Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death (21 page)

“Yes.”

Valder’s body seemed to fill the tiny room, and the pale-green walls were especially sickly to Jackson. His head pounded from exhaustion as he took a seat. He’d been awake and working for nearly twenty hours. Valder didn’t look much better. His eyes were glassy and his shoulders slumped. Jackson hoped to catch him off guard.

“Where is Danette Blake?”

“Who?”

“The first girl Eddie Lucas kidnapped. The mistake.” Jackson paused, giving Valder a moment to process the line of questioning. “Lying to me will work against you in the long run. Danette was in your house, and we’ll find proof. All we need is a single piece of hair. You might as well tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you all about Courtney. If Eddie has something else going on, you need to talk to him.”

“I have Eddie Lucas in custody, and I expect him to turn on you to save his own skin. This is your one chance.”

Valder blinked and his shoulders tightened. After a long moment he shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to say.” His speech sounded a little slurred.

“Maybe Danette was never in your house, so you think you’re safe. Or maybe Eddie realized his mistake, killed her and dumped her, and never told you about it. If you don’t talk to me, he’ll blame you for it. It will be his word against yours.”

Valder didn’t respond. Jackson tried again, but Valder shut down. After a few minutes, the suspect put his head on the table and closed his eyes.

Crap
! How much Valium had they given him?

Jackson stepped out and called for a deputy. He was done for this day.

Chapter 21

Friday, April 10, 9:06 a.m.

Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about Courtney Durham and Danette Blake. She was supposed to be writing a roundup story about three recent deadly accidents involving drunk drivers. The news angle was: Why the sudden increase? It was no mystery to her. The economy was bad, people were unemployed and depressed and drinking more. The bigger question was what to do about it.

Meanwhile, nobody seemed to be investigating the disappearance of Danette Blake. Sophie had called the police department and been referred to Detective Zapata, who said foul play did not seem to be involved. He based the assumption on the fact that Danette’s car was also missing, therefore, she drove away in it. If Courtney Durham hadn’t also disappeared Monday, Danette’s case would be easier to dismiss. Having Courtney’s body turn up had piqued Sophie’s interest to the point of near obsession.

“Hey, Sophie, how’s your drunk driving story coming?” Her boss, Karl Hoogstad, had wandered up behind her.

“I got some great quotes from the Alcohol Abuse Prevention Network. I’m digging up some statistics from the early 80s to see if there’s a pattern between unemployment and alcohol-related crimes.”

“Great. I like it.” Hoogstad clapped her shoulder and headed downstairs. Probably going to the cafeteria, Sophie thought. The statistic idea was impromptu, but it made sense, so she started accessing online Lane County files.

Her cell phone rang in her bag under her desk. Sophie dug it out and glanced at the caller ID: Elle Durham. Finally! She’d been trying to talk to Elle ever since Jackson had confirmed the dead body was Courtney. Sophie answered the call, grabbed a pen and tablet, and turned her back to her cube neighbor.

“Ms. Durham, thank you so much for getting back to me.”

“This is a very difficult time, and I don’t usually welcome attention from reporters, but you seemed so concerned.” Elle Durham’s speech was a little sloppy. “I want someone to expose ThrillSeekers for what they are, the greedy bastards!”

Sophie had no idea what she talking about, but her adrenaline was pumping. “What was Courtney’s involvement with ThrillSeekers?”

“According to Brett, that’s Courtney’s boyfriend, she hired the company to kidnap her just for thrills. Now my baby’s dead, and the police won’t tell me how she died. I think those bastards at ThrillSeekers drugged her or something.”

Sophie put on her headphone so she could type as she talked. She keyed ThrillSeekers into Google. “Have you spoken to anyone at the company?”

“I tried, but the receptionist won’t tell me anything and she won’t put the owner on the phone.” Elle was both high and distraught. It made her a little hard to understand.

“Do you have any idea how much she paid them?”

“Brett wouldn’t tell me.”

“Will you give me Brett’s phone number?”

“Just a minute.” Ms. Durham came back with the number. “I don’t think Brett knows much. Will you call ThrillSeekers? I thought maybe a reporter could get somewhere with them.”

