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

by L. J. Sellers

  “The hair found on Pittman’s back is synthetic.”

  “Weird.” Evans made a face. “I can’t help but think prostitute.”

  “That was my first thought. But we need to ask around and see who in this group wore a wig.”

  “What’s the third thing?”

  “The syringe from the crime scene had traces of ketamine. If we can get our homeless guy into court and help him sound credible for the day, I think we can get a conviction for the wife.”

  “Speaking of Sierra,” Evans said, “she quit her job. I was at the animal clinic first thing this morning, and her boss vehemently denied having an affair with her. Her coworkers didn’t see any signs of a thing between them, either, but someone told me Sierra had called and said she wouldn’t be back.”

  “That’s interesting.” Jackson didn’t know what to think. “She could be grieving and getting ready to make a change in her life, or she could be preparing to get the hell out of town.”

  Evans’ eyes sparked with excitement. “Should we put out an ATL on her?”

  “Definitely. And after talking to Cody Sawyer last night, I think he may be involved.”

  “Oh yeah? What did you learn?” Evans stood and moved toward the board.

  “Sawyer volunteers at the Southside Senior Center and has the computer skills to create websites.”

  Evans scowled. “That’s not the center Quince mentioned.”

  “It probably gave him the idea, then he was smart enough to go somewhere else for marks.” Jackson realized they still had much more legwork to do.

  “Does Sawyer have an alibi for the time of death?” Evans asked.

  “He says he was watching a movie with his girlfriend. I called her, but she hasn’t got back to me.” Jackson looked at his notes, trying to remember what Sawyer had said about the night of the first victim’s death. “Sawyer’s dad is a lawyer and came home before I could ask him much. He advised his son to quit talking, and I didn’t have a damn thing to justify bringing him in.”

  “If Schak were here, he’d grumble about the good old days when cops could act like cops,” Evans said. “Sometimes I think he’s right. We have to be so damn careful.”

  “Let’s find Sawyer in this data,” Jackson said. “Then we’ll go get a subpoena for everything—phone, bank, and DNA.”

  Quince hustled into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I had to speak with a witness in the fraud case.” He slid into a chair and glanced at the stack of phone records.

  “Anything we should know?” Jackson asked.

  “One of Molly Pershing’s neighbors saw a young man matching Sawyer’s description come out of Molly’s apartment about six weeks ago. I showed her Sawyer’s Facebook picture, and she thought it was him.”

  A shimmer of excitement ran up Jackson’s spine. Finally, they had a connection. “So the nonmilitary guy was the brains behind the scam.” Jackson stood and wrote Sawyer’s phone number on the board in big letters. “This is what we’re looking for in this pile of data. Or possibly Dolan’s.” He wrote the other suspect’s number too.

  Jackson sat down, and they went to work, scanning the rows of small-print phone numbers. After a page, he grabbed his reading glasses from his carryall.

  Ten minutes later, Evans tapped her pile and said in an excited voice, “Got it. A call from Sawyer to Sierra at twelve fifteen p.m. on Wednesday the tenth, and another one at approximately the same time the day before.”

  “Calling her on their lunch break,” Quince said.

  “It’s not enough,” Jackson added.

  “There’s more.” Evans flipped to another page, scanning with her finger. “They talked to each other on their lunch hour almost every day.”

  His phone rang, and Jackson picked up, hoping for good news.

  “This is Melissa Jenkins, returning your call.”

  For a moment, the name meant nothing to him, then he remembered his last few calls. “Oh yes. You’re Cody Sawyer’s girlfriend.”

  “We’re just friends now.” She sounded a little sad.

  “Did you see Cody last Saturday night?”

  “Sort of. He came over to watch a movie, but he was irritated about something. Then he told me our relationship was over and left.”

  “What time did he show up, and what time did he leave?”

  “I think around nine, then he left within ten minutes. Is this about Jake?”

  “Do you know where Cody is right now?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him since Rafel’s funeral yesterday. He’s pretty upset.”

  “Was Cody seeing someone else?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “He said he wasn’t, but I think that’s why he broke up with me.”

