He glanced out at the street. Where was his back up?
Keeping low, he moved slowly toward the front door. He stood and quickly crossed the front landing. His objective was to peek in the kitchen window on the other side of the house. Jackson crouched again and crab-walked toward it.
Suddenly, the front door burst open. Jackson turned and saw Gorman stride down the sidewalk, dragging Josh by the collar of his coat. Josh called out in a plaintive voice, “I don’t want to go. I want to see Mom.”
Jackson pulled his weapon up and yelled, “Freeze! Police! Hands in the air!”
Gorman broke into a run, still dragging Josh, and quickly closed the thirty feet to the Bronco. Jackson bolted after them. Gorman opened the passenger’s side door and tried to shove Josh into the vehicle. The boy fought him and slipped out of his coat.
“Get on the ground, Josh!” Jackson yelled.
The boy dropped, then crawled toward the house and out of the range of fire. Gorman started for his son, then looked up at Jackson, who was only ten feet away and pointing a firearm at Gorman’s head. Gorman turned and charged to the Bronco. Jackson fired at the Bronco’s back tire. It collapsed with a loud hiss.
Two patrol units raced up the street as the Bronco’s engine roared to life. The patrol cars boxed in the Bronco before it could roll forward.
Gorman gave up. He shut off the engine and stumbled out of the Bronco with his hands in the air. Jackson sensed this was not the first time his suspect had been trapped, outnumbered, and arrested.
For a moment, it was eerily quiet. Then a child’s voice cried out in the darkness. “I hate you, Daddy. I’m gonna tell.”
Chapter 9
His jaw tight, Jackson waited to speak. Mariah Martin shook her head. After a long moment of silence, in which they stood staring at each other in Martin’s green-and-white kitchen, she finally said, “It’s not right. Josh has been traumatized enough tonight.” It was only a statement of objection, not an actual refusal. Martin was about to give in, even though the earlier standoff with Gorman had been nerve wracking for her as well.
“I only need ten minutes with the boy, and I’ll be gentle.” Jackson turned and headed for the family room before Martin could say anything else. He was tired of having this argument. Josh clearly had a story to tell about his father, and Jackson intended to hear it now.
Josh was watching a show about whales on the Discovery channel. It gave Jackson hope the Gorman genes hadn’t completely ruined the boy.
“Josh, I’m Detective Jackson.” He sat on the coffee table and reached out a hand. Josh looked surprised, then shook it. Jackson noticed for the first time that the boy had freckles and was missing a tooth. He hoped someone would get him to a dentist. “I know this has been a rough couple of days for you, and I’m sorry. I need to find out what happened to Raina Hughes. Do you know who that is?”
“She was my CSA volunteer. I called her my angel.”
Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’d like to record our conversation. Is that all right with you?”
“Is it for court?” Apprehension crept into the boy’s frost-blue eyes.
“It may be used in court, so you don’t have to testify.”
“Okay.”
Jackson clicked on the recorder and set it next to him on the coffee table. He hoped Josh would forget about it once he started talking. “I want you to tell me about Wednesday night, February 13th, the night before last. Can you remember it?”
“Yes. Raina came to the house. That’s how this all started.” Josh looked over as Martin stepped into the open archway, clearly intent on observing them. Jackson wanted to slap her for interrupting.
He pressed forward. “Josh, do you know what time Raina came to your house?”
Josh shook his head. “I’m not sure. But it was almost dark. We hadn’t had dinner yet.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I was in my room. I heard someone pull in the driveway, so I looked out the window and saw Raina’s car.” Josh looked over at Martin again. She nodded. Jackson gave her a shitty smile.
“Then what happened?” he asked, catching Josh’s eyes.
“She knocked on the door and my dad answered. I heard them arguing. Raina wanted to come in, but Dad wouldn’t let her.”
“Did you see them or just hear them?”
“I stayed in my room. I couldn’t see Raina when she was at the door, but then I saw her run to her car.”
“Why did she run?”
“My dad said he would kill her. Then she ran and he chased her.”
Jackson’s heart did a little tap dance. Had Josh witnessed Raina’s murder? “Then what happened?”
“Raina got in her car. Dad fell down in the driveway, and she drove away. Then Mom yelled at me to get back in bed.”
“You saw Raina leave the property?”
Josh looked confused. “I saw Raina drive away. But my dad must have got up and chased her.”
“Why do you think so?” Jackson tried to sound casual, but his heart raced. He could feel a giant piece of the puzzle hovering, about to fall into place.
The boy began to twist the string on his sweat pants. He wouldn’t look at Jackson or his caseworker. “The next morning, I heard my parents talk about moving Raina’s body and I knew she was dead.”
Thunk. The puzzle piece landed.
“What exactly did they say?”
Josh shook his head. “I don’t remember all the words. But they argued about where to move the body.”
“Did they say Raina’s name?” Jackson ignored Martin, who kept trying to catch his attention. He locked his eyes on Josh. “When they were talking about moving the body, did they say her name?”
