The Sex Club

by L. J. Sellers

  “It’s only been a couple days, Dad.”

  “I’m just happy to see you.”

  They both climbed into his Impala.

  “It stinks in here,” Katie announced immediately.

  “Sorry. Roll your window down a bit.”

  “It’s too cold.”

  Jackson noticed she was wearing a tank top—with little bra straps showing—but nothing over it.

  “Where’s your coat?”

  She turned away and he knew she was making a face. “I don’t need one. Where are we going to lunch?”

  “Your choice.”

  They ended up at Kowloons, eating spicy noodles and deep-fried shrimp. Jackson chowed down like a wilderness survivor—he’d missed many meals in the last four days—but Katie picked at everything. She wasn’t skinny like most of her friends, and he knew she worried about it. He thought she looked fine, but he had learned not to make food-weight-body comments, even positive ones. Katie either got upset or shut down. And Jackson had something very important to talk to her about. He needed her to be open and friendly when he brought it up.

  They talked about school (“boring”), soccer (“okay, but not as fun as she thought it would be”), and staying at Aunt Jan’s (“fun, but too crowded after a while”).

  “When mom gets out of rehab, will you guys get back together?” she asked suddenly.

  He hadn’t seen that question coming. “Is that what she’s saying?”

  Katie squirmed in her seat. “Sort of.”

  “It’s not that simple. My feelings for her have changed.”

  “If she stops drinking, could I go live with her?” Katie looked out the window at the millpond. “I mean, if I wanted to.” She looked back at him. “Not that I do.”

  Jackson tried to smile, but he knew the effort was weak. He finished chewing his bite of shrimp but found it hard to swallow. “I don’t know. We’ll see if she gets sober.”

  His phone rang and Jackson looked at the number. It was the ME’s office in Portland. “I have to take this, honey.”

  “That’s okay. I need to go to the bathroom anyway.” Katie scooted off.

  “Detective Jackson? It’s Debbie. I have the results on the first body standard you brought in.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “It doesn’t match the semen or the pubic hair found on Jessie.”

  The news hit him hard. Oscar Grady had not been involved with Jessie. Jackson had pushed an innocent man to suicide. Maybe not innocent, but not guilty of this murder.

  “Detective?”

  “Thanks, Debbie. Overnight me the report, okay?”

  Jackson pushed his plate away. In a minute, Katie came back. Then the waitress brought a to-go box, poured more tea, and left. Jackson decided it was time to ask the question. It seemed even more important now.

  “Why did you and Jessie stop being friends?”

  Katie let out a groan. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was a long time ago. It’s over. Forget it.”

  “What’s over?”

  “We stopped getting along, okay? Why are you trying to make something out of it now?” She slumped back against the booth and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Next, she would shut down or walk away.

  “I’m asking now because Jessie was sexually active, with more than one person. And you used to be her best friend. Do you know who she was having sex with?”

  Katie’s eyes darted around the restaurant. “Will you please not talk to me about this right here?”

  Jackson reached for his wallet. “Will you please just answer the question?”

  “I can’t.” She scooted out of the booth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jackson watched his daughter through the giant windows as she hurried out to the Impala, only to find it locked. He watched her stamp her little foot and slump against the car. She was so young, and so worldly at the same time. He paid the bill, tipped the waitress, and strolled out to the car. Katie gave him a look to let him know she didn’t like to be kept waiting.

  When they were rolling down the road, he asked casually, “Have you had a sexual experience?”

  “No!” She shouted in her best “Are you crazy?” voice. But she didn’t look at him. And Jackson had taken his eyes off the road to watch her reaction. He decided he believed her.

  He turned his attention to the street again and took a right on Coburg Road. “Do you want to attend her memorial service with me tomorrow?”

  She chewed her pinkie nail. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like that church.”

  Jackson wanted to probe, but Katie was staring out the window, and he knew he had pushed far enough for now.

