Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (5 page)

“I’m not here about an accident. Can I come in, please?”

She hesitated, then stepped back to let him in. Jackson followed her into a spacious living room with overhead skylights. A rosemary potpourri lingered in the air. Noni gestured for him to sit on pale green couch in a patch of indoor sunlight. It made him feel strangely exposed.

“You say you haven’t seen Roy since yesterday. Is it typical for him to be gone overnight?”

“It happens. He gets drunk and crashes on a friend’s couch sometimes.”

“Did you think he’d crashed at Jared Walker’s house?”

“It seems unlikely. Why?”

“Are he and Jared friends?”

Noni sighed. “Not anymore. Jared was an employee and they used to be friends. You know, have a few beers after work sometimes. Then Roy had to lay Jared off because there wasn’t enough work. Jared took it badly.”

“You called Jared this morning looking for Roy. Why?”

She jumped up in alarm. “How do you know?”

“Why did you call Jared?”

“I called a bunch of people. Jared was last. How do you know I called him?”

“We’ll get to that. What’s Roy like when he’s drinking?”

She didn’t like the question. “A little obnoxious. Why?”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“He’d better be at work. He can’t afford to lose any more jobs.”

“He’s a house painter?”

Now she looked defensive. “Roy is a home improvement specialist. He does consulting work as well.”

“What worksite would he be at today? I need an address.”

“Just a minute.” Noni hurried across the open space to a kitchen facing the backyard. Jackson followed, casting around for signs of Roy’s presence, such as a jacket over a chair.

Noni studied a wall calendar and said, “1250 Parish Lane. It’s in the Coburg area, off Bailey.”

Jackson realized it wasn’t far from the murder scene. “What does Roy drive?”

“A white Dodge van with the name of his business on both sides.” Noni pulled her hands together in front of her heart. “Please tell me what this is about. I’m starting to get really scared.”

“We’re investigating a crime; we want to ask Roy some questions.”

She slumped into a kitchen chair. “What do you suspect him of?”

Jackson took a seat too. “I can’t tell you yet. Has Roy been the target of blackmail?”

“Not that I know of.” She gestured at the house. “We’re not exactly rich here.”

“What time did you last see Roy yesterday?”

“Around noon. We had lunch together.”

“Did he call anytime after?”

Something flashed on her face, but Jackson couldn’t read it. Fear? Frustration?

“I haven’t heard from him.”

“I’d like to look at Roy’s business records and get the names of his employees.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Not without a court order.”

“I’ll be back.” Jackson handed her his business card. “Thanks for your time. If you hear from Roy, tell him to call me immediately.”

As he stood to leave, Jackson heard a vehicle pull up out front. He rushed to the door. A squat, balding man wearing slept-in clothes lurched out of a van parked on the street. The guy looked up at Jackson and jumped back in the driver’s seat.

“Stop! Police.” Jackson shouted and ran toward the van with one arm held out in front and the other on his still-holstered Sig Sauer. Roy cranked up the engine, and Jackson considered drawing his weapon. He could shoot out a tire and keep a potential mass murderer from getting away.

A boy on a bicycle rolled across the sidewalk, oblivious to the events unfolding. Jackson took his hand off his gun and the van screamed down the street. He ran for the radio in his car, as Noni shouted at Roy from the front grass. “Don’t run! It can’t be that bad! Roy!”

Jackson fumbled for his keys.
Radio first
. He grabbed the speaker and made the connection. “Detective Jackson here. In pursuit of a white van, traveling east on Aspen about five blocks from Centennial.” He started the car as he spoke. “The van is registered to Roy and/or Noni Engall. Lettering on the side says Engall’s Renovation. License plate unknown. Roy Engall is driving. I want him arrested and brought into headquarters.”

Jackson threw the cruiser into reverse and started to back out. The boy on the bike had returned and was stopped in the driveway. Jackson stuck his head out the window. “Move!”

The boy scurried out of his way, but stopped to watch as Jackson entered the street. He hauled ass to the corner, but the van was nowhere in sight. Jackson raced toward the main road, wondering if Engall would try to put distance between them or use side streets to avoid patrol cars. When he reached Centennial, he scanned the traffic in both directions. No white van.

Jackson made a left and headed for city hall. Chasing Engall was a waste of his time. He might as well meet with his detectives and let the fleet of patrol units track down the suspect.

Jackson processed the Roy Engall scenario. It seemed damn suspicious the man would disappear for twelve hours after the homicides, then run at the sight of a cop. Yet killing a whole family over a blackmail threat to his business seemed like an extreme reaction. Still, if Roy was prone to binge drinking, he could have done it in an alcohol rage.

Jackson knew plenty about alcoholics. His ex-wife Renee had slid slowly into a daily drinking pattern that turned her into an unpredictable stranger. The moment he’d realized he hated her as much as he loved her, he knew it was time to make a break. Watching her mother disappear into a drunk had been even harder for his daughter Katie. He’d finally given Renee an ultimatum: get sober or get out. She had tried and failed several times, and he’d finally been forced to pack her stuff and load it into a moving van while Katie and Renee cried and called him names. It had been the worst day of his life. Almost.

Jackson shook his head to clear it. No point in thinking about the past. He had a new woman in his life and new issues to deal with, but these homicides were his priority. His first case after his suspension and he had to be brilliant. He felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen. Was it the fibrosis or fear?

What if the slaughter on Randall Street was the work of a psychotic serial killer who moved around too much to be caught? What if he never resolved this case? The faces of the dead would haunt him. Jackson put his earpiece in, prepared to make calls while he drove. “McCray, have we heard anything on Shane, the cousin?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s meet at headquarters in an hour. Tell Schak, Evans, and Quince. I’m headed there now to write a subpoena for Roy Engall’s business records. He showed up while I was at the house, then bolted in his van when he saw me.”