  “I may want to talk again later, but thanks for your time.” Jackson hung up before she could ask more questions.

  His teammates looked at him expectantly.

  “Sawyer has no alibi for Pittman’s time of death, and he lied about it. We need to put out an ATL on him and Sierra and bring them both in. We’ll play them off each other until one talks to get a plea deal.”

  “Any idea where to find Sawyer?” Evans asked.

  “Call Royal Caribbean and see if he’s at work. Quince, run out to Sierra’s and see if he’s there. I’ll check his home again.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Back at the newspaper, Sophie called her friend Kim Bradley and mentally begged her to answer. When she didn’t, Sophie swore at her phone before leaving a message: “I need to know who in Rafel and Sierra’s group of friends is tall and skinny with short dark hair. He’s cute, has a little soul patch, and drives a red Charger. Call me ASAP if you know.”

  Moments later, she received a text from Kim: Not sure. I’ll see what I can find out.

  Sophie called Rafel’s sister and left a similar message, but with a little more diplomacy.

  Her cube neighbor on the left, an older woman who wrote food and church features, popped up. “What’s the deal? You sound kind of frantic.”

  “It’s weird. I know I’m occupationally curious and prone to wild ideas, but I have a feeling I saw something a little nefarious.”

  “You’ve got great instincts, so stay on it. I wish I could help, but I’m stuck in this lifestyle-section rut.”

  “Thanks.” Sophie hadn’t known the woman was unhappy with her job. “Maybe we’ll work on a story together sometime.”

  Her coworker waved it off. “Forget it. I’m good.”

  Sophie checked the time: 11:45. Close enough. She would take lunch early and head out to Zain Mazari’s place. She couldn’t sit here, waiting for someone to call her and identify Sierra’s companion. Time to move forward.

  River Road passed through thickly populated suburbs, with older housing on the city side of Beltline and newer divisions once she passed under the expressway. The sun popped in and out of the clouds as Sophie drove, and the thick traffic exacerbated her stress. When she finally cleared the housing developments, the roadside was suddenly lined with farm fields that had been plowed under for the cold season. A few scraggly pumpkin patches remained.

  After about five miles, Sophie started looking for Hayes Lane, then made the turn a few minutes later. She passed more fields with farmhouses set back from the road. She slowed and started to watch for route numbers on the mailboxes. After ten minutes of driving back and forth between numbers that were too big or too small, she finally turned down a dirt driveway with no mailbox. The lack of address meant Zain Mazari valued his privacy, and she started to worry about how she would be received—or more likely, not received.

  A clump of oak and poplar trees sheltered a small ranch-style home on what looked like a narrow ten-acre lot. The driveway continued past the house toward fields in the back and another clump of trees. She pulled off the narrow road into an open space in front of the house. Dirty white and unadorned, with no flower boxes, no pretty window coverings, and no feminine touch. An old Chevy Apache truck sat in the sun, paint fading, and a chicken
wandered through a patch of grass under a giant oak. Sophie waited in the car for a moment, hypothesizing that if Mr. Mazari was the angry-old-man type, he’d soon come running out with a shotgun, and she’d get the hell away.

  The house was completely quiet, and she saw no movement anywhere. Maybe he wasn’t home. The truck could be his farm vehicle, and he might be at a job somewhere, for all she knew. No, Sasha had said he was retired. Sophie grabbed her camera and climbed out of the car.

  The pictures would be terrific, she realized, as streaks of sunlight hit the barren home. The whole scene had such a forlorn look, almost abandoned. She worked quickly, then crunched across the gravel toward the front door. She decided she would ask to see photos of Rafel as a child. No parent could resist that. Once the old man opened up, the other questions would be easier.

  Sophie knocked on the wooden door and took a deep breath, but no sound came from inside the house. She rapped again. While she waited, the faint sound of voices drifted from the back of the property. Or were they coming from the river that was back there somewhere? Sophie waited and listened for the distant sounds. After a minute, she gave up finding Mr. Mazari inside the house and decided to take a quick look around back.

