“I wouldn’t be hopeful, but put her on your list.” Jackson tapped his pile of phone records. “Let’s dig into this data.”
After twenty minutes of cross-checking numbers in Mazari’s phone records with numbers in the database, Jackson learned the victim had made fewer calls than average and that his calls went to friends and family. Jake Pittman was the most frequent person Mazari spoke to, with several calls going each way in the days and hours before Mazari’s death. Surprisingly, few calls were to his wife in his last few days, except Thursday night when he’d called her from the bar. That was the last time Rafel Mazari had ever used his cell phone. Did he have any inkling he was about to die? Kera had mentioned that Rafel thought his wife wanted him dead.
Jackson wondered about his own mortality. Would he die on the job, facing off against a lowlife with a gun or a knife, heart pounding, vision blurred, knowing it was last thing he’d see and feel? He hoped to hell not. If he could choose his own exit, what would it be? Lying in bed with Kera, both too old and tired to get up, but holding hands and smiling. The image almost crushed him with sadness, and he had to shake it off.
In his notepad, he created a time line of Mazari’s calls for Thursday, stared at it, and hoped it would be useful somehow. At the moment, it meant nothing to him. He really wanted to pry open Sierra’s phone and see who she’d been chatting with while her husband lay bleeding.
Twenty minutes later, Schak called, “Bingo.”
Jackson shot out of his chair, eager to stand and stretch.
“On Wednesday and Thursday, the card ending in the number 0532, issued to Terrance O’Dell, made eighteen withdrawals.” Schak stood too, his voice a little excited. “Most were for four hundred dollars, and they came out of three machines. One at a Safeway, one at ShopKo, and one at a US Bank—all within a half mile of Jake Pittman’s home.”
“So Pittman could be the one who fiddled with Molly Pershing’s account and made the seven-thousand-dollar transfer.” Jackson began to pace. “Where were the smaller, earlier withdrawals made?”
“All over. Campus, Santa Clara, West Eugene. The other guy was smart and didn’t create a pattern.” Quince touched his forehead, pondering. “The third card was never used. One of the guys on the account didn’t access the money.”
“That’s odd.” Jackson turned to Quince. “Can you track these three IDs and see where they came from?”
“I’ll do my best, but I’m not optimistic.” Quince leaned forward and his words came in a rush. “We need to get the videos from the ATMs where the withdrawals were made. Maybe one of the perps didn’t bother to cover his face.”
“I don’t know.” Evans shook her head. “They were smart about getting fake IDs and using an online bank. And they probably used phony identification to set up the web-hosting account. They may be ghosts.”
“Scammers get sloppy,” Jackson countered. “Especially if things go smoothly and they think they’re getting away with it.” He turned to Quince again. “Find out who owns the ATMs and get videos. We need to see their faces.”
Evans spoke up. “I’ll find out who Sierra was sleeping with, even if I have to bribe her coworkers.”
“Good.” Jackson turned to Schak. “Keep calling everyone connected to this case until we find Cody Sawyer, then call me. After that, work with Quince on tracking down the fraud perps.” Jackson started gathering up the stacks of bank printouts. “I’ll head out to Sawyer’s house and see if he’s there. We have three people involved in a charity scam, and we have a trio of friends who grew up together. Two of those men are dead, so Cody’s starting to look like a man who might have some answers.”
Jackson went back to his desk and took two aspirin, glad it was just a headache and not the usual gut-stabbing pain. He pulled out his cell phone and stared at it. Should he call Kera or give her some space? While he worried over that, his phone rang, startling him a little. He didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t pick up, then decided just to get it out of the way, whatever it was.
“Jackson here.”
“This is Dr. Meyer. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” A little flutter of panic. Why was his urologist calling him?
“I wanted to remind you to schedule your next MRI. We need to keep an eye on the fibrosis, and these scans are critical.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“I’ll call Oregon Imaging next week to get your results.”
