police, speaking with Matthew Dolan,” he said for the camera. He announced the date and time, advised Dolan of his rights, then paused while Schak brought them each a bottle of water and left.
“Let’s talk about last night, Saturday, November twelfth.” Jackson planned to keep the questioning informal for as long as he could. Dolan clearly had authority issues, and he wanted him to stay relaxed. “How do you know Jake?”
“He used to work for me, until business slowed down and I had to lay him off.”
“Did you visit Jake Pittman at his home on Kentwood last night?”
Dolan hesitated for a long minute. “Yes.”
“What time did you arrive at his house?”
“I think it was around eight thirty. He called me earlier and asked me to come over.”
Dolan’s cell phone was sitting on the table in front of Jackson. He’d taken it when he patted him down, but he had no right to search it without Dolan’s permission. “Show me the call.” Jackson pushed the phone across the table.
Two seconds later, the suspect pushed it back. Showing on the screen was a list of incoming calls, with Pittman’s registering at 7:43 p.m.
“Did he leave a message, or did you talk to him?”
“It surprised me, but I took the call.”
“Why did he want to see you?”
“Jake said he had the money he owed me.” Dolan’s gaze was steady and so was his voice.
Jackson hadn’t expected it to go this way. Dolan was craftier than he looked.
“Out of the blue, Jake called and said he had money for you?”
“Believe me, I was surprised too.”
“Did he say where the money came from?”
“No, and I didn’t ask.”
“How much did he owe you?”
“Nearly four grand.”
“Why did he ask you to come to him? Why not bring it to you?”
Dolan shrugged. “I didn’t think about it at the time. I was too stunned. But he’d probably been drinking and didn’t want to drive.”
Jackson didn’t buy it. Was Dolan lying through his teeth, or had it been some kind of setup? “What did you do after the call? It didn’t take forty-five minutes to drive over.”
“I finished what I was working on, took a shower, and left.” Dolan’s voice stayed even, but the vibrating under the table increased, as though he were growing impatient, eager to tell his story.
“What happened when you arrived?”
“Jake gave me thirty-eight hundred in cash. Then he apologized for not repaying the loan and offered me a beer.” Dolan didn’t blink or look away.
Jackson had a flash of doubt and felt the squeeze of a headache coming on. “What happened next?”
“We sat down, drank a beer, and talked for about twenty minutes. Then I left.”
“Hold out your hands for me.”
Dolan looked down at his hands, shook his head a little, then held them out, palm up.
“Turn them over.” Jackson studied the backs, noting a few small white scars in addition to the brown stains, but saw no bruises. But three of Dolan’s knuckles on his right hand looked swollen. “What did you and Jake fight about?”
“Nothing!” Dolan yanked his hands back. “I slammed my hand against the side of the truck yesterday when I was loading branches. My hands always look like this.”
Was Pittman’s DNA under those dirty nails? Even with a subpoena, they might not find it. They also needed to search Dolan’s house for the clothes he’d worn the night before and examine his truck for bloodstains. Jackson hoped Evans was working on a search warrant. He remembered what Evans had said about yelling, after questioning the teenager next door.
“Jake’s neighbor heard loud arguing, so we know things didn’t happen the way you just described. What did you argue about?”
“Nothing!” Dolan pounded his fist on the table.
Jackson instinctively shot to his feet. “Calm down.”
“Sorry.” The suspect slumped and crossed his arms. “This upsets me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Jake was fine when I left him.”
“What time was that?”
“Before nine. I was only there for twenty minutes.”
It still fit the window of Pittman’s death. But to get Dolan to move toward a confession or a plea bargain, he needed to catch him in a lie. “What did you do after you left?”
“I went home and finished my bookkeeping.”
“Was your family here?”
Dolan sighed. “No. My wife and the boys went out to a movie and didn’t get home until after eleven.”
“What did you do with the money?”
“I deposited most of it in the bank this morning on my way out of town.”
“Which bank?”
“The Chase ATM inside Fred Meyer. Right up the street on Division. I have the receipt in my wallet.” Dolan produced a piece of paper that showed he’d made a $3,800 deposit at 9:17 that morning.
Jackson’s mind scrambled to come up with a new scenario. “Here’s what I think happened. You heard Jake had come into some money, so you stopped to see him and collect what he owed you. He denied it and wouldn’t give you any.” Jackson watched Dolan’s face carefully as he talked. “You got physical with him, maybe grabbed his shirt and pissed him off. So he punched you, and you hit him back. After a few blows, Jake lost his footing and fell against the counter, hitting his head.”
Dolan shook his head back and forth, the movement growing in intensity as Jackson talked.
“Then you searched his place until you found the cash. You thought it was your money and you were entitled to it.” Jackson lowered his voice. “But you didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident when he fell. That’s what it looks like.” Jackson left out the information about the victim’s slit throat. He had to keep something back only the killer would know. Especially since it looked like they couldn’t arrest Dolan just yet.