  She rounded the corner of the house and walked along the dirt road, noting fresh tire tracks. She passed the back of the house and saw a small patch of overgrown grass and weeds. Beyond it was a chicken coop, a well house, and several run-down outbuildings. A giant tree held a tattered rope swing and a child’s fort made of now-rotted lumber.

  She heard the voices again and stopped. They were coming from the clump of trees in the distance.

  She caught sight of something red among the green foliage. Was that the car she’d seen earlier at the animal clinic? The one Sierra had climbed into with the dark-haired man at the wheel? If so, what the hell were they doing at the back of Zain Mazari’s property? A cool chill ran up her spine. Normally, she would have jumped in her car and driven back there to see what was going on. But two people connected to Sierra had been killed recently, and Sophie had no desire to confront the two of them out here in the middle of nowhere.

  She snapped a few more pictures, an occupational compulsion, then headed back to the front of the house, glancing over her shoulder as she walked. In the front yard, with the house between her and the people in the trees, she dug out her cell phone and tried to call Jackson. The call wouldn’t go through. Damn. No service. What now? She hated to leave. If the couple in back took off while she was gone, Jackson would miss them, and she might never know what the hell was going on back there or what had really happened with the murders. Yet instinct told her this was important, and the detectives working the case should know about it. She hurried to her car, climbed in, and started it. Had Sierra and her companion heard the engine start? Would it spook them?

  Sophie shook off the vibe. Sierra and her friend’s presence here was probably nothing. This was Rafel’s childhood home, and they’d probably come here to honor him somehow. Sophie told herself she was being paranoid and hoping for a little excitement. Still, the sense of urgency stayed with her as she drove toward River Road. Junction City was the nearest town, but there had to be a cell phone tower somewhere closer. With her Bluetooth on, she kept hitting redial as she drove. As she rounded a curve, she heard Jackson’s phone ringing. He didn’t pick up, and she wasn’t surprised. He’d already granted her five minutes that morning and wouldn’t waste any more time with her. She pulled off the road into a driveway and texted him, not bothering with punctuation, something she was normally obsessive about: Red Charger parked at Rafel dad. Saw sierra & some guy in it this a.m. Check out? She keyed in the address and pressed Send. How often did Jackson check his messages?

  A huge farm truck rumbled past, carrying a load of pumpkins. Sophie made a U-turn in the narrow road and headed back to the Mazari property. A car coming in the other direction caught her eye. Was it Sierra and the guy? She slowed and stared at the vehicle as it approached. No, it wasn’t even the right color. Chill, she told herself.

  At the forlorn little house, she backed into the parking area so she’d be ready to drive off in a hurry if she needed to. Her car was visible from the road, so Jackson would see it when he came. She ran around the corner of the house and saw that the Charger was still there. Relieved, Sophie hurried to her car, climbed in, and locked the doors. She grabbed her laptop from under the seat, clicked it on, and waited impatiently for Word to open. When it did, she started typing notes from the scene. She wanted to capture the details, the colors, sights, and senses while it was all vividly clear in her mind. She paused every few seconds to look up and make sure she didn’t have company and to check her cell phone. But of course, Jackson hadn’t gotten back to her. Even if he had bothered, she didn’t have reception here. Should she have mentioned that to him?

  Sophie keyed in a few more thoughts, closed out the file, and tossed the laptop into the passenger seat. She had to get out and investigate more.

  CHAPTER 33

  Jackson pounded on the door of the Sawyers’ house again, knowing intuitively no one was home. Not one of their three cars was in the driveway, and all the lights were off. It was possible Cody’s car was in the garage and he was home, avoiding the police, but Jackson didn’t get that sense. Sometimes he acted on his gut feelings, especially if he had nothing else to go on. More often, he waited for the evidence to substantiate his thinking. This case was so weird and complex—compared to a typical spouse-on-spouse homicide—that he was leery about overstepping his authority. The lack of clear forensic evidence in the second murder made it even harder to sort out.