That was doctor code for I’m going to check and make sure you do this. Jackson wrote himself a note. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome. Is everything fine? Kidneys working well?”
“I’m good.”
“Excellent. We’ll talk again after I see the MRI scans.”
Jackson felt a little less fine than he had before the call, but he was grateful his doctor was thorough and compassionate. He’d make the appointment a little later in the week.
Instead of calling Kera, he sent a brief text: Thinking about you. Missing you. What he needed was a grand gesture. Not flowers or balloons or anything superficial. Kera wasn’t impressed with such things. In fact, she was so low maintenance, he’d taken her for granted and blown the relationship.
Should he propose? The thought sent a bolt of fear up his spine. Yet, earlier that day, he’d envisioned growing old with Kera and dying in her bed. What the hell was wrong with him?
Focus! He found Cody Sawyer’s number, called, and got a friendly voice-mail message. The man didn’t sound like a killer, but that was irrelevant. Jackson left a message, asking for an immediate callback. Looking back through his notes, he found that Sawyer worked at Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines. He’d stop at the call center first. There was a good chance Sawyer would be at work on a Monday afternoon.
The cruise-line center, located on the outskirts of Springfield, had a twenty-foot white anchor coming out of the building. Jackson pulled into the circular parking lot, noticing that without the goofy anchor, the nearly new building would be aesthetically pleasing.
The receptionist informed him that Cody Sawyer wasn’t at work because Monday and Tuesday were his days off. Jackson thanked her and left, regretting the trip. He called Sawyer again, was routed to voice mail, and hung up without leaving a message. Where to now? Jackson checked his list of phone numbers and addresses for the case and found Sawyer’s. The home was in South Eugene, and he remembered Evans had said Sawyer lived with his parents.
Before starting his car, his phone rang in his hand, and the call came from Parker at the crime lab. Finally!
“Hey, Parker. What have you got for me?”
“A few things. First, the syringe from Mazari’s crime scene contained traces of ketamine.”
“Excellent news. One more piece of evidence to help convict Sierra. Anything else from the first crime scene?” So much had happened since that it seemed like a week ago.
“The sticky substance from the side of the victim’s car was tree sap.”
“Huh.” Jackson had no idea what to make of that. He couldn’t picture any trees near the driveway of Mazari’s home. Had Sierra, or someone, accidentally transferred the sap to the Jeep? He needed more information. “Anything on the second homicide?”
“The long hair found on the victim is synthetic, so I can’t send it out for DNA.”
“Like a wig?” That was puzzling.
“Yes. Some hairpieces are real, but not this one.”
Jackson’s first thought was that Pittman had been with a prostitute. But his killer could have worn a wig, or the hair could have been on the dirty carpet for months. He would have to give it more thought. “Thanks for the update.”
He took Beltline to Delta and crossed the downtown area. A large group of protestors were gathered in front of the county courthouse, carrying antiestablishment signs. A dozen officers stood around the perimeter, keeping an eye on the situation. Crap. The presence of those officers at the protest meant their resources were stretched and he would
n’t get any help keeping tabs on his suspects.
He drove south on Hilyard and, twenty minutes later, pulled up in front of a two-story house sitting in the shade of giant fir trees. No cars were in the driveway, and no lights were on in the house. Feeling frustrated, Jackson checked his watch: 4:27. And already starting to get dark. He wanted to talk to Cody’s parents too and wondered if anyone would be home soon. He strode to the front door and knocked loudly, just to make sure. No one answered, so he decided to sit in his car and wait for a while. If no one showed up in the next hour, he’d leave and try again after dinner. Schak had said Sawyer might be out at Clear Lake grieving, but he had to come home eventually. Unless the young man was already heading out of town. Jackson wondered if he had probable cause to issue an attempt-to-locate. So far, they didn’t have a single piece of evidence connecting Sawyer to either death, or even to the fraud case.
He pulled out his compiled notes and started reading through them. The nagging feeling that he was missing an undercurrent in this case was still with him.
