She was much more in control now compared to earlier. “Do you take medication?”
“Yes. The officer who brought me in let me have one of my anxiety pills.”
“What’s the name of the drug?”
“Klonopin.”
Powerful, but not an antipsychotic. “Do you take anything else?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?”
She shook her head, an exaggerated display of disbelief. “Why are you making this about me? Someone killed my brother, and you won’t even tell me how.”
If she was acting, she was good. “Josh was shot, along with a woman named Kayla Benson. Do you know her?”
“She’s his girlfriend.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Not much. He met her a few months ago, and I’ve only chatted with her once or twice.”
“Did she live in the house with him?”
McCoy hesitated. “I don’t think so, but she was there the one time I stopped by.”
“Were you involved in the grow operation?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m too busy in my salon.”
“But the license is in your name.”
A small shrug this time. “It was a business opportunity.”
“How much money are you making? Say, monthly?”
She gave him an are-you-stupid look. “It’s only been up and running a few months. I’m still paying off the loan for building the nursery.”
Time to get to the heart of it. “Who would want Josh dead?”
“I have no idea.”
He pulled out the business card Schak had found in the grass. “Do you know Matt Sheldon?”
A flash of irritation. “He owns Ganja Growers. I’m competing with him for the same retail business.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Has he ever threatened you or Josh or your business?”
“No.”
“Did he visit Josh at the nursery?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Her leg vibrated under the table.
She was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Jackson’s phone beeped, and he slipped it out of his pocket. “Excuse me.” He had a text message from Evans: She’s lying. She and Matt are FB friends and used to date. Jackson set the phone on the table.
Why conceal it? “Wasn’t Matt Sheldon your boyfriend before Charles Kazmir?”
“Oh Jesus. That was years ago.”
“But you lied when you said you didn’t know anything about him. Why?”
“He’s an ex. I just don’t want to talk about him.”
Too bad. “Did you learn the marijuana business from him?”
She shifted in her chair. “Sort of.”
“But now you’re in the same business, competing with him. That must piss him off.”
“I don’t know. We’re not in contact.” She abruptly stood. “Where’s my lawyer? I called him over an hour ago. Are you keeping him from coming in here?”
“I don’t think he showed up yet, but I’ll check with the front desk.” Jackson stood too.
“Either take me to jail or let me walk out now.” Her face contorted again. “I have people to contact about Josh’s death.”
Jackson decided to let her go. The assault charge was bogus, and they had no evidence against her for the shootings. She wasn’t even a strong suspect—just a strong connection to several men who were. But McCoy seemed off, and he suspected she was hiding something. Most people were.
“We may have more questions. Please stay available.” He opened the door and held it while she exited. “I’ll walk you out.” It was easy to get lost in the new building, and they preferred not to let nonemployees wander around unsupervised.
At the main door, she left without looking at him or asking to make a call. She didn’t have a purse or a coat or a cell phone, but she walked across the parking lot with her head held high. Jackson would have preferred to have someone follow her, in the hope that McCoy would lead them to Kazmir, but they didn’t even have the manpower to investigate her thoroughly.
He headed down the hall to the interrogation area and stepped into the small room where the video cameras fed into monitors. Evans and Quince stood in front of one, watching Schak question the neighbor, Clark Paulson.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“It’s weird.” Quince turned to him and made a he’s-crazy gesture. “This guy started out all angry and defensive, then went quiet and sad. Now I think he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”
“I think so too.” Evans turned to Jackson. “Let’s press this guy. He admitted to threatening to shoot the victim, and I think he followed through. Tell him we’re charging him with two counts of murder.”
She was probably right. “I’m going in.” Jackson crossed the space and entered the other small room. He sat down next to Schak without saying a word. He would watch for a few minutes before he decided how to play this. Or let Schak give him a cue.
“This is my boss.” Schak nodded in Jackson’s direction but kept his eyes on the suspect. “You stalled too long, and now your fate is in his hands.”
Okay, bad cop. He hadn’t played that role in a while. “Two people dead.” A lie, but lying was allowed, in fact required, when acting as the bad cop. “The DA has decided to charge you with two counts of murder in the first, and he’ll ask for the death penalty.” Because of the appeal process, Oregon hadn’t actually put anyone to death in decades, but the DA always pushed for the death penalty with homicides anyway.
The old man’s bottom lip trembled over his toothless mouth, but he was silent.
“Your lack of remorse will turn the jury against you. But it won’t matter. You won’t last long in prison.”
“I am sorry!” The words exploded out of the suspect.
Jackson flinched, then braced for more. Might as well let him run with it.
“I’m sorry for everything.” Paulson let out a sob. “I’m sorry I abandoned my kids when they were little. I’m sorry I was so mean to my second wife. I’m sorry I cheated on my taxes every way I could. I’ve led a shitty, worthless life.” He cried softly. “But you gotta let me out of here.”
The sight of him was hard to take. Jackson reminded himself that this self-centered asshole might be a killer too.
