The suspect was older than most of the criminals Jackson dealt with, but still an attractive person with a narrow face and a strong chin. Rice had drawn him with sunglasses and a hat because that’s how Greer had seen him. Jackson’s heart sank. Without the eyes or hair, there just wasn’t enough to identify him.
He caught Greer’s attention. “Do you feel confident this is a good likeness?”
The witness cocked his head. “There’s something still not right about it.”
Jackson visualized Bekker. “Are his cheeks fuller here?” He pointed to the area under the eyes.
“No. I think the mouth is wrong in this sketch, but I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Did you see his teeth? Jackson asked. “Anything noteworthy?”
Greer sat up a little straighter. “Now that you mention it, he had perfect teeth. Like someone with caps or dentures.”
Officer Rice grabbed the sketch and erased the bottom half of the suspect’s face. She was an artist and preferred to work by hand, rather than use software. She drew it again, this time with more fullness, especially around the mouth. Rice held the drawing for Greer to see. “This is how he looks with dentures.”
“That’s much better,” Greer said.
Jackson smiled. “Good work. Thanks, both of you.” He shook Greer’s hand, feeling better about the young man. He turned to Officer Rice. “Can I take this?”
“Of course.”
Jackson took the image to the department’s spokesperson and media liaison. She made several copies for him to take with him, then said she would fax the sketch to all three TV stations and the local paper.
When he arrived back at his desk, he discovered a stack of faxed newspaper clippings on his chair. The top one was dated September 2, 2000. Sophie had done the favor he’d asked and sent him significant stories from the weeks before his parents’ murders. Jackson set them on his desk, started to read the top story, then pushed the stack off to the side. Lammers had instructed him to focus on Gina’s shooting. His parents’ case would have to wait.
He opened a Word document and began to key in his handwritten notes, starting with the evidence: .38 copper bullet casing and ski mask (both at crime lab). He checked his watch: 12:05. Probably too soon to call the lab and ask for anything. Next, he made notes about the vehicle used in the shooting: 1996 dark green Ford Explorer, purchased at noon the day of the shooting, from a resident on Clark Street.
Was the location significant? When Evans had asked Greer if the buyer had called first, he said he hadn’t advertised the vehicle in the paper, only put a sign in the window and parked it on the street. That meant the shooter had seen the vehicle for sale while passing by. Did he live in the neighborhood? A little hum of adrenaline thrummed in his spine. If someone recognized the man in the sketch and his address was nearby, that would be enough to get a subpoena for his DNA. Juries loved circumstantial evidence that added up and made their decision easier.
As Jackson finished keying in his notes, Evans strode up. “You should have come with me to the Stahls.” Vibrating with excitement, she grabbed his shoulder. “Gina was adopted. I think the blackmail note was written to her biological parent.”
Jackson tried to remember what the note said. “That seems like a leap.”
Evans pulled up a chair the way Lammers had earlier, set her shoulder bag on it, and dug out Gina’s practice letter. She shoved the paper at him. “Read it again, then let’s meet in the conference room. I’ll be right back.” She headed off in the direction of the restroom.
Jackson reread the note. I’ve known who you are for years and never contacted you. I’m writing now because I need your help. My health has been poor and I’ve run up a lot of medical bills. I was also unable to work for a while. If you could loan me $20,000, I would be deeply grateful and keep your secret forever.
The salutation was scratched out but it may have originally been two words. Dear Mother? Jackson pulled a magnifying glass from his drawer and looked more closely. The first letter in the second word was an F. Dear Father? The signature had been crossed out as well. He held the magnifier over it and decided it had once said: Your daughter, Gina. Jackson now thought Evans’ theory was probably correct. Gina had contacted her biological father for money. Had that been the trigger?
He ordered sandwiches from a nearby deli and headed for the conference room. On the way, he called Schak and left a message: “I’m working yesterday’s shooting and Lammers said to round up some help. If you’ve got time, check in with me. Evans and I are meeting now.”
He set his file and notebook on the table, grateful for the new furnishing. Still, the conference room was too small for comfort and he couldn’t wait to move into their new headquarters on Coburg Road. A year of remodeling had to take place first.
Evans hurried in behind him. “It’s strange having a meeting with just us,” she said. “Should I take the board?”
“Please do.” Jackson slid into a chair, suddenly feeling bone tired after three nights of little sleep. “Lammers said to get help on the case so I called Schak. I think we’ll use him to put up pictures of the perp in the neighborhood where he bought the vehicle.”
“You think someone might have seen him around?”
“I think he might live or work in the neighborhood. Greer said he didn’t advertise the Explorer, so our shooter must have seen the For Sale sign while passing by.”
“Good thinking. Clark is not exactly a main street.” Evans drew a line down the middle of the five-foot dry-erase board. On one side, she wrote 2009 assault/overdose, and on the other side she wrote 2011 shooting.
“Do you think we have two perpetrators?”
“Not really, but we do have two assaults and two sets of evidence. I think it makes sense to keep them separate, even though it’s the same victim.” She looked at him for approval.
“Makes sense.” He watched Evans list everything she knew about both assaults. She had a methodical mind, nice penmanship, and a great ass. He could do a lot worse for a partner. He noticed camera footage in the first column. “What film do you have?”
She turned to face him. “Gina’s apartment complex had a security camera at the gate. I tracked down the footage and dropped it off with Joe.”
“What’s he looking for?”
“A red Chevy truck. That’s what Bekker drives. Or a man in a ski mask.”
“We need to get this sketch over to the lab right away.” Jackson slid the oversized paper out of his folder.
Evans came around the table and stood next to him, scrutinizing the suspect’s face. Her hip brushed against his arm and Jackson lost his train of thought.
The desk officer knocked on the door and stepped in with two white bags. “You ordered sandwiches?” He set down their lunch, gave a mock salute, and turned to leave.
“Thanks,” Jackson called after him. He grabbed a diet Pepsi, popped the top, and took a long pull.
Evans kept studying the sketch. “How old would you say the perp is?”
“Fifty-five or so. Maybe older.”
“It’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?”
“Somewhat. Remember the Waddling Bandit? He was seventy.” Jackson pointed to the blackmail note. “I think Gina wrote this to her biological father. Look at the first letter.” He handed Evans the magnifier, wishing she’d move one step away.
Evans looked at the salutation and closing line. “You’re right. Shit.” She tapped the magnifier in her palm. “So Gina tried to squeeze money out of her biological father by promising to keep his secret.” Evans began to pace. “But what secret? The fact that he had daughter no one knew about?”
“It must be bigger than that if killed her over it.” Jackson could not imagine anyone killing their own child for any reason.
“How did she find out his secret? When and how did she discover he was her father?” Evans paced in front of the board as she talked. “Gina’s parents say she wasn’t interested in knowing her biological parents.
They said she never looked for her mother.”
“She may have told them that to spare their feelings.” Jackson gestured at the lunch bags. “Why don’t you sit down and have a sandwich?”
Evans ignored him. “We have to find Gina’s mother, the young woman who gave her up for adoption.”
“What do you know about her?
Evans turned to the board and wrote: Underage? Family knew lawyer, Michael Walburg.
“Have you contacted the lawyer?” Jackson asked between bites.
“He’s dead. The adoption took place in 1965.
“Who’s dead?” Schak sauntered in, a little grin playing on his face.
“An old lawyer,” Jackson said. “I’m glad you’re here.” He would tell him about the poster assignment a little later.
“We’ve got a pool going on whether Bekker shot his ex-wife,” Schak said. “I bet against the trend and said he didn’t do it, so you’d better tell me you have a new suspect.”
“We do.” Jackson slid the sketch over as Schak sat down.
“Sweet deal.” Schak snapped his fingers. “I’m long overdue for a win.” He studied the image. “This nose and mouth looks kind of familiar, but the name isn’t coming to me.” Schak glanced at Evans. “Are you going to eat that sandwich?”
“I’ll split it with you.”
Jackson studied the sketch again and didn’t get a feel for the man at all. He spent five minutes bringing Schak up to date while they ate their turkey on whole wheat.
“Boy, this dude really wanted her dead,” Schak said. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re trying to figure out how to track down a private adoption from forty-six years ago.”
“I’ll contact the lawyer’s family and see if they still have any of his paperwork,” Evans offered.
“Are private adoptions registered with the state?” Schak asked. “Can we get a court order to look at old records?”
“Why don’t you find out?” Jackson said. “That would be a great help.”
“What’s the lawyer’s name and what was the year?” Schak made notes as Evans gave him the information.
Jackson’s phone rang and he looked at the ID: Jasmine Parker. “It’s the lab.” He clicked on the speaker and set the cell on the table. “Parker. I’m in a meeting with Schak and Evans and I’ve got you on speakerphone.”
“Can you hear me okay?” She came though well, despite the static.
“You’re fine. What have you got for us?”
“I checked the trace evidence in the Jackson murders against the database. Still nothing. The perp has no fingerprints or DNA in the system.”
“I appreciate that,” Jackson said. “But I had to put that case on hold. Do you have anything on the shooting yesterday?”
“I do.” They heard her shuffle some papers. “The ski mask had a hair clinging to the fabric. The hair is 3.2 centimeters long and gray at the base, fading to dark blond. The perpetrator uses artificial color on his hair. I said ‘his’ because the hair is more consistent with the texture and thickness of male hair than with female hair.”
“Did either hair have a follicle? Did you get a DNA sample?”
“Yes. I sent it over to the lab this morning.” Parker paused. “There’s more. The structure of the hair I examined from the ski mask in the Gina Stahl murder seemed so familiar I thought I might have confused it with the trace evidence from the Jackson murders. But of course, I don’t make mistakes like that. So I compared the two hair samples. The color has changed some, but the composition of the medulla and the pattern of the cuticle are the same.
“What exactly does that mean?” Jackson asked.
“They’re from the same person.”
Chapter 27
“Holy shit.” Evans jumped up. “This means we have the same killer. Our cases are connected.”
“How in the hell is that possible?” Jackson now had a sharp pain between his eyes. “The murders were nine years apart and had completely unrelated victims.”
Parker said, “I’ll let you figure that out,” and hung up.
After a long silence, Evans said, “The victims have some kind of connection. We just have to find it. I think it must be related to the adoption and the identity of the biological father.”
“What about the loan shark?” Schak offered. “Durkin had dealings with the Jackson family and Gina was in financial trouble. Maybe she borrowed money from him too.”
“It’s possible,” Jackson said, “But Durkin was on parole in 2009. I hate to point this out, but Bekker investigated my parents’ case and is closely connected to Gina. He’s still a possibility.”
“Damn. I thought I was gonna win this bet.” Schak stood. “Should I get going? I can start with a call to a friend over in the courthouse.”
“I’ll try to track down the adoption lawyer’s files,” Evans said.
They both looked at Jackson.
“I’ll drop off a copy of this sketch to Joe, then go home and finish reading my parents personal mail, which has been sitting in a box all these years. I’ve been slowly going through it when I had time. Now it suddenly seems critical.” He gathered up his things, needing to get out and be alone for a moment. “We’ll meet back here at five unless someone catches a break before then. Keep me posted.”
On the drive to the crime lab, Jackson’s brain bounced from one thought to another and none made sense. He kept coming back to the idea that his parents were strangers to him. They’d had a whole dimension to their lives he’d never known about. Something they were involved in, or someone they knew, had led to their deaths and he had no idea who or what. Was Ray Durkin still a suspect? Jackson debated whether he should bring Durkin in again and question him about Gina and his whereabouts yesterday afternoon. A surge of guilt twisted in his gut. If he had arrested Durkin yesterday, would Gina still be alive?