Bloody unlikely, Sophie thought.
Unless she pretended to be a potential client
. “I’ll find out what I can. Now I have a question for you. Did Courtney know Danette Blake?”

“You’re the second person to ask me, but I don’t know who she is.”

“Who else asked you? Was it the police?”

“It was Detective Jackson.”

So Jackson thought the women’s disappearances could be related. Now Sophie felt sure the connection was worth pursuing. “Why would Courtney want to be kidnapped, Elle? Do you have any idea?” Sophie wished she were recording the conversation on her desk phone.

Ms. Durham started to cry. “It makes her sound so crazy. Courtney wasn’t mentally ill. She was just unhappy. That’s why I sent her to a psychiatrist.”

“Which psychiatrist?” Sophie remembered Kera telling her Danette had disappeared after a doctor’s appointment.

“Why does it matter?”

“I think it might be important. Another woman Courtney’s age is missing.”

“That person you just asked about, what’s her name? Danette?”

“Yes. She’s been missing since Monday morning.”

“That’s so sad.” Elle let out a sob. Sophie wondered how much she’d drank. After a moment, Elle said, “Courtney’s doctor is Stella Callahan.”

Sophie jotted down the name. “Thanks. Is there anything else you can tell me about Courtney’s abduction?”

“The bastards dropped her off in a field. She had asthma!”

“That sounds irresponsible. I’ll see what I can find out. Let’s stay in touch.”

Sophie knew she would soon think of other questions, but right now she wanted to call Kera Kollmorgan and find out which doctor Danette had seen Monday. Then she would call ThrillSeekers and try to set up an adventure.

This was a story
.

Jackson got up late after a short night of waking up every hour to pee. He glanced at the clock and realized he had to be at an autopsy in forty minutes. He bolted for the shower, feeling like he had lead in his legs. He’d almost driven over to Kera’s at three in the morning, but had decided it was too selfish. He was glad now he hadn’t. Between him and the baby, the poor woman wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. He wished Kera were here right now, brewing a pot of coffee, smelling delicious, and telling him he’d done the right thing and it would all turn out fine.

He let the hot shower pour over his still-tired body.
Would they ever be able to live together?
His daughter vehemently opposed the idea, and Jackson wasn’t sure how he felt about raising a baby that wasn’t his responsibility. He tried to tell himself it was too early to assume Danette was dead and never coming back, but he wasn’t convincing.

After the shower, Jackson glanced at himself in the mirror and groaned. He splashed cold water on his eyes, hoping to shrink the bags that were dark and swollen like a waterway about to burst. Wearing only a towel, he trotted up the hall and into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Damn, the place was a mess. What the heck day was it anyway? Oh yeah, Friday; autopsy at eight.

He dressed, gulped a cup of coffee, and poured a second cup into an insulated travel mug. On the way to his car, he realized he didn’t have his carryall. Cursing under his breath, he went back into the house. This was not a good sign. He needed to be alert and sharp. He had two important suspects to interrogate. Valder was in isolation at the county jail. It was less convenient having him there instead of in a holding cell at the department, but Jackson had decided to cover his own ass by booking Valder into a facility where he would get the appropriate medical attention for his phobia.

It was Eddie Lucas he was counting on today. If Lucas didn’t confess, they would probably never find Danette’s body or be able to prove Lucas had kidnapped her and Valder had killed her. Or maybe Eddie killed her when he realized his mistake. Jackson worried he might not ever know. Not knowing was tough to accept. It would be even harder for Kera and Mrs. Blake. Jackson needed to give them closure.

Back in his cruiser, he drove too fast and made calls on the way. He checked in with McCray, who was writing up the paperwork for a complete search of Valder’s property, including his computer, phone records, and bank accounts. It was asking a lot from a judge, especially based only on his theory of mistaken identity kidnapping. Evans and Schak would soon be on their way to Valder’s home to wait for the go-ahead on the search. Jackson would join them after the autopsy.

When he called Kera, she didn’t answer. Had she gone back to work at the clinic? Jackson left her a message: “Sorry I couldn’t come by last night. I was on the job until about three this morning. I think we’ve caught a big break in this case and it involves Danette. I wish I could tell you more. Hang in there. Call and leave a message, so I can hear your sexy voice.”

