Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death (8 page)

Jackson laughed out loud. Suddenly he had to pee. “Excuse me,” he said, charging for the adjoining bathroom.

Kera made enchiladas, one of Katie’s favorites, while Katie watched Micah in the living room. Jackson wandered back and forth between the two. At least his daughter was here, having dinner with them, so they were making progress. Katie still believed her parents would get back together now that Renee was sober, so she kept Kera at a distance, much to Jackson’s anguish. He needed these two females to bond, so he didn’t have to spend his life like this, going back and forth.

At dinner, he delivered on his promise to Kera and Katie to discuss his medical situation. “I have an appointment with a urologist on Wednesday to talk about surgery. It’s nothing to worry about,” he said, looking at Katie. “I think they’re just going to cut out some of the growth, which is a good thing.”

Kera gave him a look. He took it to mean he was over-simplifying things. Jackson didn’t feel the need to scare Katie with the whole truth yet. Hell, he didn’t even know what the whole truth was.

Kera said, “I think they’ll do a little more than that. They also need to protect your urinary system from having this happen again.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Jackson faked a grin. As Kera was talking, it hit him for the first time that the surgery would leave him with quite a scar.

“Will you still pee normal?” Katie mumbled, her mouth full of corn.

“Of course.” He felt like he had to go right now. He was learning to ignore the sensation until it became overwhelming.

“How long will you be in the hospital?” Katie wanted to know.

“For a few days.” Jackson glanced at Kera. She rolled her eyes but didn’t correct him.

“What if the fiber stuff comes back?” Katie asked.

“After the surgery, I’ll take steroids to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Will they let me watch? You know, like on Grey’s Anatomy, how they sit up there in the little room and watch surgeries?”

“I don’t think so,” Jackson said.

“Too bad.”

While they cleaned up from dinner, they listened to the local news on the small television in the kitchen. Trina Waterman, a wispy blond who looked just out of high school, led with:
Last night, a young woman named Courtney Durham left Diego’s nightclub on Pearl Street and has not been seen since
.

As they flashed Courtney’s picture on the screen, Jackson stopped wiping the counter and turned up the volume.

The anchorwoman continued:
Courtney is five-seven, a hundred and twenty pounds, with long blond hair and green eyes. At the time of her disappearance she is believed to have been wearing black jeans, a black tank top, and a turquoise jean jacket
.

Courtney’s photo filled half the screen. Kera moved over and stood with Jackson in front of the small TV.

If you have seen this woman, please call the police tip line at 682-8888
.

The phone number flashed on the screen in big white letters.

Jackson was caught off guard by the story. He shouldn’t have been. Elle Durham was worried about her daughter, and she had money to throw around.

The broadcast cut to Elle, seated in front of a gray wall, with perfect hair, clothes, and posture. Her voice quivered as she spoke:
My daughter Courtney is missing, and I’ll do anything to get her back. If you have kidnapped Courtney, please don’t harm her. I will pay for her return. Contact me directly at 606-2315
.

“Oh crap.” Jackson shuddered at the calls the poor woman would get.

“What about Danette?” Kera complained, her voice rising. “I talked to Trina Waterman this afternoon. I e-mailed her a digital file.”

In the background, Waterman continued her broadcast:
Another young woman was reported missing today as well. Danette Blake, age twenty, has not been seen since a doctor’s appointment this morning. The police are investigating, but so far they do not believe foul play is involved
. Danette’s picture flashed briefly on the screen as Waterman spoke, then she switched to a traffic accident on Beltline Road.

Kera muted the sound. “Who is Courtney Durham? What is going on that two young women are missing? And why does Courtney’s disappearance get more coverage than Danette’s?”

Jackson had no good answers. “Courtney Durham is a rich party girl who has willingly disappeared before. Mrs. Durham got air time because the Durhams probably own the news building, maybe even the station.”

Kera made the connection. “Oh, those Durhams.” A second later. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit?” his daughter asked from the doorway, holding Micah on her hip.

“You don’t get to say that word.” Jackson tried to never swear in front of his daughter.