“No.” The suspect pushed his hands through his hair. “Someone else must have shown up after I left.”
“You were there at the time of death, Matt. You can’t change the evidence. Tell me your side of it, and I can get you a deal for manslaughter. I don’t believe you meant to kill him.”
Dolan leaned forward and put his face in his hands.
Jackson waited.
His cell phone rang and he quickly silenced it. Dolan looked up and shook his head. Jackson cursed himself for forgetting to shut off the phone.
New tactic. “Did you know Rafel Mazari?”
Dolan started to hyperventilate. “I didn’t kill anybody! You can’t pin these murders on me.”
“So you did kn
ow Rafel?”
“I’d met him, but I didn’t hang out with him. I know Sierra because I know her mother.” Dolan was talking rapidly now. “Our families have been friends for decades. I landscaped that yard before Sierra turned it into an overgrown mess.”
“The house on Santa Rosa?”
“Yes. It belongs to Vanessa Kent. She moved to Seattle a few years ago and let Sierra and Rafel move in.”
The connections were interesting, but not likely relevant—unless Dolan knew Sierra well enough to be helpful. “Was Sierra cheating on her husband?”
“I don’t know her that well.” A flush of pink appeared on his pale cheeks.
“I think you do.” Jackson leaned forward. “You just blushed, your eyes won’t focus on anything, and your leg is vibrating harder than ever. Just tell me about her affair, and I won’t have to subpoena the phone records of everyone you both know.”
Dolan swallowed hard, but didn’t manage to clear his throat, so he gulped from his water bottle. “My wife can’t find out, please. It was long ago when Rafel first left for Afghanistan. It only lasted a few weeks. She was gorgeous and horny, but I couldn’t take the guilt.”
CHAPTER 25
After another ten minutes of intense questioning, Jackson had to get out of the closetlike space. “Let’s take a break, Matt. You can stand and stretch, but don’t go anywhere.” He left the camera running, stepped outside into the dark driveway, and pulled in long breaths of cool night air. The pounding in his head eased, but the hollow pit in this stomach was growing.
A moment later, Schak and Evans stepped out of the back of the unit and joined him. Evans spoke up. “I saw most of the interrogation. What do you think?”
“He’s consistent and makes good eye contact. If he’s lying, he’s damn good.”
“But he was in Pittman’s house during the time-of-death window, and he admits to an affair with Sierra.” Schak wasn’t really arguing, just verbalizing his own internal struggle.
“He also came into a load of cash yesterday,” Evans added. “Dolan is a very viable suspect.” She handed him her cup of coffee. “You look like you could use some caffeine.”
“Thanks.” Jackson took a long slug of the lukewarm brew. “We need a search warrant for his house and truck.”
“I’ll write the paper,” Evans said. “But what about Pittman’s slit throat? We haven’t released that information about Mazari.” She gained confidence as she talked. “Whoever killed Pittman likely knew Mazari had his throat cut. Either because they killed both men or because they wanted us to think the deaths were connected. We’re pretty damn sure Sierra killed her husband, and since she was in jail last night, I’m starting to think she conspired with whoever killed Pittman.”
“What’s the motive?”
“Seven thousand dollars.” Evans and Schak said it at the same time.
“Pittman admitted to having an affair with Sierra,” Jackson said. “If they’re still sleeping together, he’s probably our man.”
“Which explains why Dolan locked himself in his bedroom when they tried to bring him in for questioning.” Evans started to bounce a little. “Pittman may have known about their affair. They may have killed him to silence him as well.”
“I’ll go question Dolan again,” Schak offered. “You guys talk to the wife. Look around the house while you’re in there.”
“It’s a plan.” Jackson was ready to get out of the cold and wrap up this scene. “After this, we’ll head back to the department and pull our information together. This has been an eventful day, and I don’t want any details to fall through the cracks.”
“What are we going to do with Dolan?” Evans asked.
“Release him and keep an eye on him if we can. We don’t have enough to arrest him.”
“We need to get his DNA too.” Evans reached out, wanting her coffee back.
Sheila had little more to offer except to say her husband had been under a lot of financial stress, and the news of Jake’s murder had pushed him to the edge. Jackson had no reason to mention her husband’s infidelity with Sierra, but he intended to find out if the affair was still going on. Dolan had vehemently denied seeing her recently, and his wife probably didn’t know about the affair, so Jackson had no idea where to go for the information.
Sheila Dolan let them do a cursory search of the house, and they found no guns, no cash, and no explosives.
As he and Evans walked out to the command unit, Jackson’s legs felt like lead. Yet his brain was still jumping between connections in these cases. When his mind stopped for a moment to rest, thoughts of Kera flooded in, making him doubt everything. What could he do to win her back?
“What are you thinking?” Evans asked. “You stopped in your tracks.”
