Dying for Justice (19 page)

Jackson and Evans stepped out of the tiny room. Jackson checked his watch: 10:05 p.m. “I’ll take Bekker to jail, while you round up Gina’s personal papers. We’ll meet back here.”

Evans touched his arm. “How is your parents’ case going? I know you must be frustrated to have to work this one instead.”

“My suspect disappeared after I questioned him so I’m at a standstill until he’s located. I’m glad to help with Gina’s case.”

“We’ll make short work of it.” Evans gave him a grim smile. “Maybe we’ll get lucky with the ski mask. It could have DNA.”

“Now all we need is a suspect to compare it with.”

Chapter 23

Wednesday, September 8, 9:37 p.m.

Evans called the Stahls as she headed down to the parking lot, and Sharon answered, sounding sleepy.

“Sorry for the late call. I need to gather up the rest of Gina’s personal papers and bring them into the department. We plan to look at everything until we find a new lead.”

“Are you saying Gary Bekker didn’t do this?”

“He was released on bail this afternoon at four-fifty. Someone bought the Explorer used in the crime at noon, so we’re looking for other suspects or maybe an accomplice.”

“Are you coming over now?” Sharon’s voice quivered.

“Yes. We plan to work late.”

“Thank you.”

Evans crossed the nearly empty parking area and climbed in her car. She looked through her notepad until she found Tricia Cronin’s phone number. It was late to be making calls, but Tricia was a hooker, so she probably didn’t keep regular hours. It took seven rings, but Tricia finally answered. “Why are you calling so late?”

“I have a murder to solve, so this is important. Did Gary Bekker ever mention a partner or show up with another cop?”

“No.”

“Did he ever mention any other adult male to you?”

“He talked about his brother once.”

A shimmer of possibility ran up Evans’ spine. “What did he say?”

“I don’t remember. Gary was drunk and babbling about family.”

“Think hard, Tricia. What did he say?”

“Just something about loving his brother even though he was a pain in the ass.”

Damn
. Evans let out her breath. “Think about the partner idea, please, and call me if you remember anything.”

“Sure.” Tricia hung up.

Evans visualized Doug Bekker. He fit the description of the man who bought the Explorer. Would he help his brother kill someone? He had talked so freely about Gary’s problems. Had it all been a misdirection? She looked up Joni Farmer’s number and called her too, but the heroin addict didn’t pick up.

Evans made four trips from the Stahls’ guest bedroom to her car with boxes and another four trips from her car to the conference room at the department. The Provigil was doing its job and she felt great. Jackson was still not back from booking Bekker into jail, and Evans suspected he’d made a stop at home to check on his daughter or maybe a stop at Kera’s to tell his girlfriend he didn’t have time for midnight nookie. Too bad.

To get comfortable for the long tedious task ahead, Evans took off her jacket and holster and laid her weapon on a nearby chair. She grabbed one of the boxes from the floor and unloaded the contents on the table. The pile was mostly mail, with stacks of unpaid bills and letters from banks, insurance companies, and medical clinics. Evans hoped to move through it quickly and get into more personal items. She started with correspondence from the two clinics. Both had sent letters telling Gina they were turning over her debt to a collection agency.

Jackson came in a few minutes later. He grinned as he sat down. “The Provigil is quite effective.”

“Isn’t it? I love my doctor.”

Jackson pulled a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup from his pocket, opened it, and handed her one of the candies. “I stopped for coffee, realized I didn’t need any, and bought this instead.”

“Thanks, I love these.”

“I know. That’s why I chose it.”

He remembered her favorite.
Evans didn’t try to hide her pleasure. “I’ll have to burn off these calories tomorrow.”

“You don’t look like you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks.” That was as close as he’d ever come to complimenting her appearance. Evans didn’t know why he was suddenly being friendlier, but what the hell, it was about time. She remembered her jacket was off and the shape of her body more prominently displayed. She hoped it was more than that.

“What are we looking at here?” Jackson asked.

“Mail, mostly bills. I knew Gina was in debt, but her financial situation was even worse than I realized. Look at this.” She handed him a letter from the hospital. “She owed North McKenzie more than nine thousand dollars and they turned her over to a collection agency.”

“Unless she borrowed money from a loan shark, I don’t see how the debt could get her killed.”

“Gina doesn’t seem like the type to get involved with lowlifes. What made you say that?”

“My brother Derrick borrowed money from a loan shark right before he moved in with my parents. I think it may have gotten them killed.”

“Oh, shit. Is that your suspect who disappeared? The loan shark?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“We haven’t been close for years.”

“Is he a criminal?”
What made her ask that?

Jackson looked up, seeming surprised by her question. “He had trouble as a teenager, but as an adult he just lacks good judgment. And he fails to see how his actions affect others.”

