Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For (14 page)

“Sophie Speranza,
Willamette News
.”

“It’s Detective Jackson. Thanks for the information. I’d like to know how you discovered the names of the rape victims.”

“Simple. I know people who know the victims.”

“What else do you know about Amy Hastings, Keesha Williams, and Raina Hughes?”

“So far, I know they are all gay and they’ve all been students at Lane Community College.”

Jackson was silent. He already had most of that information and now regretted calling.

“But I’m just getting started,” she said with the enthusiasm distinctive to a young reporter. “As I dig stuff up, I’ll keep you posted. I hope you’ll reciprocate with at least a quote or two, maybe some exclusive info for me.”

This was what Jackson had dreaded. “If I have anything I can release…” He let it trail off, making no real promise.

“Can you confirm that Raina Hughes was hit in the head and raped like the other two women?”

Jackson hesitated. Was there any blowback in letting the public know that the murder was connected to the earlier rapes? Maybe. But there could be more repercussion for not warning and protecting young women. “She was,” he said finally.

Jackson knew how the next part of the conversation would go, but he had to try. “There’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. I’d like to keep the lesbian connection from the public for now.”

“Why? Shouldn’t we let all these women know they’re at risk?”

“All the women in this community should know there’s a rapist at large, and we’ve done our best to tell them how to keep safe. But there’s no point in releasing the lesbian connection. It just tips off the perpetrator that we’re closing in.” Jackson started his cruiser and headed for the ticket booth. He wanted to get back to Gorman.

“I’m not the only one who has this information,” Sophie argued. “Some people in the lesbian community are buzzing about it already. In fact, they’re planning a candlelight vigil for the victims. So it’s only a matter of time before one of the TV stations gets wind of the story. Sorry. This is my exclusive and I have to write about it. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sure. But if you get some valid new piece of information, I’d like to hear it from you instead of reading it in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Of course. Thanks for the call.”

Jackson hung up, flashed his badge at the toll taker, then drove out of the dark garage. As he headed down Oak Street, he felt sleazy and nervous, as if he’d just made a deal with a con artist.

Jackson entered the jail’s interrogation room for the second time that day. On the way, he’d called his taskforce and postponed the meeting they had scheduled. Gorman was a priority; he still held puzzle pieces that Jackson needed.

His suspect was not in the room yet. Jackson set up his recorder and made a few notes. In a moment, a sheriff opened the door and Gorman shuffled in, his slipper socks making a soft scraping noise.

“Sorry about the delay,” the sheriff said, “It was his cellblock’s turn in the shower.”

Jackson nodded and waited for Gorman to sit. He shook his head in mock shame. “This morning you told me the most horseshit story I have ever heard in twenty years of being a police officer. If they gave out prizes for ‘most creative cover-up’, you would be a winner.”

“I know how it sounds.” Gorman’s muscular frame no longer seemed tense and ready to pounce, and his wet hair made him look weak.

“So try again. From the beginning.”

“It’s not gonna change.” Gorman shook his head, a weary gesture.

“From the beginning.”

Gorman drew in a long breath. “Raina came to the house to see Josh. I wouldn’t let her in, and she argued with me. So I told her to get off my property. She ran, and I chased her for a bit just to scare her, you know? To let her know that I meant business.” Gorman paused, as if waiting for approval. So far, he hadn’t changed any details from last time. Jackson nodded, so Gorman continued. “I fell down in the driveway and that took the fun out it. So I went back in the house, and Raina drove away.”

“What about the part where you threatened to kill her?”

“I told you, it wasn’t like that. I was pissed, and I don’t remember everything I said. And if I said it, I didn’t mean it. People say shit like that all the time.”

Spoken like a politician, Jackson thought. “Now we’re getting to the good part. Continue.”

“A couple hours later I went out for cigarettes. Her car—”

“What time?”

“Around midnight.”

“You said Raina came to your house at 5:30 p.m. That’s more than a couple of hours.”

“It’s just an expression.”

“But you’re sure you went out around midnight?”

“Yes. The news was over.”

“You watch the news?”

“Fuck you. I thought you wanted to hear this again.”

“So then what happened?”

“Her car was parked near the end of the driveway. Blocking it, you know? It was weird. I couldn’t go around. So I got out of the Bronco and went to see what the hell was going on. The driver’s side door was open, but Raina wasn’t in the car.”

“You didn’t mention the open door last time.”

“So? I never said it was closed.” Gorman’s defensiveness had lost its edge. “It was open, but just a bit.” Jackson waited. Gorman sighed and continued. “I didn’t know what to think. Maybe her car broke down and she walked home. Maybe she was out in the woods, taking a piss. I had no idea. But I needed to get around. I was dying for a cigarette.” Gorman shifted in his chair.

“So I called out, but she didn’t answer. I started into the trees to look for her. Right away, I saw something on the ground, about twenty feet away, and I went over. It was Raina. And she was dead. Bashed-in-the-head dead.” Gorman ran his hands over his face. This part of the story had made him uncomfortable last time too. “This is the weird part. Her pants were off and she had a dildo sticking out of her twat. It freaked me out, all of it. I didn’t know what the fuck had happened, but I knew I would get blamed.” He paused and his eyes begged for understanding.

