Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (23 page)

“Or camping.”

“Maybe we should all go. You, me, Quince, Rios, and Bohnert. McCray doesn’t camp and we’re not taking Evans.”

“Sounds great. Let’s make it happen.” Their pace picked up just thinking about it.

Evans called before they made it back. “Where the hell are you? Engall is pounding on the door and demanding to make a statement.”

“Schak and I went out for some fresh air. We’ll be there in three minutes.”

Engall started talking the moment Jackson and Evans sat down. Evans had argued for the right to finish up with Engall because he was her collar. Schak had grudgingly gone to watch on the TV unit. “I got drunk Sunday night, I told you already. I started drinking during the game and by eight o’clock I was out of it.” Engall rushed his words, as if he wanted to get it over with.

“What bar?”

“The Time Out Tavern. I was with some of my crew and somebody mentioned Jared. I started thinking about him. After the guys went home, I had another beer or two, then decided to go see Jared.”

Engall paused and licked his lips. “When I first got the blackmail note I was pissed off, but I never took it seriously. Jared’s not really like that. He was a good guy. He just was feeling desperate about his situation. I felt awful about letting him go. I decided to go over there and tell him to come back to work. Tyler hadn’t shown up for damn near a week and I was done with him.”

“Do you mean Tyler Gorlock? Your stepson?” They were recording and Jackson wanted everything to be perfectly clear.

“Yes. He’s worked for me off and on for years. I can hardly stand him but Noni pressures me to keep him employed. When he didn’t show up for a week, I figured he was using again. I decided to ask Jared to work a job I was starting the next week.”

Roy was silent for a long time. Jackson prompted, “So you went to the Walkers to tell him.”

“Yes. Only, I don’t remember driving or knocking on the door. I was shitfaced by then.”

“What happened when you got there?”

Engall seemed to be a little short of breath. Evans offered to get him some water.

“No thanks. I’m just scared to tell you this.”

“Just tell the truth, Roy,” Jackson coached. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I’ll feel better if you take these cuffs off me.”

Evans looked at Jackson for approval and he nodded. She uncuffed Engall and he rubbed his wrists for a moment. Finally he said, “After leaving the bar I have only one real memory of that night, and it’s not exactly clear.”

“Just tell us, Roy.”

He pulled in a quick breath. “I walked into the kitchen and saw the bodies. They were already dead. It was horrifying, and for a moment I thought I was hallucinating.” Roy squirmed in his chair. “It happens sometimes when I drink too much, but this was too real. I could smell the blood. It was everywhere.” Roy gulped for air. “I freaked out and ran from the house.”

Jackson weighed this new development. Roy seemed to believe what he was saying. Yet if he was that drunk, he probably did the killings then blacked them out.

Evans spoke up. “Describe where the bodies were positioned.”

Roy closed his eyes, then opened them again. “It’s a hazy memory.”

“Do your best,” Evans prompted.

“Carla and Lori were lying in the middle of the kitchen with Lori on top, as if she’d been trying to save her mother. Jared was on the floor near the sink, and I don’t think I even saw Nick. I just ran.”

“Why didn’t you call 911?” Jackson thought Engall was working on an insanity plea. A jury would never buy it.

“I was drunk out of my mind. I wasn’t even sure it was real. I remember thinking I needed to go home and sleep. The next thing I remember is waking up in the back of the van the next day.”

“A neighbor saw your van at the Walkers at eleven o’clock, but you didn’t start swinging the axe until midnight,” Jackson lied. “What were you doing during that time?” Jackson hoped Roy was dumb or scared enough to correct him.

Roy blanched. “They were killed with an axe?”

“Did it belong to the Walkers, or did you bring it with you?”

The room turned sour with the smell of sweat. “I don’t own one. We have a gas fireplace.”

“A neighbor says your van was at the Walkers for a long time. What were you doing?”

“I don’t remember anything but seeing the bodies.” Roy’s face was moist and slack and his left eye started to twitch. “You said they were killed with an axe. Did you fingerprint it?”

“Of course.”

“My prints aren’t on it, are they?”

“So you were wearing gloves.”

“You questioned me the next day. I was still wearing the same clothes from Sunday morning.” Roy got louder as panic set in. “There was no blood on me. That’s how I know I didn’t do it.”

“Listen, Roy.” Jackson used his come-to-Jesus voice. “Juries are more sympathetic if you give them a full confession and express regret. Later down the road, the parole board will be more sympathetic if you take full responsibility for your crimes. Consider it an investment in your future.”

“I didn’t do it.” Roy shook his head. “I’ve done some regrettable things when I was drunk but I’ve never hurt anyone. Not physically.” He let out a weird laugh. “I was just a very drunk man who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. You have to believe me.”

“Actually, we don’t. You’d better hope a jury does.”

They decided to let him sit for another hour, then try again. While they waited, Schak went home, Evans took a nap, and Jackson called Kera to tell her he planned to crash at his place again. Her words were supportive, but her tone signaled disappointment.

Engall’s story perplexed him. The suspect seemed to believe what he was saying, and the evidence didn’t exactly contradict him. Still, Engall could have thrown his bloody clothes away anytime during the twelve hours he claimed to be blacked out. He also could have been wearing gloves. Would a drunk think to wear gloves? Jackson needed the damn DNA analysis. It had only been three days though and the lab was processing dozens of blood samples. He’d be lucky to have anything by tomorrow. What would the DNA prove? Engall already admitted to being there. They might have to charge him with the crime and see if a jury would convict him based on a blackmail scheme and some bloody shoeprints.

Jackson called Slonecker. It was after nine, but he needed to get the district attorney in the loop and see if he was ready to file charges. It took a while for the DA to pick up his cell phone. “Victor, it’s Jackson. I have a break in the Walker murders.”