“I know I shouldn’t a’ taken my handgun when I yelled at that punk for stinking up the neighborhood.” The old man hung his head. “But I didn’t kill him. Or the girl.”
Jackson slapped his hand on the table to get him to look up.
The old man jumped and cried out.
“But you knew the girl was there.” Jackson turned to Schak. “How does he know that?”
“You know I didn’t tell him. He must have been there.”
Paulson began to sob and finally put his head on the table. Watching a grown man cry was disturbing. Jackson stood. “Let’s book him.”
CHAPTER 12
Wednesday, December 2, 7:26 p.m.
Evans pulled up in front of Lammers’ house, surprised by the three vehicles in the driveway. The home caught her off guard too. Unlike her neighbors’, which had complex high-peaked rooflines, the sergeant’s house spread out on a single level, with a shed-style roof covered in solar panels. A wall of windows across the front shimmered with backlighting from inside the house. Had she and her partner designed the home? Evans hurried to the door with mixed feelings. She hated the secrecy of this assignment, which went against her DNA. Yet she felt honored to be charged with finding out who may have tried to kill her boss, a woman with significant political clout in the department.
Lammers’ partner opened the door and greeted her warmly. “Come in. We’ve got some family here, but they won’t get in your way.”
Evans stepped inside. “Susan, can I get your last name? For my report.”
“Burkowitz.”
&n
bsp; Evans jotted it down and decided to refer to her as Susan. She wasn’t a victim or a suspect. The thought stopped her cold. Assuming that Susan hadn’t poisoned her partner was a rookie mistake. First, poison was more typically a woman’s method of murder than a man’s. And second, people of all ages and types killed their intimate partners—for all kinds of reasons.
“Denise lapsed into a coma again,” Susan said, working hard to keep it together. “Her heart rate kept plummeting, so they’re giving her atropine, but it doesn’t look good. I’m heading there again soon.”
Damn! “I’m sorry to hear that.” The look of worry and love on Susan’s face seemed to rule her out as a suspect.
“What is it?” Susan asked.
“Nothing. Just making mental notes. Show me where the sergeant kept her stash.” Evans couldn’t bring herself to call her boss Denise, but calling her Lammers in front of her intimate partner seemed wrong too. She decided to get the fingerprints first, then do a quick look around the house afterward. As she followed Susan through the living room, Evans noticed a good-looking man in the kitchen. Tall, with tight abs and broad shoulders. Maybe a little younger than she was. Lammers’ son? She’d never heard her mention him.
Susan didn’t stop for introductions, but the man glanced over and smiled just before they stepped into the garage. Gorgeous!
A small car took up half the space, and the other side functioned as a tidy little gardening space, with a potting bench and organized shelves. Evans followed Susan to a cabinet in the back.
“Gardening is Denise’s hobby,” Susan said.
“What do you do?” Evans asked.
“I used to be an accountant,” Susan said. “But now I make decorative mirrors and sell them at the Saturday market.”
A good trade-off. Evans looked around for entry points. One window, a regular door, and a double-wide overhead door. “Have you noticed anything unusual? A window open that you thought you closed? A locked door tampered with?”
“I don’t think so. This is Denise’s area, but she never mentioned anything like that.”
Evans pulled out gloves and the fingerprint kit. “I’ll start with the cabinet knobs, then print her paraphernalia, then move to the doors and window. It should take about an hour.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
Evans flipped on more overhead lights and got to work. It was unusual to collect fingerprints for two cases on the same day, especially after not doing it at all for years. But Violent Crimes was like that. Last summer, they’d had three outdoor domestic homicides in a row, followed by two neighbor-on-neighbor killings in the fall. But poison was rare.
After fingerprinting the handles of the cabinet, she opened it to discover a shelf that held a small water pipe and a sealed plastic bag with a brownie. Interesting that Lammers kept even the edible marijuana out here. Evans sprayed the pipe’s handle with a superglue-like substance, then picked up prints with a sticky paper strip. The plastic bag was more challenging, but she found a few clear thumbprints and lifted those.
Floodlights came on automatically when she stepped outside, and the cold night air made her shiver. The garage window had a screen that hadn’t obviously been tampered with. It seemed unlikely anyone had entered the space that way, but she took some prints anyway, then did the same with the doorknob.
If anyone had entered the garage illegally, they’d probably come in through the overhead door. You could buy universal clickers online that would easily open just about any garage. A thief’s magic key. But the real question was: Who would know Sergeant Lammers consumed marijuana and kept it in the garage? Unless they’d been watching her for a while. Creepy. If Lammers had been anyone other than law enforcement, an accidental poisoning would be the most likely scenario. Now the sergeant was unconscious again and unable to answer questions.
Evans quickly took prints from the overhead door, praying it wouldn’t rain. Or snow. The temperature was dropping quickly. She hurried back inside, trying not to feel like she’d wasted her evening. Susan greeted her when she walked into the living room. “Oh, hello. That didn’t take long.”
The man she’d seen earlier stood up from the couch and looked her over.