“Last time you said you went back to the Bronco to get a flashlight.”

“I did go back for a flashlight. It was dark as hell. I’m just giving you the main points this time.”

“Where is the flashlight now?”

“In the Bronco, under the front seat. Why?”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Jackson turned away and dialed Parker. Gorman would hear their conversation, but that was part of the effect. “It’s Jackson. Did you find a flashlight in the Bronco?” Gorman’s vehicle had been impounded and taken to the evidence bay after his little stunt with Josh at the caseworker’s house the night before.

“I haven’t processed the Bronco. I’m working on the flat tire from the Volvo right now.”

“Look for the flashlight first. Test it for blood and any trace evidence, then send it over to Surgery 10 to be compared to the head wound.” Jackson turned back to Gorman who seemed to have lost a little color.

“I’m thirsty. Can I get a soda or something?”

“In a minute. Finish your story.”

Gorman swallowed in a show of wetting his throat. “As I said, I knew I would get blamed, so I got Raina the hell out of there. I put her in the back of her car, then I drove the Bronco back to the house to get Cindy. I needed her to follow me in the Bronco. We talked about where to leave Raina’s car. That must be what Josh heard. I got in the Volvo to drive it, but it had a flat tire. So I changed the tire. Boy, was that a pain in the ass in the dark. Then we drove out Greenhill to the parking area by the wetlands and left the car there. That’s it. I swear it’s the truth.”

This part of the story made Jackson’s brain do calisthenics. Gorman’s recount of events matched up with the flat tire in the trunk of Raina’s car. Yet if Gorman had killed Raina, when and why had the Volvo gotten a flat tire? Unless Gorman had blown out the tire to keep her from getting away. “So you punctured Raina’s tire when you chased her out of the driveway, then you had to change the flat later to move the car. That must have pissed you off.”

Gorman shook his head.

“What did you puncture the tire with?”

“Nope. Didn’t do it.”

Jackson still hoped to trip Gorman up, but so far his story was consistent. “You said the vibrator was still inside Raina’s body, but that’s not where I found it.”

“I put it under the seat. I didn’t want to leave it in her.” Gorman shuddered a little. “It bothered me, you know? I’m not a bad guy even if you think I am. What someone did to that girl is disgusting.”

“That sounds like remorse.” Jackson wasn’t sure though. Gorman’s revulsion seemed genuine.

“I didn’t touch her. She was dead, you know?”

“Why not throw the vibrator away? Why leave it for us to find?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want it on my property, so I put it in her car.” Gorman ran his hands over his face again. “Once I got to the parking lot, I forgot about it. I had a lot on my mind and I just wanted to get it done and over with.”

“If that vibrator belongs to you or Cindy, we’ll find a record of the sale. And every lie you tell will work against you. Juries are much more sympathetic when the defendant shows remorse.”

“I got nothing to feel bad about. And Cindy’s got no reason to own a vibrator, so you’re wasting your time there.”

“What did you do with Raina’s cell phone?”

“Never saw it.”

“What about the laptop?”

Gorman shrugged. “Never saw it either.” He reached up and scratched his ear.

“You’re lying. If you want me to take this story seriously, you can’t pick and choose what to lie about. If you’re lying about the computer, then you’re lying about all of it. Where’s the laptop?”

A long pause. “I sold it to some punk kid downtown by the bus station.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. A punk. Buzzed head. Black clothes. Those big weird button things in his ear lobes.”

“And the cell phone?”

“I swear, I never saw one.”

Jackson was silent, hoping Gorman would keep talking and say something stupid. His story sounded a little less implausible this time.

“Why would I kill her?” Gorman offered. “Why would I stick a vibrator in her?”

“Because she was lesbian, and you hate lesbians. And she was minding your business with Josh. You wanted to punish her.”

“Bullshit,” Gorman shouted. “We’ve been over this. I’m not like that. I didn’t know she was a dyke. She didn’t look like a dyke, and it never came up in conversation.”

“If you don’t hate lesbians, why do you call them dykes?”

Gorman looked puzzled. “Everyone calls them dykes.”

Jackson began to think Gorman’s assault on Raina may not have been sexually motivated. The autopsy had opened up a whole new avenue to explore. Experience had taught him that if one of the players, including the victim, was a drug user, then narcotics were a likely factor in whatever crime had been committed. “What kind of drugs did she buy from you?”

Gorman’s expression was mixed: surprise, guilt, and confusion. Jackson had hit a nerve. Gorman quickly put his poker face back on. “You’re fishing again. I hardly knew Raina, and I didn’t talk to her any more than I had to. She was working with Child Services; that made her the enemy. She was the last person I would sell drugs to.”

“You considered her your enemy. There’s the motive. The DA will be pleased.”

“Oh shit.” Gorman leaned forward. “It wasn’t like that. I just meant I didn’t trust her.”

“And you only deal drugs to people you trust.”

“I don’t deal any more. I’m trying to be a good father.”

Jackson resisted the urge to laugh. “Let’s go for a ride,” he said, getting up. “You’re going to show me where you supposedly found the body.”