“Sounds like my brother. Only Trevor is lazy too.”

“Are you in contact with him?”

“Not really.” Evans shrugged. “I call him on his birthday. That’s it.”

Jackson abruptly shifted in his chair and grabbed a stack of mail. “Let’s get through this.”

It took an hour to scan the mail that had piled up after Gina went into a coma. One collection agency had been relentless in its attempt to contact her, sending fifteen letters in two years. Evans wondered if Gina had fully realized or remembered how much financial trouble she faced re-entering the world. She hadn’t seemed to.

The next box contained Gina’s business documents: client orders, invoices, material costs, letters, and printed emails from happy customers. “I wonder if the Stahls still have Gina’s old computer,” Evans said. “I didn’t even think to ask about it.”

“Call them tomorrow. If they do, it’s worth checking out.”

After a few minutes, Jackson said, “Here’s a letter from the Compassion Center, thanking Gina for her volunteer work. Did you know she had connections to a marijuana clinic?”

“I did. She dated a guy who worked there. I talked to him and decided it was a dead end.”

“Maybe we should revisit that.”

“Okay.” Evans was skeptical but she didn’t have any better ideas.

After another hour, they concluded that Gina’s business papers held nothing of interest. Evans stood. “I’m taking a lap around the halls to stretch my legs. Coming with me?”

“Sure.”

As they walked the empty halls elbow-to-elbow, Evans was reminded of indoor gym at her grade school during dark Alaska winters. She glanced at Jackson and picked up her pace. He matched her speed, stride for stride. They rounded a corner and Jackson cut ahead. Evans laughed and ran to pass him. Jackson matched her pace and mockingly elbowed his way in front of her. Soon, they were running and laughing and pushing each other. They reached the conference room door and both tried to step through at the same time. Their bodies mashed together and electric pleasure jolted through Evan’s pelvis. She pivoted toward Jackson, hoping he would kiss her. He reached a hand up to the bruise on her face, then leaned in.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and they jerked apart. A voice boomed, “What the hell is going on? You’re not allowed to have fun in this building.” John Bohnert, a vice detective, laughed at the startled looks on their faces. “Just giving you shit. Are you working the shooting?”

“We are,” Jackson said. “We just took a break from staring at old paperwork.” He nodded at Evans. “Let’s get back to it.”

Jackson grabbed the third box and dumped it on the table. They dug into the pile without speaking. Evans wanted to say something about their moment, but knew she shouldn’t. They worked in mostly silence, occasionally showing each other a document.

After scanning personal letters, Christmas cards, and to-do lists, Evans picked up a handwritten letter that caught her attention. Sentences had been marked through and rewritten as though it were practice. The salutation was also crossed out. In essence, the letter said:
I’ve known who you are for years but I’ve never wanted to contact you. I’m writing now because I need your help. My health has been poor and I’ve run up a lot of medical bills. I was also unable to work for a while. If you could loan me $20,000, I would be deeply grateful and keep your secret forever.

“Holy shit,” Evans said. “Look at this. I think we have a very polite blackmail letter.”

Chapter 24

Thursday, September 9, 5:20 a.m.

Jackson’s cell phone jolted him awake. He fumbled in the dark until he found the beeping nuisance on the nightstand and held it to his face. “Hello.”

“This is Bobbie at the front desk. A state trooper just brought in Ray Durkin and he thought you’d like to know. He picked him up in a motel in La Grande.”

“Put Durkin in an interrogation room. I’ll be there in twenty.” Jackson closed the phone and thought it might be closer to thirty minutes. He’d gone to sleep around two that morning. He staggered into the bathroom and took a quick shower, then splashed cold water on his face until his brain started to work.

Jackson arrived at the department twenty-seven minutes later, carrying a cup of coffee he’d bought on the way. He’d been thinking about his flirtatious moment with Evans the night before. Nothing had happened and he had no reason to feel guilty. Yet he did. He also blamed the Provigil. Yet he knew that was bullshit. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. He loved Kera deeply and that hadn’t changed.

Daylight was peeking over the horizon as he pulled in. He pounded up the steps from the parking garage and felt an old familiar pain in his gut.
Damn
. He’d forgotten to take his prednisone. He headed for the front desk where Bobbie McCann sat behind the plexiglass.

“Good morning, sunshine.” The desk officer gave him a playful smile.

“If you say so.” Jackson returned her smile and took the paperwork she held out.

“He’s in the deluxe suite.”

“Thanks.”

He backtracked to the larger of the two interrogation rooms. By larger, he meant a foot or so. Ray Durkin was dressed the same as yesterday: khaki shorts, a blue t-shirt, and sandals. If not for the handcuffs, he would have looked like a tanned man on vacation. Jackson pressed the video to start recording and sat across from Durkin.

