Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  “Answer me,” Jackson badgered. “Did you decide your friends deserved to be killed?”

  It hadn’t been like that. Their lives simply hadn’t been worth much. Then they’d both come after him for the money. But it wasn’t enough to share.

  “What wasn’t enough to share?” Jackson asked.

  Oh shit. Had he said that out loud?

  “He won a Megabucks prize,” Evans said, talking to Jackson but looking at the DA. “The jackpot wasn’t big enough to make the news, but it was still listed publicly.” She inched toward him, her eyes knowing, boring into him. “That was the promise, wasn’t it? The three of you made a pact that if anyone ever won the lottery, you would split it.”

  How did she know? A stupid inscription on a yearbook photo? Was there any point in denying it? He couldn’t think straight, and the words tumbled out. “I can’t believe they even remembered the pact. But they both did. They’d been buying lottery tickets all along too and checking the winners. When I hit a small jackpot, they each wanted a third.” He paused to hiccup, then tried to make them understand. “Two hundred thousand wasn’t enough to share! I needed the money for my political campaign.” One that would take him all the way to the governor’s office. But he shouldn’t have said anything. Why couldn’t he keep himself quiet? Was it the alcohol or his conscience?

  Jackson looked disappointed. “You killed them just to get out of paying the money you owed them?”

  “I didn’t owe them! It was a drunken pact from when we were young, not a contract. It didn’t count.” Slonecker’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the gun. “They would have wasted the money. Drugs or gambling or that stupid pot-growing business. I couldn’t give it to them. It would have been wrong.” Not only had he not been willing to invest in the drug business, he’d taken a certain pleasure in destroying Josh’s crop by dumping a gallon of weed killer into the watering system. The real purpose had been to make it look like a competitor had committed the crime, but the bonus was that it also had kept that shit off the streets.

  “Why not just say no?” Now Jackson looked puzzled. He was so self-righteous.

  “They would have never let it go. Josh threatened to talk to a TV reporter about the pact. And he threatened to tell her about some other shit we did as kids. I couldn’t let any of it become public before my run for the AG office.”

  Slonecker couldn’t believe this was all coming out. He’d worked so hard to contain it. But then Heather had confronted him about Josh and Conner. She’d known all three in high school too, and after Conner had been shot by the police, she’d become distressed and suspicious. That morning, she’d flat out accused him of murder, and he’d reacted instinctively, lashing out to silence her. Watching her drop had made him physically ill. He still couldn’t believe what he’d done. At the time, he’d surprised himself by moving quickly into survival mode and making it look like an accident. Then he’d gone out to play tennis as planned and made a point of waving at a neighbor as he pulled into his driveway.

  “Tell us what happened this morning,” Jackson coaxed him.

  No, he would never admit to hurting Heather. And he didn’t have to. Slonecker shook his head to clear it. The initial buzz of the drink was leveling out, and his brain was working again. He could still get out of this. He hadn’t really confessed to anything. But he might be in trouble. The one thing that worried him was the double wound on Heather’s head. After hitting her with the heavy trophy, he’d had to bash her against the toilet to make it look like an accident. Even if the pathologist discovered the wound within a wound, the autopsy finding wouldn’t be enough to press charges.

  He could still salvage this. First, he needed their sympathy, then he needed to buy time. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m just distressed about my wife. You don’t know what that was like, finding her dead and bloody.”

  “Put the gun down and tell us about it.” Detective Jackson sounded surprisingly calm for a man with both hands on a weapon.

  “Okay.” Slonecker set the little handgun on the table, but didn’t let it go. “Put yours down too. All of you. You’re making me nervous.”

  The three law-enforcement people lowered their weapons, but kept them out.

  Maybe he should just kill himself, or let them shoot him. Even if he managed to get away with all three deaths, his career would be ruined.

  But he still had the two hundred thousand. He could weather the storm, then go to Mexico and live like a king for the rest of his life.

