Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 01 - The Sex Club (42 page)

“Why did you try to kill Kera?”

“I didn’t.” Angel suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm. “I didn’t do it. Rachel was the one. That’s why God let her get blown up.”

The paramedic said, “You should let her rest.” But his voice lacked conviction. He was hanging on their every word.

Jackson started to ask another question, but the ambulance’s siren wailed loudly for three long seconds. They were in the downtown area now and only minutes from the hospital.

“Do you know who set the bomb?”

Angel shook her head and fresh tears rolled from her eyes. “Am I going to jail?”

“You’ll probably get sent to a juvenile detention facility.”

“That’s okay.” She pressed her lips together. “I can’t go home.”

Jackson circled the hospital lobby again and again as he waited for news about Kera. At times, his brain worked frantically as he tried to figure out who had set the two bombs and whether they were connected to Rachel and Angel in any way. Then his mind would shut down and all he could think of was Kera. Please God, let Kera be okay.

Finally, a young doctor came out to tell him that Kera was awake and asking for him. His heart surged with joy and relief.

“Jackson.” She gave him a weak smile from her half-reclining position in the hospital bed. Her voice was a little hoarse, and she had an IV in her arm, but she looked fine. Really fine.

“I’m so sorry, Kera. I should have protected you better. We—the public safety department—should have protected you better. I did not anticipate a personal car bomb.”

“It’s not just the bomb.” Kera leaned forward. “Rachel and Angel tried to kill me. The same way they killed Nicole to keep her quiet about the sex club.”

“I know. I talked with Angel on the way here. She says it was all Rachel.”

Kera shook her head. “Rachel was definitely the aggressor, but Angel grabbed me by the hair while Rachel pulled a plastic bag over my face.”

“That must have been horrifying.”

Kera closed her eyes. “You have to find the bomber. I can’t take much more of this.”

“We will.” Jackson said it because Kera needed to hear it. But in his heart, he was afraid to make that promise.

Friday, October 29, 2:37 p.m.

Ruth woke from a nap, drank a glass of water to wet her dry mouth and throat, then got back in bed and began to pray again. All she had done for two days was pray and sleep and read the Bible. The Ativan kept her from physically jumping out of her skin, but her mind was in turmoil. Rachel’s death was a pain unlike any she had ever known. The fact that her own bomb had killed her daughter instead of the abortionist was more than Ruth thought she could bear. She had begged God again and again for understanding. She had prayed for the strength to bear this burden and to accept that it might be one of God’s mysteries that she was not meant to understand.

Then the rumors started. Church members began to say that Rachel had killed Nicole and tried to kill Kollmorgan to hide Teen Talk’s dirty secrets. The gossipers said the kids in Teen Talk had not been studying the Bible at all, but instead had been fornicating in an unspeakable sexual orgy week after week. Ruth learned that her daughter had been the worst kind of sinner.

Ruth reached for her Bible and began to read from the book of Genesis. When she came to the passage where God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, Ruth stopped. And then, in a moment of enlightenment, God opened her mind and it all became clear. God had used Ruth’s bomb to punish Rachel—and to test Ruth’s faith. And Ruth vowed not to fail that test.

She prayed for guidance. She prayed for God to make His will known to her. And in another moment of pure clarity, He did. God wanted her to stay committed to the mission. For Rachel’s death to mean anything, Ruth had to find the strength to continue God’s work.

The day before, in a moment of grief and rage, she had almost thrown away her bomb-making materials. But something had stopped her. God had stopped her. Because He wanted her to complete the mission.

Maybe not immediately. But in time.

Friday, October 29, 3:05 p.m.

Jackson had taken the day off and driven to Portland with Katie. They had spent three hours at Lloyd Center—a gigantic shopping mall with an ice rink—and now they were driving to HarborView House to see Renee. As much as Jackson hated shopping malls, he knew he would enjoy the visit with Renee even less. But Katie was thrilled by all of it. It was great to see her smile. She’d been sullen and contrite and weepy for days.

They’d already had a long talk yesterday about how truth and trust went together and how she would have to earn back his trust, step by step. They still needed to have another serious conversation. Jackson was nervous.

“Katie. We have to talk about sex.”

Long sigh.

He tried to catch her eye.

“Are you sure?” she whined. “Mom and I can have this conversation instead, you know.”

“This happened on my watch. I have to set things straight.”

Another long sigh. “Not that much happened.”

“Did you have unprotected sex?”

“No. I’m not stupid.”

Jackson refrained from direct comment. “I’d still like you to be tested for AIDS.”

“Not necessary, but if it will make you feel better.”

Jackson rounded the corner at the top of the hill and pulled off into a viewing area. The city and the river stretched out below them.

“Katie. I want you to know how I feel about this. Look at me.”

She grudgingly turned her head.

“Sex between two young people who care about each other is okay. But when I say young, I mean nineteen or twenty. Sex is an emotional experience that most people your age are not ready to handle, especially young women.”

“Why especially women?”

“Because you have different hormones. I can’t explain it as well as I’d like to, but the bottom line is that you can get hurt. Emotionally and physically. And I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

“Okay.” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

He wasn’t finished. “And by the way. Birth control isn’t foolproof. Your mother was taking the pill when she got pregnant with you. So until you’re sure you can handle taking care of a baby, you’d better skip the sex.”

“I was an accident?”

“Most people are.”

He started the car and headed back up the hill. “You’re still the best thing that ever happened to me though. I love you, kid.”

When they reached HarborView, Jackson decided to let Katie go in by herself for a while.

