LETHAL INJECTION (Det. Jason Strong(CLEAN SUSPENSE) Book 8)

by John C. Dalglish

*******

  They pulled up at the end of the alley off East Quincy to find a chaotic scene. Yellow crime scene tape blocked the entrance, stretching across the alley opening. People were gathered across the street, and the press was parked along both sides of the road.

  When Jason got out of the car, he was immediately greeted by Devin James, the senior writer from the San Antonio News. “Jason! Care to comment on these homeless victims?”

  Vanessa waved to Jason that she was going on ahead as Jason stopped to talk to the reporter. “No, and who said they’re victims?”

  Devin James gave the detective his best Cheshire cat grin. “My sources tell me this is now five dead in less than two weeks. That sounds more like a serial killer than anything else.”

  Black, six three and balding, the tall African-American reporter was in his late fifties, but still in good shape. Jason and Devin had a mutual respect, but Jason wasn’t going to tolerate any nonsense on one of his cases, and calling these dead homeless the work of a serial killer was unacceptable.

  He moved in very close to the reporter’s face. “Don’t even consider writing that, and I don’t want to hear you say it again. The last thing this city needs is a panic stirred by claims of a serial killer when there’s no evidence to support such an idea. Do I make myself clear?”

  Devin James stepped back from the detective, nodded, and put away his notebook. “Crystal.”

  Jason stepped around the newsman and caught up with Vanessa. She lifted the crime tape for him as he approached. “What was that all about?”

  Jason looked back at Devin before he ducked under the tape. “Just making sure we’re all on the same page. What have we got?”

  “White female, mid-forties to mid-fifties, hard to tell. Been dead less than twenty-four hours. Owner of the Chinese restaurant found her when he brought out the morning trash.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “None that are obvious. She looks as if she fell asleep and didn’t wake up.”

  Jason looked down at the woman, her belongings in bags pulled in close to her, and her hair matted from not being washed in who knew how long. Sadness creeped in to the edges of his heart, and recognizing it, he forced his thoughts back to the job at hand.

  “Do we have a name?”

  “Margaret Gaither. The first officer on scene found an old driver’s license from Illinois. Apparently, she was known on the streets as Shasta.”

  Jason looked down the length of the alley. Long, private, dark. Perfect for a crime.

  “Any witnesses?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “Several officers have been canvassing the area, but so far they’ve come up empty.”

  “Is the coroner on the way?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, let’s make sure these bags get processed properly.”

  Jason picked up the large plastic bag that had supported Shasta’s head during her last breath. Vanessa grabbed the paper and cloth bags, and the two detectives headed for the open end of the alley. They loaded the bags into their car, and were almost ready to head back to the station, when an officer approached.

  “Detective, I’ve got something.” The officer tore a piece of paper from his notes. “Victory House, a few blocks from here, was a regular stop for Shasta.”

  Jason took the note. “Thanks. We’ll check it out.”

  Chapter 4

  Victory House was less house and more warehouse than anything. The large concrete structure had been patched together after years of neglect and turned into a shelter for the less fortunate. A large hand-painted sign announced ‘Jesus is Lord’ and that all were welcome.

  Jason held the door for Vanessa as they walked in and followed her to the front desk. They were greeted by a man in his early fifties with a scraggly beard and a smile that beamed, even if it was missing a few teeth.

  “Welcome to Victory House. My name is George. How can we help you?”

  “My name is Detective Strong and this is my partner Detective Layne. We’d like to speak to someone about a visitor to your mission.”

  Jason noticed George’s smile didn’t leave his face, and he didn’t show any of the usual tension they encountered when they introduced themselves.

  “Sure thing. Let me get Peter for you.”

  The man stood and leaned into a doorway just behind him. A moment later, he came back to his chair.

  “Peter will be right with you.”

  Jason and Vanessa stepped away from the desk and looked down the hallway to the left. A huge dining room was on the other side of open double doors. Jason heard clanging silverware, which he assumed was the sound of the large dining tables being set for lunch.

  Vanessa was standing off to his left, looking up at a black-and-white portrait of an elderly gentleman. Jason read the name.

  “Andrew Macomb, founder, Victory House. People like him are amazing.”

  Vanessa looked back at him. “What do you mean?”

  “They give their lives to help the less fortunate, and many times suffer greatly in doing so, yet seem to be more fulfilled than most of us can ever hope to be in our own lives.”

  “You mean like Paul, Timothy, John, Moses, and countless others who served God in some form of ministry?”

  “Exactly. Don’t you wish you could do something with such value?”

  Vanessa appeared to consider the question for a moment. “You know, I think we all serve his purpose, regardless of where he’s put us, even if it’s as a detective.”

  Jason smiled at her. “You’re a wise woman.”

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  “You’re welcome, but don’t let it go to your head!”

  “May I help you?”

  The two detectives turned to see a man walking toward them. He was tall, blonde, and young. Jason guessed late twenties to early thirties. “Yes, I’m Detective Strong and this is Detective Layne. We have some questions about one of your regular visitors.”

  The young man extended his hand.

  “Peter Macomb. I’m the director of Victory House.”