  “You moved her body,” Jackson said. “I recognized a drag pattern in the carpet. I’m sure we’ll find blood in the bedroom when we bring in the luminol.”

  No! A tremor ran up Slonecker’s spine. She hadn’t bled from the first blow. Had she? Or was Jackson bluffing? Cops did that all the time. He’d done it too as a prosecutor. Oh shit. If one of his staff members managed to get the other deaths brought up in a trial, a jury would swing against him. New plan. He couldn’t weather the storm. He had to flee, access the money—which Jackson and his team would never find—and start a new life. But how? He had to get them to back off and give him some space. Then he had to get outside. The freeway was right there. If he could get over the wall, he could hitch a ride heading south. He wanted to go to Mexico anyway.

  “I’m not answering any more questions until my lawyer is present.” He didn’t have a defense lawyer, because he’d never needed one, but he knew plenty. “I’m going to make the call.” Keeping one hand on the gun, he slipped his phone out of his pocket with the other and found the name of a defense lawyer he’d networked with in his contact list.

  “Tell him to meet you at the department,” Jackson demanded. “We’re taking you in.”

  It was Saturday, and the attorney didn’t answer. Slonecker left a message, trying to sound calm and confident, then pocketed the phone. It was all for show. He just needed to run. How would he would pull it off? The scotch made his brain slow, but it was obvious that once they were outside, he would need a distraction. Or maybe a hostage. Followed by a quick dash across the street, then a sprint through the grassy easement and over the wall. Could he climb the cement fortress? Adrenaline would give him the strength. He was still dressed in tennis shoes and workout pants, so he could run without restrictions. The alcohol buzz was the only thing that might get in his way.

  “Leave the gun on the table,” Jackson ordered.

  Slonecker looked at his hand, surprised he was still holding the little Ruger. He’d retrieved it from the nightstand after making the 911 call about his wife. He’d thought about killing himself then too, but changed his mind. He still couldn’t do it. Which left him two choices. Take his chances with the justice system and probably spend his life in a prison filled with criminals who hated him, or grab Jackson as a hostage and try to make a run for it.

  He stood, stepped toward Jackson, and jerked the little gun up to his head. “You’re coming with me.”

  Jackson froze, his weapon still at his side, but Evans and the patrol officer pulled theirs.

  “Put the guns away, or Jackson dies.”

  What the hell was Slonecker doing? Evans’ heart pounded like a jackhammer, and she tried to remember her hostage training. But this was the man she loved. She would lower her weapon just long enough to keep Jackson safe, and wait for an opening. She nodded at the patrol officer to do the same.

  Slonecker made an odd sound in his throat. “Just let us both walk out of here.” He nodded at Jackson to move toward the door, then stepped behind him.

  Jackson led the DA outside.

  Evans waited until they cleared the threshold, then rushed to the open door. Her weapon came up automatically, aimed at Slonecker’s back as he crossed the small front yard. Her hands shook. Shit! Could she take the shot and kill another human being? Harron’s body crumpling to the floor replayed in her mind. Why is this happening again? Because Slonecker was a killer and needed to be stopped. But Jackson was right in front of the DA. What if the bullet
traveled through? She had to wait for a better angle and make herself do this. Slonecker had murdered three people, and now he might shoot Jackson. She had no choice.

  As the men neared the sidewalk, the sun broke through the clouds, enveloping Slonecker and Jackson in a warm ball of light. Evans stepped onto the porch and blinked, momentarily blinded. She sensed the patrol officer beside her.

  An engine rumbled at the end of the street, and they all turned to see a FedEx truck coming their way. Evans’ gut tightened. The rig could be just the distraction she needed. Or if Slonecker got desperate, the truck could be the death of Jackson.

  “Stay back!” Slonecker called over his shoulder.

  They reached the sidewalk just as the truck was about to cross in front of the house. Slonecker kicked Jackson in the lower back, forcing him into the road, where he stumbled to the ground. Then the DA bolted across the street in front of the truck.

