Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (32 page)

The two bridges formed a tight V, with the pedestrian path curving down into the park, while the vehicle bridge went straight across the river and connected to Coburg Road. To reach the other side of the footbridge, McCray had to drive in a 180-degree circle, then cut across the viaduct and park near the utility company. The late hour and lack of traffic would work in his favor. Jackson called dispatch and quietly asked for back up. “Possibly armed and dangerous,” he added.

He and Evans crept along, hoping they would not attract the attention of the couple on the bridge. Long tree shadows loomed across the grass, their daylight nearly gone. When they reached the last point where they could still see the other end of the raised footbridge, Jackson stopped to wait. The couple stayed in their clinch, arms wrapped tightly around each other. The woman had her head on the man’s shoulder, while he watched the river.

While they waited Jackson and Evans stood close, facing each other like a couple and trying not to look like cops. He didn’t want Lori and Shane to get spooked and escape off the other side before McCray was in place.

It was a long five minutes. Finally Jackson spotted a figure at the bridge’s other entrance. It was impossible to know for sure if it was McCray, but the person waited, unmoving. “Let’s go.”

They ran to the short stairway leading up to the bridge path. Behind them in the distance, Jackson heard a car pull into the parking lot. He hoped it was Schak. At the top of the steps he drew his Sig Sauer and paused, waiting for Evans to come up beside him. Together they approached the intertwined couple. At the other end of the bridge, the dark figure slipped closer too.

The couple suddenly broke apart and the woman said, “Oh shit. The cops are here.”

“Lori Walker. Put your hands in the air and step away from Shane.” Jackson pitched his voice loud enough to carry authority, but without aggression. “Shane Compton, put your gun on the ground. Very slowly.”

Neither person moved. In the quiet, the river rushed by forty feet below.

Jackson took three steps forward. Evans stayed with him, her weapon held out front with both hands. He could smell her sweat and hear her shallow breathing.
Evans had the right training, but did she have the right instincts?

“Shane, put down your weapon. Do it now. Do it slowly.” Jackson gave his voice more volume, more authority. “Lori, put your hands in the air and move away from Shane.”

They were close enough now to recognize their two suspects but the twilight worked against them. Jackson’s heart hammered as possible scenarios flashed in his mind. The bridge had a low railing and widely spaced support cables. Going over would be too easy.

“I’m getting it from my pocket now.” Shane’s voice sounded gravelly and scared. “Don’t shoot me. I only meant to sell the gun.” They heard the zip of his pocket, then he pulled something out, bent his knees, and placed it on the cement.

Jackson let out his breath. “Both of you, take three steps away from the gun.”

As Shane started to move, Lori lunged for the gun. A second later it was pointed directly at Jackson.

Oh fuck
.

“Stay back,” Lori shouted, her voice filled with panic. “Just let me kill myself.” She scooted to the middle of the bridge, out of Shane’s reach.

“Put it down, Lori. You don’t want to do this,” Evans called out. Jackson flinched, then thought Lori might listen to a woman.

Lori jerked the gun and pointed it at Evans. “I want to die. You understand, don’t you? I killed my family.” Her voice broke with grief and she put the gun to her temple.

Jackson inched forward. “You took the wrong drug. It’s not your fault. Killing yourself won’t make it better.” He knew he lacked conviction. For some people, death was better.

Lori jerked the gun away from her temple and pointed it in his direction again. “Stay back or I’ll shoot you.”

Jackson held his position. Without pulling his eyes off Lori, he watched McCray moving in behind her, still twenty feet away. Shane inched toward the railing. Again Jackson yelled, “Drop the gun!”

In a quick moment, Shane leapt up on the railing and grabbed the closest cable for support. “Put the gun down, Lori, or I’ll jump.”

Jackson’s teeth clamped together. This could not turn out well.

Lori shouted, “Get down, Shane. Just let me do this.” She jerked the gun back up to her temple.

For a moment, the five were locked in their positions; the only thing moving was the river below. Lori started to sob. She pulled the gun away from her head, chest heaving.

Jackson inched forward.

Lori brought the weapon up and aimed it at Jackson’s chest. “Just kill me please!”

Jackson’s teeth ground together. She wanted suicide by cop. “No, Lori. I won’t do it for you. Put the gun down.” He wondered if the gun was even loaded.

He whispered out the side of his mouth. “McCray.”

Evans gave a slight nod.

Lori jerked her arm and a loud boom shattered the night. Jackson instinctively returned fire, putting two shots into her chest, his eyes not leaving the shooter until she went down. Her weapon clattered to the cement.

All was still.

Then a cry came from the water below. Shane was no longer on the railing.
Oh fuck
. Jackson looked past Lori’s prone body. McCray was also on the ground.

“McCray!” Jackson rushed forward and scooped up the gun. The shooter didn’t move. Evans flew past him, reaching McCray first.

Pulse pounding, Jackson kneeled next to McCray and dialed 911. His partner’s eyes were closed and blood seeped into his brown corduroy jacket from the top of his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing a protective vest. Evans peeled off her own jacket and pressed it into the wound. “It doesn’t look that bad.” Evans’ voice caught in her throat.

“It’s not,” McCray responded, eyes fluttering open.

Jackson waited for a dispatcher to answer. On the fourth ring, a young woman said, “What is your emergency?”

“Jackson here. Officer down on the Peter DeFazio Footbridge.” He glanced back at the shooter. Lori was still. “A second person has been shot and is probably dead, and a young man went into the river off the bridge. We need a rescue team to look for him downstream.”

He closed his cell and gulped for air. His heart raced like an engine about to throw a rod. He had just shot and killed an eighteen-year-old girl, her boyfriend was in the river, probably drowning, and his good friend Ed McCray had a bullet in his shoulder. Jackson looked at the wound again. The bullet couldn’t have come from him. He had fired two rounds and he was certain they had both hit Lori. McCray’s bullet hole seemed to be in the top his shoulder.