“Engall just bumped himself to prime suspect.”

“Sure did.” Jackson inched along Coburg Road and tried not to swear at the slow-moving traffic. “Check with Gunderson before you come in. See if he has anything new to report about the bodies.”

Ten minutes later Jackson pulled into the parking lot under city hall. He hoped this would be the last year the department was in the crowded, badly constructed building. The city council had finally approved a new site, and they were scheduled to move early next year. It seemed insane for the relocation to be happening when officers and detectives were being laid off, but the money came from two separate budgets, and that was how city government worked.

Jackson hurried down the narrow hall into the Violent Crimes area. He wouldn’t miss having eight desks crowded into a room with file cabinets crammed into every nook and cranny, leaving only paths to navigate. He wouldn’t miss the slats over the outside of the windows either. More stupid architecture.

Jackson eased into his chair and clicked on his computer. He wanted to check the national databases before the meeting. If another similar crime had been committed anywhere, he needed to know. He also planned to call the local FBI office and ask if they’d ever had a case with a severed hand.

Schakowski and Evans were already in the small room with the long dry-erase board. Jackson breathed in the intoxicating aroma of dark-roast coffee. They each had a tall cup, bitter black with no foaming milk or syrup. Evans picked a third container from the floor by her chair and handed it to him. “Did you order food?”

“Sandwiches from the little deli on Park Street. They’ll deliver.”

“I’m glad you’re running this case,” Quince said, as he came in. “What a mess. There’s so much to cover with four homicide victims.”

“Three,” Jackson corrected. “I called the hospital and Lori is still alive. She’s not conscious yet, but they think she might pull though. They’ll call me as soon as she’s able to answer questions.”

“Any word on Roy Engall?” McCray came in, carrying a steaming cup and looking weary. The lines in his face seemed to plow deeper every week and his hair was turning old-man white. The unit had been through several tough cases in the last year, then Jackson and Schak had both been on medical leave for a while. McCray had picked up some of the slack. Jackson wondered what the job was doing to his own appearance.

“We’ve got nothing on Engall yet.” Jackson turned to the other detectives. “Engall never came home last night, then he bolted when he saw me at his house today. I put out an attempt-to-locate for him and an interstate alert.” Evans looked confused so Jackson added, “He’s Jared Walker’s ex-boss. McCray found a list of Engall’s wrongdoings, likely compiled by Jared. We think Jared might have been blackmailing Engall.”

“You think he killed the whole family to keep from being exposed?” Evans’ expressive face telegraphed all her thoughts. At the moment, she was skeptical.

“It’s just our first avenue. His behavior is highly suspicious and he’s a binge drinker. I ran a background check. He’s had two DUIs and one assault charge that was reduced to menacing.”

Evans nodded. “I’ll put him on the board.”

Jackson started say let someone else handle it this time, then stopped. Evans was good at it. “Put Shane Compton under suspects too.” He looked around hopefully. “Did patrol bring Compton in?”

“Not that I know of. How is he connected?” McCray tugged on his brown corduroy pants, then finally took a seat.

“He’s the kids’ cousin. First we need to map out the family connections.” Jackson dug out the list Carla’s sister had made at the crime scene. “Let’s put the family members down the middle. Start with Jared Walker, then Carla, Lori, and Nick.”

As Evans printed the names in neat letters on the board, Jackson read from his yellow tablet. “Jared’s sister is Tracy Compton, who is married to Kevin Compton. Shane is their twenty-year-old son. List him first. They also have a daughter, Lisa, twenty-five.

“Kevin Compton?” McCray asked, surprised. “A Kevin Compton was assaulted in the parking lot of the Time Out Tavern last month. Do you suppose it’s the same man?”

Jackson’s heart quickened. He could feel this case getting sticky. “Considering the size of this town, it’s probably the same guy. What’s the story on the assault?”

“The victim called 911 before he passed out, then someone found him unconscious and bleeding and called again. The ER doctor reported it as an assault and I was assigned the case. When I questioned Kevin Compton, he said he was drunk and fell against his vehicle. I thought he was covering for someone.”

“Any witnesses to the incident?”

“No.” McCray shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t go after it very hard. Compton clearly didn’t want to press charges.”

“Whatever is going on here may have started long ago and may involve several members of the family,” Jackson said. “Dig up your notes on the case, and we’ll visit the Comptons tomorrow.” He looked down to read more of the list. “Carla’s sister, Rita Altman, discovered the bodies, and Roy Engall is Jared’s boss.”

Evans wrote
possible blackmail
under Roy’s name. She turned to Jackson and said, “We’ll have to call people by first names in this case.”

“I’ll try to remember.” He gave her an indulgent smile. The door popped open and the desk officer brought in the sandwiches he’d ordered. They ate for a minute in silence.

“What did we find out from the neighbors?” Jackson set his meal aside and flipped through his notes from the morning.

Evans jumped up and began writing on the board, recounting the details from memory. “Marlyn Beebe heard shouting around eleven. She thinks someone said, ‘I’ll kill you.’ She didn’t recognize the voice as belonging to the family and she referred to the shouter as ‘he.’”

Jackson added, “Marlyn also noticed when she came home at 7:30 p.m. the Walkers’ Subaru wasn’t in the driveway. It looks like one member of the family was out for part of the evening.”

“Speaking of cars.” Quince consulted his notes. “A neighbor across the street, Rose Linley, says she saw a light-colored van parked on the street in front of the Walkers’ house. She had gone out sometime after ten o’clock to set her garbage on the curb.”

“Any details on the van?”

“Just light colored and probably no windows in the back.”

“A work van. Like the white one Roy Engall drives.”

Evans’ marker squeaked across the board as she tried to keep up.