“Kera said it.”

“She’s earned the privilege.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have.” Kera turned to Jackson. “Could these disappearances be connected?”

“It’s possible, but I just don’t see how. Zapata believes Courtney will turn up on her own. She has a history of bad behavior that includes running off without telling her mother.” Jackson shook his head. “I wish Mrs. Durham hadn’t announced her willingness to pay a ransom. She’s going to get calls from thugs who will try to shake her down.”

“What if Courtney was kidnapped? How much money can they demand?”

Kera was asking what he thought the Durhams were worth. Jackson could only speculate. “
If
she’s been kidnapped, they know who she is and they’ll probably ask for millions.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Katie said. “I guess being rich is not always a good thing.”

Jackson looked at his daughter with pride. “It can be a problem. It’s too bad making that kind of money can put your children at risk.”

“In more ways than one,” Kera added. After a moment, “What do we do next about Danette?”

“We keep talking to her friends. We try to find the boyfriend. We print posters with her picture and put them up all over town.”

“Can I help?” Katie asked.

“Of course.” Kera smiled at his daughter. “Once I get the posters printed, you can help me distribute them.”

And I’ll look for a connection between the two women, Jackson thought.

Chapter 10

Wednesday, April 8, 7:55 a.m.

Jackson hurried into the U-shaped building that housed city hall and police headquarters. Every time he noticed the non-staggered masonry, he hoped the public safety department would get a new building before the five-hundred-year earthquake hit. If the building collapsed, it would take all the patrol cars parked under it, leaving citizens to fend for themselves.

He was at his desk only a few minutes when Sergeant Lammers called him back to her office. He stopped in the bathroom on the way, thinking his surgery couldn’t come soon enough. The pain was easier to take than this constant pressure.

“Jackson, how are you feeling?” Lammers gestured for him to sit.

“Just fine.”

“Good. I need you to investigate Courtney Durham’s disappearance.”

“Why? It’s not my usual department, and Detective Zapata doesn’t believe she’s really missing.”

“Elle Durham specifically asked for you to be assigned to her daughter’s case. Since you don’t have a homicide investigation right now, there’s no reason not to make Ms. Durham happy.”

“How did she come to ask for me?” Jackson was skeptical.

“She said you asked intelligent questions when she was filing the missing persons report. I said you were our best investigator. She said she wanted you to find Courtney.”

“Money talks.”

“In this case, it does more than talk.” Lammers let out a harsh laugh. “It may buy us a new building.”

Jackson opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind. He hated the politics of money. Even more, he hated being manipulated by it. Nothing he could say would change the reality. He was also pleased by the assignment. It would give him an excuse to keep investigating Danette’s disappearance too. “I’ll do my best to find her.”

“Thank you.” Lammers sounded sincere.

Jackson headed down the hall to Robert Zapata’s desk. The officer was putting on his jacket. “Hey, Jackson. What’s up?”

“Sergeant Lammers assigned me to Courtney Durham’s case.”

Zapata looked surprised. “Ms. Durham must be throwing her weight around.”

“Did you see her on the news last night?”

“No. Did she make a public appeal?”

“She offered money to get her daughter back.”

“Oh shit.”

“Why do you think she’s so desperate? I mean, since Courtney has a history of bad behavior that includes disappearing for days at a time?”

“Maybe it’s a ploy to make her daughter feel guilty. You know, the look-what-you-put-me-through crap.” Zapata picked up a black zippered notebook.

“Interesting. You’re headed out?”

“I was going to stop by Diego’s and talk to the staff and show Courtney’s picture around.” He put the notebook down, unzipped it, and handed Jackson a photo. “If you’re taking the case, you might as well do the legwork.”

“Taking this case wasn’t my idea.”

Zapata grinned. “Better you than me. I don’t like wasting my time.”

As Jackson pulled out of the underground parking lot, he thought about driving the few blocks to Diego’s, then changed his mind. Courtney had been to the club late in the evening. If he wanted to catch the bartender or cocktail waitress who had served Courtney or the customers who might have seen her, it would be best to stop in after nine this evening. He headed for the south hills instead.