“I think so.” Josh slumped over on the couch and fought back tears. “I wish my dad didn’t have such a bad temper. If he didn’t get so mad at me, I wouldn’t have to go to a foster family, and Raina would never have met me.”
Martin rushed over and knelt down next to the boy. “This is not your fault, Josh. None of it. Raina chose to be part of your life. And we still don’t know what happened. But you must not blame yourself.” Martin looked up at Jackson. “We’re done here.”
He picked up the recorder and said to Josh, “Thanks for talking to me. I know it wasn’t easy. You’re a brave young man.” Jackson turned to Martin. “And thank you.”
Jackson drove home to get some sleep. He was exhausted, and it would be hours before Gorman was booked, searched, evaluated, and available for interview. Now that he had Josh’s testimony, he might as well let Gorman stew until morning. Jackson wanted to be sharp for the interrogation. If he could get Gorman to express his feelings about lesbians, a confession might follow. Gorman might even slip up and talk about the other women he had raped. Jackson wished it didn’t take so damn long to get a DNA comparison between the rapist’s semen and Gorman’s saliva sample. If they matched, this case was over.
As he drove, he called the other taskforce members and left messages to set up a meeting for noon the next day. By then, he would have interrogated Gorman and attended Raina’s autopsy, which was scheduled for nine o’clock. Jackson checked his watch: 11:05. Too late to call his daughter at his ex-wife’s. He’d have to do that in the morning as well.
Ryan parked his van in the back of the church parking lot, grabbed the bulky pillowcase from behind the seat, and scurried down the alley. The night was cold and moonless, just the way he liked it. He felt pumped up, almost happy. He’d ditched his meds back around Christmas and now he felt sharp and liberated, as if he were breathing oxygen after living under water for years. He didn’t sleep much anymore, but who cared? Life was short, sleep when you’re dead, his dad always said—right up until the day the cancer finally killed him. Don’t think about watching him die, Ryan told himself. Don’t think about the horror-movie creature Dad had shriveled into during the last weeks. Just listen for his voice. At times, Ryan could hear his dad, still coaching him in the ways of the w
orld.
Halfway down the alley, Ryan reached over the fence, unlocked the gate, and slipped into a big backyard. He maneuvered past the collection of old appliances, car engines that needed rebuilding, and used construction materials. He headed straight for the sliding glass door that was easy to jimmy open. As a teenager, he’d mostly snuck in and out of his bedroom window. His dad had known and looked the other way, but the cunt who had thought of herself as his stepmother would have pitched a tizzy.
The house was so familiar, Ryan didn’t need anything more than his flashlight, but he turned on a small lamp anyway. No one would see the light in the back of the house, not with the row of sequoias in the front yard and the heavy drapes pinned closed. The only nearby neighbors were the old couple who lived just down the street, so Ryan felt safe. It still wasn’t right that he had to sneak around; the house should have belonged to him after Dad passed on. Somehow everything had gotten all fucked up. The house was in his real mother’s name and no one knew where she was. Then the dyke bitch stepmother had placed a lien on the estate. Estate. He snorted at the word. If you could call a crappy old house and a pile of medical debt an estate.
Ryan hurried into the bigger bedroom at the end of the hallway. It had been his dad’s and it had a little connected bathroom, which would be important to his guest. He dumped the pillowcase contents on the bed with the fresh sheets. Well, not exactly fresh. They had come from the Goodwill warehouse where he worked the graveyard shift. So did the long, thick towing chain. Ryan wanted to give Jamie a little freedom to move around in here and go to the bathroom on her own. He hoped she would be cooperative and earn the chain privilege right away.
He stepped into the bathroom and looked around. Girlie-smelling soap, toilet paper, toothbrush, and toothpaste—he’d tried to think of everything Jamie would need. He was moving quickly to get the house ready and plan the pickup at the same time, and he’d figured he’d probably forget something.
Ryan frowned, remembering the morning. He had watched Jamie from his hiding place in the overgrown rhododendron next to her house. Jamie hadn’t left her bedroom once. Was she sick? What if she didn’t come outside for days? The waiting would drive him crazy. He was ready now. Jamie was all he’d thought about since he first saw her just outside her dad’s office.
Ryan had known instantly she was the one. She was so blond, so innocent, so flawless—his perfect mate. He’d snapped a quick picture for his collection, then tucked his camera into his backpack. Jamie had looked up and smiled at him, a radiant genuine smile. He could tell she was a good person and not snotty like most of the girls he’d gone to school with. He hadn’t known, at that moment, who Jamie was. A few days later, when he figured it out, Ryan had almost abandoned his plan. The irony of it was too sweet, and Jamie was too perfect to let go.
At first, he’d only followed her occasionally, watching from a distance. After a while he’d gotten braver, pulling in so close sometimes that he could smell the citrus shampoo in her golden hair. He’d discovered her house was not that far from his apartment, so he started hiding in the giant shrub at night to watch Jamie undress. Sometimes he followed Jamie to their neighborhood park. She was often with another young woman, who Ryan heard her call Raina. He had worried that Raina could be a problem when it came time for the grab.
