Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For (16 page)

“It’s just something I do for myself.” Keesha took a long drink of coffee, then stood up. “I think that’s all I can give you right now. Maybe in a few days, we’ll talk again.”

Sophie tried not to let her disappointment show. “Okay. I’ll wait for your call.”

As Sophie drove off, she remembered Jamie Conner lived near 28th and Friendly Street, which was not far away. She decided to stop by. Sometimes people were more inclined to talk once they met her. Sophie knew she looked younger than twenty-seven, and she had a soft face that people trusted.

The Conner house sat on a large lot on a dead-end side street. The overgrown shrubbery and lack of close neighbors made the home seem quite private, almost as if it were out in the country. Sophie was envious. If she ever owned a home in town, she wanted one just like this. Maybe a little newer, and with more windows.

She parked on the street and tried to decide her approach. Jamie lived with her parents, and Sophie worried that they might try to run interference. If it were a weekday, she wouldn’t be as worried, but on Saturday, everyone could be home. The smell of frying bacon lingered in the air as she strode up the asphalt driveway and rang the bell.

Sophie was still tossing around ideas when Mr. Conner opened the door. “What can I do for you?” His crow’s feet pegged him at about fifty, but Conner was lean and broad shouldered and kept his gray-blond hair quite short.

Sophie was torn between the impulse to salute and the desire to adopt him as her protector. “Hello, I’m Sophie Speranza. I’d like to talk to Jamie if she’s home.”

“I know that name.” Mr. Conner squinted at her, then barked out a harsh laugh. “Forget it. Jamie doesn’t want to talk to a butch reporter.”

“Maybe you should let her know I’m here. Let her decide.” Sophie knew she was wasting her breath, but she hated being told no.

“I make the decisions around here. Get going.” He promptly closed the door.

Sophie didn’t take it personally, nor did she plan to give up. She would talk to Jamie one way or another. She trotted back to her car and checked her list of possible interview subjects. Martha Krell, Raina’s grandmother, was next. Sophie ran the address on her Treo to get exact directions, then checked her e-mail. Nothing worth opening right now. She and her friends rarely used e-mail anymore. Text messaging and Twitter were the new buzz in communication.

Suddenly, a door slammed. Sophie looked up to see Jamie Conner coming down the front walk with a small travel bag. Sophie flipped the Treo closed and jumped out of her Scion. Jamie didn’t even glance her way. The gorgeous little blond threw her travel bag in the back seat of the Toyota parked near the Conner garage, and climbed behind the wheel. Mr. Conner charged out the front door and yelled, “Wait, Jamie. We need to talk.”

Jamie sat for moment, looking over at her father, then started to back out of the driveway.

Conner yelled as he ran and tapped on her car window, “Why won’t you listen to me?”

Jamie rolled down the window just enough to be heard. “Why won’t you let me grieve for Raina?”

“You need to forget Raina. I’m trying to protect you from a world of hurt.”

Jamie kept backing out of the driveway. Conner threw up his hands, turned, and trotted back into the house. Sophie jotted down a note:
Ask Jamie about her parents’ support of gayness
. She watched Jamie drive down the street, then started her own car. As Sophie made a U-turn, she noticed a pale thin man about her age on the sidewalk near the Conner driveway.

Where had he come from
? Sophie glanced at the man in her rearview mirror as she drove away. He was smiling, but it didn’t give her a warm fuzzy feeling.

That afternoon Jackson met with Evans, Schakowski, and Quince in the conference room again. It was an opportunity to look at the case and its bizarre details with a fresh perspective.

“I know this is what we do, but still, thanks for working on Saturday without complaining,” Jackson said as they settled in.

“Beats doing the weekend housework,” Schak said.

Evans laughed. “I’ll second that.”

“Evans, will you take the board again?” Jackson wanted to get started. “Schak, what have you got?”

“Not much.” Schak scanned his notes. “The two men who fired the shots at the crime scene on Greenhill are Eric Vanderhorn and Sam Brukner. Both have extensive drug and theft records. Both were in possession of methamphetamine when they were arrested. Both deny knowing Raina Hughes and both have alibis for the evening she was killed.” Schak shrugged. “But their alibis are doper friends, so they’re not worth much.”

“Any connection to Gorman?” Jackson asked.

“They claim they’ve never heard of him.”

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“Coincidence. Low-life meth addicts who happened to be driving by and did something incredibly stupid.”

“What about the Children’s Support group? Anything there?”

“The director wouldn’t let me look at the list of volunteers, but he confirmed that neither Amy Hastings or Keesha Williams had ever been a volunteer.” Schak had a little bandage on his cheek and he reached up to touch it. He’d taken a branch in the face during their search of the Gormans’ property. “When I asked if either woman had been involved with the organization indirectly, say, because they had a child in the program, he had no idea. It would require an extensive search of the files. And a subpoena. Should I write one?”

“We’ll let it go for now. Children’s Support is not likely our connection.” Jackson turned to Evans. “What have you got to report?”

“Jamie, the best friend, says Raina dated women.” Evans rolled her eyes. “But she denied being a lesbian and denied being Raina’s lover. I think she’s lying. I also think Jamie is afraid her parents will find out she’s gay. She kept looking over her shoulder as we talked about Raina’s sexual orientation.”