“Kera broke up with me today.” He couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud. It was nobody’s business.
“That sucks. Why?”
He didn’t want to admit it was his lack of commitment, and he was sorry he’d said anything. “I’m not sure and I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t repeat it to anyone.”
“I won’t. I hope you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Let’s round up Schak and get on with this investigation.”
Assuming his teammates had eaten long ago, Jackson bought a burger on his way downtown. Neither Katie nor Kera was there to give him grief about it, so he sat in his car in the Dairy Queen parking lot and thoroughly enjoyed every greasy, cheesy bite. He had a flash of worry about how the cholesterol would affect his retroperitoneal fibrosis, but quickly let it go. No one had any idea what caused the damned disease, so they didn’t know what made it worse or better. Except the steroids. They worked, at least for a while.
Had his diagnosis and surgery scared off Kera? Was that part of it? Was she worried about having to take care of him after all the surgeries he might face? He wouldn’t blame her for that. Kera was a nurse and had seemed to take the development in stride, but maybe she’d given it a lot more thought.
Jackson picked up the last few days’ worth of debris from the floor of his car and hauled it to a trash can. Sipping his coffee, he drove to headquarters, wondering if he should transfer to a position that didn’t require him to work on Sunday nights. Would that save his relationship—or was it too late?
He stopped at his desk to check e-mails, saw nothing critical to the case, and headed for the conference room. Schak and Evans were already seated at the table, watching Sierra’s interrogation again. Evans got up and turned it off.
“You stop and feed your face on the way?” Schak asked, pointing to Jackson’s chin. “You’ve got cheese there, I think.”
Jackson made a face, pulled a tissue from his carryall, and wiped his mouth again. “Let’s make this meeting fast. I’m exhausted.” He realized who was missing. “Oh crap, I forgot to contact Quince.”
“I texted him,” Evans said. “He’s coming.”
“Thanks. Will you take the board too?”
“I’m on it.” Evans jumped up. “We need a second board, and I know where to find one.”
A minute later, she was back, pushing a smaller wheeled version. “This was in the storage room. I think Internal Affairs stashed it, but they haven’t gotten around to sneaking it out.”
“You’re stealing your boyfriend’s pilfered goods?” Schak let out a grunting laugh.
“We’ll call it a loan.” Evans parked the second white board next to the first and wrote Jake Pittman at the top. “We have to keep these separate until we know for sure they’re connected.”
“But you think they are?” Jackson wanted to hear every side and every angle. These cases were stumpers.
“They have to be.” Evans wrote Connections on the board and started a list: best friends, ex-military, money problems, wife problems, died 48 hours apart. She looked back at the group and asked, “Anything else?”
Quince came through the door and peeled off his wet jacket. “Where are we?”
“
We’re establishing connections between the two homicides,” Jackson said.
“That’s quite a list.” Quince scanned the second whiteboard. “How does Sierra Kent figure into the second death? I thought she was in jail.”
“She is, but we think she has a partner, maybe her lover.”
“She wouldn’t say much when I saw her in jail,” Evans reported. “Except to threaten to sue us for emotional damages. And she vehemently denied having an affair with anyone. The animal clinic was closed when I stopped by earlier, so I still haven’t talked to Dr. Davidson, the veterinarian, yet.”
Jackson collected his thoughts, then summarized for Quince. “We have a suspect for Jake Pittman’s murder. His name’s Matt Dolan and he used to be Pittman’s boss. He also loaned Pittman money and got burned, so Pittman owed him nearly four grand.” While he talked, Evans wrote Dolan’s name on the board and listed the details. Jackson continued. “Dolan admits to visiting the second victim last night during the time frame for his death, but he claims Pittman called him over and paid back the money. He showed me an ATM receipt for the deposit.”
“He could have killed Pittman and taken the money,” Quince offered.
“Yes, and here’s the interesting part. He also admits to having a brief affair with Mazari’s wife more than a year ago. But if Sierra and Dolan are still lovers, they could have conspired to kill both men—with the cash from the charity scam being the motive.”
Evans cut in. “We need to know who took the seven grand out of the charity’s bank account after they transferred it. If that’s where Dolan’s money came from.”
“None of the money was ever in Mazari’s account,” Jackson added. “I looked at his statements last night. Now we need Pittman and Dolan’s records. I think tracking the money will show us what really happened.”
“I should have information about the charity’s bank account tomorrow.” Quince looked frustrated and a little guilty. “Maybe we’ll even get a name.”
Evans looked at the board. “What else do we know about Pittman? Did you get anything interesting from his wife today?”
Jackson summarized the conversation he’d had with Hailey Pittman, focusing on her husband’s financial troubles followed by his unexpected money. “She also heard him mention the Veterans Relief Fund while on the phone with Rafel Mazari. Which links both men to the fraudulent charity.”
Liars, Cheaters, & Thieves (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 19
