“Bullshit. Cops are never here to help me.”
“I want to put Gary Bekker in jail.”
The pressure from the door eased. “Why?”
“It seems like a good place for him. Can I come in?”
Trisha weighed her decision for a long moment, then stepped back and opened the door.
Evans entered the dark apartment, surprised by how clean and uncluttered it was. Still, the stink of cat was evident. “Can we sit at the table?” She didn’t want cat hair on her clothes.
“I don’t have much time,” Trisha said. “I have an appointment soon.”
Right, an appointment. “I know you talked to Gina Bekker about her ex-husband’s sexual abuse. I read her notes. I’d like to hear your story first hand.”
“That was years ago and nothing ever happened to Gary. But he pretty much leaves me alone now.” Trisha rolled her eyes. “I think he got bored with me.”
They moved into the small dining room, separated only by a change in flooring. “Would you like some tea?” Trisha asked.
“No thanks.”
Evans pulled her recorder from her bag and set it on the table. “Please state your name and the date of this conversation.”
“I don’t know if I want to go on record. He can still make trouble for me.”
“You’re not his only victim. If all of you speak up, we can put him away.”
The fear in her face gave way to a little hope. “I’m Trisha Cronin, but I don’t know the date. I think it’s September.”
Evans gave her name, the date, and their location, then pulled out her notepad. “When did you first meet Gary Bekker?”
“I think it was 2006, because that was the year my mother died and I was pretty messed up.” Trisha pulled her robe tighter, as if she were suddenly cold.
“Tell me what happened.”
Trisha related the same story Evans had read in Gina’s notebook, only with more detail and more swearing. The visits, rapes as she called them, continued for a few months after she had talked to Gina, then became less frequent. “I heard he started up with another woman. Her name’s Joni and she’s a heroin user who lost her kid to the state for a while.”
“Do you know of other women besides Joni? The more victims who speak up, the more likely we’ll get a conviction.”
“I was at the Whitebird Clinic one day and I heard a young girl named Serena talking about a cop who assaulted her when she was drunk. I think she’s in jail now on theft charges.”
“Do you know her last name?”
Trisha shook her head. “You need to go now. I have an appointment.”
Let’s not make the John wait. Evans tried to keep her face impassive, surprised by the depth of her disgust with Trisha. Now she understood why the victims had never reported Bekker. Who would sympathize with a prostitute filing a complaint about sexual abuse? Certainly not one of the male detectives who worked the vice unit and had processed their fill of sex crimes. Evans made up her mind to find all of Bekker’s victims.
She thanked Trisha and got the hell out. The sun seemed especially bright after the dark apartment, so she pulled on sunglasses. What next? Her little mantra—What would Jackson do?—popped into her head and made her smile. Someday, when she was over him, she’d tell Jackson about mentally consulting his guidance the way others called on Jesus.
Work the case you’ve been assigned. That’s what Jackson would tell her. Start with the basics and knock on the neighbors’ doors. Relieved that the Geezer had not been violated or stolen, Evans climbed in the car and headed for the Valley River condo where Gina used to live.
She pulled into Riverside Terrace and noted the security camera mounted to the corner of the gate. Would they have footage from two years ago? Not damn likely. The iron gate was open, so the barrier had to be more about aesthetics than security. She wondered if they closed and locked it at night. Evans found the manager’s sign, parked nearby, and climbed out.
The row of pristine white condos stretched along the riverbank and, for a moment, Evans was jealous of anyone lucky enough to live there. Then she remembered the river wasn’t so pretty in winter, which lasted a lot longer than summer.
She knocked on the manager’s door, heard someone respond, and waited a good five minutes. “Sorry about that, I was just finishing my routine.” The older woman wore stretchy yoga clothes and looked damn good for her age. “What can I do for you?”
Evans introduced herself. “I’m investigating an assault that happened in this complex two years ago. How long have you been the manager?”
“About six years. I don’t recall any assaults.”
“It was labeled an attempted suicide at the time. Her name is Gina Stahl and she came out of her coma recently.”
“Oh my God.” The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. “I thought she died. She’s okay?”
“She will be.” Evans was pleased the manager had been around long enough to remember Gina. “What’s your name?”
“Raylin Jones. Why don’t you come in out of the heat?”
Once inside the converted office, Evans asked, “Are any of Gina’s old neighbors still here?”
“I’ll have to check. What unit was she in?”
“Number sixteen.”
Raylin moved to the desk and opened a file on her computer. “Steve and Gloria Hutchins have been in unit seventeen since 2005, so you can talk to them. But that’s it. The woman in unit fifteen moved out in 2009. She lost her job in the recession.”
“Will you give me the Hutchins’ phone number? In case they’re not home.”
“Sure, but they’re retired, so you’ll catch them at home.”
Steve and Gloria were both reading in their living room as she passed the big window. A picture of contentment, Evans thought. She didn’t see it often.
Gloria looked up just as Evans knocked. Through the glass, she watched the older woman hurry over. “Who is it?” she said through the door.
“Detective Evans, Eugene Police.”
The door opened a little. “I’d like to see your badge.”
