Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (21 page)

“Throw out your other weapon! Do it now!” The SWAT officer’s voice could be heard for three blocks.

A second handgun clattered to the ground.

“Come out the other side with your hands in the air!”

From his vantage point, Jackson couldn’t see the passenger door, but the hasty team rushed toward it. He let out his breath again. Whitstone was safe and Tyler Gorlock would be taken into custody, where Jackson would have an opportunity to interrogate him. Maybe he would finally get some answers about what happened to the Walkers.

Sheila had refused medical treatment, so Jackson drove her downtown where she would be debriefed by whichever detective Sergeant Lammers assigned to the home invasion case. This was his opportunity to get the information he needed.

“What’s your son’s name?” The boy was asleep in her lap.

“John Junior. We call him J.J.”

“I’m working a homicide that might be connected to what happened today, and I’d like to ask a few questions.”

“Okay.” Sheila’s voice still quivered.

“Did the two men talk about another home invasion?”

“They didn’t talk much at all. They just wanted the guns. If the cop hadn’t shown up, I think they would have taken them and left.”

Jackson doubted it. The men had not worn masks to protect their identity. “How did the police officer end up as a hostage?”

“I’m not sure. They saw her pull up, so they knew it was a cop ringing the bell.” Sheila began to rock a little in the seat beside him. “When no one answered the door, the cop went around the side of the house. The blond guy stayed inside and kept his gun on me. Rico, the short dark one, went into the back yard to wait for the cop. When they came in, she was a hostage. They tied her hands together, but they let me hold J.J.”

“Had you ever seen the men before?”

Sheila shook her head.

Jackson looked over and couldn’t catch her eye. What was she keeping from him? “Does your husband know these men?”

“I think a friend of his once mentioned the name Rico.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Roy Engall.”

A little shiver ran up Jackson’s spine. “How does your husband know Roy?”

“I think they’ve done business together. John is manager at Emerald Construction Supply.”

“The blond perpetrator is Tyler Gorlock, Roy Engall’s stepson.”

“Oh God. That must be how they knew about John’s guns.” Sheila started to cry. “I hate the damn guns. I begged John to get rid of them when our baby was born, but he wouldn’t do it.”

Jackson didn’t know how to comfort her. Every marriage had its sticking points. This one might break hers apart. As they neared city hall, Sheila called her mother and asked if she could stay with her for a while. Jackson was glad Sheila had parents in town to comfort her and give her a safe place. He suspected she might not go back to John and his guns. Jackson thought about Lori Walker. She didn’t have parents waiting to make her feel safe after her ordeal. She had a couple of aunts though and a home to go to when she left the hospital.

Lori opened her eyes and sat up slowly, testing to see how she felt. Yesterday sitting up had made her want to vomit. She’d asked the nurse to cut back the pain medication in her IV line and didn’t know what to expect.
Was that only yesterday?

She gazed out the window. Bright daylight filled her view but she had no idea what time of day it was. She didn’t really care either. Her whole family was dead. At least that’s what the cop had told her. Lori chose not to believe it. Sometimes she imagined this was all a bad dream. The hospital, the ugly throbbing gash in her belly, the story about Mom and Dad and Nick being killed by some crazy person. It was too bizarre, too devastating to accept. Because if it were true, what then? What was she supposed to do? Move to Hawaii and lay in the warm sand like nothing had happened? The thought filled her with guilt.

Lori gently slid her feet to the floor. Now that she was less nauseated, she decided to sit in the chair by the window. She thought her brain might work better if she pretended to be normal for a few minutes. Lying in the bed gave her horrible thoughts and terrifying dreams. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference.

Every small step tugged at her wounds. The pain made her wince, yet it was strangely comforting. At first she didn’t understand this feeling, then the term
survivor’s guilt
surfaced in her foggy brain. Lori thought she might have heard it from a counselor who’d come to her hospital room, but she wasn’t sure. The comings and goings of the last few days were a blur and she’d lost all sense of time. The guilt stayed. She was alive and her family was dead. Why couldn’t she have died too? It would be better than this fog of anguish and fear. Better than trying to have some kind of life, knowing the people she loved most were gone forever.

Lori positioned her IV stand near the chair and eased into it. Outside, the sky was brilliant blue, the kind of day she always longed for after a cold winter. The kind of day she had planned to have every day after she moved to Maui.

No! Her family was not gone forever. She couldn’t think that or she would be lost. She told herself they had been hustled off to a new location in a witness protection program. For now, and maybe years to come, they couldn’t contact her, but someday she would see them again. Lori stared at the tree outside her window, thinking of nothing, then finally started to drift. She blinked her eyes and fought to stay awake, but the darkness pulled her in.

She was back in the restaurant, doing her sidework, getting ready to clock out and go home. She went into the walk-in cooler to grab some vanilla ice cream to bring up front to where they made sundaes. When she turned, he was there. Grabby Greg with his probing eyes and fast hands. He reached out and squeezed both of her breasts. Lori couldn’t even slap at his hands because she was holding a five-gallon tub of ice cream. She hurried out of the walk-in, with a chill on her skin and a hot rage in her belly
.

Then she was in her car, crying and wanting to quit her job. Someone was there with her, but she couldn’t see who
.

Lori jerked awake and sat upright in the chair. The scene at the restaurant had played like a dream in her mind, but was it a memory? Was that night coming back to her? Lori shivered and reached for a blanket from the shelf. She didn’t want to remember. Knowing her family was dead was more than she could handle. The memory of seeing them slaughtered would send her over the edge.

