Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For (22 page)

Jamie stopped at the new bank on the corner of Portland and 29th. In the last few years, banks had sprung up everywhere in Eugene, making them more accessible than convenience stores. On a Sunday evening the small parking lot was dark and deserted. A yellow light glared next to the ATM. Jamie took her bank card out of her purse and had it in her hand before getting out of the car. She moved quickly into the light, shivering against the cold. As the machine produced her forty dollars of ‘fast cash’—the fastest transaction you could make on an ATM—Jamie heard a vehicle pull in behind her. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder. Her father had warned her about being robbed at a cash machine by drug addicts. It was a blue van with a young man at the wheel. The car and driver didn’t put her at ease the way seeing an old woman in a PT Cruiser would have, but they didn’t make her panic either.

Jamie grabbed her money, shoved it into her purse, and turned. She wanted to be back in the safety of her car. Five quick steps and she reached for the door handle. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the blond young man come around the front of his van. Realization jolted her. She had seen him earlier today. It was the same guy from the parking lot of the little store. Panic exploded in her heart like a popped balloon.
Oh shit
. He was following her! Jamie yanked on the handle but the car door didn’t budge. It was locked. Why? Had she done that out of habit? It only took a split second to calculate that she didn’t have enough time to pull out her keys and unlock the door before the man would reach her.

Jamie bolted, running in the only direction she could—between the two vehicles toward the open parking lot. As she passed the end of the van, an intense pain slammed into her back and knocked her face down. Her body was on fire, melting and convulsing at the same time. Then her brain shut down and her world went black.

Monday, February 18

Jackson was up long before the alarm went off. He’d been awake off and on all night after getting to bed late. First he’d dreamed about his parents’ murder, a nightmare he hadn’t had in a long time. He’d woken up with his heart pounding. After taking a melatonin tablet, he managed to get back to sleep. He’d dreamed Katie had been killed by a sociopath. That was the worst part of his job. All the turmoil and violence he encountered during the day sometimes invaded his sleep at night, and its favorite target was the person he loved most.

Jackson showered, sucked down a huge cup of coffee, and spent time in the CODIS database while waiting for Katie to get ready for school. He had started jogging more regularly in the morning since he met Kera, but today he didn’t have the energy. He also had a funny little pain in his intestines that seemed to flare sometimes when he stood up or sat down. He attributed it to bad eating habits and vowed to get back on track once this case was resolved.

“Come on, I need to get going,” he yelled from his little office nook in the bedroom.

“It’s too early to leave for school,” Katie yelled back from her bedroom.

“Sorry, but I have important things to do.”

“I’ll call Emily and ride with her.”

Jackson was relieved, then felt guilty about it. “Are you sure?”

His daughter stood in the doorway, dressed in school clothes, but still wearing her crazy sleep hair. “I need more time. And a little breakfast would be nice. Trust me. I’ll get to school.”

After he’d made the new suspect list yesterday, Jackson had called Schak and Evans and given them each two of the names to check out this morning. So he had three to track down and would be lucky to get it all done before their meeting at eleven. He stopped in at headquarters to see if Sergeant Lammers was in her office and was relieved to find the door closed and locked. Jackson left her a brief phone message updating his progress: “Our initial suspect, Bruce Gorman, now claims to have found the body. We haven’t ruled him out because we’re still waiting on DNA results, but we’re also checking out seven new suspects this morning.” He hoped to have something solid before he had to explain all the complexities. Lammers hated complex cases.

From headquarters Jackson walked the three blocks to the county building that housed the parole and probation office. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he noticed the building smelled musty and needed a thick coat of paint. Two ex-cons waited in the small lobby, a room containing only chairs, with no magazines or pretty pictures on the wall. The clerk at the desk behind the plexiglass looked as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages. Jackson realized he probably looked that way too.

“Detective Jackson. I’m here to see Claire Atkin and Ted Conner. But not together. I’d like to see Atkin first.”

“I’ll let them both know you’re here.”

Jackson only had to wait a few minutes before he was called back. The ex-cons were still in a holding pattern in the lobby. The desk clerk led him down a short hallway to a small corner office. “Claire can see you now. Her first appointment didn’t show.”

Claire Atkin stood and reached out to shake Jackson’s hand. “Nice to see you again. We met once before on a case.”

Jackson remembered her. “That’s right. The stabbing in the Circle K parking lot.” She had cut her hair and it looked good, but Jackson decided not to mention it. “I’m here to find out everything I can about Kevin Haines.”

“I’ll get his file.” Atkin only had to take a few steps to reach the file cabinet that took up one wall of the tiny office. “Most of this information is in his computer file, but it’s easier to see on paper.” She slid back into her chair. “Why are you interested in Kevin? What did he do?”

“Maybe nothing. I’m taking a fresh look at the two rapes that were committed recently, and Haines made my list of suspects.”

Atkin scowled. “Kevin doesn’t have a history of sexual assault.”

“He tagged some buildings once with hate messages.”

Another scowl. “That was seven years ago.”

“These rapes were hate crimes. Tell me what he’s doing now.”

