Dying for Justice (22 page)

“You’re fine. What have you got for us?”

“I checked the trace evidence in the Jackson murders against the database. Still nothing. The perp has no fingerprints or DNA in the system.”

“I appreciate that,” Jackson said. “But I had to put that case on hold. Do you have anything on the shooting yesterday?”

“I do.” They heard her shuffle some papers. “The ski mask had a hair clinging to the fabric. The hair is 3.2 centimeters long and gray at the base, fading to dark blond. The perpetrator uses artificial color on his hair. I said ‘his’ because the hair is more consistent with the texture and thickness of male hair than with female hair.”

“Did either hair have a follicle? Did you get a DNA sample?”

“Yes. I sent it over to the lab this morning.” Parker paused. “There’s more. The structure of the hair I examined from the ski mask in the Gina Stahl murder seemed so familiar I thought I might have confused it with the trace evidence from the Jackson murders. But of course, I don’t make mistakes like that. So I compared the two hair samples. The color has changed some, but the composition of the medulla and the pattern of the cuticle are the same.

“What exactly does that mean?” Jackson asked.

“They’re from the same person.”

Chapter 27

“Holy shit.” Evans jumped up. “This means we have the same killer. Our cases are connected.”

“How in the hell is that possible?” Jackson now had a sharp pain between his eyes. “The murders were nine years apart and had completely unrelated victims.”

Parker said, “I’ll let you figure that out,” and hung up.

After a long silence, Evans said, “The victims have some kind of connection. We just have to find it. I think it must be related to the adoption and the identity of the biological father.”

“What about the loan shark?” Schak offered. “Durkin had dealings with the Jackson family and Gina was in financial trouble. Maybe she borrowed money from him too.”

“It’s possible,” Jackson said, “But Durkin was on parole in 2009. I hate to point this out, but Bekker investigated my parents’ case and is closely connected to Gina. He’s still a possibility.”

“Damn. I thought I was gonna win this bet.” Schak stood. “Should I get going? I can start with a call to a friend over in the courthouse.”

“I’ll try to track down the adoption lawyer’s files,” Evans said.

They both looked at Jackson.

“I’ll drop off a copy of this sketch to Joe, then go home and finish reading my parents personal mail, which has been sitting in a box all these years. I’ve been slowly going through it when I had time. Now it suddenly seems critical.” He gathered up his things, needing to get out and be alone for a moment. “We’ll meet back here at five unless someone catches a break before then. Keep me posted.”

On the drive to the crime lab, Jackson’s brain bounced from one thought to another and none made sense. He kept coming back to the idea that his parents were strangers to him. They’d had a whole dimension to their lives he’d never known about. Something they were involved in, or someone they knew, had led to their deaths and he had no idea who or what. Was Ray Durkin still a suspect? Jackson debated whether he should bring Durkin in again and question him about Gina and his whereabouts yesterday afternoon. A surge of guilt twisted in his gut. If he had arrested Durkin yesterday, would Gina still be alive?

It occurred to Jackson that Derrick knew more than he was willing to admit. He waited for a break in the traffic on 6th Avenue, then checked his earpiece and called Derrick. His brother didn’t answer and Jackson didn’t bother leaving a message. He glanced at the time on his phone: 2:55. Katie was still in school and then she had drill team practice until five-thirty. He pressed the gas, thinking he had time to make a quick stop at the lab and get some work done at home before picking her up.

Jackson pulled through the security gate and drove to the lab’s back parking lot. The overhead door on the big bay was open and Joe was using a powerful hand vacuum on the front seat of the Explorer. Jackson parked and climbed out. “Hey, Joe. Are you finding anything?”

The technician backed out of the vehicle. “The door handle and the steering column have been wiped clean. We got a couple of decent prints off the inside door latch, but they didn’t match anyone in the system.” Joe brightened. “Still, if you find the guy, they could be one more piece of the puzzle.”

“Any trace evidence? Or something personal left behind?”