  He shook hands with both detectives.

  Vanessa pointed at the portrait. “Are you related?”

  Peter looked up at the picture with obvious pride. “Yes, indeed. That’s my grandfather. He began Victory House and passed it on to my father. I have just recently started taking care of the day-to-day work here.”

  “How recently?”

  “Well, I trained with my father for six months but took over about two weeks ago. Why?”

  Vanessa took out her notebook and made a couple notes. “Just background.”

  Jason took out the photo he was carrying of Shasta. “Peter, we found a woman deceased this morning...”

  “Oh, no. Another one?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’d like you to look at a picture.”

  “Sure.”

  Jason handed the photo to Peter Macomb and watched his face. It appeared to the detective that a genuine sadness came over the young man. “Ah, dang. That’s Shasta.”

  Jason took the picture back. “So you’re familiar with her?”

  “Sure. She ate with us often. What happened to her?”

  “We’re still not certain. Did she have any enemies you’re aware of?”

  “No. She was a nice lady; came from Chicago, I think. Like I said, she ate with us often, but she rarely stayed in our dorms.”

  “Did she have any friends we could talk with?”

  Peter shook his head. “These folks don’t really have friends. They become acquainted with each other, will talk over a meal, but most are loners. They prefer not to get close to people because they’ve suffered at the hands of someone they’ve trusted before.”

  Jason took out the photos of the first four deceased. “Do you know any of these people?”

  Peter scanned the photos one at a time. When he was done, he handed them back to the detective. “I know all of them. They’ve all come through Victory House at one time or another in the
last six months, some many times.”

  Vanessa closed her notepad. “Is there anywhere else we might ask about these folks?”

  “Actually, yes.” Peter went over to the desk and grabbed a card, holding it out as he returned. “The Shepherd’s Closet is a clothing bank over on West Quincy. Many of the homeless in this area get free clothes there.”

  Vanessa took the card and handed one of her own to the mission leader. “Thanks for your help. Call us if you think of anything else.”

  Jason could sense something bothering his partner, although he wasn’t sure why, and waited until they were outside to ask. “You have that look. What’s up?”

  “Just seems odd he took over control of the mission right around the time our victims started showing up.”

  “Does seem coincidental, I guess.”

  Vanessa grimaced.

  Jason laughed. “I know…I know. You hate coincidences!”

  *******

  East Quincy meets West Quincy Street at North Main Avenue. Two blocks west was The Shepherd’s Closet, a bright yellow building with red trim. The detectives parked on the street and went through the double glass doors to find a large room filled with racks of clothing.

  People milled about, pushing old shopping carts with handles bearing names like Food4Less, Wal-Mart, Ramey’s, and others. The shoppers would pick up an item of clothing, look it over, and then stare up at a large board posted over the cash registers. The board had colored dots with prices next to them. Green dot was a dollar, yellow dot was fifty cents, and so on.

  Nobody greeted the detectives, but Vanessa pointed to a door at the back of the room with Office written in black magic marker above the entrance. They made their way through the racks to the office door and knocked.

  “Come in!”

  Jason went in, followed by Vanessa, who shut the door behind her and took out her notepad. Jason crossed to a man who stood up from his desk. “I’m Detective Strong, this is my partner Detective Layne.”

  “Norm Jacobs, I run Shepherd’s Closet. Are you here about the dead homeless people?”

  “We are. Can you tell us about them?”

  Norm Jacobs sat back down and offered Jason a chair. “I guess, but there’s not much to tell. I was familiar with all five of them. They were customers here, mostly in the spring and fall, when we do our bag sales.”

  “Bag sales?”

  “Yeah. One price, usually a dollar, for everything you can stuff in a bag.”

  Vanessa stepped away from the door. “Did you say five dead?”

  Jacobs blinked. “Well, yes. Isn’t there five people who’ve been found?”

  “So, you know about Shasta?”

  His face relaxed into a sad smile. “There aren’t many secrets among those of us who make helping the homeless our mission. I heard about it this morning.”

  Vanessa scribbled some notes while Jason picked up the questioning. “How does this ministry help them?”

  “Two ways, mainly. First, the sales from the donated clothing are used to fund other ministries like Victory House. Secondly, those bags of clothes I mentioned, we never charge the homeless for them.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt these folks?”

  “I thought their deaths were natural?”

  Jason nodded. “That’s how they’ve been classified, but we just want to make sure we haven’t missed something.”

  “Well, to answer your question, no. Other than the occasional kids, who will roll a homeless person for kicks or a couple bucks, they are not bothered a lot.”

  Jason got up and Vanessa closed her pad. Jason handed his card to Jacobs. “Let us know if you hear anything, please.”

  “Of course.”

  *******

  Jason and Vanessa arrived back at the station late in the afternoon. Jason still didn’t feel like they had anything indicating the deaths were crimes, but that didn’t satisfy Vanessa, and he couldn’t blame her. “Something is off about the whole thing.”

  Jason agreed. “I know, but without a different cause of death, there’s nowhere to start.”

