Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 01 - The Sex Club (40 page)

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Kera decided it was time for them to go. Rachel was clearly not concerned about Jessie. And for some reason, she had not even mentioned Nicole’s murder. She was mostly angry that Kera had accessed the club’s website. Kera stood. “I’m not sure we’re accomplishing anything here. But feel free to come see me at the clinic any time.”

7:16 p.m.

The bitch. She was trying to make them leave. Right after lying about not knowing the names of the kids in the sex club. Rachel decided Kera Kollmorgan could not be trusted.

“Can we stay a while longer?” Rachel smiled. “We have important questions. And we can’t ask our parents.”

“I don’t think your parents would want you to be here,” Kollmorgan said. “And I’m not comfortable giving you advice outside the clinic.” She brushed her long hair back and glanced at the door.

The nurse not only knew who the sex club members were, she also knew their parents. This was bad news. “Will you get me a glass of water please?” Rachel asked in her polite church voice. “My throat hurts and this soda is making it worse.”

Kollmorgan stood for a moment, staring at her. Rachel tried to look sad. Then Kollmorgan said “Sure” and headed for the kitchen.

As soon she was out of the room, Rachel lunged across the small space between the furniture grouping and snatched up Kollmorgan’s Dr. Pepper can. She quickly dropped in all five Ativan tablets, which had been pressed in the pocket of her hand. She had only given Nicole three, but Kollmorgan was a big woman. Rachel covered the hole in the top of the can with her thumb and gave it a quick shake. The tablets, she had learned, dissolved almost instantly when they came into contact with liquid. Rachel wiped the can with her sleeve to smear her prints, set it down on the end table, and bolted back to the couch.

“What are you doing?” Angel whispered.

“The same routine we did with Nicole,” Rachel whispered back. She heard the water shut off in the kitchen.

“You said we wouldn’t have to do this.” Angel sounded distressed. But she’d been that way for days, and Rachel ignored her.

“She knows too much, and I don’t trust her. Now be quiet, she’s coming.”

As Kollmorgan came back into the room with a glass of ice water, Rachel looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”

7:17 p.m.

Jackson was grateful for speed dial. It allowed him to call Schak, Evans, and McCray while racing up Willamette Street in the dark with only one hand on the wheel. Sometimes cops were the most dangerous drivers on the road. His first call had been to the dispatch center to retrieve an address for John Strickland: 3260 Donald. It was a beautiful upscale neighborhood with a wide street, mature oak and cherry trees, and large homes with perfectly manicured front yards. Jackson did not see or appreciate any of this in his present frame of mind, but he had noticed it two days earlier when he’d driven up to Edgewood Park, where Nicole’s body waited.

The Stricklands’ two-story home was near the top and set back from the road a little farther than others. Lights were on, but there were no vehicles in the driveway. Still, they could have been tucked into the oversized two-car garage. As he trotted up to the front door, Jackson sensed no movement or sound from inside the house. He had the sinking feeling that no one was home.

Repeated ringing of the doorbell and loud knocking confirmed that. Under the porch light, he opened his notebook and searched for the Stricklands’ phone number. He didn’t find it.

Jackson ran to his Impala and backed out into the street, squealing his tires. Dispatch would probably get a complaint from one of the neighbors about the disturbance. He called Evans and she picked up immediately.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“No one is home at the Stricklands’. Any luck at the Greiners’?”

“I’m not there yet. I’m coming in from Barger Drive. Where are you headed now?”

“I think I’ll swing by the church. If you find Rachel at home, call me. I want to be there when you question her.”

“Will do.”

Jackson resisted the urge to call Schak and McCray; they were probably also still en route to their assigned Teen Talk homes. Schak lived in Springfield and McCray lived in the River Road area, so they had even farther to drive than Evans. Jackson eased up on the gas and forced himself to breathe deeply. This was just another step in the investigation. If his theory was sound, it seemed unlikely that anyone else was in danger. Once they picked up the kids, it was simply a matter of pressing until one of them cracked. He veered left at Willamette and headed for 18th Street and the First Bible Baptist Church.