  When they reached home, a dark blue sedan was parked on the street in front of the house. Jackson sent Katie inside as the car’s driver got out and strode up the driveway. The man wore a dark blue suit and thick glasses. He looked about sixty and walked with a slight favor to his right leg.

  “Detective Jackson? I’m Agent Daren Fouts with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  Jackson smiled and shook the outstretched hand. Inwardly, he cringed. He had occasionally asked the FBI for help, but when they came to you, it meant they wanted to take over a case. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to discuss the Davenport homicide.”

  “What’s your interest?” Jackson wanted desperately to sit down, but he wasn’t going to invite Fouts into his home. He resented the fact that the agent had shown up here without calling.

  “I think Davenport’s death may be related to the attacks on the clinic and Kollmorgan,” Fouts said.

  “How so?”

  “Nicole Clarke is one link. She’s a friend of Jessie’s, and her initials were on the ricin card.”

  “The initials NC were on the card. They could mean anything.”

  Fouts nodded. “Still, we’re both trolling in the same pool of suspects—the Baptist church members—so I’d like to see the information your team has gathered.”

  “We’re happy to share it. Why don’t you join our task force meeting Monday morning?” Jackson took a step toward the house.

  “I’d rather have the information right now.” Fouts looked irritated, his brows bunched up in the middle.

  Jackson set his black bag on the roof of the car and dug out his case file. “Here’s a list of church members. And you should also know that I’m likely to arrest someone for the homicide very soon. So this theory of overlap may be moot.”

  “Is your suspect a church member?”

  “Yes. But he’s also Eugene’s mayor. And I don’t think he had anything to do with bombing the clinic or poisoning Kera Kollmorgan.”

  “Hmm.” Fouts seemed disappointed. “I think I’ll talk to him anyway.”

  “No. Not yet. I’m very close to making an arrest. I don’t want to spook him.”

  Fouts was unmoved. “I need to rule him out if he’s not involved with the clinic attacks.”

  “This is my case. My suspect.” Jackson heard his voice get loud, but was too tired to care. “I’m just asking you to back off Fieldstone for now. There are plenty of other church members to look at.”

  Fouts was silent for a moment. “What time is the meeting on Monday?”

  “Ten sharp. See you then.” Jackson walked away.

  Chapter 26

  Sunday, October 24, 6:05 a.m.

  When a young blond nurse named Isaac roused her to take her pulse and blood pressure, Kera felt as if she had hardly slept. The hospital had been a cacophony of night sounds: squeaky wheels, muted conversations, doors opening and closing. She could not wait to leave. How did anyone get any rest here?

  She put up with the unnecessary medical attention because Isaac was sweet and there was no point in taking out her ill humor on him. But she also requested that he bring her clothes.

  “I don’t t
hink you’re scheduled to leave this morning.” He was soft spoken and polite too.

  “Then this will be an unscheduled exit.”

  “I’ll get your clothes, but I’m sure a doctor will want to see you first.”

  “He’d better hurry then.” She smiled to let him know she had no hard feelings for him.

  Kera stayed long enough to have a weak cup of coffee, an unsalted soft-boiled egg, and tasteless toast. None of it was satisfying, but she needed something to go on. Her doctor, whom she had not seen since the day before, never made it to her room to give her any parting advice.

  She called Andrea, then got dressed and headed to the nurses’ station. When the floor supervisor couldn’t talk her out of leaving, Kera agreed to sign a paper saying she had checked out against medical advice.

  Kera started to leave, then turned back. “Can you find out how Rebecca Dunn is doing?”

  After a minute on the phone, the nurse said, “I’m sorry. She died yesterday.”

  Kera’s throat, sore from the intubation tube, closed up completely. She walked away, biting back tears. On legs that felt like lead, she dragged herself to the elevator, each breath a sting to her injured lungs.

  In the parking lot, a cold wind charged her weary body with a little surge of fresh energy. Damn, it was good to be outside. Patches of blue sky peeked out through the clouds, and Kera was grateful to be alive to see it.