Evans moved her jacket aside and showed her.
“What’s this about?”
“Gina Bekker, the woman who used to live next to you.”
Gloria sucked in her breath. “Did she die?”
“She woke up and claimed she was assaulted.”
“Gina came out of her coma?” Steve Hutchins had followed his wife to the door.
“I’d like to ask some questions.” Evans pulled out her notepad, hoping they would invite her in. The temperature had hit ninety again and she wearing a goddamn suit jacket.
“Come in.” Gloria had an edge of excitement in her voice. “It’s so amazing she woke up.” She gestured for Evans to sit on the couch across from their reading recliners. Every bit of fabric in the room, including the Hutchins’ clothing, was in a shade of beige or pink. It was all a little sterile and Evans wanted to spill some coffee to make herself feel more comfortable.
“Were you home the evening Gina went to the hospital?”
“I’m the one who found her and called 911.” Gloria’s eyes danced, and Evans swore she could hear the old woman’s heart pound with excitement.
“What made you go next door?”
“It was Tuesday night and sometimes Gina came over and watched recorded Castle shows with us. I went over to tell her we were starting one, but she didn’t answer.”
“We knew she was home,” Steve cut in, “because we’d heard music earlier.”
Gloria shot him a look. It was her story. “I knocked harder and the door came open a little. It wasn’t latched, so I pushed it open a little more and called out.” Gloria’s hands twisted in her lap. “I got a bad feeling. Gina listened to classical music when she was depressed and she’d been playing Bach earlier. So I went in. We’d become pretty good friends and I was worried.” Gloria caught Evans’ eyes, looking for approval. Evans nodded.
“I found her unconscious
on her bed. I could tell by her color and stillness something was wrong. Then I saw the empty pill bottle and called 911.”
“Did anything in Gina’s apartment seem out of place?”
“Nothing except the door not being latched.”
Evans made notes as quickly as she could. “Did either of you see anyone hanging around the complex that day or that evening?”
“No,” Steve answered. “This is a secure building.”
“Did you hear anything unusual from her apartment before you went over?” This question was directed at Gloria.
“No. Just the music earlier.”
“Had Gina ever mentioned her ex-husband?”
They snorted in unison. “Oh yes.” Gloria nodded in big gestures. “She hated him. He cheated on her and gave her VD. That’s how she found out.”
“Gina said he verbally abused her too,” the husband added, trying to get a word in.
“Gary was being difficult about the divorce as well.” Gloria pressed her lips together. “I felt bad for Gina. Her lawyer was costing her a fortune.”
Evans suddenly wondered about Gina’s motive in blaming her ex. Was it simply about revenge? Was Gina mentally unstable? “You said Gina played music when she was depressed. How often did she get depressed?
“When she first moved in, we heard the classical stuff a lot. Then she started getting out more and we could tell she felt better. Until that day, she hadn’t been depressed in weeks.”
“Did you ever meet Gary Bekker or see him here at the complex?”
“Oh yes. He used to sit out in the parking lot just to upset her. And he succeeded.” Gloria leaned forward. “That wasn’t the first time Gina overdosed.”
Chapter 10
Earlier that day, Tuesday, September 7, 8:35 a.m.
Jackson parked in front of 2353 Emerald, turned off the engine, and drank his coffee. His car windows were down and the smell of dew-covered grass filled the morning air, reminding him of the lawn-mowing business he and his brother had operated in this neighborhood when they were kids. Two years older, Derrick had been bigger and stronger and always won when they wrestled for control of shared possessions. Yet Derrick had let him tag along on many adventures with his older friends. Careening down Greenhill Road on their bikes, jumping off the bridge near Fern Ridge—they were Jackson’s favorite childhood memories.
Derrick’s sedan was still in the driveway so his brother had to be home. It was time to barge in and confront him. This visit wasn’t about their estrangement. It was about finding their parents’ killer. Jackson climbed out of the car, and the sun warmed his back, promising the day would be another hot one.
He rang the doorbell once, then pounded loudly. “Derrick! I have to talk to you. It’s important.”
No response. Jackson shouted again, then looked for the ceramic frogs tucked into the ferns along the front window. He lifted the middle frog and found a key under it. Jackson tried the key in the door and it worked, so he entered the house. “Derrick, it’s Wade. We have to talk.”
A sour smell assaulted his nostrils. Spilled beer, Jackson guessed. He stepped out of the foyer into the living room. The shape of the walls was all he recognized of his childhood home. Beer cans littered the area around the couch and an empty Jack Daniels bottle stuck out between the cushions. Dirty plates covered the coffee table, with congealed food adding to the stink. Heavy blankets hung over the picture window, blocking out the light. To his left, dirty laundry and newspapers were piled on the kitchen table.
In his head, Jackson heard his father’s voice holler, What in tarnation is going on here?
He strode down the hall, thinking his brother might still be in bed. “Derrick, are you here? We need to talk.” A cold wave of apprehension spread across his chest. What if Derrick slept with a gun and woke up drunk and mad? Jackson instinctively reached for his weapon, then just as quickly pulled back.