7:23 p.m.

Kera decided to let them stay for a while. Rachel’s anger seemed to have dissipated, and Angel’s green eyes flickered with stress. The older girl still hadn’t spoken, but now she kept glancing at Kera and looking away. While Rachel talked about the frustrations of having religious parents, Angel helped herself to a handful of crackers and munched them down as though it were a task she had to complete quickly. Kera wondered if she might be high on something.

“My parents are obsessed,” Rachel said, her voice showing emotion for the first time. “Teen sex, gay sex, unmarried sex. They want to stop everybody. It’s because they believe the Bible says sex is for procreation only. And my younger brother is eleven, so apparently they haven’t done it in a long time. I guess they figure nobody else should have any fun either.”

Kera was amused by her perception and thought Rachel might be right, but she wouldn’t criticize the girl’s parents.

“My parents have sex,” Angel said suddenly. “I can hear them sometimes. And my dad has a bunch of porno tapes, so he must like to watch people fornicate.”

Kera didn’t know what to say. She took a long a drink of soda. It seemed a little bitter on the back of her tongue. She thought the soft drink must be reacting with the garlic chicken she’d had for dinner. After a moment she said, “Most people discover that it’s best not to think too much about their parents’ sex lives.”

Rachel laughed, a short harsh sound. “Good advice.” She leaned forward more intently now. “What did you and Nicole talk about?”

“That’s confidential. But I think you know she shared some of your concerns.”

“You mean about what would happen to her if she got caught?” Rachel’s eyes held the flicker of anger again.

Kera felt her forehead pucker into a frown, then forced her face to relax. “Is that what you’re worried about, Rachel?”

“Of course.” Her expression turned mean. “My parents like to punish sinners.”

Kera got goose bumps on her arms. Was this poor girl abused? She felt a lump rise in her throat, so she gulped another drink of soda to wash it down. The taste was worse this time. She pushed it aside.

“I hope this isn’t out of line,” she said, “but do they abuse you? I can give you the name of a lawyer who can help.”

Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

“They beat her,” Angel said softly.

“Shut up, Angel.”

Fear crept into Kera’s bones. Rachel was an abused and angry young girl, but she was not here for help. Kera rose, anxious to terminate the conversation and get them out of her home. For a moment, she felt a little light headed and had to steady herself. “Let me get you the phone numbers of people and agencies you can call to report your situation.”

Kera started to head for the Rolodex in her office, but Rachel’s screech stopped her cold. “I don’t want you to report my situation. I want you to stay out of my business!”

Kera turned back, feeling frightened and spacey at the same time. “It’s your choice. Will you excuse me, please? I don’t feel well.” Kera took a step toward the front door, hoping the girls would get up and follow.

They didn’t move.

She stood there for a moment, then felt like she had to sit back down. Her brain was mushy, and her legs felt as if she had just run five miles. Had she overdone it on the elliptical machine? Kera staggered back to her chair and flopped into it. What was wrong with her?

Rachel and Angel just sat there watching her, as if waiting for something.

And then the fear she had felt earlier took shape, and its newly formed fingers circled her heart. These girls had drugged her drink. They were here to harm her. Dear God, why?

Kera struggled to make sense of it, but her brain worked slowly. Rachel was clearly angry that Kera had been on the website and knew about the sex club. But what was she afraid of? That Kera would tell her abusive parents?

Now, even her heartbeat felt slow. Kera looked around for her cell phone. She needed to call for help. She needed Jackson.

“What did you put in my soda?” The words came out in a slog of syllables.

“Just something to help you relax.” Rachel smiled, and Kera felt a chill run up her spine.

“Why?”

“It’s easier this way.”