  After sleeping for a few hours at home, she woke with cotton­mouth and a groggy brain. Aspirin, water, and strong coffee revived her enough to think she could go out. Kera dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck. It would be more appropriate to wear a dress to Jessie’s funeral, but she wasn’t in the mood to totter around on heels.

  Halfway down the hill on Chambers, her legs started to shake and she almost turned the car back. The thought of sitting through a memorial service so soon after Nathan’s terrified her. So much grief concentrated in one room could tear a person to pieces.

  Yet Kera felt compelled to go, even though she didn’t really understand why. Was it regret that she hadn’t been able to help Jessie? Sometimes she thought that if she had only said something different—something better—to Jessie that day in the clinic, or in the e-mail later, that her young client might have made a different choice and not met up with the man who had ultimately killed her. But that wasn’t really rational. Jessie’s fate was a complex tapestry of many choices and many circumstances, and Kera knew she had been only one small thread in the weave.

  The red brick of the First Bible Baptist Church glinted in the harsh afternoon sunlight. Puddles from yesterday’s rain were still evident in the parking lot, and a few black-clad mourners made their way up the front stairs. Kera moved slowly through the lot and into the church without directly encountering anyone. Apprehension gnawed at her stomach the moment she saw the church, and now that she was inside, she felt trapped. It was more than just the dark, windowless interior. A religious crackpot had just tried to kill her, so it was reasonable to be a little frightened of the faithful.

  But in this case, the crowd—and its many witnesses—probably made her safe. The lobby was filled with men in dark suits, and a small group of elderly women stood near the double doors. Bits of conversation buzzed in her ears as Kera passed through the foyer into the main sanctuary.

  …can’t be true…I’ve known him for years…Judy hasn’t been to church in weeks, but Jessie was here…where has Paul been while this was….

  The spaciousness of the main sanctuary surprised her. So did the turnout. The chairs—in a semi-circle of tiered seating—were mostly full and faced a red-carpeted stage below. A pink and white casket stood in the center surrounded by a dozen floral arrangements.

  Women and children were clustered in groups, quietly talking, praying, and crying. Kera glanced left and saw Jackson standing in a back corner of the room. His eyes moved slowly through the crowd, but his expression didn’t change. She wondered if his daughter had come. If Katie was involved in the sex club, then she had most likely known Jessie well.

  Kera decided it would be inappropriate to approach Jackson under the circumstances, so she took a seat in the opposite back pew, near the center and the exit doors. Kera always sat near an exit if she could, but today it felt more important than ever. A group of young girls around Jessie’s age were seated two rows in front of her. Did any of them go by the screen names perfectass or freakjob she wondered? From the back, the girl on the left, with the long silky dark hair, could have been Nicole.

  Ruth had just turned around to ask Joanne if she planned to attend the CCA meeting that evening, when the abortionist-whore waltzed into the church as if she owned the place. Her heart missed a beat and she stopped mid-sentence. It was all Ruth could do to keep from rushing up there and dragging the woman out by her hair. How dare she violate the sanctity of God’s house! What was she doing here? First, she had propagandized Nicole at the school, and now she was here at Jessie’s funeral.

  Had she known Jessie?

  For a moment, Ruth was confused. How would Kollmorgan know both Nicole and Jessie? What was going on? Then her head cleared. The abortionist did not know Jessie. Or Nicole. She was here looking for converts. She was an opportunistic vulture who sought out young girls to become advocates for her way of life. Ruth knew all about Planned Parenthood’s teen outreach program. The way they used other teenagers to teach their peers about promiscuity.

  She would put a stop to it immediately. The ricin had apparently been too subtle. Ruth made up her mind. The next bomb would be just for Kollmorgan.

  “Ruth? What’s wrong?” Joanne twisted her head around to see who Ruth was looking at.

