Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (17 page)

The triangular phone in the middle of the table rang, surprising all of them.

“I’ll bet it’s Evans,” Schak said.

Jackson pressed the Answer button. “Detective Jackson here.”

“It’s Officer Bartlet at the front desk. I have a woman on the line who says it’s urgent that she speak with you.” A pause. “Concerning a DEA matter.”

The female victim?
“Put her through.”

A short pause, then a different voice came through the speaker, a quiet but confident young woman. “This is Kayla Benson. Or at least that’s my alias. I can’t give you my real name, and the DEA will never confirm the presence of an undercover agent here in Eugene. They don’t know I’m speaking with you.”

Jackson pulled out his recorder and turned it on before he responded. “Thank you for calling. I assume you were the second victim at the shooting at Riverside Farms?”

Quince and Schak stayed quiet.

“I can’t confirm or deny that. My operation has been shut down, and my support team recalled. But I wanted to pass along some intel.” A pause. “We’ve suspected Riverside Farms as a narcotics conduit for six months, and I believe a twenty-pound shipment of methamphetamine is being delivered to Eugene tomorrow morning. The meet is at eight a.m. behind the old Pipeworks Plumbing on Seneca. The drug dealers are expecting a man and a woman.”

Was this the result of her undercover dealings? “So you and Stalling were supposed to be there to buy the shipment?”

“I think so, but I’m not positive. Josh never had a chance to say anything to me about the meet, but he could have been waiting until the last minute as a precaution.” Another pause. “In the three months I spent working this case, I never saw any indication that Josh Stalling was anything more than an under-the-table worker in a legal pot nursery licensed to his sister, Shanna McCoy. But a few days ago, Josh took a call that he was secretive about, and later, I saw a handwritten note by his computer that spelled out the details I just gave you.”

“You’re sure it was about meth coming in?”

“After a few years in this business, yes, I’m sure.”

Jackson remembered reading in Stalling’s old file that one of his known associates had been a member of the Southside Kings, a drug-running gang. “Why isn’t the DEA interested? After three months invested in the operation?”

A small sigh. “Right before I saw the note, I had just contacted my team and suggested we shut it down.” Her frustration was obvious. “Then Josh and I were shot before I got confirmation. But I know now that the agency had started the close-out process. A team member picked me up at the hospital and took me to a private clinic outside the state. We don’t have anyone else on the ground in Eugene, and I can’t tell you anything else.” A pause, followed by a shift in tone. Less confident. “But I’m hoping the EPD will send an undercover couple to the drug buy. With backup, of course. The person you arrest will only be a courier, but they might be willing to name their contact. And you’ll keep all that meth off your streets.”

The drugs weren’t his concern, but the murder was. “Did you see the shooter?”

“No, sorry. It happened fast, and I blacked out.”

“Why did you say ‘old man’ when I asked you about the shooting at the crime scene?”

“I wish I knew. I don’t remember a conversation.”

Jackson had a dozen more questions, but before he could ask any, the DEA agent said, “Good luck” and hung up.

“What do you think?” Schak’s eyes were bright, and he sounded engaged.

Jackson was skeptical. He’d never worked drug busts, and he didn’t want to start now. “It’s risky. We should turn it over to the Vice detectives.”

“The courier is expecting a man and a woman,” Schak reminded him. “Evans is the only female detective.”

“A patrol officer could handle it.”

“Evans will be pissed if you don’t let her be involved.”

Footsteps at the door made them all turn. Evans strode in and sat down. “Involved in what?”

CHAPTER 21

Evans knew she’d missed most of the meeting, and wanted someone to brief her, but this discussion sounded important. She turned to Jackson, whose brow was creased in worry. As usual. “What’s going on?”

“A potential drug bust.” He gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” A lie, but she had no intention of going home to be alone with her guilt.

“You were involved in a shooting. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I want to work, and I’m not leaving you shorthanded.” She studied the whiteboard to see what had been added. “So this is about a buyout of the business? Stalling was in the way?”

“Probably.” Jackson glanced at the conference phone. “We just got a call from the female victim. You were right. She’s an undercover DEA agent, and she’d been targeting Stalling for months. But the agency pulled her out right after she got word of a shipment. So they don’t have anyone on the ground here to intercept it.”

“Is that why she and Stalling were shot?” This wasn’t adding up. “Was her cover blown? Was she the main victim?”

“No. The bullet went through Stalling and hit her. The shooter probably didn’t even see her.”

Weird.
“So we don’t know if this drug deal is connected to the murder?” Evans looked at the other detectives. “What are you not telling me?”

Schak spoke up. “The shipment is being delivered tomorrow morning, and the courier is expecting a man and a woman. The DEA gal believes it was supposed to be her and Josh. So the idea is that you and one of us ought to be there.” He gestured at himself, then Jackson and Quince. “We might get some answers to the homicide case.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” Jackson sounded irritated. “It’s risky and time consuming and could be a setback for us.”