Rachel’s casual confidence sent shocks of panic through Kera’s torso. Rachel and Angel had done this before. The adrenaline surging in her veins cleared her brain enough to make the connection that these girls may have killed both Jessie and Nicole to keep them from talking about the sex club’s activities. And now they planned to kill her too.

She had to get out, to make a run for it before the drug immobilized her completely.

7:35 p.m.

Ruth had just checked her watch when Detective Jackson burst into the small sanctuary in the church basement and interrupted the women’s Bible study. They were reading First Corinthians Chapter 11, about women’s roles in church and why their heads should be covered.

Ruth glanced back at him. With his dark suit, eyebrow scar, and short-cropped hair, Jackson looked like an FBI agent. But his insistence on harassing church people gave Ruth little confidence that he would ever find who killed Jessie and Nicole.

“Excuse me,” he called from the back of the room. “I’d like to speak with Ruth Greiner and Eva Strickland, please.” Some of worshippers turned to look at the detective. Most glanced at Ruth and Eva. Ruth felt a great wave of anger travel from her heart to her head, where it threatened to burst out. She had plans! She had to make that phone call to Kollmorgan in exactly twenty-one minutes. For Kollmorgan to die, she had to be in or near her car at eight o’clock.

But Ruth rose calmly, ignored the glances from her friends, and moved to the top of the sanctuary where Jackson stood, hands on hips, waiting.

“Where are Rachel and Angel?” he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Rachel’s home with a stomachache,” Ruth answered, letting her irritation show. “Let’s step out into the vestibule.”

As they moved through the door, all eyes on their backs, Jackson said, “She’s not home. My partner was just there.” The detective turned to Eva. “No one is home at your place either.”

Ruth’s rage pulsed in her temples, causing little flashes of light under her eyelids. Rachel was in so much trouble. Why wouldn’t that girl learn? Ruth needed an Ativan. Eva looked at her with panicked eyes. Neither said a word.

“Do you have any idea where your daughters are?” Jackson demanded. “I need to talk to them right now.”

“What is this about?” Eva gripped her Bible for support.

“It’s a homicide investigation. Where are they?”

Ruth really didn’t like this man. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they’re with a mutual friend.”

“Who?”

Ruth started to say “Nicole,” but sadly, that couldn’t be true. “I don’t know. They’ve lost two of their close friends recently. They’re still grieving.”

Eva’s face crumpled. “What if they’ve been abducted? Like Nicole and Jessie? Oh my God. I should have never let Angel stay home by herself.”

The detective touched Eva’s arm. “I don’t think they’ve been abducted. In fact, I think the girls may have taken your minivan. It’s not in the driveway.”

Eva gasped. “They wouldn’t. Angel only has a learner’s permit.”

“Help me out here,” Jackson pleaded. “Where would they be?”

“Wherever it is,” Ruth said dryly, “I imagine they plan to get home before we do. So be patient, detective, they’ll show up soon.” And get their butts beaten, Ruth thought. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Bible study waiting for me.”

Ruth walked down the hall toward the restroom instead. The pale green walls and pink floral trim annoyed her. She preferred subtle, neutral tones. Ruth stepped into a stall and checked her watch: 7:45. She had ten minutes. She pulled a small pill bottle out of the zipped compartment in her purse and shook a tiny Ativan tablet into her hand. She put the pill under her tongue to dissolve directly into her bloodstream. She needed to be calm for this next phase of the operation. And she needed to be calm later, when she confronted Rachel about this nonsense, whatever it was.

Ruth left the bathroom, moving purposefully. She trotted up the stairs to the main lobby. Detective Jackson was nowhere in sight. Excellent. She pushed out the double doors and hurried down the wide front steps. Halfway across the parking lot, she picked up her pace. She could see the bright lights of the 7-Eleven store across the street. The two quarters she needed for the call were in her hand, and the number was in her head: 342-5597. She mentally searched the Bible for strength from God’s words and found them in Matthew Chapter 18: