Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice
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A senior editor stopped her on the stairs. “I saw that the coma woman you wrote about was killed yesterday,” she said. “Have you found out anything?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Are you okay?”
“Once I get the details, I’ll be fine.”
Sophie regretted spending the evening with Jasmine instead of talking to Gary Bekker’s victims. Now she had to do this favor for Jackson before digging farther into the backstory. She hurried to her desk and checked her email. Nothing looked critical. She stopped at her editor’s office, but he was out. Probably at another meeting about how to cut costs and keep the paper afloat.
Taking her cell phone and notepad, Sophie strode over to the area where they stored the microfiche. The file cabinets were filled with scanned, compressed newspaper stories that dated back nearly twenty years. Newspapers published before that were archived in a basement storage area. Sophie checked her notes for the dates Jackson had given her, then started pulling film for September 2000.
She took a seat at the monitor, fed in the first roll of film, and started scanning. After five minutes, Sophie wished she’d made a cup of tea to keep her company. Eugene was a midsized college town and its front-page news leaned toward crime, sports, and local businesses. Except during election periods. In the year 2000, the Bush-Gore contest for the presidency had dominated the front-page news. What had Jackson said? Look for something a middle-aged woman might react to emotionally. A George W. Bush presidency would qualify, but Sophie theorized she was looking for something more personal, more specific. She scanned the first couple of pages of each City section as well, just to cover the bases.
She skipped over stories about the 2000 Census and the USS Cole bombing, looking for something more local. She found a news article about a couple in Springfield who’d won a $140-million lottery and a story about the arrest of a man who’d killed his wife and children and dumped their bodies in the ocean. The family had washed up near Newport. Everyone had reacted emotionally to that heinous crime. Next, a series of juicy political stories caught her attention and she sent the three news clippings to the printer. She was skeptical about their connection to Jackson’s case, but he could read them and decide for himself.
Sophie spent another ten minutes scanning the last two days before September 23 and only came up with one other possibility for Jackson. A young local comedian had died of brain cancer after spending a year teaching middle school students about comedy. She printed the story and went to the employee sink to make a cup of jasmine tea. She faxed the news stories to Jackson, emailed her boss to give him an update, then called Detective Evans about Gina’s shooting.
* * *
Evans pushed out through the jail doors and sucked in a long breath of summer air. A group of scruffy young men loitering nearby stared as she strode past. Evans resisted the urge to give them the finger. She didn’t need any more conflict. The judge’s decision annoyed her, but she decided she could live with it. Technically, the monitor wouldn’t keep Bekker from leaving his house, but if he did, a jail deputy would pick him up soon after.
She climbed in her car and checked her cell phone. The Stahls had not returned her call but she intended to see them anyway. It was pushy and unpleasant to barge in on people who had just experienced the violent death of a loved one, but it was also the nature of her job. She could only hope the bereaved parents would understand that she was trying to bring Gina’s killer to justice.
As she drove west, Evans called Jackson. “Hey, I wanted to update you. I attended Bekker’s arraignment this morning and asked the judge to deny bail. His scummy lawyer convinced Cranston to release him, but on house arrest with an ankle bracelet.”
“At least we’ll know exactly where Bekker is.”
“That’s assuming the jail deputies do their job and monitor him.” Evans started to say more, then changed her mind. “I’m headed out to see Gina’s parents to ask about the letter we found. Do you want to join me? I’ll wait if you do.”
“I think it’s fine that you handle it. You’ve talked to them before and they’re probably comfortable with you.”
“They were comfortable with me. That was before I let their daughter get killed.”
“Stop blaming yourself.”
Evans didn’t think she would ever completely forgive herself for Gina’s death. She made a left on Royal Avenue. “What have you got going this morning?”
“A state trooper brought in Ray Durkin, the suspect in my parents’ case. I interrogated him but got nowhere. He admits to being in the house the day before the murders, but that’s it.”
“He must be worried he left some DNA. Smart move.”
“I’m a little frustrated with this investigation. If Durkin’s DNA doesn’t match the crime scene evidence, I’m at a dead end.”
“Why don’t you spend some time on it this morning? We’ll meet this afternoon to brainstorm Gina’s scenario. Maybe the crime lab will have something for us by then.”
Jackson let out a small laugh. “Don’t count on it. Call me if you learn anything significant.”
The Stahls’ minivan was in the driveway exactly where it had been the day before. The sage green mobile home, the tidy yard, the quiet kidless neighborhood—it all looked the same as the first time Evans had visited. She would never have known a violent crime had recently been committed here…except for the huge bloodstain in the driveway.
Evans went around it and strode to the front door. Sharon opened it before she could knock and silently motioned her to come in. Unlike yesterday, the woman’s shoulders slumped, her hair was unbrushed, and she looked every day of her age. Evans thought Sharon might never recover her vivaciousness.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have something important to ask. It may help us find Gina’s killer.”
“Come sit at the table with us. We were having coffee.”
In the kitchen, Sharon poured her a cup without asking and they joined George at the table. He held a newspaper in his hands, but Evans suspected he wasn’t processing much information.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” Evans said to the old man. “And I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting Gina.” She started to say more, then heard Lammers’ voice in her head, telling her to shut up. Admitting any kind of responsibility could lead to a lawsuit.
Evans pulled Gina’s practice letter from her case file. “We found this in Gina’s personal papers last night. First, I need to know if this is your daughter’s handwriting. Second, I hope you can help me understand what it’s about.”
Evans set the wrinkled sheet of paper on the table and Sharon reached for it, scowling over her glasses. As she read, her lips moved. Finally Sharon said with trembling voice, “It’s Gina’s handwriting but I have no idea what this means.” She handed the letter to her husband, looked up at Evans, and fought back tears. “Who was Gina trying to borrow so much money from?”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
George folded the letter. “I think I know who she wrote this to.” His closed his eyes, as if to block out the pain. “Gina must have discovered who her biological mother was. That’s what she meant by ‘I’ve known who you are.’” He took his wife’s hand. “I assume Gina didn’t tell us because she didn’t want to hurt us.”
Evans cut in. “What are you saying? Was Gina adopted?”
“Yes.” Sharon spoke but they both nodded.
“And she knew it?” The information was so unexpected.
“We told her when she ten years old. It seemed like the right age for understanding.”
“Did she ever mention she was looking for her biological mother?”
“No. She always said she didn’t want to know.” Sharon burst into tears. “We didn’t know she was in that much financial trouble. We would have helped her. She could have lived with us after her divorce.”
Evans braced herself against the crying and plowed ahead. “The letter mentions keeping a secret, in
exchange for twenty thousand dollars. If Gina mailed a letter like this to her biological mother, the woman might have considered it a threat.”
George looked up, startled. “You mean like blackmail?”
“Yes. This letter may be connected to both attacks on Gina.”
A long silence followed, interrupted by sniffling sobs from Sharon. Evans couldn’t believe Gina hadn’t mentioned she was adopted. Had she deliberately kept it from her because of the blackmail attempt? Damn! How could she do her job without adequate information?
“We don’t know if Gina followed through and mailed the letter,” Sharon said, sucking in a huge breath. “She may have just been thinking about it.”
“But if she did, I need to find out who her biological parents are. You have to help me.”
“How?”
“Tell me about the adoption. Where did it take place?”
“Right here in Eugene,” Sharon said. “The mother was a young girl who couldn’t keep the baby. Our lawyer knew her parents.”
“What’s your lawyer’s name?” Evans dug out her notepad.
“He died years ago. The adoption took place in 1965.”
The date was crushing. How would she ever find the information? “I still need to know his name.”
“Michael Walburg. He had his own law firm.” Sharon kept speaking for the couple, but it was taking a toll as she struggled with grief.
Evans wrote down the lawyer’s name and gave herself a moment to process. “How do you think Gina found the information? What would she do to track down her birth mother?”
“There are services that help people with these things,” Sharon offered.
They had not come across anything in Gina’s papers related to adoption or finding biological parents. “Does Gina have more boxes here I haven’t looked through? This could be important.”
“I don’t think so.” Sharon seemed uncertain.
George spoke up. “What about the person who shot her? It looked like a man. What are you doing to find him?”
“Everything we can.” Evans sat down and forced herself to be patient. “I found a bullet casing in the driveway and the lab will check to see if it matches other crimes. The shooter also dropped his ski mask on the bike path. The lab will extract any hair or skin cells and analyze the DNA. If the suspect is in the criminal database, they’ll find the match.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“That’s why we’re looking for someone with motive to kill Gina.”
“What about car he was driving?” George asked, still demanding answers. “Was there any evidence there?”
“It’s been towed to the lab. We believe the suspect bought it just a few hours before showing up here. The man who sold it to him should be at the police department, working with a sketch artist.” Evans cringed, hoping it was true. She’d forgotten to check in with Greer this morning. “When we have a sketch of the shooter, we’ll put it on the news. Someone will identify him.”
“What’s your theory? How is the killer connected to this?” George picked up the blackmail letter and shook it. His anger surprised her.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.” Evans projected more confidence than she felt. She wished Jackson had come with her. “Does the lawyer, Michael Walburg, have relatives or partners I could talk to?”
“I don’t know.” Sharon shook her head. “It was so long ago.”
Evans stood, eager to get moving. “Will you help me by looking to see if Gina has more paperwork here? If she was looking for her birth parents, she should have some documents.”
“Maybe her biological mother contacted her,” George said quietly. “The search goes both ways.”
“Maybe.” Evans thought about what Gina had written. “The letter sounds like it was written to someone she’d never had contact with.”
“We can look at the stuff we put in her room,” George suggested to his wife. The old couple pushed themselves up from the table and moved toward the hall.
“We took some of Gina’s things out of the boxes and set them up for her in the guest room,” Sharon said. “We wanted to make her feel at home.”
The pain in the mother’s face made Evans ache to look at her. She stepped into the bedroom where she’d grabbed boxes from the night before.
“There are some things stacked in the closet,” George said. “Let’s look at those.”
One box held mixing bowls and old cooking pots and another was filled with Christmas ornaments. “We stopped decorating for Christmas after Gina was hospitalized,” Sharon murmured, as she held up a string of lights.
“I just remembered something,” George said. “We threw out a bunch of Gina’s papers after the cat peed in a box. We had to.”
“Oh yeah, Stinky Boy.” Sharon let out a sigh. “He was our last cat.”
Evans, who had no use for cats, kept her comments to herself. They opened every box and every plastic tub in the room but found nothing with information. Discouraged, she asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about the young mother? Or the lawyer who handled the adoption?”
Sharon tried to be helpful. “Mr. Walburg told us the young woman went to his church and her parents were very religious and didn’t want her to keep the child.
“But you never knew the mother’s name?”
“Oh no.”
Evans accepted that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of the visit. “I’ve got to get back to the department for a meeting. Please call me if you remember anything else.”
She moved toward the door and Sharon followed, saying, “Gina’s memorial service is on Saturday at ten at the Unitarian Church. Will you come?”
“I will.” Evans disliked funerals, but she wanted to pay her respects to Gina. Also, they were part of her job. Killers often attended their victim’s funeral, so it was important to see who would show up. She said goodbye and left the house.
As she passed the bloodstain in the driveway, she wondered: What secret could Gina’s biological mother or father have been willing to kill for?
Chapter 26
Thursday, September 9, 9:20 a.m.
Jackson tossed his pastry wrapper and started reading through his case notes. With food in his stomach and a second cup of coffee priming his bloodstream, he felt a little less weary. Still, working two cases at the same time was taking a toll, and his brain felt cluttered. He leaned his desk chair back, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind. It wasn’t exactly meditation, but in some non-tangible way, the practice helped him prioritize information. Afterward, he would often make a connection he hadn’t seen before. Sometimes, it just gave him a mental rest.
He drifted for about ten minutes, until he heard someone call his name. He quickly opened his eyes.
“What have you got on Gina’s Stahl’s murder?” Lammers towered over him, arms crossed. “The media keeps calling our PR person and she’d like to give a statement.”
“She can tell the press we’ll soon have a sketch drawing of the shooter. The man who sold him the van was supposed to come in this morning to work with the sketch artist.” Jackson looked at his watch: 8:55. He wondered if Joel Greer had shown up. Crap. Why hadn’t he remembered to call him?
“Excellent. What else have you got?” Lammers grabbed a chair from an empty nearby desk, pulled it over, and plopped down. A little tension left the room.
“We have a bullet casing from the shooting scene and Evans found the perp’s ski mask on the bike path.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“We dug through the victim’s personal papers last night and found an old letter that looked like a possible blackmail threat.”
“No shit? Who was blackmailing her?”
Jackson shook his head. “Gina wrote a letter asking to borrow twenty grand, but we don’t know who the recipient was. Or if she ever sent such a letter. Evans is talking to Gina’s parents now.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
Lammers stared at him for a long moment. “You need to focus on Gina’s murder. The TV stations will be all over it tonight and the public will want it solved. Make this case your priority. In fact, call in Schakowski to help. ”
Jackson kept his face impassive, but his chest tightened. “You’re the boss.”
“I’m not asking you to give up your other case, just put it on a back burner for now.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get the sketch of this guy to the media as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll call Greer now.”
Lammers shoved the chair back to its desk and strode off. Jackson reached for his phone, then realized he didn’t have Joel Greer’s number. Evans had been the one to contact the Explorer’s owner. His realized this must be what it was like sometimes for his team members when they worked his cases. The difference was he was always the one who had to answer to the sergeant.
As he started to call Evans, his phone rang. “This is Officer Rice. I’ve been working with Joel Greer this morning to create a sketch of yesterday’s shooter. Why don’t you come see what we’ve got.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Jackson hustled down the hall to a cubicle near the missing persons office. Officer Rice, who looked like she could win a body-building contest, sat next to a young man with a long braid and large hoops in his earlobes. He reeked of incense and wore a t-shirt that said Live in the moment. Jackson tried not to scowl.
“Detective Jackson, this is Joel Greer.” Rice gestured at the young man. “He sold the Ford Explorer to your suspect.”
They both nodded but didn’t shake hands. “Thanks for coming in.”
Rice held out a piece of white drawing paper. “It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”