“One more thing,” he said, as she got out of the car. “I have a date next weekend with a woman named Kera. So if your mother starts talking about the two of us getting back together, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Shit.” Katie rolled her eyes.

“That’s fifty cents off your allowance. Now get going.”

Monday, November 1, 12:35 p.m.

Jackson and Slonecker met for lunch at the Lucky Noodle across from the 5th Street Public Market. Jackson liked the atmosphere as much as the food. It was dark and quiet with private booths and lots of greenery. Feeling indulgent, he ordered phad thai and a side of hot-and-sour soup. He’d lost eight pounds in the last two weeks just from being too busy to eat or sleep much.

“We’ve decided to leave Angel in the juvenile system,” Slonecker said, as his soup arrived. “There’s not much support for trying her as an adult.”

Jackson was relieved. He didn’t think Angel deserved to be thrown away. She was messed up, no doubt. But she was still a kid. And she seemed sincerely remorseful. He believed that if Angel had never known Rachel, she would never have hurt anyone.

Angel had also described in detail the punishments Rachel had endured from her parents, and Jackson had called Child Services Division. They had promised to investigate for the sake of the other child in the Greiner house.

“Will Angel be free at eighteen?” Jackson asked.

“Oh no.” The DA scowled. “She’ll be incarcerated until she’s twenty-five.” He shook his head. “Or maybe not. You never know who the shrinks will turn out.”

“What kind of deal did you make with the mayor?” Jackson asked, not sure he wanted to know.

“He’ll plead to statutory rape and aggravated manslaughter. Seven years; out in five.”

“Five years for three lives. Pretty fucking light.”

“Three lives?” Slonecker was puzzled.

“Jessie, her baby, and Oscar Grady, the sex offender who killed himself after I interrogated him.”

“That was unfortunate. But it wasn’t your fault. Or Fieldstone’s. Grady must have had a guilty conscience. And it was only a matter of time before he re-offended.”

“He already had,” Jackson said. “Casaway investigated him for me. Grady had been sexually abusing the fourteen-year-old daughter of one of his roommates.”

Jackson took a long drink of coffee. “And I can’t prove this, but I think Casaway was the leak. McCray finally admitted that he’d left all our case notes in the photocopy machine while he used the restroom. He says he saw Casaway in the hall when he came out. And later, when I talked with Casaway about Oscar Grady, I realized he had more information about the homicides than he should have. But it’s only suspicion.”

The waiter brought their food and they both dug in. Halfway through the meal, Jackson’s cell phone rang, and he answered it. Slonecker didn’t seem to mind.

It was Debbie from the medical examiner’s office in Portland. “Hey Jackson. I have some interesting news.”

“Tell me.”

“Detective Quince found some cat hairs in the cracks of the driveway under the car that exploded. He sent them here for testing. I remembered that Nicole’s clothes had cat hair present too. So I compared the samples just for kicks. It’s the same cat.”

“The exact same cat? As in a DNA match?”

“Yep. A white long-hair.”

“You’re amazing, Debbie. I owe you more than lunch. Thank you, thank you.”

Jackson relayed the news to Slonecker. The DA swallowed a big bite of angel hair pasta and shrimp before saying, “Do we know whose cat it is?”

“The Greiners’.” Jackson knew about the big white cat because Schak had reported it at their task force meeting this morning when they met to wrap things up.

Slonecker vocalized what they were both thinking. “So one of the Greiners left cat hair in Kollmorgan’s driveway when they planted the bomb under her car.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Jackson said. “My money’s on Ruth to be God’s Messenger. Schak said she was squirrelly when he questioned her about Jessie.”

Slonecker pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s get a search warrant and get over there this afternoon and find out.”

Monday, November 1, 2:46 p.m.

As soon as Ruth saw the two men in suits at her front door, she began to pray. She knew why they were here, so she did not bother to read the search warrant they offered.

Ruth had moved the potassium nitrate and metal cylinders out of the laundry room and into a back shed, but still, after an hour, they found them. God’s answer to her prayers was that she should go to jail. So when they cuffed her, she did not protest. She hoped to be out of the house before Caleb got home. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

As they led her to their car, the clouds opened and the sun poured through. Ruth had another moment of clarity. God still wanted her to fulfill her mission. From a prison cell, she could write letters to the faithful everywhere. She knew there were others like her, those who were willing to defy man’s law to do God’s work. She just had to find them. And teach them how.

Monday, November 1, 1:15 p.m.

Kera took a seat at a table in the corner of Max’s, a little restaurant near Oregon State University in Corvallis, a college town about thirty miles north of Eugene. The lunch crowd was thinning out, and the place smelled of fried meat and potatoes. Kera ordered black coffee and stared out the window where more storm clouds gathered. Hope and fear gnawed on her nerves in equal portions. Despite everything she had been through—and still faced—all she could think about was Nathan’s baby.

Danette would be here soon. The young woman had called her Sunday—after the longest four-day wait of Kera’s life—and agreed to meet her. Kera promised herself that she would not be pushy or needy. She would simply make her offer and let it go. Life was too short and too unpredictable for regrets or what-ifs. And this baby was a gift she had never expected. And perhaps did not deserve.

When Danette entered the restaurant, Kera knew intuitively who she was. The young woman was five-eight, with curly auburn hair that she wore loosely around her shoulders. She had a wide, expressive face that needed no makeup. Arched eyebrows and full lips made her naturally attractive. Kera watched Danette move toward her. She wondered if the young woman would realize, as she had, that they looked like each other.

“Kera?”

“Yes.” She stood and they shook hands, a formal gesture that felt awkward in the situation.