Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (11 page)

Shit. How did she know?
“I can’t discuss the victims yet. Other family members are still in shock, and I don’t want to add to their grief.”

“What does Lori Walker say about what happened?”

“She’s still in intensive care and isn’t able to talk yet.”

“Can you give me anything?”

“We have some viable suspects and we’re working round the clock to make an arrest. Meanwhile, the public should be as cautious as ever about locking their doors and watching out for their neighbors. I’ve got to go now.”

“Thanks. Call me with news when you have it.”

Jackson hung up and wondered who Sophie was talking to for inside information. It had to stop. For now he put the reporter out of his mind. He would investigate the leak later.

Next he pressed speed dial #7. How much time did he spend in his car on the phone? Jackson wondered. “McCray, have you talked with Tracy Compton yet?”

“I’m headed to the hospital now. Tracy is there visiting Lori.” McCray chewed something as he talked. They all ate meals and made calls in their cars. It was the only way to work a case efficiently.

“Lori is conscious?”

“I don’t know. I think her aunts are taking turns staying with her.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m not leaving Lori’s room. Someone needs to be here in case she wakes up.” Tracy Compton looked as if she hadn’t slept, showered, or put on make up, yet she projected a strength that was bigger than her small-framed body.

“We’ll talk here.”

McCray hung back near the entrance like someone ready to vanish. Tracy stood up from the only chair in the crowded ICU room, where much of the small space was taken up by medical equipment. The nurse had not looked happy to see the two of them and had suggested they go somewhere else to talk.

“Is this really necessary?” Tracy whispered. “My brother and his wife are dead. My nephew is dead and my niece may never be the same. I’m not doing well right now either.”

“I’m sorry, but it is necessary. We’re trying to find the killer.”

“What do you want to know?”

Jackson wanted to ask about Shane but decided to start easy. “Tell me about the assault on your husband last month.”

Her slender body retracted as if she’d taken an invisible blow. “There was no assault. He fell.”

Tracy kept her face and eyes immobile and Jackson knew she had just lied to him. “Who are you protecting? Shane?”

“Kevin had too much to drink and stumbled in the parking lot,” she insisted. “Why are you asking about this?”

Jackson kept his voice low too but he wanted Lori to hear them. He wanted her to wake up. “What do the doctors say about Kevin’s brain damage?”

Tracy’s lower lip quivered. “They say it could be permanent. He starts cognitive therapy next week.”

A wave of sympathy washed over Jackson. This poor woman had taken some hard hits and there were more to come. Still, he had a job to do. “Where is Shane?”

Her face tightened and her eyes signaled fear. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a few days. Why are you asking about Shane?”

“When did you see him last?”

“He went out Thursday morning to look for work and didn’t come back.”

“Did that worry you?”

“Not at first. He often stays with friends.” She glanced over at the girl swaddled in white sheets.

“I want names and addresses.”

“Shane has a lot of friends but I don’t know where they live.”

“You do know their names.”

“He’s been hanging out with someone named Damon lately.” Tracy’s voice pitched higher. “Why are you asking about Shane?”

“Lori named him as the killer.”

“No!” Tracy burst into tears. “You heard wrong. Shane did not do this.”

“If he has an alibi for the timeframe, he needs to come forward and tell us.”

Tracy came into his personal space, her voice begging. “Don’t railroad my son for this heinous crime just because you’re stumped. If Shane’s fingerprints are in the house it’s because he hung out there with his cousins.”

“Is Shane using drugs again?”

“No.” She looked away, then spun back. “Get out of here, please. I can’t handle this right now.”

A low moaning came from the bed. They both pivoted toward Lori, whose eyes were open.

“Lori. You’re awake.” Tracy gently touched the girl’s face.

“Aunt Tracy?” Lori’s voice was scratchy and weak.

“I’m here, honey. You’re gonna be okay.” Tracy fought back tears. ”

“Why am I in the hospital?” Lori’s eyes darted around, frightened and confused.

Tracy glanced at Jackson. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

McCray stepped up to the bed. “Something happened at your house on Sunday night. Do you remember it?”

“What do you mean?” Lori squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them again. “Why does my stomach hurt? What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Tracy reached for Lori’s hand.

“I was at work,” Lori said, her voice a whisper. “Was I in a car accident on the way home?”

After they left the hospital, McCray headed for the Golden Temple factory to look for an employee named Damon, and Jackson drove to the Sweet Life Bakery where Shane’s sister worked. The yellow and purple restaurant was nestled in a little area on the edge of downtown where it butted up against the low-rent Whitaker neighborhood. Lisa Compton worked as a baker in the converted warehouse down the alley. When she’d returned his call, she’d given him instructions on how to find her and Jackson was glad he didn’t have to enter the restaurant where he would be tempted by a display of luscious snacks.

He strode down the alley and entered the bakery. The aroma of spice cake—nutmeg, cinnamon, and other things he couldn’t name—filled his senses. Next came images of his mother in the kitchen, wearing an apron and smiling as he trotted in carrying schoolbooks. He didn’t let himself think about his parents very often, but ever since his RF diagnosis, they kept surfacing. Now was not a good time though.

A pretty woman in her twenties looked up from one of the giant stainless steel tables and hurried over. “I’m Lisa Compton. Are you Detective Jackson?”

He shook her outstretched hand, warm from the ovens. Lisa was taller and bigger framed than her mother, but they had the same short dark hair and intense eyes. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

“Let’s go outside. There’s a break table we can sit at.”

The day was temperate and cloudy but Jackson was glad for the fresh air. “I know this will be hard for you, but we have to talk about your family.” Jackson took a seat at the rusty metal table.