  Ruth leaned back over the pew, and Joanne met her halfway so Ruth could whisper in her ear. “See that woman in back? With the long reddish-brown hair?” They both stared. “Her name’s Kera Kollmorgan. She’s with Planned Parenthood.”

  Joanne looked at her with disbelief. “Why is she here?”

  “She’s recruiting.”

  “In church? At a funeral service?” Joanne’s voice was no longer a whisper.

  Ruth shook her head. “Kids are vulnerable when they’re grieving.”

  Just then, Nicole got up from her seat, scooted into the aisle, and headed toward the back of the room.

  Nicole hurried up the aisle, wishing she had gone to the bathroom sooner. The service was about to start, she could tell, because all the men were moving into the sanctuary. But she couldn’t wait. Then she saw Kera, sitting in the back row, looking gorgeous and out-of-place in her snug turtleneck. What was she doing here? Nicole tried to look away, but Kera saw her, smiled, and lifted her hand in a small gesture of “hello.”

  Nicole was mortified. Angel and Rachel could be watching. Even worse, her mother could be watching. Nicole regretted talking to Kera that day at school. It had made her feel better at the time, but the feeling hadn’t lasted. Her guilt had resurfaced as soon as stepped into her home and spent five minutes with her mother. Then the cops had come to her house and accused her of poisoning Kera. Nicole had been a nervous wreck ever since. She was glad to see that Kera was okay, but she prayed the nurse wouldn’t try to talk to her here.

  Nicole moved through the foyer and trotted downstairs to the restrooms, her intestines feeling like a pot of soup that was about to boil over. She desperately wished she could move forward in time a few years, past all the conflict and hypocrisy, to a point in her life where she could just be herself without any pressure from anyone.

  Yesterday after the cops left, if Rachel hadn’t been there to stop her, she might have lost it and told her parents everything. Of course, she was glad she hadn’t. Her parents controlled her life so much already. If they knew the truth about Teen Talk, they would take away her cell phone and never let her out of the house by herself again. Nicole thought she might kill herself if it came to that. But she hated living the lie. She was trapped between two unacceptable situations and didn’t know how to escape.
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  As she was leaving the bathroom, she heard the music start and she hurried upstairs. As she neared the top, Nicole heard her mother’s voice—the familiar shrill whisper she used when things weren’t going her way.

  Kera felt lightheaded. This woman—with her high forehead, tightly wrapped hair, and bulging eyes—was so vehement that her voice felt like a stick jabbing Kera in the chest. Kera had no idea who she was.

  “How dare you come here to God’s house! And at such a time, a memorial service for a child.” A fine spray of spit flew from the woman’s mouth, and her breath smelled like stale coffee and garlic. “You’re immoral and disgusting.”

  Kera was too stunned to speak. As she struggled to draw air into her lungs, the woman’s eyes tried to burn holes through her face. Finally, Kera said, “I’m here to pay my respects to Jessie.”

  “Respect? What do you know about respect? Just get out. And stay away from Nicole.”

  Ah. Nicole’s mother. Kera tried to pull together an intelligent response, but her brain just wouldn’t work. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She decided to skip the service and go home to lie down. As she turned, her knees went weak. As they were about to buckle, a strong arm went around her shoulders and held her up. She knew it was Jackson before looking up. His sea-breeze deodorant was becoming a comforting smell. He didn’t speak until they were outside.

  “You looked like you were going to pass out,” he said. “Was it her breath?”

  “The combination of garlic and self-righteousness can be overwhelming.” Kera started to laugh, which made it even harder to breathe.

  “You probably shouldn’t be out wandering around just yet.”

  “You’re probably right.” She took several deep breaths, and the fog cleared a little.

  “I think I should drive you home.” Jackson was staring at her intently, as if looking for signs of something.

  “I’m all right. But thanks.”

  “I’ll follow you. If you start to feel compromised in any way, just pull over. I’ll get you home.”