A few minutes later, a silver Miata pulled into the driveway. A sixty-something woman with shoulder-length gray hair got out of the car and stood looking at him. He shoved his notes back in his carryall and stepped out to greet her.
“Detective Jackson, Eugene Police.” He held out his hand, hoping she would offer her name.
“Susan Sawyer. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about your son Cody.”
Her face tightened with worry, a reaction he’d seen from many parents.
“I just have a few questions.” He wanted to smile and reassure her, but he couldn’t.
“What is this about?” A tiny quiver in her voice.
“The deaths of Rafel Mazari and Jake Pittman, friends of Cody’s.”
“We’re all devastated by this. I’ve known both those young men for decades.” Her eyes were puffy from crying.
“Can I come in?”
“All right.”
She led him into the house and took a seat on the couch. Jackson sat across from her on the edge of a padded chair. The home was nicely furnished, with a walnut hardwood floor and a collection of expensive-looking pottery. Cody Sawyer probably didn’t lack money in the same way his friends had. “Do you know where Cody is?”
“It’s his day off and he’s grieving, so I’m not sure.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Sort of. They used to be a couple, but now they’re just friends.”
The timing was interesting. “Why did they split up?”
She gave a little shrug. “I think they just grew apart.”
“What’s the girlfriend’s name?”
“Melissa Jenkins.” Mrs. Sawyer squeezed her hands together. “You don’t think Cody had anything to do with these horrible murders, do you? Rafel and Jake were his best friends since grade school, when we all lived in Junction City. If you knew Cody at all, you’d know he couldn’t hurt anyone. He’s the sweetest young man.” Her eyes begged him to believe her. “Cody did volunteer work the whole time he was unemployed, just to feel useful.”
“What kind of volunteer work?”
“He spent a lot of time at Southside Senior Center. He read to old people and helped them learn computer skills.”
A jolt of energy shot through Jackson’s tired body. Was Cody the mastermind of the charity fraud? “Cody has good computer skills?”
“Sure. Most young people do.”
“Does he know how to build websites?”
“Of course. The templates make it easy for anyone.”
She obviously stayed current on technology and thought people who didn’t were Neanderthals. “Have you ever heard Cody mention Veterans Relief Fund?”
Mrs. Sawyer shook her head, puzzled. “What does this have to do with the murders?”
“Where was Cody Saturday night?”
“He went over to Melissa’s.”
They heard a car outside and both looked toward the window. A red Dodge Charger had parked behind Susan’s car in the driveway. A young man climbed out and stood for moment, looking at Jackson’s cruiser, much the way his mother had.
In the silence of the large house, they both watched to see what the young man would do, on edge for different reasons.
Finally, Cody strode toward the house, gave a small wave, and came inside. Jackson and Mrs. Sawyer both stood as her son entered the living room. Jackson put Cody at six feet, with short dark hair, a soul patch on his chin, and a thin build.
Jackson introduced himself, then said, “I’d like you to come in to the department and answer some questions.”
“He can answer them here.” Mrs. Sawyer moved toward her son.
Protective parents could be the worst roadblocks, and Jackson worried that if he pressed the issue, they’d lawyer up and he wouldn’t learn anything. “Can you leave us alone for a moment, then?”
She hesitated, and Cody said, “It’s okay, Mom. Maybe you should call Dad, though.”
Mrs. Sawyer quickly left the room, and Jackson wondered what he’d missed. “Let’s sit down.”
Sawyer took the spot his mother had occupied. “I’ve lost two friends in the last four days,” he said. “And I’m very upset, so I’d like to keep this short.” His eyes had a tired look that didn’t quite make direct contact.
Jackson nodded, but intended to keep to his own agenda. “Where were you Saturday night between nine and midnight?”
“I was with my girlfriend, Melissa. We watched a movie at her house.”
“What time did you leave?”
A slight hesitation. “Around eleven.”