“This is our nephew Brice. He’s helping with a few things while Denise is ill.”
“Hello. Lara Evans.” She held out her hand.
His grip was firm, and his skin was thick and callused, like someone who worked with his hands. “Brice Ronan.”
“I’m sure the sergeant appreciates your help.” Evans was drawn to his chiseled bone structure and wide-open blue eyes. His face said, Trust me. But she couldn’t. Everyone was a suspect. “What do you do?”
“I’m a firefighter. So we work for the same people.”
That got her juices flowing. Dating cops hadn’t worked out for her, but a firefighter could be the next best thing. They had to be adrenaline junkies too. He certainly kept in shape. That was critical. Evans forced herself to think like a detective. “Are you close to your aunt?”
“Very. My mother died when I was young, and Denise has been there for me ever since.”
Lammers was a surrogate mother too? So surprising. She didn’t seem the type. Delving into the personal aspects of her boss’ life felt voyeuristic. But she had to do her job. “Do you know about her medical condition?”
“The fibromyalgia? Yes, of course. Why?”
Susan grabbed Evans’ arm. “Brice is just as shocked by her poisoning as I am.”
Meaning, Susan didn’t want her to question him or the nephew to find out about his aunt’s pot habit. Evans decided to let it go for now. She would check the retail store in the morning. If she discovered the source of the poison was accidental, then she didn’t have to treat this gorgeous firefighter as a suspect. She glanced at his hands. No rings. What next? Men usually pursued her. Except the one she really wanted.
She turned to Susan. “Who else has access to the house?”
“Just Denise and I.”
Her tone was a little shaky. If Brice had a key, why was she protecting him? “I’m done here for now.” Evans gave Brice her most charming smile. “It was nice to meet you. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”
“Me too. I’ll walk you out.”
Yes! They both knew it wasn’t about safety. She was carrying a Sig Sauer under her powder-blue jacket. Evans nodded at Susan. “Please keep me posted on the sergeant’s condition.”
“I will.”
Evans headed out, with Brice following. He obviously wanted to say something to her in private, but what? She hoped he would ask her out, but suspected it was something about Lammers. And it was.
When they stopped outside her car, Brice said, “Susan thinks I don’t know about my aunt’s medication, but I do. And for the record, I have no reason to poison her. She’s like a mother to me, and I love her dearly.” He grinned. “Plus her death benefits would go to Susan, so I have no motive.”
“Good to know. I’m starting to think it was accidental.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
Evans racked her brain for a reason to see him again. Nothing. “Just put in a good word for me with the fire department when I get canned for submitting incomplete reports on this incident.”
The smile disappeared from his face. “You’re serious?”
“I don’t know yet.” She tried to lighten the mood. “But I passed the SWAT physical, so I’m pretty sure I’d qualify.”
“Wow. You must be stronger than you look.”
“I work at it.” Evans opened her car door. She’d stalled long enough.
“Where do you work out?”
“Mostly at home. I have a padded room for Brazilian jujitsu.” What the hell, she would just put herself out there. “You’re welcome to come over and spar with me.” Did that sound too sexual?
He laughed. “That could be humiliating. Let’s start with dinner sometime.”
Yes! “I’d like that.” She willed herse
lf to appear casual.
“Friday?”
“Saturday would be better. I’m working two cases right now.” She handed him her business card. “Text me with a time and place.”
“Do you like Thai?”
“My favorite.” Technically, cheeseburgers were her favorite, but she rarely indulged and nobody would ever know. The first snowflake of the season fluttered between their faces. “I’d better get going. See you Saturday.” Evans climbed into her car and backed out. She’d planned to see Ben after getting the fingerprints, but now she had second thoughts. At this point, she and Ben weren’t officially dating anymore, but they still engaged in casual sex. He didn’t want to commit to a full relationship until his son was out of high school, but she suspected that excuse would last through college too. As much as she liked Ben, she wasn’t in love with him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be longing for Jackson. Maybe Brice was the one who could help her move on.
CHAPTER 13
Wednesday, December 2, 8:15 p.m.
Jackson finished typing his case notes and shut off his computer. The interrogations had used up the last of his energy, but it was too early to quit working. The first twenty-four hours of a homicide case were crucial, and the first three days usually determined the outcome. If they didn’t know who the shooter was by the weekend, statistics indicated they probably never would.
Earlier, he’d stopped by the tech department, and the officer working late had been able to hack into Stalling’s phone with one of the gadgets the department had acquired last year. Cell phones had become minicomputers, and the Supreme Court had decided the police couldn’t search them without a warrant. Unless the owner was dead. Jackson had the victim’s phone with him and planned to search it at home—after spending some time with his kids.
He picked up Benjie from Kera’s and promised her a long, lazy Sunday together. She understood that she wouldn’t see much of him for the next few days. It was already past the boy’s bedtime, so Benjie slept in the car on the way home. But once they were inside the house—the place where Jackson had grown up—his adopted son was wide-awake.
Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 8