In the basement of North McKenzie in an area known as Surgery 10, a small crowd had already assembled near the bank of stainless steel refrigeration units.

Normally, only the pathologist, the medical examiner, and the lead detective would be present for an autopsy. Today the district attorney, Victor Slonecker, and one assistant DA, Jim Trang, were also standing around the table where Courtney’s lifeless naked body was exposed to the group.

“I’ll get started now,” Rudolf Konrad said dryly, giving Jackson a look. Konrad was forty-something, but his round face and thick blond hair made him look younger. Jackson had been late to his first autopsy with the new pathologist and apparently he hadn’t gotten over it.

“Sorry to be late.” Jackson resisted the urge to explain that he had worked from five yesterday morning until three this morning.

“We drew blood and sent the samples to the state lab with orders to prioritize them, and we hope to have toxicology reports by late this afternoon or tomorrow,” Konrad said, glancing at the medical examiner, who had most likely performed the tasks.

Gunderson spoke up. “I sent her clothes to the city’s crime lab after I examined them. I found almost nothing noteworthy on her clothing. Except in the pocket of her jeans, there was a tiny plastic bag containing a white powder, which may turn out to be cocaine.”

The assistant DA said something under this breath to Slonecker, his boss. The pathologist ignored him and began meticulously searching Courtney’s skin, starting with her feet. Jackson grew uncomfortable. Five men were looming over and staring at the naked and perfectly sculpted body of a young woman. It felt voyeuristic and wrong. Yet they were all just doing their jobs. Slonecker and his assistant were present because Courtney Durham was high profile, and Jackson guessed the DA was under some pressure from Elle Durham to prosecute her daughter’s killer. Jackson wasn’t sure yet a crime had been committed against Courtney. If it had, he would do his part to bring her justice.

Still, he couldn’t help but think the rich girl’s selfish and outrageous behavior may have led to Danette Blake’s abduction and death. It was hard not to be angry about that.

“I’ll start by examining her backside,” Konrad said, for the sake of the recording. Gunderson stepped up and the two men expertly rolled the corpse.

Reddish-purple bruising covered Courtney’s back, buttocks, thighs, and calves. “Significant livor mortis on entire backside of body,” the pathologist reported, his voice deep and full, yet deadpan. Although disturbing to look at, the discoloration was simply blood pooling in the lowest parts of a lifeless body. Still visible in the curve of her lower back was a massive tattoo, a complex design of flowers, vines, butterflies, and a sunrise. It took Jackson by surprise. He knew tattoos were more mainstream now, especially for young women, but he still thought of them as working class body art. Apparently he was wrong.

What could he do to keep his daughter from ever doing this to herself?

Konrad searched Courtney’s backside, starting at her feet. “Slight discoloration in the heel of her left foot. Could be due to lividity. There are no needle marks under the toes and no trace evidence. The tattoo around her ankle is several years old and healed well with no scarring.”

Jackson struggled to pay attention. The travel mug of coffee was in his car getting cold.

Konrad continued his inch-by-inch examination of Courtney’s skin until he reached her shoulders. “I’ll now examine the front side of her body.”

He and Gunderson rolled Courtney over and the process started again.

“Her hands show no signs of defense wounds, but there are abrasions around both wrists consistent with being bound.”

“Bound by what?” Slonecker asked.

Jackson answered, “Seth Valder, our main suspect, admits Courtney was handcuffed while she was in his house during her kidnapping adventure.”

“Hmm.” The district attorney kept his face neutral.

Konrad worked his way up to Courtney’s head and neck, stopping suddenly to reach for a special magnifying glass. He examined her neck for an endless five minutes while they all waited silently.

“There are layers of bruises on both sides of her neck,” Konrad reported. “Some occurred weeks ago and others are newer. Because the bruises accumulated over time, it seems unlikely that any one event connected to the markings caused her death. I won’t know until I have the body open and can examine the hyoid bone.”

Konrad made a soft noise in his throat. “There appears to be a layer of makeup over some of the bruises. In that makeup, I believe, is a partial fingerprint.”