  Finally, he walked away and climbed in his vehicle. He wouldn’t force his way into the house without backup, but knowing that uniformed officers were now looking for Sawyer’s car gave him some sense of relief. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and noticed he had a message from Sophie Speranza. He would have ignored her, but the first few lines of text started with Red Charger. His pulse quickened and he opened the message: Red Charger parked at Rafel dad. Saw sierra & some guy in it this a.m. Check out? 77895 Hayes Lane. Off River R.

  What the hell? Sierra was with Cody Sawyer at her father-in-law’s home? What was Sophie doing there? And why was she texting him about the situation rather than pulling out her little recorder and chatting with the couple? Jackson found Sophie’s last call to him and pressed Call Back. It rang six times, then went to voice mail. She must be interviewing Rafel’s dad, Jackson thought.

  He started his car, put in his earpiece, and sped away. If he got there in time, this could be an ideal opportunity to bring in both Cody and Sierra for questioning. They would put them in separate interview rooms and pit them against each other until one opened up. The tactic could be very effective.

  As he waited to turn on Amazon Parkway, he started to call Schak, then remembered he was in court. He called Quince instead. “I just got word that our main suspects are together at Rafel’s father’s house. I’m headed out there now and could use some backup.”

  “What’s the location?”

  “It’s 77895 Hayes Lane, off River Road, and close to Junction City, I think.”

  “Never heard of it, but I’ve got GPS on my phone, so I’ll find it. What’s the situation? Anything tense?”

  “A newspaper reporter informed me, so it’s probably civil.” Jackson had second thoughts. “But they are murder suspects, so I’ll get Evans on it too.”

  He hung up and called Evans, leaving her a voice-mail message with all the details. Knowing her, she’d beat them both out there.

  The drive back into town from South Eugene was slow with thick traffic in the Thirtieth Avenue area. By the time he reached downtown, where he could turn and head west, he felt jittery with impatience. River Road was even worse, with the area around Beltline congested to the point of not moving. When had his quiet little college town morphed into a busy, often frustrating concentration of people?

  Jackson
finally cleared the suburbs and pressed the accelerator, passing several slow-moving cars just to blow the sludge out of his engine and his veins. Ten minutes later, moving too fast, he shot past Hayes Lane and had to turn around.

  The secondary road wandered past fields and small clumps of oak trees and finally curved toward the river. He watched for addresses but also kept his eye out for Sophie’s dark-green Scion.

  Sophie listened for the distant voices as she walked toward the house. They were quiet now, but she heard another rhythmic sound she didn’t recognize. Every fiber in her body wanted to drive to the end of the property and see what the hell they were doing, but self-preservation overruled curiosity. She would wait for the police officers and follow them back. For now, she’d snoop in some windows and take more notes.

  The living room was cluttered and dusty, she noted, pressing close to the glass. But no one seemed to be home. She walked toward the driveway running past the house and rounded the corner again, wanting to check on the situation at the end of the dirt road. But first, she stopped parallel to a small window on the side of the house. A roll-up shade covered the top half of the glass, but the bottom was visible, even through the streaks of dirt that the fall rain hadn’t washed off yet. She stepped through the weeds and peered in.

  Sitting on the floor with his back against a bed was an old man with his face half blown off. Sophie instinctively recoiled. Was that Zain Mazari? Shocked and sickened, she pressed her nose to the window again. A shotgun lay on his outstretched legs, as if he’d dropped it there, and a book of some kind was on the floor next to him.

  Jackson spotted a Scion on a property on the left side of the road. He braked and turned, taking the corner a little faster than he’d intended. He raced up the driveway and parked next to the house, keeping his vehicle in the road to block it. He climbed out and headed for Sophie’s car, and she rolled down the window as he approached.

  “The red Charger is on the back of the property, and I hear two voices. I saw a similar car at the Animal Care Clinic this morning.” The reporter’s voice was wound tighter than usual, but she relayed the information like a pro. “Sierra picked up her final paycheck, then climbed in. The guy driving looked tall and skinny with dark hair and a soul patch.”