“I didn’t fire my weapon,” Evans said, meeting Jackson’s eyes. “When you said ‘McCray,’ I thought you meant for me to hold my fire.”

“The bullet came from above.” McCray’s voice was weak but he was coherent.

Jackson looked up. “I think it came from Lori’s gun and ricocheted off that giant metal support.”

“She wasn’t aiming at you,” Evans said. “She just wanted one of us to shoot her.”

Jackson couldn’t respond. He rose from his squat and breathed in the cool night air. He heard patrol units pull into the parking lot, and in the distance the faint sound of a siren.

Jackson followed the ambulance to the hospital, alternating between worry about McCray and worry about Schak. His partner’s car was in the parking lot at Alton Baker, but Schak seemed to have disappeared. Jackson had dialed his cell phone and was routed into voice mail.

Evans had wanted to come with him to the hospital, but Sergeant Lammers had demanded someone stay and answer questions. Jackson was expected back at headquarters soon to make a statement as well, but he wasn’t ready. He needed to know McCray would recover. He needed to know where the hell Schak was. He needed to figure out what had gone wrong up there on the bridge. One dead, one wounded, and one in the river, not likely to survive. Jesus! Jackson shook his head, still stunned by the outcome.

He found a place in the hospital parking lot and sat for a moment. Images of Lori, blood gushing from her chest, wedged their way into his frantic thoughts. What could he have done differently? He replayed the scene, step by step. When he told Shane to put the gun on the ground, should he have told him to kick it away? That would have posed a risk of accidental fire, and Lori still could have reached the weapon first. The ricochet that hit McCray was a fluke, beyond his control. Shane getting up on the railing had caught him off guard. He’d been dealing with two people high on drugs, one an idiot and the other holding a gun with nothing left to lose. Jackson told himself it was not his fault. He hoped the internal review board would see it his way too.

Once inside the hospital, there was nothing to do but wait. McCray was taken into surgery, but the ER nurse assured him his partner was stable and the wound was not life threatening.

Jackson called Kera, needing to hear her comforting voice.

“Hey, sorry to call this late.” He looked at the clock on his cell phone: 10:16. “It’s been a long crazy day.”

“What happened? You sound stressed.”

“I shot and killed an eighteen-year-old girl.” Hot tears pooled in his eyes. Jackson dug fingers into his leg for distraction. He blamed the prednisone for making him emotional.

“Oh, Jackson. I’m so sorry. Where are you?”

“At the hospital. McCray was shot too, but not by me.”

“I’m coming down.” Clicking noises in the background told him Kera was on the move.

“Don’t come here. I have to go back to headquarters and make a statement. I could be there for hours.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We found our two suspects at Alton Baker Park.” Jackson moved to a corner in the waiting room. “They had a gun. Lori Walker threatened to shoot me, then fired the weapon.”

“What? I thought Lori was in the hospital. Why would she threaten you?”

He sympathized with her confusion. “It’s a long story, but the short version is Lori took PCP, went crazy, and killed her family. When we tried to arrest her, she committed suicide by aiming a gun at two cops and pulling the trigger.”

“She shot at you?”

“Yes, but she pulled her shot into the air. That’s how McCray got hit. The doctors say he’ll be okay though.”

After a stunned silence, Kera said, “That is the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard. The poor girl. Jackson, you can’t blame yourself. You did what you had to do.”

“I still feel horrible.”

“If she really wanted to die, she would have found a way to kill herself in prison anyway.” Kera’s voice was soft and soothing. “Lori used you. Maybe you should get mad at her instead.”

Jackson smiled. This was why he loved Kera. She cut to the heart of situations and always knew how to make him feel better. “Thanks. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“You’re staying at the Harris Street house again?” Kera tried to sound neutral, but he could hear her disappointment.

“For now. Katie needs the security. She’s taking Renee’s relapse pretty hard and needs my full attention.”

“I understand. Fifteen is a critical age for girls.” A short silence, then, “Don’t be a stranger.”

“We’re not breaking up. I’m just moving back into my house for a while.”

Kera laughed, amused and wounded at the same time. “My house, with Danette and the baby, is too crazy for you, isn’t it?”

“A little, but this is really about Katie.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up and Jackson felt crushed with guilt.
Who else could he hurt today?

He wandered into the hallway and paced for a while, then headed for the vending machines near the kitchen. He wolfed a bland beef sandwich and hurried back to the ER waiting room, thinking he would write up some notes about the day.

The rumble of an ambulance caught his attention. Jackson jumped to his feet and rushed outside to where they would unload. As the medics pushed past him with a gurney, he glanced at the bundled body. Shane Compton. His skin was a little blue but he was breathing. Jackson said a little thank-you to God. Maybe Shane’s dip in the river would be a wake-up call and he would get his life together. Jackson liked to think it was possible.

Another pair of medics pushed a second gurney up to the doors. This one carried Schak, who was awake and complaining. “I told you, I’m fine. I don’t want to be admitted. I just need some hot coffee.” His partner was pale and wet.

“Wait.” Jackson put up his hand and the paramedics stopped. “Hey, Schak. Where the hell have you been?”

His partner grinned. “I thought I’d take a little dip in the river. I found some lowlife in the water and pulled him out so I could arrest his sorry ass.”

“I didn’t know you could swim.”

“I can dance too,” Schak called back as the gurney passed into the treatment area.

Jackson has his doubts, but it made him smile.

The next morning he stopped in the hospital and was surprised to find McCray sitting up and looking rather perky. His wife Julie was working a crossword puzzle in a chair next to his bed.