Lisa lit a cigarette. “You probably think it’s weird I’m at work today, but I can’t just sit at home and think about everybody in that house being slaughtered. I have to keep busy.”

“Do you know who killed Jared and his family?”

She looked stunned. “Of course not.”

“What happened to your father in the parking lot at the tavern? I mean the real story.” Jackson wanted to keep her off guard. He had a feeling this woman wasn’t good at hiding things.

Lisa looked away, stared at her cigarette. “I don’t know. My parents won’t talk about it.”

“Let’s go down to headquarters and have this conversation.” Jackson stood, prepared to follow through.

“Oh, come on.” Lisa held up her hands. “I’m not sure, but I think Dad and Uncle Jared got into a fight. My mother quit talking to Uncle Jared when she realized Dad had brain damage.”

“What did they fight about?”

“I don’t know.” Lisa glared at him. “You don’t think my dad had anything to do with the murders, do you?”

Jackson hadn’t envisioned that scenario, but now he wondered. “What does your dad drive?”

“A van with his business name on the side.”

“What color?”

“The front is white and the sides are covered with pale-blue pool water.”

Damn
. It could be the light-colored van the neighbor had seen. Had Shane borrowed his father’s van or had the father and son worked together? “Where can I find your brother?”

Lisa shrugged. “No clue.”

“The fact that no one knows where he is makes me think he’s using again. Is he?”

“I don’t know.” She grimaced. “He was in a methadone program and doing great, then he lost his job and everything went to shit.”

“The Recovery Health clinic? He’s a heroin addict?”

“Yes.” Lisa pressed her lips together. “Shane started pulling away from us a few weeks ago. I called the clinic but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Have you ever seen Shane get violent with anyone?”

“Don’t even think it.” Lisa stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. “Dad didn’t kill anyone and neither did Shane. No matter how bitter they are.” Lisa walked back into the building and Jackson let her go.

He loved family loyalty, even when it was misguided. Walking up the alley to his car, he tried to take stock of the investigation. He had three possible suspects, all of them connected to Jared Walker, who seemed to be the primary victim. In the past month or so, Jared had fought with his brother-in-law, causing him brain damage, and possibly blackmailed his ex-boss. Were these events connected?

The blackmail was clearly about money. Jared had lost his job and needed cash. He may have also been bitter toward Roy Engall.
Bitter
. Lisa had said Kevin and Shane were bitter too. He had assumed she meant toward Jared for causing Kevin’s brain injury, but Shane could have been bitter about many things.

Jackson climbed in his cruiser and called McCray. “What have you got, partner?”

“Damon was surprisingly candid. He says Shane has been showing up to crash at his place, but not last night. He claims Shane is devastated by the death of his family members and, I’m quoting here, ‘not in his right mind.’”

“Any idea where to find him?”

“At his dealer’s, a guy named Zor, who lives on 8th Avenue between Polk and Almaden.”

Jackson started the engine and rolled slowly down the alley. “No address?”

“Damon says it’s a blue house on the north side of the street. I’m only six minutes away and I’ll meet you there.”

Two dark-blue Impalas parked at the end of the street would have made any drug dealer nervous—if he stepped out to notice. Dealers were not typically outdoor people. Their clients came to them, they conducted their business in dark shabby rooms, and they rarely let clients hang around for any length of time. Jackson was skeptical they would find Shane at the house. It was all they had though, and Shane was their primary person of interest. Jackson needed to get him into custody so he could step back from this case long enough to see his family. Maybe sleep a little.

He climbed out of the car and felt the familiar painful tug. He’d forgotten to take his second dose of naproxen this afternoon. He had some in his bag, but it would have to wait until he had a moment alone. Besides, they had a suspect to arrest.

Small older houses lined the street, which was almost treeless compared to adjacent blocks. The sun was low in the sky but the air was still warm. The smell of beef grilling in a backyard made Jackson salivate. Two young boys skateboarded down the sidewalk as they approached the only blue house on the north side. The paint peeled in long strips and the front yard had a faded layer of bark-o-mulch instead of grass.

Jackson’s hand was on his Sig Sauer as he rang the doorbell. Drug dealers were unpredictable. A forty-something, pot-bellied man in a wheelchair opened the door. For a moment, Jackson thought they had the wrong house. “Are you Zor?”

“It’s what my friends call me. Are you a cop?”

“Detective Jackson, Eugene Police Department. This is Detective McCray. We’re looking for Shane Compton.”

Zor hesitated. Jackson watched him calculate the possibilities.
Give up a friend
/
client or get arrested for possession with intent to distribute?
Zor chose the former. “Shane’s here, but he’s sick. Obviously, I can’t do much to help you with him.”

“We’ll handle it.” Jackson started to step forward but Zor didn’t move.

“You’re not coming in without a warrant.”

Jackson felt a flash of heat and fought for control. If the man had not been in a wheelchair, he would have pushed his way in. “We don’t need permission. We know Shane is here and we have a subpoena for his DNA. Get out of our way or I’ll arrest you for obstruction.”

After another pause Zor rolled back. He was protecting his stash but Jackson didn’t care about it. A vice detective would visit Zor soon enough. Jackson strode into the small living room, glanced around to see no one else was present, then headed for the open door in the short hallway.

Shane was on his knees in the bathroom vomiting.

Lara Evans hurried out of Judge Cranston’s courtroom with a freshly signed subpoena to collect every pair of Roy Engall’s shoes she could find on his property and in his vehicles. Cranston had barely read the paperwork. As soon as she mentioned the mass killing, his face had changed and he’d been ready to sign anything.