Lori looked over at the open door to her hospital room. Would the killer come after her? She ran her fingers across the bandage on her stomach. He had intended for her to die with the others. Would he come back to finish the job? If he thought she was a witness, he would want her dead more than ever. The image of a guy sneaking into her room with a knife terrified her. She hoped he would be gentle this time. Maybe suffocate her with a pillow while she slept.

Lori tried to put it all out of mind, but grief and fear took turns torturing her. She shuffled over to her bed and pushed the call buzzer. She would ask for a different kind of medication this time, something to ease her mental pain.

At headquarters, the detectives met in the conference room. The small space buzzed with energy as five adrenaline-wired investigators waited to tell their stories from the day. Jackson had ordered pizza and was ready to get through the meeting. He had interrogations waiting. To Evans, he said, “How did the arrest go?”

“It would have been uneventful if Noni Engall hadn’t come home. Roy was totally cooperative, despite being drunk, then his wife came in and started screeching and crying and begging me not to take him.” Evans pulled her eyes open in mock horror. “Noni started going off about Tyler, her baby, and something happening with him. It was ugly.”

“What time did you bring Roy in?”

“He’s been in the main interrogation room since 4:30 this afternoon. I imagine he’s ready to talk.”

“I’ve got his stepson, Tyler Gorlock, in the hole right next to him.”

“Gorlock is Engall’s kid?” Evans put down her coffee. “That’s rich. I started hearing the buzz about the hostage situation late this afternoon, but I didn’t make the connection. Was that why Noni Engall was hysterical?”

“I called her from the scene and asked her to describe Tyler,” Jackson said. “It probably shook her up.”

“Poor woman.” Evans was the only one to express sympathy. The others had known too many criminals whose wives and mothers were often no better than the lowlifes they spawned and protected.

Jackson looked at McCray, who’d been out chasing a lead and missed the hostage situation, and recapped the afternoon’s events. The desk officer came in with pizza while he was talking and Schak stood to take the box. Jackson grabbed a slice as it went around. “Eventually the home invaders released the civilian and her child, then attempted to exit with Whitstone as a hostage. Alverez was killed by a sniper, and Gorlock was taken into custody. Whitstone was unharmed, although her patrol days are likely over.”

“You think these are the same guys who did the killing at the Walkers?” Evans chewed as she talked.

“It seems likely. They probably knew about Jared’s guns from Engall as well.”

“Why didn’t they take Jared’s guns?” Evans asked.

“They were in a locked safe. Maybe Jared wouldn’t give up the key. Maybe they were high on meth and went a little crazy. Maybe something interrupted them.” Jackson hadn’t made sense of it all yet. “This is what we hope to find out from Engall and Gorlock.” Jackson set aside his pizza slice, leaving most of the crust. He was too wired to eat right now. “We’ll tag team the suspects. Two detectives in each room. After, we’ll confer and switch rooms. We’ll play them off each other. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

McCray spoke up. “I went back out to the Walkers’ neighborhood today and questioned everyone again. The woman across the street, Rose Linley, said she made a mistake about when she saw the van. She first told us it was around ten because Desperate Housewives had just gotten over, but she realized afterward she had recorded the show and watched it later. Now she says she saw the van around eleven.”

“The same timeframe the woman next door heard the shouting. That makes more sense.” Jackson looked around. “Anything else we need to share before we start?”

“Does this mean Shane Compton is no longer a suspect?” Evans looked concerned. “He’s still in jail, right?”

“Shane Compton knows Tyler Gorlock. They both painted houses for Roy Engall last summer. Everyone is suspect until we have a confession. Or two.”

Jackson paired up with Evans, who had the least experience, and they started with Engall, who they thought was more likely to crack. Once inside the small room, Jackson realized his pain level had become unbearable. “Excuse me for a moment. Evans, please take care of the legalities.”

While Evans made all the formal statements, Jackson hurried back to his desk for naproxen. He located some in his shoulder bag. He also found the Vicodin his doctor had prescribed. He carried it just in case, and for a moment, considered taking one. He put the container back. Opiates sometimes made him nauseated and droopy and he needed to be fully alert. The anti-inflammatory would take the edge off the pain and that’s all he needed.

Back in the gray closet-like room he sat next to Evans, their shoulders almost touching. Across the table, Engall sported a two-day stubble and bloodshot eyes. Alcohol and nicotine seeped from his skin, making the room smell like a tavern. Nice, Jackson thought. Next, Engall would piss himself.

“Will you take these cuffs off please?” The suspect sounded more sober than he looked.

“Not until you tell us something. Did you participate in the killings at the Walker house? Or were you just there for backup?” Jackson’s strategy was to give him an out, a way he could testify against the others and buy himself some leniency.

“I didn’t kill anybody.”

“You were there. The shoeprints in the front hallway match the shoes you hid in the trash. And the blood on the shoes? We’ll soon have a DNA match to the Walkers. It looks very bad. The DA will pin the whole thing on you.” Jackson realized he hadn’t called Slonecker about this new development.
Crap
. The DA would not be pleased. He would call him right after this.

“Lots of people have Adidas just like mine. My s–” Engall stopped mid-word.

“Your what? Your stepson has some too?”

“I was going to say ‘My shoes are very common.’”

“Why did you wrap them in plastic and toss them?” Evans jumped in.

“I threw them away because they were paint stained and worn out.”

Jackson made a scoffing noise. “No jury will buy it. The prosecutor will convince them your shoes made the print in the blood, then you hid them from the police. Throw in the blackmail letter from Jared, and we have a guilty verdict.”

Engall closed his eyes and his lips moved a little.

Was he praying? Bargaining with God?
“We have your stepson in the next room. Tyler is likely to blame the whole thing on you. You’re the father, the leader, and the bad influence. He’s just a kid along for the ride.”

Engall’s eyes flew open. “Why do you have Tyler?”