He pushed open the master bedroom door at the end of the hall and prepared to hit the ground. His brother was sleeping face-down on the bed, wearing only white boxers. Jackson shook the bed and shouted his brother’s name until Derrick rolled over.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry to barge in, but I’ve been trying to contact you since Sunday.” Jackson stepped back to give the man space. “I’ll go put on some coffee.” Derrick muttered something as he left the room.
In the kitchen, a small garbage container overflowed onto the floor and fruit flies buzzed around two blackened bananas on the counter. Jackson found a can of coffee in the refrigerator and had to clear dishes out of the sink to access the faucet. He hadn’t known Derrick was drinking this heavily. That’s because you haven’t called in ten years, a guilty voice in his head countered.
He heard the shower running and it made him feel a little less bleak, but he wasn’t sure why. While the coffee brewed, he loaded the dishwasher and planned what he would say.
When Derrick entered the kitchen ten minutes later, they had a long moment of silence while Jackson poured coffee. He was pleased to see his brother’s clothes were clean, but he hadn’t shaved in days and his hair had grown to his shoulders.
“What do you want, Wade? After nearly eleven years?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you in all this time, but you didn’t call me either.” Oh shit. Why had he said that?
“You told me not to, remember?”
“That was a long time ago and we’d been arguing. I didn’t mean it.”
“Why are you here now?”
“I’ve reopened our parents’ case.” Jackson looked around for somewhere to sit.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hector Vargas contacted me and I went to see him. He says he took the money but didn’t kill them, so I’m starting over with the investigation.”
“Oh come on, the bastard confessed!” Derrick’s cobalt eyes blazed and his wide jaw tensed. They both had their mother’s features, only Derrick was blond and better looking.
“Vargas was abused and coerced into signing a confession. He’s dying of cancer and has nothing to gain by changing his story.”
Derrick rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m not ready for this.” He lurched to the table, grabbed the pile of dirty clothes, and tossed them through the laundry room door. They took seats on opposite sides of the table. Derrick gulped some coffee, then said, “You think you’ll find the real killer after all these years?”
“I’m going to try.”
Derrick shook his head. “Wade to the rescue. Do you always have to be such a goddamn boy scout?”
Jackson was taken aback. Derrick resented him? He started to respond, then caught himself. He was here as an investigator with a job to do. “I need to know about the time before the murders. Did you see Clark or Evelyn the day they died?”
“Clark or Evelyn? That’s cold, brother.”
“I’m trying to make this less emotional for both of us.”
“You can’t.” Derrick spit coffee as the words flew out of his mouth. “Our parents were shot dead in this house. People we called Mom and Dad, not some strangers named Clark and Evelyn. It is emotional, no matter how many years have passed.”
“This isn’t easy for me either. I had to look at the damn crime scene photos and stop at the lab to see the blood stains on Mom’s sweater. Now I need your help.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Did you see them the day they died?”
“I saw them that morning before I left for work. When I came home, the cops were here and they were dead.”
“You moved in here with them the day before they were murdered. Why?”
“My girlfriend and I had just broken up. I needed a place to stay.” Derrick got up, found a piece of bread, and wolfed it down. “To settle my stomach,” he said, sounding defensive.
“Who did Mom and Dad know that drove a dark blue sedan?”
“Seriously? You have a lead?”
“The Grays
ons saw a dark blue car parked near the house that day. Mr. Grayson saw it drive away after he heard the shots.”
Derrick rubbed his face again. “That was so long ago.”
“Think about it. Who did they hang out with?”
“They spent time with Dad’s friend from work, Charlie Bledsoe. He drove a black midsized car. Mom’s book club friend, Kathy, drove a blue minivan.” Derrick shook his head. “I only remember that because she was kind of hot and I helped her load some flowers into the back of the van once.”
“Had something changed recently for Mom and Dad? Did they seem worried about anything?”
“Mom always looked worried to me.” Derrick shrugged. “I had that effect on her.”
“What about financial concerns? Did they talk to you about anything specific?”
“They never talked about money. You know that.”
“The medical examiner found a hundred-dollar bill under Mom’s body.”
Derrick’s thick brows lifted. “We know Vargas took their cash box. He must have dropped some on the way out.”
“He says the box was locked and he smashed it open when he got home.”
“He’s a thief and probably a murderer too, so I don’t put much stock in anything he says.” Derrick gulped his coffee. “You got any aspirin? I ran out days ago.”
Jackson dug in his bag for a small bottle of naproxen, which he’d been taking since his surgery. “It’s not aspirin, but it should help.” He wanted to comment on the source of Derrick’s headache, but he wouldn’t risk alienating him. Not until he had what he’d come for.
“I need to look through Mom and Dad’s paperwork if you still have it.”
“It’s in the small bedroom that used to be yours.”
“You brought it in from the garage?”
Derrick gave him a half smile. “When Mona moved out, I brought all their stuff into the house just to be spiteful. Mona didn’t even want it in the garage. She kept bugging me to get rid of it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” Jackson stood. “I’m sorry about your marriage. What happened?” Derrick and Mona had eloped to Vegas, so Jackson hadn’t even attended the wedding.
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice Page 8