Jackson was a little surprised. “What’s going on with Daniel?”
“He’s still around. But he has other plans.” She laughed softly. “You’re handling this very well. No macho bravado. And just enough jealousy to let me know you care.”
“Thanks. I think. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Feeling guilty, Jackson called his daughter, who didn’t answer, and left Katie a message inviting her to join them. He wanted to see Katie, but he hoped she would pass on dinner. He needed some alone time with Kera. He had rethought his decision to step back and give her space now that her estranged husband was back in town. Kera was worth fighting for, and Jackson wanted her to know he felt that way. He wanted Daniel, the ex, to know he had some serious competition. The idiot had abandoned his wife, and it was too late to get her back. So he hoped.
He made a right on Garfield and crossed the railroad tracks. The neighborhood was an odd mix of small, aging homes and giant red-brick public safety buildings. The city manager’s office put staff wherever it could find cheap office space or cheap land. As he passed the new police/firemen training facility, Jackson felt a pang of jealousy. He remembered his own training in a decrepit facility in Salem all those years ago.
A little farther down the street, the new evidence lab stood out from its older surroundings. It had a brick exterior with few windows, but the building was still far nicer than the tomblike police headquarters downtown. Jackson especially liked the high ceilings. He used his security card to enter, and a technician named Joe greeted him from a desk in the corner. “Detective Jackson. I’ve been expecting you.”
“I hope that means you’ve got good news for me.” Jackson peeked through the opening into the lab area. “Is Parker here today?”
“No, but I’ve got her reports. She knew you would come in sometime today to ask for them.” Joe stood, and Jackson realized the technician was only about five-five, but he was sturdy and had the face of a boxer. “Let’s start with the car,” Joe said, hustling through the door into the evidence bay.
Various parts of the car were laid out on the concrete floor around the Volvo. Joe headed straight for the driver’s side door, which stood open. “This smear is definitely blood.” Joe pointed to the dark spot above the door’s top seam. “It’s the same type as the victim’s, B positive, which is not that common. We sent a sample of this to the state lab for comparison with the victim’s blood.”
Jackson reminded himself to be patient, but he was anxious for the technician to tell him something he didn’t already know. “What about the dent near the front? The one with the orange paint fleck?”
“Parker found a body shop that uses that particular aftermarket color. It’s Precision Paint on Franklin Boulevard. They’re still pulling together a list of clients who’ve used that color in the last year.”
“Good. Let me know when you’ve got it.” Jackson wasn’t optimistic the paint would produce a lead, but it was worth pursuing. What if that was how the rapist targeted Raina and the others? Staged a little fender bender in a parking lot and took the woman’s name and phone number for insurance purposes? Once you had that, an address was easy. “What else have you got for me?”
Joe looked at his clipboard. “We struck out with the vibrator. That particular brand is not sold in any local adult store. But dozens of Internet sites sell it. There is no way to track the purchase.” Joe shrugged. “Sorry. But Parker did find a bullet inside the flat tire. It was fired from a .22 caliber rifle. No special markings.”
“I’ll be damned.” Jackson needed a moment to process the finding. His first thought was that it validated Gorman’s story. Then again, Gorman could have fired the shot at Raina’s tire as he chased her down the driveway. They hadn’t found a gun in the trailer, but Gorman could have tossed it. As a parolee, it was illegal for him to have any weapon, including a pocketknife.
“Would you like to see the bullet?”
“In a minute. Any other major findings?”
“We found nothing on the jeans. No blood, no semen, no hair.” Joe’s tone indicated a little surprise.
“Did you find panties?”
“We did not.”
Had the perp taken them as a souvenir? “What about fingerprints?”
“We just received the victim’s fingerprints from the pathologist this morning, so we haven’t done a full comparison. But at a glance, I’d say the only prints on the steering wheel and tire jack belong to the victim.”
So Gorman had worn gloves when he changed the tire and drove the car. He wasn’t quite as dumb as he looked. What was he forgetting? After a moment, Jackson asked, “Where’s her purse? Anything there?”
“No blood or trace evidence.”
“I’d like to check out the purse and take it with me, if you’re done with it.”
“We are.”
“Did you find anything interesting or unusual in the car?”
“Just a pile of old clothes in the trunk. Nothing in the pile looked like it fit the victim.”
“Let’s see the bullet.”
Joe pulled a small plastic envelope from a locker near the back. Evidence for ongoing investigations was kept in the bay, then moved into storage as new cases came in to take up space. Joe handed Jackson a pair of latex gloves, along with the envelope. Jackson examined the bullet and wished he knew more about ballistics. “Is there anything distinctive about this bullet?”
“Not really. If you find the weapon that fired it, we can probably verify a match through the markings. But there are millions, or billions, of .22 bullets out there that look just like this one before it was fired.”
