Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (8 page)

CHAPTER 10

Wednesday, December 2, 4:40 p.m.

Jackson’s stomach growled as he drove toward the department, reminding him to order food for the meeting. They would keep the session brief, conduct the interrogations, then confer afterward. Or at least that was the plan. The way this case was unfolding, anything could happen, including having a federal agency take over. As he crossed the Ferry Street Bridge, his phone rang. He glanced at it on the seat beside him.
Kera.
He touched his earpiece to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I found a great rental. You have to come see it.”

He didn’t have time. But he glanced at the clock to check anyway. Twenty minutes. “I have a task force meeting soon. Where’s the house?”

“On Lariat Drive. Just a few blocks off Oakway.”

A quick drive from headquarters. “Are you there now?”

“Yep. The boys like it too. It has a great backyard.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there. But I only have a few minutes.” Jackson passed his usual turn at Country Club Road and kept going.

A few minutes later, he pulled up next to Kera’s minivan in the driveway of a vacant house. A nice neighborhood, but not enough trees. He didn’t like it as well as the southeast area where he’d lived his whole life. But he would be open-minded. There were no available rentals in his old neighborhood. Too close to campus. He strode into the house, glad no agent had come along. Kera and the toddlers were coming in the back door. A tall, striking woman with long coppery hair, full lips, and great muscle tone, his girlfriend was a good-natured goddess, and he was a lucky man.

Benjie, who was a little older than Micah, ran to him. “Daddy!”

God, he loved to hear that. Jackson picked up the boy for a hug, and Benjie’s little arms squeezed his neck—like they had the day he’d found him under the house where the boy’s mother had been murdered. “Hey, Benjie, are you having a good day?”

“I am now. I love this house.” The boy kissed his face. “But I love you more.”

Kera and Micah caught up, and she kissed his other cheek, while Micah hugged his leg. Kera’s grandson was finally warming up to him.

“Give me the tour.” Jackson tried to put Benjie down, but the boy hung on, so he carried him.

Kera gestured at the large, empty living room with dark hardwood floors. “As you can see, no carpet. That’s a major selling point.”

She was tired of scrubbing little-boy messes out of the beige carpet in her house. They all loved Kera’s house on the hill, but in her last few years there, her son had died in Iraq, and her husband had left her. Later, Micah’s mother, who’d been living with Kera, had died in a car accident. The house held too many painful memories, and she wanted a fresh start. They planned to buy a house together—eventually—but they wanted to see how it would go with all of them living together first. The most worrisome factor was his sixteen-year-old daughter, Katie, who was in class now, but would have strong opinions about this house and possibly changing schools.

The kitchen was huge, with a big island in the middle that had its own sink. “So you can help me prep dinner,” Kera said, smiling.

Jackson grinned too. “Of course.” They both knew he would not be home in time for that very often.

He did a quick tour of four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a family room. Plenty of space.

“Now the best part,” Benjie said, sliding out of his arms. On short, chubby three-year-old legs, the boy ran for the sliding glass door. They followed him outside into a massive backyard that had clearly been home to children before. Two mature trees near the back of the yard hosted small forts with an elevated walkway between them. A kids’ paradise.

“Wowza!” Jackson hurried after Benjie. They climbed a stepladder to check out one of the forts. Jackson glanced at his phone. Time to go. “I’ve got to get back to work, son. But we’ll see more of the house after we move in.”

Jackson climbed down first, then guided Benjie. The house and yard were so great, he’d feel bad about making the kids move again when they found a home to purchase. But that could be years away.

“What do you think?” Kera asked, standing in the yard, the sun lighting the copper in her hair.

“Let’s take it.” Jackson jogged across the yard toward her.

“We have to apply and get accepted. But with you being a cop, I think we’ll be considered good tenants.”

He hugged Kera. “You’re the good one.” A flash of guilt as he stepped away. “I have to go. The team is meeting in five minutes.”

“So go. But thanks for taking a moment with us. I’ll turn in our application tonight.”

Jackson left them in the backyard and hurried to his car. Finally, he and Kera would make a home together. They’d had some rough times in their few years as a couple, but their love grew stronger with every hit. He didn’t know why he’d been so worried to commit to this family. He loved being a dad.

But he loved being a detective even more. That was always the problem.

Back at his desk, he ordered ham and turkey sandwiches from a nearby deli to be delivered. And a pint of potato salad for Schak. His partner had tried to eat healthy after his heart attack, but he was slipping back into old patterns. Jackson wasn’t his wife or mother, so it wasn’t his job to monitor that stuff. He opened a Word doc on his computer, keyed in a few names and notes, then saved it as a case file. He would print it out later, after the interrogations. He grabbed his satchel and headed for the conference room, wishing he’d had time to stop for some good coffee. The crap in the break room was undrinkable—unless he was exhausted and needed caffeine.

Evans was already in the room, seated next to the whiteboard. Four tall cups of coffee sat in front of her on the table. She picked up one and handed it to him. “Here’s yours.” That meant black with two shots of espresso.

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” She’d stopped buying him coffee for a while when she’d been dating an Internal Affairs detective. Then she had broken up with Ben and joined the SWAT unit around the same time. If she had a new boyfriend, she wasn’t talking about him.

Schak came in, spotted the coffee, and moaned in pleasure. “Gee, Evans, now I’m sorry I left your phone number on the bathroom wall.”

She laughed. “I’m not. You know I love dating cops.” She turned back to Jackson. “Did you have any luck tracking down our mysterious undercover agent?”

He’d been looking at a rental house instead. And that was okay. “No. But I do have two suspects in custody to question.”