“That coffee smells good,” the suspect said. “I’d sure like some after spending the night in the back of a cop car.”

“We’ll see how it goes. Please state your name for the recorder.”

“Raymond Durkin.”

Jackson identified himself and the date, then said, “Let’s start with a DNA swab. Here’s the subpoena if you’d like to look it over.” Jackson pulled the paper from his file and slid it across the table. While Durkin pretended to read the court order, Jackson dug in his shoulder bag for the swab kit. He stood and stepped around the table. “Open wide.”

Durkin hesitated, then gave a little shrug. He opened his mouth, revealing thousands of dollars worth of dental work. Jackson ran the swab along the inside of his cheek, then bagged and labeled the saliva sample. He left it sitting on the table as a visual reminder to Durkin.

“I told you I was coming back for a DNA sample and you hit the road, so we both know you’re guilty of something.”

Durkin started to interrupt, but Jackson kept talking. “If that saliva matches the hair follicle found at the homicides of Clark and Evelyn Jackson, you’ll likely get the death penalty. It’s in your best interest to tell me what happened and see if we can work a plea deal.”

Durkin’s tan seemed to fade a little. “I had a family emergency. My sister called and asked me to come out to her place near Baker City. There’s where I was headed.”

“What was the emergency?”

“Her husband had left her and she needed help on the farm. Things needed repair and she didn’t have the money to pay someone.” Durkin stared straight at him.

Jackson knew it was not the whole truth. “What’s your sister’s name and phone number?”

“Sue Jacobs. I have her number in my cell phone, which the sheriff confiscated and put into a plastic bag.” Durkin nodded at his cuffed hands. “Will you uncuff me, please?”

Jackson decided to go ahead and let Durkin relax. As he uncuffed him, he said, “I expect your sister to lie for you, so you’ll have to do better that that.”

“Ask her about the dogs,” Durkin said. “I had them with me at the motel. The manager had to call her to come get them.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.” Jackson sat back down. “Let’s talk about the day of the murders.” He forced himself to express empathy with Durkin’s situation at the time. “The victims were killed with Clark Jackson’s gun, so I know you didn’t bring the murder weapon into the house. I’m thinking you didn’t mean to kill them. Tell me what happened.”

After a long pause, Durkin said, “I wasn’t there the day of the murders, I swear.”

Jackson heard what he didn’t say. “But you admit you were in the house at some point?” He suspected Durkin was afraid they’d match his DNA to the evidence at the scene.

“I went there the day before. I was looking for Derrick and your mother invited me in to wait. Derrick was in the shower or something.” Durkin’s voice rose in pitch. “So yes, I was in the house. If my DNA matches, that’s why.”

Durkin was a lying sack of shit. “Did you interact with Evelyn Jackson?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me exactly what happened. Did she take your coat or bring you a glass of water?” The blond hair had been found on his mother’s sweater, which would have required proximity. Jackson visualized Durkin grabbing his mother’s arm and pulling her close to threaten her. His heart hammered and he worried Durkin would hear it.

“She said I could wait in the living room. I followed her and sat on the couch for a few minutes. Then Derrick and I went outside to talk. Then I left. That’s it.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“I’m not sure. It was over ten years ago.”

“You seem to remember other details. Was it morning or afternoon?”

“Afternoon.”

Jackson had a little surge of optimism. Durkin was coming around. “What day of the week were you there?”

“I don’t know. But your dad wasn’t home, so I think it was a weekday.”

Now the suspect had stepped back from the truth. Jackson braced himself to be in the windowless closet for as long as it took. He sipped his coffee.

“Could I have some coffee? Or even a glass of water?” Durkin’s voice had an edge of whining.

Jackson started to tell him no, then remembered how Hector Vargas had been treated. He stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

After another hour with Durkin, Jackson had gotten nowhere. The suspect vehemently denied any part in the murders and showed no obvious signs of lying. Yet he was an ex-con who’d spent years in prison. Lying came natural to him. And like all good liars, he blended the truth with fabrication so seamlessly, it was nearly impossible to pick them apart.

Jackson’s stomach growled, he was out of coffee, and the small room had long ago closed in on him. He couldn’t justify charging Durkin with a crime, so he had no choice but to let him go. Tempting as it was to leave him in the interrogation room and try again in a few hours, Jackson couldn’t do it. Vargas’ story had wormed its way into his brain, making him question his own tactics. He was not happy about it.

“I’m going to release you, but I don’t want you to leave the county.” Jackson stood, relieved to stretch his legs. “I’ll have the DNA results in a couple of days and I’ll come looking for you. Meanwhile, you’ll stay on the watch list. If you get on the road again, a state trooper will be right behind you.”

“I have to go get my dogs.” Durkin sounded near panic.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Check in with me in person tomorrow morning. If I don’t see you, I’ll put out an arrest warrant.”