Jackson checked his watch. He needed to get moving or he’d be late for his dinner with Kera. He filled out the paperwork for checking out the purse and its contents and carried them out to his car. He’d look at it all in the morning with a fresh eye.
As Jackson pulled up in front of Kera’s house, the absurdity of the situation made him smile, a nervous I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this grin. What if he knocked on the door and Daniel answered? What would he say? Is your wife ready for our date? Do you mind if I take her home with me?
Fortunately, Kera was watching for him and hurried out of the house—an upscale home with a view of the city that Jackson had envied on many occasions. Kera looked stunning, coming down the walkway in a purple silk shirt and sleek black pants, with her long hair swinging. As soon as she got in the GTO, Jackson could tell she was worried. Her smile lacked its usual easy warmth.
“This is a little weird.” Kera leaned over and kissed his check.
Jackson glanced over at the front window to see if the husband was watching. “That’s an understatement.”
Ring of Fire was packed and noisy on a Saturday night, and Jackson had second thoughts about his choice, but the food was excellent as usual. As they split a plate of spicy shrimp and vegetables, Kera talked about Daniel’s sudden return from Iraq. Jackson had to lean forward to hear her.
“He got burnt out treating wounded soldiers and watching them die.” Kera pressed her lips together, fighting back her own emotions. “But it helped him grieve for Nathan, and now Daniel is ready to move forward with his life now. He wants to join a private medical practice.”
The anguish of losing her son was evident on Kera’s face. It had only been seven months since Nathan had been killed in Iraq by a roadside bomb, so the wound was still fresh, still bleeding every time it was prodded. He knew there was nothing he could say to comfort her.
“Does Daniel want to stay married now?” Her husband’s last letter from Iraq had been abrupt: Dear Kera, it’s over.
“He does. But the divorce paperwork is in process and I’m not stopping it.”
“But he’s living with you.”
Kera looked pained. “He’s staying there temporarily. And sleeping in the guest room. Half of the house still belongs to him. We have a lot of untangling to do.”
Jackson took a long drink of his beer, ate another
shrimp, then said, “I think Daniel should find his own place. It will help you untangle.”
Kera smiled. “I’ve suggested that. Give him a little time.” She reached over and grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry. You and I are fine. This situation is temporary.”
Jackson didn’t believe it, so he threw his own family troubles into the mix to change the subject. “Speaking of exes, Katie reports that her mother might have found a new chill pill.”
“I’m sorry for Katie. Has it developed into a problem already?”
“No. Katie just commented that she noticed Renee having mood swings. My daughter has learned to be very sensitive to such things. So I have to bring it up with Renee. Oh boy. That’ll be fun.”
“Some people are just addicts. They move from one addiction to another. It’s in their brain chemistry, a lack of dopamine receptors. It’s part of their DNA. I feel bad for Renee.”
Jackson finished his small glass of beer, which was a rare treat for him, and tried not to feel guilty about it. He kept no alcohol in his house and never drank in front of his daughter. Over the years, the more Renee had drank, the less he did. “I may sympathize with Renee someday, but not now. The last five years of our marriage left too many scars. A man can only take so much humiliation.”
Kera was quiet for a moment. Jackson pushed his plate aside, ready to get out of the noisy restaurant.
Kera said, “I hope you can forgive her someday.”
“It’s not a priority.”
“You’re angry with me.”
Jackson caught the waiter’s eye, signaling for the check. “I’m just a little frustrated with a lot of things right now. And this murder case is at the top of the list.” Jackson readied his credit card. “This information will be in the news by tomorrow, so I can tell you now. My murder victim was a lesbian, and so are the two recent rape victims. I believe the cases might all be connected, but I’m waiting on DNA analysis. As always.”
“You think a serial rapist is targeting gay women? And now killing his victims?” Kera shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“There will be more victims if I can’t figure out how he’s identifying his targets. How does he know they’re gay? Any ideas?”
“Maybe through a social or political group? What about an online networking site, like Facebook or MySpace?”
Jackson groaned. “I love the Internet. I hate the Internet.” He signed the card slip and stood. “But it’s a great idea. I’ll check it out. When I have time.”
“I could do a little digging around,” Kera said. “I have a Facebook page.” She laughed. “Don’t ask me why. One of the young women I work with invited me to join. It’s silly, but kind of fun.”
Jackson didn’t see the harm in letting her do what came naturally to her. “Go ahead and dig around. The victims’ names will probably be in a newspaper story tomorrow. My favorite reporter, Sophie Speranza, is writing about the lesbian connection in the crimes.”
As they headed to his car, Kera said, “I can’t believe that level of hate crime is happening here in Eugene. I thought we were more civilized than that.”
“A lot of people still believe homosexuality is a sin.”