Then one night in the park, Raina kissed Jamie and Jamie kissed her back.
Ryan had been stunned. Jamie wasn’t a dyke. How could she be? She was beautiful, and she had long pretty hair and she dressed like a princess. Forgetting that he was supposed to be a stranger, sitting against a tree, listening to music, Ryan stared openly as they pressed their mouths together and touched each other’s face and shoulders.
Not fair! Not Jamie too. First his father had taken the blow—dumped by a woman going dyke on him—now it was happening to him. As he watched them kiss, rage built in a wall of heat that started in his intestines and worked its way up to his brain. Ryan thought he might explode.
Jamie pulled back and shook her head. Raina slumped in disappointment. Jamie said something that Ryan was too far away to hear, then she glanced around. Ryan quickly looked down at his iPod. In a moment, he stood and wandered down the sidewalk. Jamie and Raina hurried across the grass. Had they seen his face? In the fading light, Ryan didn’t think so.
He had followed after them, staying back, but watching to see where they went. Jamie had said no. She wasn’t a dyke. She was his perfect girl. Once they were together, she would forget Raina and start to love him. It might take time, but she would come around. No woman wanted to be a dyke if she had a good man, his dad always said.
Chapter 10
Saturday, February 16
The next morning, Jackson picked up Katie at Renee’s house while it was still dark, and took her to breakfast at Brail’s. It was a long-standing Saturday tradition. Jackson’s father had taken him there.
“It’s weird to be here so early,” his daughter said, looking around and smoothing her unruly hair into place. “There’s no cute college boys.”
“I thought we came here for the great food.”
Katie laughed. “A little eye candy while you eat can’t hurt.”
Jackson cringed, but didn’t let Katie see it. He was still adjusting to the idea that his daughter had hormones and thought about boys in a sexual way. He had been smacked in the face with that reality a few months back, but he suspected it would take years for him to get comfortable with it.
“Let’s order. I don’t have much time this morning. Thanks for coming out so early.”
“No problem. I have drill team practice at nine o’clock anyway.”
“Hey, it’s the Jacksons.” Chet, their favorite waiter, walked up and delivered his standard greeting. Over the years, they’d learned that Chet had a masters’ degree in philosophy. He’d moved to Eugene to attend college, fell in love with the town and its laid back, super-green attitude, and never left. There wasn’t much he could do here with his degree, so he waited tables and wrote a popular blog. “Are we having the usual?” he asked.
“I am.” Jackson held out his coffee cup.
Katie ordered a single hard-boiled egg and a fruit plate. She was dieting again, Jackson thought, but didn’t comment. He was not masochistic. His daughter had always been a little pudgy, but Renee believed Katie would grow out of it just as Renee had.
After the food came, Jackson said, “How is it with your mother? Has it been okay to stay with her?” This was a loaded question, but he had to ask.
“It’s good.” A pause. “I missed her when she was in rehab.”
Jackson had interrogated too many people who were hiding something to miss the signs: the pause, the averted eyes, and now Katie was picking at her egg. If she had been a suspect, he would have pounced. But this was his daughter. What she was hiding involved her mother. Shit. Was Renee drinking again?
“But you have some concerns? Care to tell me?”
Katie put a piece of pineapple in her mouth and chewed for a long time. Jackson waited it out. Katie had recently promised never to keep important information from him.
“It’s not really a concern. I’ve only been there one day.”
“But you noticed something.” Jackson took a bite of omelet, pretending to be casual about the whole thing.
“It was just a mood swing.” Katie’s discomfort was obvious, but she plowed ahead. “Mom was her usual high-energy talkative self, then suddenly she mellowed out and got real quiet. I’ve never seen her do that before.”
Jackson was puzzled too. It didn’t sound like the effects of alcohol. “Did you see her take anything?”
“No. But she could have anyway. And so what if she did? As long as she’s not drinking, right?”
“I don’t know, Katie. I’ll think about it. Thanks for telling me.” Jackson gave his daughter what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He doubted he’d pulled it off. His brain bounced around, thinking the worst. His ex-wife, and mother of his child, had found a
new drug…and he might have to keep Katie away from her all over again. His girlfriend’s estranged husband was back in town…and in all likelihood would interfere with his great new romance. He also had a murder case that didn’t fit any of the typical patterns…and if he didn’t resolve it soon, another young girl would die.
May you live in interesting times, Jackson thought, reminded of the mythical Chinese curse.
Early morning sun brightened the sky as Jackson pulled into the jail’s parking lot. It failed to lift his mood. He tried to connect Raina’s murder with the rape cases, but it only worked if Raina was, in fact, gay and Bruce Gorman was homophobic. If Gorman was a lesbian hater and his son’s foster-care advocate happened to be gay, that could have been a trigger for the rapes of the other women. And the eventual rape and murder of Raina, who threatened Gorman most of all. Jackson would know soon enough.
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For Page 8