Quince sauntered in, and Jackson realized he hadn’t seen him at the farmhouse crime scene. But they’d just missed each other, since they’d had a lot of territory to cover. “Let’s get started,” Jackson said. “We have two interrogations waiting, and with any luck, we’ll have a third soon. A confession from one of them would be excellent.”

“I agree.” Victor Slonecker, the district attorney, walked into the room. Dressed in his classic pin-striped suit, he looked lean and hungry, with prominent cheekbones and dark eyes. Jackson always notified him of their first post-crime meeting, but the DA usually waited to participate until they had a solid suspect. This time, they had two. Or three, if you counted Shanna McCoy’s boyfriend, who was still at large.

Had he ordered enough food for everyone? Too late to worry about it. “Evans, will you take the board and go first? I think our guest would like to hear about the second victim.” He never knew how to refer to the DA. His team all called each other by last names, but it didn’t seem right for the prosecutor.

“I’m there.” Evans stood and listed two names at the top of the wide whiteboard:
Josh Stalling, Kayla Benson.
After Benson’s name, she wrote
Alias
/
Undercover agent?

“Explain again why you think she’s a fed.” The other detectives hadn’t been updated at all, and his conversation with her had been brief.

“I went to her apartment, which was practically empty. Except for a laptop and a handgun under the mattress, both of which later disappeared. Also, her ID and background are superficial.” Evans gave a grim half smile. “Rather than answer my questions, the victim left the hospital, still in critical condition, in a van driven by an older man. I think he was her extraction team.”

“No shit?” Schak was typically hard to surprise.

Jackson had worked with an undercover FBI agent once to catch an eco-terrorist, but he had never actually met her. They were elusive, secretive operators.

“I called the local FBI field office,” Evans added. “Agent River said Kayla Benson isn’t working with them, but that she would call the main bureau and get back to me.”

“I still can’t believe the DEA would plant a UC operator here without notifying us!” Slonecker looked and sounded annoyed.

Jackson had heard rumors that the DA was planning to run for state attorney general. So Slonecker was sensitive to anything that could backfire politically.

“The DEA makes more sense anyway.” Evans made a note on the board, then turned back to the group. “They must think Stalling is selling more than pot. Did you guys find any illegal narcotics in the house?”

Jackson looked at Schak and Quince, who’d done most of the search.

Schak shook his head. “Lots of stolen property, but no drugs.”

“Until we hear from the DEA about who might have wanted their agent—and her target—dead, we’ll focus on the suspects we have.” Jackson glanced at Evans. “Let’s make a list, starting with the gun-waving neighbor.”

She wrote
Clark Paulson, 66, neighbor
on the whiteboard, then turned back to Jackson. “Why do we suspect him?”

“The female victim said, ‘Old man’ when I asked her who the shooter was. Plus, he threatened the growers and was carrying a weapon at the time. That seems pretty solid.” Paulson had been in the interrogation room for several hours and would be ready to tell them anything. “Schak, you’ll take the lead interrogating him.” Sometimes, switching up who asked the questions produced different responses.

“Who else have we got?” Evans asked, her brow furrowed.

“Stalling’s sister, Shanna McCoy. We also have an attempt-to-locate out on her boyfriend, Charles Kazmir. They’re a weird duo.” Jackson glanced at his notepad and realized he hadn’t written much during that episode. “The sister accused Kazmir, who’s also her accountant, of shooting Stalling. She was emotionally charged at the time, and he became physically aggressive with her, then took off.”

“What motive would he have?” Slonecker asked.

“Money is always a safe bet,” Jackson responded. “And McCoy accused him of not liking her brother. The fact that Kazmir is an accountant means he probably knows about the financial arrangements between the siblings—who was profiting and how much.”

“We need subpoenas for all their accounts,” Quince said. “I’ll start on them after the meeting.”

“Thanks.” Jackson was grateful someone was willing to do the paperwork, but not optimistic a judge would sign it yet.

Schak spoke up. “Don’t forget our other suspect.” He held up a business card. “Matt Sheldon of Ganja Growers. This card was in the grass between the house and the grow room. It wasn’t damp or damaged, so it hadn’t been there long. We need to question him too.”

“That’s just weird.” Evans made a face. “Is anyone really that stupid? To drop a business card at a crime scene?”

She hadn’t been a detective long enough to know better. But Schak had. He let out a derisive laugh. “Remember the bank robber who left his driver’s license at the cashier’s window?”

“I know it happens,” Evans said in a defensive tone. “But Ganja Growers is a medical-marijuana supplier that’s been around for years. You have to be somewhat intelligent to run a business.”

Jackson was leaning her way. “Maybe Stalling had his competitor’s card for some other reason. Still, Schak is right. We have to question him.”

“Of course we do.” Evans looked around the room. “Anyone want to bet on our four suspects? I’ll take the neighbor. Occam’s razor, the most obvious.”

Schak laughed again. “It’s too early, and I haven’t talked to any of them.”

Jackson knew his team wagered on a variety of outcomes, but as the interim leader of the unit, he had to steer clear of the betting.

The DA cleared his throat. “Don’t do this crap in front of me, please.”

Time to move on. Jackson looked at Quince. “Did you find any witnesses? Or get anything useful from the neighbors?”

“No, a complete bust. But I have to go back tonight and follow up. Some residents weren’t home.”

“There’s also the stolen property in the attic,” Schak added. “And the twenty grand hidden in the cash box.”

“What stolen property?” The DA leaned forward, intrigued.

“A bunch of small items.” Jackson visualized the dusty room. “TVs, stereos, bicycles. The kind of stuff an addict would steal. But it was covered with dust. I think it may have been there since Stalling got clean ten years ago.”

Slonecker shook his head. “If he’s growing pot, he’s not clean.”

Jackson clarified. “I meant that he quit being arrested. Who knows what he’s really been up to.”