“I’ll do it,” Quince offered. “If Evans is game, I’ll make the meet with her.”

“You’ll still need backup,” Jackson argued. “Not just the rest of the team, but a couple of patrol units too. We would be walking into this blind. We don’t know if it’s one courier or five. And if it turns out to be five members of a drug gang, it could get ugly.”

A silence while they processed the possibilities. Finally, Schak said, “Still, twenty pounds of meth that won’t hit the streets.”

“I’m game,” Evans said, trying to sound cavalier. The last thing she needed right now was another situation with potential gunfire.
Show no fear!

“All right.” Jackson finally acquiesced. “But if anyone’s doing this, I am. I’ll partner with Evans to make the contact.” He closed his casebook, signaling the meeting was over. “I’ll drive by the drop spot before dark to get a feel for where we can set up the perimeter team. Then we’ll meet at the nearby Molly’s Café at seven tomorrow morning to walk through it.”

Schak stood and pulled on his coat. “It’s possible a courier won’t even show.”

A best-case scenario.
Evans kept the thought to herself. She pulled on her shoulder bag, then tapped Jackson’s arm before he walked out. “Send me your updated case notes, so I have all the new details.”

“Will do.” He locked eyes with her. “You don’t have to do this.”

She forced a grin. “The sooner I get back on the horse the better.”

“I understand how you feel. But you have to take next week off. The chief will come down on both of us if you don’t go along with the guidelines.”

“Such bullshit.” Evans shook her head. Jackson knew better than to argue with her. He’d shot two suspects during homicide arrests and had complained about being forced to take vacation time.

“Take the evening off at least.”

“I’m on it.” She smiled and walked out. But she wasn’t headed home. The standoff scenario this afternoon bothered her more every time she thought about it. The details didn’t add up. Her gut had told her so at the time, but she’d let Sergeant Bruckner intimidate her into silence. Now Conner Harron was dead. What she’d learned about him was mixed. He’d served two tours in Iraq, a decorated veteran. But afterward, he’d struggled to find steady work and settle back into civilian life. According to a police report, he’d assaulted his now ex-wife, who claimed he’d become angry and aggressive after leaving the military. A search of his home after the incident revealed a bathroom cabinet full of meds: antidepressants, antianxiety tabs, Ambien for sleeping, and Vicodin for pain. Harron had been troubled, for sure. But he’d also been getting counseling and reading self-help books.

Evans hurried to her car and drove out of the parking lot. Exhaustion hit her hard, and her arms ached. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and knew she needed protein, but the thought of food made her stomach roil. She would wait until she finished the day and see how she felt. For now, she needed answers. The call from the untraceable phone to the 911 operator bothered her. Who had reported seeing Harron in his front yard with an assault weapon? So far, no one had come forward. But many of the neighbors hadn’t been home this afternoon, so they couldn’t be questioned. Her plan was to knock on every door on the block until she found the caller. Or some other corroboration that Harron had been dangerous.

What if she didn’t find it? What if the whole damn thing had been a hoax? A swatting prank by some teenager or angry asshole? Harron had handled the situation badly, but still, what if his life had been wasted over nothing? How would she live with that? Evans shut off the questions and images and tried to focus on the new task force information. But she couldn’t make sense of the money motives, and her mind drifted to Lammers, still unconscious in the hospital. She’d also failed to help her boss. Maybe she was in the wrong job. But what else would she do?

Firefighting came to mind.

She reached the Norkenzie neighborhood, turned on Larkspur Avenue, and parked in front of the first house. Outside the car, a cold silence hung in the air. Hours ago, this end of the street had been filled with vehicles, cops with assault weapons, and the buzz of adrenaline. Now, as the sun dropped behind the coastal mountain range, nothing moved. Evans cleared her throat just to break the eerie silence, then jogged up to the first door. She had a lot of territory to cover before she went for a late-night run. Plus she had to wake up early for the morning’s drug sting. Excitement and dread filled her gut in equal amounts. What if she had to draw her weapon again? Could she fire it? Yes, of course. Self-preservation was instinctual. But would she hesitate? And would it cost her her life?

The homeowner responded after one knock. An older woman with short silver hair peeked through the narrow crack allowed by the chain lock. “Who is it?”

Evans introduced herself. “Did you make a 911 call earlier today? About the man down the street?”

“No. But I had to leave my house while the cops went after him. What a pain in the ass.”

The evacuation had been for her own safety! “Did you ever see Conner Harron with a gun? Or did he seem threatening?”

“The guy in the blue house? The one that got shot today?”

Evans nodded.

“No. He got into a yelling match once with the lady across the street about her dog. But we all hate that dog, so I was rooting for him.”

Maybe the dog lady had called in a phony threat from Harron as revenge. “What house? Do you know her name?”

“The big beige one directly across the street. I don’t know her name, but her ugly barking dog is called Princess, if you can believe that shit.”

Evans suppressed a smile at the woman’s language. She could see herself being a similarly crusty old lady someday. “But you were home this morning and didn’t see Harron outside with a gun?”