The PO glanced at her file. “Kevin works at the Jiffy Lube on Coburg Road. He shares an apartment with a friend out in the Gateway area.” Atkin jotted down the address on a yellow sticky note and handed it to Jackson. “Kevin’s UAs come up clean, but he misses his monthly check-in sometimes.”

“Does he ever say anything about lesbians?”

She gave it some thought. “Once, I heard him on his cell phone and he referred to someone as a dyke. But he’s certainly never discussed the issue with me.”

They talked for a few more minutes, and Atkin promised to make copies of Haines’ file while Jackson met with the other PO. Jackson went back up front to let the desk clerk know he was ready to see Ted Conner.

Conner’s office was slightly larger than Atkin’s and had a small window overlooking the giant parking lot out back. The PO stood as Jackson walked in, and Jackson thought, ex-Marine. Conner’s gray crew cut put him at fifty or so, but he clearly spent time in the gym.

“Detective Jackson, what can I do for you?” Conner’s handshake lived up to Jackson’s expectations.

“I need to know everything I can about Ryan Bodehammer.”

“What has the creep done now?”

“I don’t know yet.” Jackson sat down. “I’m investing two rapes and a rape-and-murder case, and his name came up as a potential suspect.”

“You think those crimes are connected?”

“It’s starting to look that way.”

Conner went for a file. The big man looked out of place in his well-worn black suit jacket. Jackson could envision him in camouflage. Conner stepped back to the desk. “I haven’t seen Bodehammer recently. He missed his last check-in, and I’ve considered sanctioning him. But I have so many cases and so little time.”

“Do you think he’s capable of rape and murder?”

Conner pondered that for a moment, as he sat down and opened the file. “Bodehammer’s messed up for sure. He takes medication to control his bipolar disorder, but if he goes off it he’s unpredictable.” Conner looked concerned. “His father died about four months ago, and I’ve only seen him a few times since. He may be spinning.”

Jackson made notes. “Has he ever expressed any hostility to gay women?”

Conner gave him a skewed smile. “You could say that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“After his father died, Bodehammer told me he would inherit the old man’s house and move into it. He’s required to tell me about any change of address. Then the next time I saw him, I asked if he had moved yet. He said no and blamed his stepmother in some very colorful language. I believe he called her a dyke cunt, among other things.” Conner shrugged. “Can’t really blame him. She left his father for another woman.”

“Where can I find Bodehammer?”

“He’s in a little apartment complex on the corner of Jefferson and 23rd, in unit three.”

“What does he drive?”

“According to the information I have, Ryan doesn’t own a vehicle.”

“Do you have contact information for the stepmother?”

Conner looked surprised by the question. “We’re not a social agency. Unless the parolee is living with his family, we don’t involve them.”

“What else do you know about Bodehammer? Any hobbies or patterns?”

“He’s a loner, as far as I can tell. He works nights at the Goodwill donation center on Seneca.” Conner shook his head and unbuttoned his jacket as he talked. “When Bodehammer comes in here, I have four basic questions: Where are you living? Where are you working? Are you taking your meds? And what have you been up to? With other probationers, I ask to see their signed card, proving they’ve been to rehab meetings. That’s all I have time for.”

“What does Bodehammer look like currently?”

“About five ten, a hundred and seventy pounds, short blond hair, blue eyes. An attractive person, except for his teeth. Wears a jean jacket with fleece lining.”

“Any tattoos, scars, notable physical characteristics?”

“Not that I have ever seen.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“He hasn’t talked about one lately.”

“I need you to make copies of everything in Bodehammer’s file and send it over to me at police headquarters.”

“Sure thing.”

“I won’t take up any more of your time.” Jackson stood. “Thanks for your help.”

Conner stood too. “I wish I could be more help. Raina Hughes was my daughter’s friend. If Ryan killed her, I want you to put him away.”

Jackson realized Conner must be Jamie Conner’s father. “Did you know Raina?”

A wave of pain passed through Conner’s eyes. “The girls have been friends for years.”

Jackson stood too. “Is there any way Bodehammer could have known or seen Jamie or Raina? Did they ever come here to see you?”

“No.” An emphatic shake of his head. “I didn’t let Jamie come here.”

“She never came to your office? Not once?”

Distress flashed in Conner’s eyes. “Actually, she did come here once. She needed some money for something and it couldn’t wait. Her mother was busy with some church thing, so Jamie came to me.”

“Was Raina with her?”

“She didn’t come in, but she was probably waiting in the car.”

“So it’s possible Bodehammer saw Raina here?”

“Seems unlikely. But possible.”

“Call me if you think of anything important. Or if you hear from my suspect.”

Sophie stopped in briefly at the newspaper office, told her supervisor she was still working on the rape/murder story, then headed toward campus again. The records check of the Gorman property could wait. She needed to find what she could about Amy Hastings and what she had in common with the other victims. Sophie had put on a skirt and tight blouse with the rationale that it was Monday and it would cheer her up and make her feel professional. In truth, she wanted to look good for Amy’s ex-roommates. She needed one of them to open up and talk to her in a significant way. The asshole who was attacking lesbians was targeting them somehow, and Sophie was determined to find the connection. She didn’t have a lot of faith that the detective unit would figure it out before another woman was killed. If the victims had all been blond, heterosexual cheerleaders, the guy would be in jail already.