Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (11 page)

“How much money?” Schak wanted to know.

“A hundred and twenty-five grand and change,” Dragoo said. “We thought Danny either stashed it before we confronted him or he handed it off to his brother, Patrick. But despite thorough searches of all three homes and vehicles, the cash never turned up.”

“How did you track the robbery to Danny Brennan and Craig Cooper?”

“We had an anonymous tip.”

Interesting
, Jackson thought. “Maybe Patrick turned them in to get Danny to panic and hand over the money.”

“It’s possible,” Dragoo said.

“Where did you confront Danny?” Jackson was careful not to say
kill
. He knew what it felt like to be in that position.

“At his home.” Dragoo seemed pained by the memory. “We tore the place apart looking for the cash, but it never turned up. We also didn’t find any safe deposit keys, and it wasn’t in his bank account.”

“Who worked the case with you?” Jackson asked. Jane Niven’s allegation that the police had taken the money was fresh in his mind, but he wouldn’t bring it up with Dragoo in the room.

“John Iverson. He retired about six months after we closed the case.” Dragoo sat forward. “I know the perps’ families think one of us took the money, but it’s bullshit. I hope you find it so we can put that rumor to rest.”

“Do you know where we can locate Patrick?” Jackson asked.

“I don’t think he went far. He and Danny have family here in Lane County.” Dragoo tapped the folder he’d laid on the table. “You’ll find them all in here.” He got to his feet. “I have to be in court, but if you need more information, let me know.”

After Dragoo left, Schak said, “This is definitely more interesting than a homeless-on-homeless killing.”

“We need to find out exactly when Cooper was released,” Jackson said. “His sister says it’s been a couple of months, so the old robbery and missing money may not be connected.”

“You want me on that?” Schak asked.

“Sure. Then see if you can track down Patrick Brennan or his wife or whoever else might know where he is. I’d like to bring Patrick in for questioning.”

“Does Cooper have a widow?” Evans voiced the detail Jackson had forgotten to mention.

“According to my source, he has an ex-wife.” Jackson had to look at his notes for her name. “Dora Cooper. Jane Niven gave me a phone number and address, but they could be outdated.” He handed the information to Evans. “Would you track her down, please?”

“I’m on it.” She wrote the wives’ names on the board, then stared at the data. “We’re missing Danny’s family. I’ll see if I can find his widow too.” Evans added the detectives’ names from the old robbery. “So Iverson retired after the hundred thousand went missing. What you do think?”

Jackson didn’t blame her for asking. Still, he said, “Iverson put in his twenty years. Let’s not make any assumptions.”

“I worked with him,” Schak added. “I never saw anything out of line.”

That wasn’t the same as saying Iverson was a good man. “I have a personal matter this afternoon,” Jackson said. “Then I’ll dig into Cooper’s laptop and check in with the lab. We’ll meet back here at six.” He hated passing the witness work to his team, but he didn’t have a choice. Katie’s future was on the line today.

Across the boulevard from the towering Autzen Stadium, home of Duck football, was the John Serbu Youth Campus. It housed the juvenile justice court, incarceration facilities for young offenders, and a treatment center. Jackson had come here as a police officer on a few occasions, but he’d never been here as a parent. Walking across the parking lot filled him with a strange grief, a sense that his family life as he’d known it was gone. Katie, who he loved more
than anyone, was here somewhere, feeling abandoned, angry, and lonely for a mother who wasn’t coming back.

The other two women in Jackson’s life were waiting in the lobby of the juvenile justice building—a high-ceilinged room with plenty of windows, but with tables and benches made of metal. Indestructible material that was painted over every six months or so. Today, it was a sunny yellow.

Kera, his girlfriend, kissed him on the check. Just the sight of her filled the hole in his heart. Tall and athletic, Kera fit nicely into his frame as he hugged her to him. He breathed in the tropical scent of her hair and wished he could stay like this long enough to heal his grief and guilt.

“Where’s Micah?” he asked, pulling back. Kera’s toddler grandson was the product of a brief relationship her son had engaged in before being deployed to and killed in Iraq. Both Micah and the baby’s mother lived with Kera—the only reason Jackson didn’t.

“He’s with Danette. She’s on spring break this week.”

Jackson turned to Katie’s aunt, the woman who’d filled in the gaps of his parenting. “Thanks for coming, Jan. It’ll be good for Katie to know you’re here.” Jan was his ex-wife’s sister, but they looked nothing alike. Jan was blond and plump and generous with her smiles. She gave him one now, and he had a flash of guilt. When he’d shot Renee, Jan not only hadn’t blamed him, she’d offered him comfort.

“Let’s go in.” Jackson trudged up the wide steps. The late-night work felt heavy in his legs, and his troubled child weighed heavy in his heart.

Inside the small courtroom, Jackson was relieved to see a female judge behind the bench. Katie was seated in the first row with a woman on either side. Kera and Jan took their seats, while
Jackson rounded the first bench and stopped in front of the trio. “Hi Katie.”

His daughter slumped with relief, but didn’t smile or greet him. She’d been angry for a while now and he was a little numb to it. When she’d first started expressing her hostility, it had been like a knife to his heart. But the counselor he’d been to as a job requirement had helped him accept that it would pass. Only it hadn’t.

“I’m Wade Jackson,” he said to the woman in the pantsuit.

She stood and shook his hand. “Wanda Parsons, Katie’s court-appointed attorney. And this is Debbie Myers, a caseworker with Children and Family Services.”

Hearing the state agency’s name brought a fresh wave of guilt. He had failed as a parent, and the state thought his family needed monitoring. He shook the caseworker’s hand and managed to squeeze a greeting past the lump in his throat.

“Today’s hearing is an informal opportunity for all of us to talk about what’s best for Katie.” The caseworker smiled warmly.