It occurred to Jackson that Derrick knew more than he was willing to admit. He waited for a break in the traffic on 6th Avenue, then checked his earpiece and called Derrick. His brother didn’t answer and Jackson didn’t bother leaving a message. He glanced at the time on his phone: 2:55. Katie was still in school and then she had drill team practice until five-thirty. He pressed the gas, thinking he had time to make a quick stop at the lab and get some work done at home before picking her up.
Jackson pulled through the security gate and drove to the lab’s back parking lot. The overhead door on the big bay was open and Joe was using a powerful hand vacuum on the front seat of the Explorer. Jackson parked and climbed out. “Hey, Joe. Are you finding anything?”
The technician backed out of the vehicle. “The door handle and the steering column have been wiped clean. We got a couple of decent prints off the inside door latch, but they didn’t match anyone in the system.” Joe brightened. “Still, if you find the guy, they could be one more piece of the puzzle.”
“Any trace evidence? Or something personal left behind?”
Joe shook his head. “I would have told you already.” He nodded at the paper in Jackson’s hand. “Is that the perp?”
“It’s a likeness of the guy who bought the vehicle used in the crime. With the hat and glasses, it’s not a lot to work with.” Jackson put the sketch in Joe’s outstretched hand. “I understand you’re looking at video footage of the security gate at Gina Stahl’s old apartment. You might as well keep an eye out for our shooter.”
“Emily is looking at the footage now. Let’s take this up.”
Joe stepped out of the bay and used a remote to close the overhead door. They headed for the exterior entry, then went inside the main building and up the stairs. The video viewing equipment was in a ten-by-ten windowless room in the back of the building. A young woman with a long ponytail stared at a monitor. The footage was speeded up, so the occasional car appeared to be flying though.
Emily pressed pause and looked up. “No red Chevy truck or man in a mask yet.” She smiled at Jackson. “Hi again.” He’d met her once at a crime
scene, but wouldn’t have remembered her name if Joe hadn’t said it.
“Hello, Emily.” He handed her the sketch. “We have a new suspect. Have you seen anyone resembling this guy?”
“The hat and glasses make it hard to say.” She attached the sketch to a holder that extended from her monitor. “I’ll have to start at the beginning and watch for this face.”
“I appreciate your help,” Jackson said.
“No problem.” Another dazzling grin.
Was she flirting with him?
“Anything else I should know or look for?”
An idea struck him. “Watch for a city-issued sedan.”
Emily raised her penciled brows. “You think he’s a cop?”
“Maybe. Either way, he might be driving a similar-type car.”
Jackson wanted to get moving. “Thanks again.” He hurried from the small dark room, thinking he would go crazy if he had to sit in there all day like Emily did.
They walked toward Joe’s office and Jackson said, “What about the bullets? Anything significant?”
“Not really. They’re .38 slugs consistent with those made by Smith & Wesson, but I still need a weapon to compare them to.”
“Will you compare the slugs from yesterday’s shooting to the Jackson homicides in 2000?”
“I already did. Jasmine reported her findings on the trace evidence, so I checked the slugs. The Jackson case had .22 caliber bullets. It’s not the same gun, but we’ll work late and look at everything else, side by side.”
“Thanks, Joe. If you come up with anything, call me. I don’t care how late it is. I’m sure I’ll still be working too.”
On the drive home, he called Kera, needing to hear her warm, supportive voice.
She picked up right away. “Hey, Jackson. I’m with Isaac, one of my veteran patients.”
“Sorry. We can talk later.”
“I have a minute and I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?”
Jackson hesitated. The case details were confidential, but Kera was the most trustworthy woman he’d ever known. “Gina Stahl, the woman who was shot yesterday? The same man killed my parents. The trace evidence proves it.”
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice Page 22