  The elevator doors opened on the basement floor and the two detectives turned right. They each carried bags belonging to Shasta, and brought them to Doctor Jocelyn Carter. ‘Doc Josie,’ as she was affectionately known, was the head of the Forensic Science Department. Short with curly, brown hair and blue eyes, she was brilliant, and one of Jason’s favorite people at the precinct.

  As usual, they found her glued to a microscope, occasionally coming up for air to jot something down. Jason tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped. “Dang it!”

  Jason stood there grinning, Vanessa behind him attempting to hold in laughter. Surprising Doc Josie was one of Jason’s favorite things to do. “Hi, Doc.”

  “You’re a bad man, Jason Strong.”

  He held up the bags. “We brought you something.”

  She gave the bags a once-over, and then got off her stool. “Over here.”

  They followed her and laid the bags on the table she indicated.

  “These belonged to the latest person to die in the Quincy Street area. We need them catalogued and tested for any chemical residue,” Jason explained

  “Okay, but why? I thought those deaths were declared natural.”

  “They were. We want to make sure that’s correct.”

  “Oh, really? Okay, we’ll process them and I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  The forensic chief looked over at Vanessa. “Are you pregnant, Vanessa?”

  His partner wore an exasperated look. “No! Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “I don’t know, just a woman’s intuition, I guess.”

  “Well, your intuition is wrong.”

  Jason gave Josie a skeptical look, which he tried to hide from his partner, but Vanessa apparently saw. She punched him in the arm. “Stop it, you!”

  Jason rubbed his shoulder. “Okay, okay.”

  Vanessa marched out of the lab, followed by Jason, as he and Josie shared a laugh.

  *******

  Jason called Sandy on his way home. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. You on your way home?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve got to stop at SAG first.”

  “Why?”

  “I found out this morning that Doc Davis has skin cancer.”

  “Oh Jason, that’s awful. What kind?”

  “Melanoma.”

  “That’s the worst kind of skin cancer.”

  “So I gather. Anyway, I’m going to stop and see him. He’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

  Sandy was quiet for a minute, and Jason knew why. Sandy had lost her mom to cancer. When she spoke again, her voice was lower and shaky. “How bad is it?”

  “They won’t know until after the surgery.”

  “Tell him I’ll be praying for him.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll try to keep Nina up until you get home.”

  “I’d like that. Bye.”

  Jason hung up as he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. SAG was on the west side of town between SeaWorld and Lackland Air Base. Typical of hospitals from the same generation, it had concrete walls, white halls, and black railings.

  Jason made his way in through the emergency room, walking the familiar path back to the main hospital, and up two flights of stairs. Doc Davis was in room 223, and Jason found it easily. He tapped on the door and spoke at the same time. “Knock, knock!”

  “Come in.”

  Jason pushed the door back and found it was a double semi-private room, but no one was in the other bed. Doc Davis was in the bed by the window, sitting up with a magazine, and greeted the detective with a big smile. “Hey, Jason!”

  “Hi, Doc. How ya makin’ out?”

  “Okay, just bored out of my mind.”

  Jason lifted the edge of the magazine Doc had laid on the bed. It was a periodical on Forensic Medicine. “Can’t l
eave work behind, huh?”

  “I enjoy forensics much more than reading People or watching Oprah.”

  Even though he was aware of Doc’s confirmed bachelorhood, it was still sad not to see any family members sitting with the old coroner.

  “What time is your surgery?”

  “Early, that’s all I know. My sister is coming in from Houston to be here with me.”

  “Is there anything you need?”

  Doc shook his head. “No, but thanks.”

  Jason took a chair near the foot of the bed. “Sandy said to tell you she would be praying for you.”

  “Tell her I appreciate it.” Doc’s eyes grew misty. “She’s too good for you, Strong!”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  They laughed, and Jason was glad to see Doc hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “So, if everything is okay with the surgery, when will they let you out?”

  “A few days, I guess. The biopsy won’t be ready to read until day after tomorrow. Why, you need somebody to bail you out already?”

  Jason smiled. “No, the wheels haven’t fallen off yet! Just hard to replace a good man, that’s all.”

  Jason stood and Doc reached out his hand. “Thanks, Jason.”

  They shook hands and Jason took out one of his cards. He wrote on the back, and then set it on the side table. “Give that to your sister, and have her call when you’re out of surgery.”

  “Will do. Tell the rest of the gang I said hi.”

  “I will, but don’t be surprised if you have a few more visitors tonight. Goodnight, Doc.”

  Jason left the room and hurried down to the parking lot. He really hoped Nina was awake when he got home. He needed a hug from both his girls.

  Chapter 5

  As Thanksgiving drew closer, JD found it harder to deal with his situation. He hadn’t seen his kids in three years, and his calls to the house always went unanswered. His wife had caller ID and never answered a number she didn’t recognize. She also didn’t keep an answering machine. For all JD knew, his wife had told the kids he was dead.

  His story wasn’t all that different from so many of the other homeless he shared Quincy Street with these days. Too much to drink led to him losing his job, which led to him being shunned by his wife, which led to child support payments he couldn’t afford because he didn’t have a job.