Kera grabbed his arm and stopped them both. “You don’t think that, do you?”
“A sin? No. I don’t take everything in the Bible that literally.”
“Do you think it’s a choice? A lifestyle?” Kera was a little emphatic now.
“Well, maybe.” Jackson regretted starting this conversation. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t understand being gay. It’s a foreign concept for me. But I don’t judge or dislike anyone who is gay.”
Kera’s shoulders slumped. “As long as you believe it’s a choice and not a biological reality, like brown eyes and stubbornness, then you are part of the problem.”
“I said I wasn’t sure.”
“Then there’s hope for you. Maybe you should do a little scientific reading on the subject.” Kera started toward the car.
As they drove off, Jackson said, “Would it be ridiculous to ask if you wanted to come over to my place for a while?”
“It would be ridiculous.” Kera gave him a lopsided smile. “But not because you’re stubborn. It would be ridiculous because my husband is waiting for me to come home, and I don’t want to feel like I blatantly cheated on him.”
“That would be awkward.”
Chapter 16
Sunday, February 17
Jamie woke up in a panic, not knowing where she was. Darkness, bindings, and heat—all pressed in, suffocating her. She struggled to free herself from the tangled blankets and sat up. She remembered she was in Paul’s house. But why? Jamie looked around at the small messy living room and her overnight bag on the floor. For a moment she wished she were back home. She liked how clean her mother kept their house. She liked knowing exactly where to find everything and exactly when breakfast would be served.
Her parents weren’t that annoying, she told herself. Her father was a little scary sometimes, with his right-wing, gun-loving militarism, but she didn’t see him that much. She should probably go home and hear them out. Whatever new ‘life plan’ scheme they had come up with this time, it couldn’t be any worse than the nothingness she felt right now. Jamie could hear Raina’s voice in her head, saying, “Get over it. Get out there and do something. Be part of the solution.” Jamie smiled, cried for a minute, then went to the bathroom to pee.
Determined to get her life moving again, Jamie found a piece of scrap paper and started a list. She knew she would lose the list before the day was over, but the act of writing it down always helped. Number one: Get a job. Jamie had worked in fast food, as a motel maid, and a convenience store clerk. She’d hated every one of her jobs and quit after a few months. They were all so pointless. But she would try again. Maybe there was something meaningful she could do until she was ready to go back to school. Under the job heading on her new list, she wrote: apply at Shelter Care. It was a charity organization that helped homeless people and constantly had help wanted ads in the classified section. She could answer the phone or work in the kitchen. Her parents wouldn’t like her taking a job there, but they might be glad she was employed. Raina would be proud of her.
Jamie decided to go out to buy a newspaper at the little store down the road. The Sunday paper always had job listings. She could get some coffee too. As she pulled on her socks, her phone rang. Jamie checked the ID of the caller: Dad. Let it ring, she told herself. Make him leave me a message. Calling her at 7:07 a.m. on Sunday was ridiculous. Of course, if she didn’t talk to him, he would just keep calling. Jamie picked up. “Hello, Dad.”
“Good morning, sunshine. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. I’m going to get a job.”
“Good news. What if I told you I had a job lined up for you?”
Oh boy, this would be good. “What is it?”
“A friend of mine has a sister who runs a daycare center. She needs some help and she says she’ll hire you. She’s impressed that you’re a volunteer with CSA.”
CSA! Oh dear. She’d almost forgotten today was her day to spend with Brianna, the little girl she had been assigned to. Maybe she would take Brianna to the park. It would be good to spend time outside, even if it was cold.
“Jamie, are you there?”
“So what’s the catch?”
“The daycare center is in Salem.”
Jamie let out a big sigh. “I don’t want to move away from Eugene. We’ve been over this, Dad.”
“But you’ve got to do something, honey. A change of scenery can be stimulating. You’ll meet new people, have new experiences. It could turn out to be the best thing that ever happened.”
“I said I was going to get a job, okay? I’ve got to go now.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jamie hung up and let out another sigh. She wanted to go home, but she knew it was a mistake. It wa
s time to be in charge of her own life. She looked around for her shoes. First, the newspaper and some coffee. Maybe both would be inspiring.
Jackson poured another cup of coffee and flipped through the paper, looking for Sophie Speranza’s story. He found it on the front of the City section, where it took up half the page. A photo of Raina Hughes was artfully displayed, an image of a young woman in movement, living life and looking happy. Jackson paused after the opening lines: In a city where gay women are abundant and liberalism is as common as the cold, it seems unthinkable that these heinous crimes could have been committed. Yet three women were raped and beaten, one brutalized so badly she died. All because their sexual identity was different—a trait found in one of ten people. This is on par with violently assaulting and killing people because they are left-handed.
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For Page 13