“Excellent.”

“It’s a little messy though. We photographed bloody footprints in the foyer and matched them to Roy Engall. We found the shoes in his trash and a blackmail note from Jared Walker in his van. Tonight Engall admitted to being at the scene. He says he was drunk, walked in and saw the bodies, then panicked and left.”

“Arrest him for murder, and I’ll file the paperwork in the morning. You need to keep building a case against him, but the blackmail note will convince a jury.”

“He has no defense wounds and his prints aren’t on either weapon.”

“We’ve seen it before. Anything else I need to know right now? My wife is holding a movie for me.”

“That’s it. Good night.”

Jackson felt a measure of relief. He was about to make an arrest in the worst homicide Eugene had ever experienced. The department’s public relations officer would make a statement tomorrow, and for a moment the public would think the police were doing their job.

He started down the hall to the interrogation room and his phone rang. He noticed he’d already missed two calls from Katie. “Hey, sweetie, what’s going on?”

“Mom’s drunk and going a little crazy.”

Jackson woke Evans and told her to book Engall into jail on murder charges. He left before she could ask questions and ran for the exit. His gut hurt as he bounded down the stairs but he couldn’t slow down. His daughter was sitting in a park, at night, waiting for him. Located between the river and the base of Skinner’s Butte, the park was bordered by a bike/pedestrian path connected to downtown Eugene in one direction and River Road neighborhoods in another. The park was also the site of two recent murders of homeless men, and it served as the sleeping grounds for many others.

Jackson’s heart hammered from more than exertion as he ran across the underground parking lot. He told himself nothing would happen to his daughter in the next five minutes while he drove over. Still, he gunned the cruiser and was relieved to see no traffic. He went through a red light and sped down High Street toward the park.

Renee lived in an upscale apartment near the park’s downtown side, a whole different neighborhood than the area adjacent to the other end, where transients wandered in from their panhandling gigs along busy 6th and 7th Avenues. Katie had been spending time with her mother as she did every Wednesday, then things had gotten ugly. His daughter hadn’t wanted to talk about it on the phone. “Just come and get me,” was all she would say. This was not the first time he’d responded to such a call, but he hoped like hell it would be the last.

Jackson pulled into the parking lot near the playground equipment and visually scanned the area. One other car was there, a light-colored sedan he noted out of habit, but in the dark he didn’t see any people. In the distance, a cyclist’s headlight zoomed along the river bike path. As he climbed from the car he heard Renee’s voice, the all-too-familiar sound of her drunken belligerence. He ran toward the commotion coming from behind the public restrooms.

Katie sat on the end of a picnic table and Renee stood nearby, pleading her case. “Call your dad and tell him everything is fine.” Her voice had the loose control of someone trying not to slur. “Please, Katie. He’ll overreact to this, like he always does.”

“Katie, I’m here.” Jackson jogged up to his daughter, avoiding eye contact with Renee. He’d learned a few things over the years.

Katie hopped off the picnic table and started for the parking lot without saying a word. She’d learned a few lessons too.

“I’m not drunk, goddamnit,” Renee called after them as they quickened their steps. “I just took too much Xanax.”

Jackson prayed his ex-wife would stay where she was and accept what was happening. He didn’t get that lucky.

“Damn it, Jackson. You can’t just take her. This is my night with my daughter.”

He heard Renee stumbling along, so he started to jog. Katie did too.

“You can’t bully me anymore, Jackson. I’ll take you to court.”

They crossed the perimeter sidewalk and headed for his car. Behind them Renee tripped and landed with a thud on the asphalt. She cried out in pain.

“Crap.” He and Katie said it at the same time and stopped nearly in unison.

“We should make sure she gets home okay,” Katie said, as they turned back. It was the last thing on earth Jackson wanted to do. Yet it was the right thing to do.

Renee was crying softly as they approached. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Jackson wanted to shoot her. “Would you like a ride home?”

“I don’t need your holier-than-thou help.”

Jackson bit his tongue so hard his eyes watered. The idea of hauling his drunk ex-wife into the back of his car and driving six blocks was right up there with the non-sedated stent removal he’d gone through recently. If Katie hadn’t been present, he would have walked away. For his daughter’s sake, he would escort this miserable woman home and provide an example of compassion.

His reward was a kick in the shins.

When they were finally alone in the car, Jackson kept quiet and let Katie process her emotions. He didn’t have to tell his daughter her visitations with her mother were suspended for now. In fact, he suspected Katie was feeling so betrayed, once again, she would punish Renee by not even taking her calls. He drove south across a quiet downtown and finally said, “I’m sorry your mother disappointed you again. Try not to hate her.”

“Don’t you hate her?”

Jackson laughed. “Sometimes, for a moment or two. Then I remind myself she’s an addict and life must be hard for her.”

“Alcohol is disgusting. I don’t understand the attraction.”

“People want to feel better, and they reach for something they think will soften the edges. Then they can’t stop.”

“What about her promises to me?” Katie raised her voice and he heard the tears coming. “What about making me feel better?”

“Addicts get focused on themselves. It’s part of the disease.”

“I’m done with her.” Katie waved a dismissive hand. “Can I file some paperwork with the court saying she’s not my mother anymore?”

Jackson reached over and held his daughter’s hand. “We can revoke her visitation, but she’ll always be your mother. Sorry, but you’re stuck with your parents.”

Until they die
. Jackson had been thinking about his own dead parents more and more lately. They had been murdered twelve years ago. The man who’d committed the crime would come up for a parole hearing soon. Jackson thought he might attend.

Katie said, “I want to go home. To our house. I want it to be just you and me for a while.”