Jackson tried not to hate her. He’d known the state would get involved when he’d asked the officer to arrest Katie the night before. Now he had second thoughts.
What if they put her in foster care?
He told the attorney, “I’d like her to go through a treatment program. I think she needs to understand alcoholism.”

“You’ll have a chance to say that to the judge in a few minutes.” The lawyer didn’t smile, but Jackson didn’t sense any animosity.

He took a seat next to Kera and she reached for his hand. She held it gently until the courtroom aide announced the case details, then let go. She knew him well.

Judge Holt, a stout woman with scalp-short white hair, asked everyone to introduce themselves, then summarized the situation. This was Katie’s second charge of minor in possession of alcohol. The first had netted no punitive action, only a recommendation
for counseling. A second offense a month later meant new ramifications. Focused on what he would say, Jackson barely heard the words. The judge called on him immediately afterward. He didn’t know if he was supposed to stand, but it seemed right, so he did.

“Katie recently lost her mother in a tragic accidental shooting.” Jackson hoped he would not have to explain. “She’s grieving and angry. In addition, her mother was an alcoholic, so she’s prone to the disease. I would like her to begin a treatment program that educates her about alcohol and addiction. I also plan to take her to a grief counselor.”

“Thank you.” The judge nodded. “I need to know if the shooting happened at home.”

“No, your honor. Katie’s mother, Renee, was kidnapped.”

Katie called out, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

The court was quiet for a moment. The judge looked at her. “Katie, I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m dealing with. We’ll keep it brief.” She turned back to Jackson. “Your wife was killed by her abductor?”

“Yes and no.” Jackson drew in a painful breath. “The assailant engineered the situation, but I shot her accidentally.” Emotions overwhelmed him and he had to pause. Silence filled the room, as if everyone had stopped breathing. Finally, Jackson found a solid voice. “I acted according to my training, and any other officer would have done the same. I thought Katie had forgiven me, but now I realize that may take a lot of time.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The judge’s voice was soft and stunned.

Jackson hadn’t wanted to deal with this today, yet in his heart, he knew it was important that everyone understand what Katie was really going through.

The caseworker stood. “I agree that Katie needs treatment and counseling. The question is whether outpatient treatment will be
effective or whether she needs a more-specialized inpatient treatment. Considering her family circumstances, I’m inclined to suggest inpatient treatment.”

Jackson cringed. He hated the thought of Katie being gone from his home for a month, but he wanted her to get the help she needed.

The caseworker sat down, and the lawyer took a turn. “I think we should let Katie speak before any more recommendations are offered.”

The judge nodded. “Katie?”

She didn’t stand. “I want to go home. I’ll go see a therapist every week, but I want a different one. Please don’t lock me in here.”

The judge looked back at Jackson. “You’re a police officer and a single father. Can you supervise your daughter adequately?”

Jackson tensed, then slumped with guilt. He’d been struggling with this issue for a long time. Even when he and Renee had still been married, Renee’s alcoholism had kept her from being a dependable parent. When he felt under control, he stood again. “Katie has other people in her life to help me. Her aunt Jan has been a care provider all along, and Katie is bonded to my partner, Kera. Katie is usually at one of their homes whenever I have to work late.” Jackson gestured at the women sitting with him, feeling grateful and humiliated at the same time.
Please let this be over soon.

The caseworker spoke up. “I’m concerned about Katie’s anger toward her father. Maybe removing her from his home for a while will help her work through it.”

Jackson resisted the urge to argue.

After a long moment, Judge Holt said, “We just learned that our inpatient treatment program lost its funding, so I’ll honor Katie’s desire to go home. But I want her in daily alcohol treatment
sessions and weekly grief counseling. Please make the necessary arrangements and submit the paperwork to me by the end of the day Friday. If there’s another incident, I’ll have no choice but to recommend incarceration.”

Tension flowed out of Jackson’s shoulders. Katie was coming home. He’d thought he wanted to force her into a treatment program that would contain her and remove her from his responsibility for a while. But after one night of knowing she was behind locked doors, he’d changed his mind. He tried to gauge Katie’s reaction, but he couldn’t see her well enough from the side to tell.

He turned to Jan and Kera. “Thank you for being here. Now I need to find Katie a new counselor.”

The caseworker walked over. “We’ll process some paperwork, then Katie will be released into your custody in twenty minutes or so.” The social worker didn’t look happy, but she dug into her purse and handed Jackson a business card. “This therapist is terrific with troubled teenagers. I’ll give her a call. I think she’s even in the building today.”

Jackson took the card, said thank you, and headed out to wait in the bright light of the lobby. He wanted this to be the last time he set foot in this building, but he knew it wouldn’t be. Now that he had a homicide case to work, he would have to depend on Kera and Jan to keep his daughter out of trouble while he sought justice for a man who’d robbed a bank. On the surface, it seemed wrong, yet Jackson couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change who he was or how he lived his life.

Kera stepped up next to him, and he realized the one change he could make was to move in with Kera. Maybe it would be good for Katie to be around Kera, Danette, and the baby. It might give her a new sense of family.

While they waited for Katie, a woman approached him and held out her hand. “Wade Jackson?” She was in her forties, well groomed, and very overweight.

“Yes?” He shook her hand, feeling a little reluctant.

“I’m Charlotte Diebold, a therapist who specializes in counseling teenagers.”

Jackson looked at the card in his hand. Same woman. “It’s good to meet you. The social worker gave me your card.”

“Yes, she called me. I do a lot of work with kids who come through this courtroom, and I’d love to help with your daughter.”

Jackson decided to trust the caseworker’s recommendation. “How soon can you see Katie? She needs an intervention.”

“I’ll check for an opening this week and get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Jackson nodded and started toward the door. He was ready to get the hell out.

CHAPTER 9