  Evans sprinted forward, one eye on Jackson, who was about to be hit by the truck, and the other on Slonecker, who was running for the cement wall that formed a barrier to the freeway below. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  But he probably didn’t hear her over the squeal of brakes as the truck slammed to a stop, missing Jackson by inches. Knowing he was all right, Evans kept running, weapon in hand.

  On the other side of the street, Slonecker sprinted across the wide strip of grass, heading straight for the looming cement wall.

  Did he plan to climb it? He was a long-legged former basketball player. He probably had enough adrenaline going to try. Evans shouted again. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Slonecker picked up speed. Then from five feet away, he took a giant leap, catching the top ledge with his fingertips and scrambling up the side.

  Damn! If she let him get over the wall, he might actually jump down, land on a vehicle headed south, and get away. She couldn’t let that happen. The bastard had tried to kill Jackson.

  Slonecker stood on the top of the wall, watching the traffic below.

  Evans stopped and brought up her weapon. He’s a killer! Just do it! She squeezed the trigger, and a bullet slammed into his back. Slonecker fell forward out of sight before she could fire again. Evans couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  Jackson was suddenly at her side. “You did fine. If he’s still alive, patrol units will pick him up.” He gently pushed down on her arm until she’d lowered her weapon.

  Evans pulled in a deep breath and felt the tension leave her body. It was over.

  CHAPTER 38

  Monday, December 7, 10:30 a.m.

  Coffee in hand, Evans walked into the conference room, feeling better than she had in days. Technically, she was off work for the week, but Jackson had said she could attend the wrap-up meeting this morning. She was the first one in, as usual, and she took a seat near the board. Her phone beeped, and she glanced at it. A text from Brice. The thought of him made her smile. The text was even better: Had a fantastic time Sun. night. Let’s do it again Wed. I have a surprise.

  They had put off their date for a day so she could decompress. Evans texted back: I’m game. What time? Might as well hold back a little, not seem too eager. But she really liked this guy. He volunteered with White Bird, a free medical clinic, as part of their street-crisis team and didn’t watch sports. What more could she want? And he was totally available. No kids. No ex-wives. No local family. This relationship could be the one.

  Schak walked in and sat next to her. “What are you smiling about?”

  “I’m taking the week off and won’t have to see you for seven days.”

  He laughed. “But you have to see a shrink instead. Good luck with that.”

  She’d get through it. Knowing that Conner Harron had been swatted by someone who wanted him dead made her feel more like a pawn than a trigger-happy cop who’d killed an innocent man. She was still angry and would be for a long time, but the guilt was already fading. As for Slonecker, he’d killed two people directly and set her up to take the heat for Harron’s death. She didn’t feel much guilt for Slonecker’s death, but she was still shocked that he’d gone so far around the bend. It shook her trust in everyone.

  Quince and Jackson wandered in a few minutes later. Seeing Jackson didn’t give her the same little zing as it usually did. A good sign. She was moving on.

  “The chief will join us in a few minutes, but let’s get started.” Jackson sat at the end of the table and took out his case file. “An autopsy will be performed on Victor Slonecker tomorrow morning at eight, but I don’t plan to attend. You’re welcome to, of course.”

  Not likely. The DA had been hit by a car on the freeway, but her bullet would be ruled as the cause of death.

  “Another suicide by cop as far as I’m concerned,” Schak said. “Slonecker probably couldn’t face a life in prison, and I understand that.”

  Evans did too.

  “We still need to search his home, his phone records, and his financial accounts,” Jackson said. “I want to close Stalling’s case with enough evidence to call it a conviction.” Jackson looked at Quince. “Get all the paperwork. Schak and I will do the physical search. Evans is taking the week off.”

  Before anyone could respond, Chief Warner walked in. “If you’re talking about Slonecker, help me understand. I’m still stunned that our DA killed his wife and himself.”

  “We’re all in shock,” Jackson said as the chief sat down. “But he apparently wasn’t as stable as we thought. He’d recently won two hundred thousand on a Megabucks ticket and decided to use the money to run for attorney general. But two old friends, Josh Stalling and Conner Harron, both wanted a chunk of the cash, based on a pact they made back in high school. Slonecker killed them rather than honor it.”