“I was in the house, working on a quilt for the ShelterCare Christmas giveaway, so who knows?”

Evans thanked her and moved on. No one was home next door, so she jotted down the address for follow-up. The next house was adjacent to Conner Harron’s, and she hoped to learn more about the veteran. A middle-aged man answered this time, and she quickly learned his name was David Freeman.

“Did you know your neighbor Conner Harron?”

“Sort of. We talked in the front yard sometimes. He seemed like a good guy. That kid from the other side sure liked him.”

An image of the boy screaming in shock and grief flashed in her mind. Would that ever go away? “Were you home this morning? Did you see Harron?”

“I work at home as a graphic artist, so I’m here all the time. And I didn’t see or hear anything. So I was shocked when all the cops and SWAT equipment showed up.”

Her fear that Harron had been swatted was palpable now. “Do you know who made the 911 call reporting the threat?”

Freeman made a disgusted face. “It was probably Stacia. She lives over there.” He pointed at a big house across the street, the same one the old woman had mentioned. “They got into a few shouting matches about her dog, and she’s quick to complain.”

“Was she home this morning?”

“Actually, I saw her leaving when I went out to get the mail around ten o’clock.”

“Did you see Conner Harron outside?”

The neighbor shook his head. “No. He’s been quiet lately.”

What did that mean?
“Have you seen him act out? Or threaten people?”

“Oh no. I just meant that he hasn’t come out to chat when he sees me, and I haven’t seen him leave the house much.” Freeman shrugged. “But it’s been cold, and Christmas is coming. Conner hates December.”

“Did he suffer from depression?”

The neighbor made a sympathetic sound in his throat. “Conner was an Iraq veteran. He suffered from everything. PTSD, depression, insomnia, asthma, TBI.”

“What’s that?”

“Traumatic brain injury from being near too many explosions.”

Had Harron called in the threat and committed suicide by cop? “Was he suicidal?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t think so. The brain injury was getting better, and he was taking antidepressants and seeing a therapist.” Freeman gestured at his home’s interior. “Do you want to come in? I know it’s cold out there.”

Tempting.
“Thanks, but I have to talk to everyone on the street, so I’d better get moving. I appreciate your time.”

Evans started to turn away, then thought of two more questions. “Did you ever see Conner Harron with a gun?”

“No, but he talked about them sometimes, so I knew he owned them.”

Even more important: “Do you know of anything specific that might have been bothering him?”

Freeman nodded. “He was behind on mortgage payments and afraid of losing his home. But he seemed to think he would get his disability back pay and salvage the situation.”

“It sounds like you knew him pretty well.”

The man cocked his head. “I guess I did. Conner was talkative at times. I think he was lonely.”

“What about the boy, Ronnie? He called Harron his friend.”

“Yeah, the kid was over there a lot. Conner taught him how to ride a bike.”

Oh god.
How had this gotten so fucked up? Evans asked for Freeman’s phone number, in case she wanted to follow up, then trotted across the street to Stacia’s house. It would be interesting to hear her take on the altercation she’d had with Harron.

The woman who answered surprised her. Petite, with a soft body and a soft face. Thirty-something and wearing a bathrobe. “Is this about Conner Harron?” She glared at Evans through a screen door.

“Yes. Did you make the 911 call about his behavior this morning?”

“No, another cop already asked me. I had a doctor’s appointment, followed by lunch with a friend. So whatever he did, I didn’t see it.” Stacia made a face, still irritated by the earlier events. “When I got back here, the street was blocked and I had to go sit in a Starbucks all afternoon. Thank god I had my tablet with me.”

Somewhere inside the house, a small dog started yapping. At least she hadn’t brought it to the door with her. “Had you ever seen Conner Harron threaten anyone?”

Stacia laughed, a harsh sound. “You mean besides me?”

“How did he threaten you?”

The neighbor shifted and crossed her arms. “Not me personally. Just my little Princess. At first, Conner just threatened to call the city and complain about her barking. Which is ridiculous. Listen to that. She’s so tiny, you can’t even call it barking.” Stacia rolled her eyes. “But once, he threatened to shoot her.”

“He came over here and threatened that to your face?”

“No, we were outside.” Her doughy cheeks turned pink. “Princess had just pooped on his lawn. But again, she’s so tiny, her poop is hardly anything either.”

She didn’t clean up after her dog?
Disgusting
.
“Did you ever see Conner with a gun?”

“Once. He carried his handgun to the car and left. He had it wrapped in a towel, but I knew it was a gun. I think he did target shooting sometimes.”

Interesting assumption. But she was probably right. “When was that?”

“Last summer. August, I think.”

But no gun sightings since. “Have you ever called the city and complained about Conner Harron?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Ever make a 911 call about him?”

“I said I didn’t.”

The yapping was continuous and annoying, and Evans had to walk away before
she
threatened the dog. “Thanks for your time.”