The Durham estate was off Fox Hollow on its own little street. From the bottom of the driveway, the building looked more like an elite luxury spa than a single-family home. Jackson guessed about five-thousand square feet. As he drove up, he spotted a tennis court off to the left. He parked in front of the four-car garage and felt the cameras on him as he trotted over to the main entrance. He’d called ahead and Elle Durham was expecting him.

Still, the staff woman who answered the door said, “Ms. Durham is with her acupuncturist right now. She’ll be out in ten minutes. Please have a seat.” The woman started to walk away, but Jackson called out, “Excuse me. I need a moment of your time.”

“Yes?” She looked surprised. She was in her fifties but looked well cared for and was comfortably dressed in black cotton slacks and pullover.

“What’s your name?”

“Helen Joseph.”

“What do you do here?”

“I’m the housekeeper.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Sixteen years.”

“When was the last time you saw Courtney?”

“Late Monday afternoon. I saw her in the gym when I picked up the towels. I left here at five o’clock.” Her answer sounded practiced, as if she’d been through it a few times. She didn’t look worried.

“What gym?”

Helen pointed toward the back of the house.

Of course they had a gym. “Do you have any idea where Courtney is?”

“None.” She kept her face deadpan. Jackson suspected she had some interesting stories to tell, but sixteen years on the job meant she was loyal and discreet.

“Thanks. I may have more questions later.”

After she left, Jackson decided to look around. It was part of the job. The first two rooms he wandered into, a sitting room and a library, gave him little information except that the Durhams had more money than he’d realized. Hearing voices at the end of the second hallway, he headed in that direction. He needed to interview everyone in the household.

Halfway down, Elle came out of an intersecting hall. “Hello again, Detective Jackson. Thank you for coming.” She grabbed his arm and steered him back the way she had come from. “Let’s talk in my office.”

The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the April sun, bathing the peach walls in a soft glow. Jackson could see why she wanted to spend time here. Elle Durham spoke into an intercom and asked someone to bring coffee.

Jackson decided not to let the meeting get too comfortable. “I saw your video on the news last night. Offering to pay a ransom before you get a demand is not a good idea.”

Elle bristled. “I’m trying to protect my daughter.”

“Has anyone called trying to collect?”

“Yes.” Her eyes darted away. Elle plopped down, looking old and tired now instead of rich and well preserved. “I hired someone, a retired cop, to handle the calls for me. He says neither of the callers could produce any evidence they have Courtney.”

“Who did you hire and where is he?”

“His name is Roger Ingram, and he’s in the gym right now. So is Brooke, my other daughter.”

Jackson didn’t recognize the cop’s name as he wrote it down. He’d been with the Eugene department nearly twenty years, so it was unlikely Ingram had been a local officer. “I’d like to talk to both of them before I leave.”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can tell you?”

“I’d like to know about Courtney’s social life. You mentioned a boyfriend yesterday. Tell me about him.”

“Brett Fenton is a upstanding young man from a good family. He’s the first boyfriend Courtney has ever had who I could say that about.”

“I’d like to talk to him. What’s his phone number?”

Elle pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, searched through her contacts, and gave him the number.

Jackson jotted it down. He thought about Danette’s boyfriend, Chad, and wondered if he was somehow connected to Courtney.

“Does Courtney know a young man named Chad?”

“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t know for sure.”

Jackson let it go. It seemed unlikely that Courtney and Chad would travel in the same circles. “How long have Courtney and Brett been a couple?”

“About three months. They went to school together, so they knew each other casually before, but they met at a charity fundraiser in January. I am very happy about the relationship.” Elle gave him a look, as if warning him not to scare Brett off.

“What about ex-boyfriends? Who was Courtney dating before?”

Elle’s stiffened and her thin face went a shade paler. “Oh dear. Her last boyfriend went a little crazy when she broke it off. He started out a little crazy too. I think he snorted cocaine like it was an asthma treatment.”