  “That’s bizarre.” The chief looked more disappointed than surprised. “But greed and ambition are a corrupting influence. We’ve seen it time and again.”

  Evans remembered what else the DA had said. “Slonecker was also afraid his friends would tell the media about something he’d done as a teenager. So it wasn’t just about the money. The DA was worried about his political career too.”

  “I think he decided to be judge and jury and give his old friends the death penalty for wasting their lives,” Jackson added. “His position as prosecutor had given him a distorted sense of power.”

  “At least he wasn’t actually a member of the department.” The chief’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “We’ve taken all the hits we can afford.” He shifted in his chair. “Speaking of which, Sergeant Lammers has offered her resignation, and I’ve accepted it.” The chief locked eyes with Jackson. “I know you were in a difficult position, but you should have come to me as soon as you were aware of her marijuana use.”

  At least the chief wasn’t focusing on Evans. But she was the one who had discovered Lammers’ medical pot use. Maybe she should take some of the heat. Evans started to speak up, but Jackson held up his hand and gave her an intense look, so she stopped.

  “You’re right, sir.” Jackson looked their boss right in the eye.

  After a moment, Warner changed the subject. “Do we have an update on the poisoner?”

  “His wife’s autopsy is this morning,” Jackson said. “I’ll attend it right after this meeting, but we may never know whether he intended to kill her or if she really did accidentally eat poisoned honey.”

  Evans had a theory about that. “I think it was an accident. And her death is what sent him over the edge. He obviously harvested the poisoned honey in the spring but didn’t use it. Then after his wife died, he felt like he had nothing to lose, so he might as well act out his campaign to repeal the pot legalization.”

  “Plausible.” Jackson nodded at her. “What about the sick boy?”

  She felt herself smiling again. “He pulled through. Shane still has a few days of recovery, but he’ll make it.”

  “No one else has gotten sick,” Jackson added. “We picked up the toxic jar of honey before it was used and pulled all Hightones br
ownies out of the retail stores. The lab will check all of them for poison, but it could take weeks.”

  “Anything else?” the chief asked.

  Jackson looked at his notes, then said, “McCoy’s lawyer called this morning, and she wants a plea deal on the trafficking charge.” He gave a small smile. “She doesn’t know we have a confession from someone else for her brother’s shooting, so she’s still hoping to avoid a murder trial. One of the assistant DAs will meet with her in court this afternoon. Once we have a deal with McCoy, we’ll drop the charges against her boyfriend, Kazmir.”

  Schak chimed in. “We searched her phone records and came to realize that she alone was the trafficker. She took the call from the courier about the drug delivery, then called Josh. Considering what the DEA agent told us, I think McCoy tried to set up her brother to get busted for trafficking. With him facing a trial, she could have forced him to sell the house.”

  “What a piece of work,” Evans added.

  “But it’s all good news for us.” The chief stood and looked at Jackson. “Come see me this afternoon.”

  That had to be about taking Lammers’ job. Evans was betting Jackson wouldn’t do it. He loved investigating as much as she did. But she kind of hoped he would. Not working directly with him would give her an even better chance of moving on emotionally. But she’d make it either way. Maybe the counselor could help her with that. Talking about Jackson would be easier than talking about Harron’s death. But she would do that too. Whatever it took to make peace with her job. She loved being a detective and didn’t intend to ever give it up.

  CHAPTER 39

  Tuesday, December 8, 3:15 p.m.

  Jackson flipped through a news magazine as he waited for the doctor’s assistant to call him back. He’d already had the CT scan and just needed the results now. He expected bad news and hoped the recommended treatment would be more medication and not another surgery. At some point, this disease could be a death sentence, but the remission he’d experienced had given him hope. Had it been an unfair mistake to adopt Benjie? The boy couldn’t handle it if he lost his new father too.