Joe shook his head. “I would have told you already.” He nodded at the paper in Jackson’s hand. “Is that the perp?”

“It’s a likeness of the guy who bought the vehicle used in the crime. With the hat and glasses, it’s not a lot to work with.” Jackson put the sketch in Joe’s outstretched hand. “I understand you’re looking at video footage of the security gate at Gina Stahl’s old apartment. You might as well keep an eye out for our shooter.”

“Emily is looking at the footage now. Let’s take this up.”

Joe stepped out of the bay and used a remote to close the overhead door. They headed for the exterior entry, then went inside the main building and up the stairs. The video viewing equipment was in a ten-by-ten windowless room in the back of the building. A young woman with a long ponytail stared at a monitor. The footage was speeded up, so the occasional car appeared to be flying though.

Emily pressed pause and looked up. “No red Chevy truck or man in a mask yet.” She smiled at Jackson. “Hi again.” He’d met her once at a crime scene, but wouldn’t have remembered her name if Joe hadn’t said it.

“Hello, Emily.” He handed her the sketch. “We have a new suspect. Have you seen anyone resembling this guy?”

“The hat and glasses make it hard to say.” She attached the sketch to a holder that extended from her monitor. “I’ll have to start at the beginning and watch for this face.”

“I appreciate your help,” Jackson said.

“No problem.” Another dazzling grin.

Was she flirting with him?

“Anything else I should know or look for?”

An idea struck him. “Watch for a city-issued sedan.”

Emily raised her penciled brows. “You think he’s a cop?”

“Maybe. Either way, he might be driving a similar-type car.”

Jackson wanted to get moving. “Thanks again.” He hurried from the small dark room, thinking he would go crazy if he had to sit in there all day like Emily did.

They walked toward Joe’s office and Jackson said, “What about the bullets? Anything significant?”

“Not really. They’re .38 slugs consistent with those made by Smith & Wesson, but I still need a weapon to compare them to.”

“Will you compare the slugs from yesterday’s shooting to the Jackson homicides in 2000?”

“I already did. Jasmine reported her findings on the trace evidence, so I checked the slugs. The Jackson case had .22 caliber bullets. It’s not the same gun, but we’ll work late and look at everything else, side by side.”

“Thanks, Joe. If you come up with anything, call me. I don’t care how late it is. I’m sure I’ll still be working too.”

On the drive home, he called Kera, needing to hear her warm, supportive voice.

She picked up right away. “Hey, Jackson. I’m with Isaac, one of my veteran patients.”

“Sorry. We can talk later.”

“I have a minute and I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?”

Jackson hesitated. The case details were confidential, but Kera was the most trustworthy woman he’d ever known. “Gina Stahl, the woman who was shot yesterday? The same man killed my parents. The trace evidence proves it.”

“That is bizarre. Any idea how they’re connected?”

“Not yet.” Jackson let out a soft laugh. “But I’m open to ideas.”

“All the victims either had something the killer wanted or knew something he needed to keep quiet.”

“You’ve got a good mind. I wish I could brainstorm with you.” Jackson knew she had to get off the phone. “I know I don’t have to say this, but that information is confidential.”

“I know. When will I see you?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’ll be working late tonight, for sure.”

“Take care of yourself.”

At home, Jackson brewed a small pot of coffee, knowing he might be up late again. He would rather take one of Evans’ little narcolepsy pills, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He wished he were the kind of guy who could ask his doctor for the prescription, but that would never happen.

He brought the second box in from the garage and set it on the kitchen floor. He poured a cup of coffee, took off his jacket and weapon, and dumped half of the contents on the table.

A thick manila envelope caught his eye. Jackson opened it to discover a trove of black-and-white photos. He flipped through the images, sometimes recognizing relatives, but mostly he had no idea who the people were. Many shots were of his mother and her siblings when they were teenagers. The clothing and the cars indicated the pictures had been taken in the early sixties.
Could the killer be someone in these photos?
Their perp was an older man so it was certainly possible.