It was outside Pittman’s time-of-death framework. “Give me Melissa’s phone number so I can verify it.”
Sawyer didn’t hesitate, and Jackson wrote the number next to the girlfriend’s name.
“What about Thursday night between nine and ten?”
“I was right here, and my parents can vouch for that.”
Jackson decided to step up the intensity. “Are you having an affair with Sierra Kent?”
Sawyer’s eyes came open, startled by the question. “Of course not. Rafel was my good friend.”
“We’ll have her phone records tomorrow. If you’re in there, we’ll know you lied.”
“She called me a few times. We were friends. So?”
“May I see your cell phone?”
“No.” He offered no explanation or excuse.
“What have you got to hide?”
“Private messages that have nothing to do with this.”
“What did you do as a volunteer at the Southside Senior Center?”
“A variety of things. Mostly just kept old people company.”
“What about Molly Pershing? Did you keep her company?”
Jackson thought he detected a flicker of recognition.
“I don’t know the name.”
“Are you sure? Molly’s dead now. She had a heart attack.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.” Sawyer’s shoulders hunched forward a little, as if he were cold.
“Molly was a victim of fraud. What do you know about the Veterans Relief Fund?”
“Nothing.”
At the sound of another car, Sawyer looked visibly relieved. Jackson started to ask another question, but he realized he’d lost his suspect’s attention. A few moments later, an older version of Cody walked in the door. Jackson stood to acknowledge him.
“I’m Jim Sawyer, Cody’s father and lawyer, and I’m advising him not to answer any more questions.”
Oh, boy. A lawyer-father. It didn’t get any worse. “I’m just trying to clear Cody as a suspect so we can resolve a couple of homicides.”
“I appreciate that you’re just doing your job. So am I.”
Jackson handed the father a business card. “If your client is innocent, I suggest you bring him in to make a statement. Call me when you’re ready.” He nodded at both men and left.
/>
Sitting in his cruiser in front of their house, frustration building, Jackson called the girlfriend. If she corroborated Sawyer’s alibi, his team would have to work a lot harder to get a subpoena to search Sawyer’s phone and bank records. They would also have to keep looking for a third man in the fraud ring—who might not be a man at all. If the charity debit card were only used to pull cash from an ATM, the gender of the fake ID didn’t matter. Sierra could be the third person, or even Hailey Pittman.
The girlfriend’s phone rang five times, then went to voice mail. Jackson identified himself and asked Melissa for an immediate callback. He started his car and considered going in to the department to check in with his team. Then he changed his mind. It was time to go home, cook a meal in his new kitchen, and spend a moment with his daughter.
Deep in thought, Jackson turned down his old street out of habit and didn’t realize his mistake until he saw a strange car parked in the driveway of his old house. He wondered how many more times he would do that until the new route was automatic. That was one problem with staying in the same neighborhood.
Once he made it home, Katie came out of her bedroom and greeted him cheerfully. “Hey, Dad. How was your day?”
“Not bad. How about you?” Apparently, the morning’s unpleasantness was forgotten.
“Good day for me. I got a B on my algebra test.”
Jackson grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the fridge. “Congratulations on the test. You must have studied while you were at your mom’s.”
“I did.”
“Let me get out of this jacket, and I’ll be right with you.” They both knew that was code for I need to put my weapon away. Katie didn’t like to be around it and wouldn’t let him hug her if he was wearing a gun.
Back in his bedroom, he pulled off his jacket, locked away his Sig Sauer, and took off his shoes. Tension drained from his body. Damn, that felt good. Could he take the night off and sit and watch a movie with Katie? The thought made him laugh a little. As good as it sounded, he knew he couldn’t do it. Not as long as this case was still tied in knots.
Jackson headed back to the kitchen, where Katie was marinating pork chops. She turned to him. “I know it’s dark and cold out, but you said we could grill.”
Liars, Cheaters, & Thieves (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 22