“I have confirmation that Raina was gay. So let’s move forward with the idea that this murder is likely connected to the rapes.” The others looked at him, waiting. Jackson didn’t want to admit he’d heard the information from a reporter. He felt guilty about his source and guilty for not revealing it. “What we need now is another connection. We need to know how our perpetrator is identifying his victims as lesbians. None of the victims looked like a lesbian.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Evans tried to look offended.

Jackson suspected she was playing devil’s advocate, but he was still embarrassed by what he’d said. “Good question. Apparently, not all lesbians have crew cuts and dress in flannel shirts, so we have to let go of that stereotype.”

“Just the butch half of the couple does,” Schak added.

Jackson visualized the three victims. All attractive, yet physically very different. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“The stereotype exists for a reason,” Schak said.

“Maybe, but we can’t let it blind us.” Jackson grinned at Schak. “For example, you’re pretty smart most of the time, for a Polack.”

Schak’s cheeks flushed pink, then he laughed. “Point taken.”

Quince spoke up for the first time. “I’ve been thinking about this. All three women attended Lane Community College sometime in the last three years. We need to look at their schedules, see what classes they took. Maybe our perp is a professor.”

“Great idea. Let me know if you need help. I can pull in another detective.” Jackson looked up at the board, hoping something would jump out at him. The details were still sketchy. “I’m going over to the evidence bay after this. I need to look at everything from Raina’s case with this new perspective that she was the third victim in a string of hate crimes.”

Quince asked, “What about Gorman?”

Jackson realized Quince was out of the loop on Gorman’s story, but it was still a loaded question. “Gorman says he found Raina’s body near his driveway, so he panicked and moved her and her car to the observation point on Greenhill.”

“No shit?” Quince laughed. “You believe that?”

“I honestly don’t know. We found Raina’s cell phone near where Gorman said he found the body. We found blood where he says her car was parked and where he says her body was. But if Gorman committed the crime, he would know exactly where her body had been anyway.” Jackson rubbed his forehead. “There’s something weird going on there. Gorman says the tire on the Volvo was flat and he had to change it to move the car. We found tire tracks in a clearing just off the driveway near the road. A lab technician made a cast and will get back to us with specifics, but the tracks look like they were made by a truck. Or a Bronco, which is what Gorman drives.”

“What’s your theory?” Quince asked.

Jackson shook his head. “Either Gorman killed Raina—and likely raped the other women too—and is now getting very clever about generating a defense for trial, or he’s telling the truth and the rapist was also out there at his property that night. The working theory for the second scenario is that the perpetrator followed Raina to Gorman’s house, probably caused her tire to go flat, then attacked her when she got out of her car.”

“That seems more elaborate than the earlier rapes,” Evans said.

“Maybe just more desperate.” Jackson shifted in the hard chair. “Maybe he had been stalking Raina for days without finding an opportunity, so he just took it when he discovered her alone out in the middle of nowhere.”

There was a short silence.

Finally, Schak said, “And he brought the dildo with him?”

“He’s organized. He assaulted Amy Hastings with an object that he carried on his person. And he had a pillowcase with him too.”

“Why kill Raina and not the others?” Evans asked.

“His rage is building. He can’t control the level of violence.” Jackson felt like he was winging it. “I have a call in to Stevens at the FBI. I hope to have a profile to work with soon. Anything else?”

“What did you learn from the autopsy?” Evans jotted
rage building
under the perp’s column.

“Raina was a drug user. I don’t know yet what her poison of choice was, but it opens up new possibilities.”

“Oh shit. You mean a pissed off drug dealer,” Schak moaned. “That will really muck up this case.”

“Still, we have to go back to her friends and neighbors and ask about the drugs. By
we
, I mean you.” He looked at both Schak and Evans.

Jackson turned to Quince. “While you’re at Lane Community College, talk to the school health clinic. Find out if Raina had any prescriptions, particularly narcotics.”

Jackson stood, anxious to get to the evidence lab. “We’ll meet again Monday at eleven o’clock. Call me if you discover anything significant in the meantime.”

Ryan waited for the Scion to drive away, then broke into a run. Jamie had been carrying a travel bag when she left her house.
Was she leaving town
? The thought made his heart pound even more than the running. Ryan climbed into the van and gunned it down the sloped street. His breath was so ragged, he made a vow to switch off the menthols and start smoking a light cigarette. The Scion turned left at the bottom of the hill, but he didn’t see Jamie’s Toyota. Who was the hot chick with the short red hair and what was she doing at Jamie’s house? Had the redhead been watching Jamie too? Another dyke sniffing around his golden girl?

Damn
. Could he still pull this off? He was so close to being ready. Ryan hated to be rushed and couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. He was still on parole from that time he’d set fire to his ex-girlfriend’s car. The bitch. It was just a car, but he’d done almost five months in jail for it. The worst five months of his life, even worse than watching his dad die. If he got caught for snatching Jamie, he’d go to federal prison, where his skinny blond ass would be popular with the tough guy fags.

Ryan took his turn at the stop sign and checked both directions, looking for Jamie’s little blue Toyota. He didn’t see it, so he followed the Scion. His gut told him the hot redhead was keeping an eye on Jamie. Once they were on Polk Street, Ryan could see from the top of the hill that the Toyota was just passing the ball fields. Jamie turned left on 24th. The Scion kept going. Yes! Ryan slapped the dashboard. He had been prepared to deal with the dyke bitch, whoever she was, if she got between him and Jamie, but he was relieved he didn’t have to.