Jackson shuffled through another stack, looking for a blond young man with a small nose and a strong chin. He came up with nothing and set all the snapshots aside. He started on a bundle of letters he quickly learned were from his grandmother to his mother while she was in college. His mother had saved letters from her youth and Derrick, in turn, had saved all his mother’s correspondence. Jackson was glad he hadn’t inherited the packrat gene.

He reached for another stack of letters and began to scan. Most were from his Aunt Irene to his mother. A few were from a cousin in California, also to his mother. He skimmed through news of weddings, babies, and new jobs. At the end of one letter from Irene, Jackson stopped and reread:
As to your question about whether you should contact both of them, I think you should. I don’t know why you waited this long.
He checked the date: September 15, 2000. Eight days before the murders.
Contact who?
Had his mother followed this advice? Had contacting these people triggered his parents’ death?

Jackson remembered Derrick saying his mother had been upset about something in the news right before the murders.
Damn!
He’d left the news stories Sophie had faxed him on his desk. Pain flared behind his eyeballs again. Jackson looked for some aspirin, attributing his headache to lack of sleep. He made a trip to the medicine cabinet and took prednisone as well.

Back in the living room, he opened drawers and searched the bookcase. Where in heck was his address book? After ten minutes, he found the booklet…with the family numbers he never contacted.

He called the listing for David and Irene Schultz. An older male voice answered.

“Uncle David? It’s Wade Jackson, your nephew.”

“Wade! You sounded just like your dad. About gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry. How are you?”

“Not bad for an old guy with a gimpy leg and a weak heart. What about you? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m looking into my parents’ murders. I’ve been going through their papers that Derrick saved. I found a letter from Irene and I wanted to ask her about something.”

“I’m not sure how Irene can help you, but even if she could, she can’t come to the phone.”

“Is she okay?”

“Not really. Irene has congestive heart failure and she’s fading fast. I’m going to be a widow soon.” His uncle sounded resigned.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long does she have?”

“Maybe a week.”

“That soon? I didn’t know she was sick.”

“You haven’t been in touch.”

Guilt jabbed him in the chest with an angry finger and he didn’t know what to say. Everything sounded so lame. “It’s not too late to come see her.”

Jackson struggled to come up with a reasonable response. Something that didn’t make him seem like an asshole. “Is she coherent? Would she even know I was there?”

“She sleeps a lot, but when she’s awake she’s lucid. Irene would love to see you and Katie.”

“Let me to talk to Katie and see what she has going on. Maybe we’ll drive down this weekend.”

“I understand.” His uncle’s voice judged him for not making a commitment.

Jackson hated himself for asking, but he had to. “About the letter Irene wrote to Evelyn. Can I read you a couple lines and see if you know what it means?”

“Sure.”

Jackson grabbed the stationary and read the last line of Irene’s letter. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

“None.”

“Will you ask Irene for me and call back?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thanks, Uncle David. I’ll call you soon and let you know our plans.”

“Good to hear from you, Wade.”

Jackson hung up and looked at his watch: 5:15. He had just enough time to pick up Katie.

On the trip to her school, he made up his mind. When Katie climbed in the car, he said, “How would you like to drive to Canyonville tonight and visit my aunt and uncle?”

Chapter 28

Thursday, September 9, 3:05 p.m.

Trying to find information about the lawyer Michael Walburg quickly tested Evans’ patience. The name didn’t come up in the citizen database, nor did a Google search produce anything. He had likely quit practicing law long before everyone had their own internet page, but she hoped to find his wife or family. Evans searched the internet yellow pages for just the name Walburg, thinking he might have a son who practiced law. No Walburg lawyers. On a whim, she keyed Walburg into a white pages directory and came up with Donald Walburg. She noted his Springfield address, but no phone number was listed.