He escorted Durkin out of the building, then went out in search of breakfast.

* * *

Evans woke before the alarm went off at six, brewed a tall cup of coffee, and called the jail. “This is Detective Evans. When is Gary Bekker scheduled for arraignment?”

“Nine o’clock this morning.”

“I’d like to attend and make a statement.”

“I’ll put you on the list.”

Relieved that she had a little time, Evans turned on her computer and scanned the news sites. She was itching to call Gina’s parents and ask about the strange letter, but it would not be welcome news and the Stahls were already distressed. She’d wait until eight, then call.

Quickly bored with the news, Evans checked her email. Still nothing from Mason. To hell with him. Evans thought about the delicious moment she’d had with Jackson the night before. Would he have kissed her if not for the interruption? Then what? Would the kiss have led somewhere or simply made their relationship awkward? Her best guess was that it would have ruined their working partnership. Evans vowed to find a new boyfriend and let go of her feelings for Jackson. He kept telling her she needed to date someone in law enforcement. Ben Stricklyn popped into her mind. The IA detective was gorgeous and sexy and she was certain he’d felt the chemistry too. Should she call him?

Evans jumped up and went to change into workout clothes. Thinking about sex this early in the morning was dangerous. She’d end up doing something stupid before noon. Instead, she would crank up the music and kickbox until she could focus on work.

Evans pulled into the parking lot at the jail and stared up at the red-brick building with the bars across the windows. She dreaded going in. Her incarceration had been brief and long ago, but she still hated to be inside any lockup facility.

She walked away from the Geezer, hating to leave it near the jail. Due to constant overcrowding, any moment the jail would release its daily flood of drug addicts, assholes, and thieves. They would all pass by her car. Some would recognize the Impala as a cop car and might consider it a challenge. She hoped the arraignment wouldn’t take long.

The small courtroom inside the jail had room for only a few spectators. Most of the space was taken up with the judge’s desk, the court recorder, and a group of inmates who all waited for their five minutes of judicial process. A man in a business suit sat behind the cuffed men in forest-green scrubs. Evans thought he looked too sharp to be a court-appointed lawyer.

She was happy to see Judge Cranston come into the courtroom and plop his skinny butt into the swivel chair. He was a no-nonsense guy and would not be swayed by Bekker’s twenty years on the force.

Evans grew impatient waiting for the clerk to announce Bekker’s name. She’d called the Stahls before leaving the house and they hadn’t answered. Her plan was to drive straight over as soon as she left the arraignment. At 9:23, the clerk called “Gary Bekker” and he walked up to stand in front of the bench. The judge read the charges Jackson had listed: attempted homicide, assault, sexual coercion, rape, and obstruction of justice. Evans couldn’t see Bekker’s face, but he shifted his feet and looked at the floor.

“You already have a pending charge of assaulting a police officer.” Cranston peered over his glasses. “I can see no reason to grant bail.”

The man in the suit sprang to his feet. “Your honor, Sergeant Gary Bekker has served this community for twenty-three years as an officer of the law. He has no criminal record. He was released on bail yesterday and they’ve arrested him again on trumped-up charges. Someone in the department has a personal vendetta against him. It would be a travesty to keep this man in jail until he can clear himself at trial.”

This was what Evans had feared. She stood and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Your Honor, Gary Bekker is a violent and unpredictable sociopath. He attacked me without provocation. He assaulted a suspect in his custody. I’ve heard the personal testimony of the women he coerced and raped. If you release him, he’ll have an opportunity to intimidate his victims even further, until they’re too terrified to testify against him. I strongly recommend he stay in custody.”

“And who are you?”

Disappointed that the judge didn’t remember her and embarrassed that she hadn’t identified herself, Evans stated her name and rank.

“Sergeant Gary Bekker assaulted you?”

“Yes, Your Honor. He struck me in the head with his baton and smashed my head into my car.” Evans touched her bruised face. “He also said he’d kill me if I didn’t stop investigating his criminal activities.”

Judge Cranston cast a disparaging look at Bekker, closed his folder with a decisive snap, and started to speak.

Bekker’s lawyer cut him off. “Your Honor, my client has already posted bail and you know what it’s like in lockup for law enforcement officers. His life could be in danger. He’s innocent of these charges. He was only defending himself against Detective Evans, who has a vendetta against him. That’s why she’s here.” The sleazebag had the nerve to glance back at her. “In addition, Sergeant Bekker has a handicapped child to care for. I strongly recommend that he be released on his current bond, but under house arrest with an ankle monitor.”

The judge took a moment to rethink his decision. “That sounds reasonable. House arrest with a monitored release is granted and a preliminary hearing is set for October 25.”

Evans bit her tongue and bolted from the room.