Evans jogged down to the
paper closet
where they kept newspapers and old phone books for about ten years before tossing them in the recycling. It was meant as a pre-internet resource but she wondered if anyone ever used it. Standing in the crowded ten-foot space, she flipped open a thick directory from 2000, but didn’t find Michael Walburg listed among lawyers. Not having the patience to wade though ink-covered newspapers, Evans jogged back to her desk and called Sophie Speranza. Until meeting her the day before, Evans had considered media people to be mostly a liability. But Sophie’s interest in making sure Bekker’s victims had a voice and a lawyer had changed Evans’ mind about the reporter. She also felt desperate to solve this one—for Gina, whom she had failed, and for Jackson, who needed closure. More than anything, she wanted to make Jackson happy and proud of her.

Relieved when Sophie answered the phone, Evans blurted out, “I need a favor.”

“Is this Detective Evans?”

“Yes. I’m trying to track down a man named Michael Walburg. He’s dead, but he used to have a law practice here in Eugene. I need to find his relatives.”

“Is this connected to Gina Stahl’s shooting yesterday?”

“Yes, but you can’t print it yet.”

“What can I print? You have to give me something in exchange.”

“We have a break in the case. In fact, our PR person faxed the sketch of the suspect this afternoon.”

“I saw the image and it will run with my story tomorrow, but it’s not exclusive.”

Evans hesitated. What could she give her? “You can’t quote me personally, just say ‘someone familiar with the case.’ But here’s the statement: We believe Gina’s Stahl’s murder is more complex than a domestic grudge.”

“You’re saying the ex-husband didn’t do it?”

“That’s all I can give you.”

Sophie paused and Evans visualized her frantically scribbling notes. “Will you see what you can locate on Michael Walburg and his family? I need the info ASAP.”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Evans stood, her energy near a bursting point. She rushed out of the violent crimes area and walked briskly through the U-shaped hall. A memory of her and Jackson running in the halls the night before made her smile, but she quickly suppressed it. She was missing something critical in these cases and she hoped the cardio would stimulate her brain.

On her second loop, it hit her. Bekker! He had been married to Gina and might know who her biological parents were. Spouses usually shared stuff like that. Evans ran back to her desk. On the way, someone called out, “Lay off the coffee, would ya? You’re making us all jumpy.”

Evans kept moving. Had Bekker already been released? If so, she would find him at home. Evans thought he could still be at the jail. Even a straightforward release could take hours. A monitored release with a house arrest could take days to process, depending on how busy the jail was. She called and learned Bekker was still an inmate. She asked them to hold him until she got there. Evans grabbed her things and trotted down the stairs. On her way to her car, she changed her mind and decided to power walk over to the jail instead. It was only six blocks and the exercise would help dissipate some energy.

Inside the facility, Evans took the stairs two at a time. On a Thursday afternoon, the waiting area at the jail reception was empty, save for an older woman trying to put cash on the books for her incarcerated loved one. Evans wanted to tell her to not waste her money, but resisted butting in.

When the woman walked away, Evans stepped up and introduced herself. “I need to see Gary Bekker.”

“Weren’t you here this morning?” The female deputy used a tone Evans couldn’t quite figure.

“Yep. Now I’m here again. This is important.”

“Our inmates have schedules. Showing up without calling first is highly disruptive.”

Evans visualized slapping the fat bitch. The thought blew off just enough steam to keep her from shouting obscenities. “First, I did call just few minutes ago. Second, homicide is highly disruptive, especially for the victims. Gary Bekker has information that could solve three murders. Let me see him.”

The deputy gave her a hostile look, then keyed in Bekker’s name. “He’s in his cell, just waiting for his ankle bracelet. I’ll bring him up to the interview room.”

The deputy closed and locked the door behind Evans, leaving her alone with Bekker in the pale-green room. Her chest tightened and her heart skipped a beat. Not only was she locked in, the last time she’d been alone with Bekker he’d smashed her head. Evans suppressed the urge to touch her still-tender scalp. Even though Bekker was cuffed, she wished like hell she had her weapon, which was inside a locker down the hall.

Show no fear!
Evans sat across from Bekker, keeping her face deadpan.

“Detective Evans. You’re looking good.”

“Let’s cut to the bone. I need some information about Gina. If you help me, the DA will drop the charges related to your ex-wife.”

“You finally figured out I didn’t do it and now you want my help.” Bekker chuckled. “The DA will drop those charges anyway, because there is no case. If you want to bargain, you’ll have to do better.”

Evans regretted her direct approach. She should have tried to con the information out of him. “I’m sure we can work something out. Do you know who Gina’s biological parents are?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You knew Gina was adopted, correct?”

“It came up once. Why?”

“Did she mention knowing who her biological parents were?”

Bekker’s eyes calculated his position and he smiled. “Are you willing to drop
your
case against me to find out?”

Evans had prepared for this moment, yet her heart hammered and blood rushed into her ears. She forced herself to keep from moving a single muscle in her body. After a long moment, she said, “No.” She leaned forward an inch. “Are you willing to spend the rest of your life in prison, leaving your son to fend for himself, just to spite me?”

“You bitch!” Bekker lunged forward in his chair.

Evans leaped to her feet and shouted, “Help yourself, you jackass! Give me their names.”

Bekker glanced at the door and Evans realized he didn’t have the information. He sat back. “Bring the DA in here with a written plea deal and I’ll tell you who they are.”

Evans slammed the buzzer and waited for a deputy to open the door.

“Go fuck yourself,” she said, walking out.

* * *

Sophie spent ten minutes perusing the newspaper archives for Michael Walburg, finally finding an obituary that listed his relatives. The news item also mentioned Walburg had once been a lawyer.
How was an eighty-year-old (now dead) lawyer connected to Gina Stahl’s murder?
Sophie wrote
call the Walburgs
on her list of things to do. First, she had to give the information to the police. She dug out the business card Evans had given her, then copied and pasted the relatives’ names into an email. After sending it, she called Detective Evans and left her a message, telling her to check for the information.

More complex than a domestic grudge.

What exactly did that mean? Gina had convinced Sophie her ex-husband tried to kill her, and Sophie had assumed Gary Bekker had been the shooter yesterday. Was he still the prime suspect? And if not, who was?

Sophie was torn. She still intended to interview the women Bekker had victimized, but her instincts told her it was a back-burner story. The shooting was front-page news and she needed an eye-witness account. Sophie suspected Gina’s parents had been with her when she died. Cringing at her own insensitivity, Sophie called the Stahls, feeling almost relieved when they didn’t answer. Who else could she talk to about the shooting? The spokesperson at the police department had already given her a canned statement.

Sophie snapped her fingers.
Jasmine Parker.
Her lover sometimes provided little tidbits of crime information Sophie couldn’t get anywhere else. No one knew they dated and they liked to keep it that way.

She called Jasmine, who rang back moments later. “Hi, Sophie. I had a great time last night. Of course, I’m tired today, but you’re worth it.” Jasmine kept her voice low.

“Keep that in mind when I ask this favor, one I intend to pay for in the currency of your choice.”

“You’re wicked. What do you want?”

“I need to know about the complexities of Gina Stahl’s murder. I have good information that says Gary Bekker didn’t kill her.”

Jasmine let out a startled noise. “How did you learn that?”

“Someone in the department told me.”

“I want to know who.”

“Give me something significant and I’ll buy you dinner and tell you my source.”

Jasmine hesitated. “I’ll tell you something but you can’t print it yet.

“Okay.”

Jasmine whispered, “Trace evidence links Gina Stahl’s killer to murders in the past.”

“A serial killer?” Sophie tried not to sound too eager.

“No. Just let it go for now. I’ll think they’ll break this case soon.”

“Let me know if they do, so I can ask the right questions and get this story into print.”

“Where are you taking me to dinner?”

“Your choice, lover. That was a very sweet scoop.” She gave Jasmine a kiss through the phone and hung up. Her cube neighbor, an older guy who covered the finance beat, popped up and glared at her over the short cubicle wall. Sophie blew him a kiss too and got to work on her story.