Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller)

by L. J. Sellers

  Kera looked a little hurt. “Good luck with your case.”

  He gave her a quick kiss, grabbed his shoulder bag, and got out of there. Once he was in the car, he felt a little guilty. Kera had been wonderful to him, especially the first few weeks after his surgery. She’d also welcomed Katie with open arms. Yet they had different ideas about how to raise kids. Kera’s openness about sexuality was great for him and it suited her well as a Planned Parenthood employee, but he wasn’t sure it was good for his daughter.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to think. A boy would have been so much easier.

  At such an early hour, the Violent Crimes area was empty and Jackson was glad for the quiet. He sipped his coffee while he examined the contents of Carla Walker’s purse. The blue denim bag had an ink stain near the bottom and the strap was frayed on the edges. Jackson dumped out the contents and decided Carla was the kind of woman you’d like to sit next to on a long bus ride. She carried a little pack of tissues, a penlight, a notepad and three pens, a small book of crossword puzzles, aspirin, Rolaids, spearmint gum, earplugs, and reading glasses.

  In a zipped compartment, he found her wallet and checkbook. Jackson opened the notebook with a small hope Carla had left him a clue. Instead he found a short grocery list, a reminder to iron good blue blouse for interview, and a collection of names, addresses, and phone numbers scribbled hastily on various pages.

  One entry caught his eye. Dr. Dubois. Jackson thought he’d heard the name but couldn’t remember when or where. He keyed it into his Word file and kept going. He would look up the doctor later. He had an autopsy to attend an hour from now, then a taskforce meeting right afterward. He wanted to examine all these personal items before he met with the other detectives.

  Jackson picked up Carla’s wallet. She had eighteen dollars in the cash pocket, a single credit card, and a fat stack of coupons and receipts. Jackson added a reminder at the top of his file: Check Walkers’ bank accounts for unusual activity. He flipped through Carla’s receipts. Nothing interesting until he came to one for Westside Buyers, a pawnshop on Highway 99. The amount was $1,700 and the date was April 25. What had Carla sold for that amount of money? Had she cashed in a piece of jewelry to get them through a tough financial spot?

  Jackson added the pawnshop to his list of things to check out, packed Carla’s things back in her purse, and started on Lori’s red backpack.

  At a quarter to eight, Sergeant Lammers burst into his space. “Good, you’re here. We need to talk.” She kept moving, right past his desk, a wall of muscle and political ambition that could not be ignored or denied. Jackson followed her down the hall.

  “The media is reporting these homicides as a home invasion,” she said as they entered her office. “We’re swamped with calls from hysterical citizens. Tell me you’ve got a suspect.” Lammers motioned for him to sit.

  “I have two suspects, both with personal motives. Roy Engall, the dead man’s ex-boss, was being blackmailed by the dead man, and Shane Compton, his nephew, is a drug addict.”

  “What’s his motivation?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Jackson pulled his shoulders back and tried to feel confident.

  “Is he a meth user?”

  “I assumed so, but I’m not certain.”

  “Is Shane Compton in custody?”

  “Not yet. We’re looking for him.”

  “What about the other one? Engall?” Lammers tapped her pencil.

  “We have him under surveillance.”

  “You think he killed the whole family because someone was blackmailing him?” She was as skeptical as Evans.

  “I don’t know yet. It’s only been twenty-four hours.”

  “It’s weak, Jackson. All of it. I want someone in custody before the day is over. If it turns out to be the assholes who are doing these car jackings, you can have your pick of assignments for a year.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Jackson left, thinking he had a better chance of winning the lottery than bringing in the carjackers in connection with this case. He laughed at the notion that picking his assignments was some kind of reward. He would always choose cases like this.

  Jackson hurried into the downtown hospital for the second time in twelve hours. Autopsies, or posts as the new pathologist called them, were conducted in the basement in a small room called Surgery 10. It was only his fifth post mortem in this convenient location. Until recently, he’d had to travel to Portland for autopsies, taking up a good part of the day. Lane County had finally hired its own pathologist, Rudolph Konrad, and Jackson was still developing a working relationship with him.

  “You’re on time. I appreciate it.” Konrad gave him what counted for a smile. Jackson had seen the man’s resume and he knew the pathologist was at least forty, but he looked younger. It must be the thick blond hair and chubby cheeks, Jackson thought as they shook hands.

  The medical examiner came in behind him, and the dingy basement room felt even smaller. One wall was taken up by a bank of huge stainless steel drawers and a hint of rubbing alcohol hung over everything. “We started with the woman because of her extreme blood loss,” Gunderson said, pulling on a gown. Jackson suited up as well, including booties.

  “Do you plan to attend all three family members’ posts?” Konrad asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “I ask because there may not be much to discover during the autopsies themselves.”

  “I like to see the trace evidence even if the cause of death is obvious.”

  “We’ll get started.”

  Konrad pulled back the white covering, and there was the hand in its own little plastic bag, resting innocently on Carla Walker’s pale stomach. The toast and coffee in his stomach roiled at the sight. “Can we do the hand first, then put it away?

  “Is it creeping you out?” Gunderson, all in black, seemed mildly amused.

  “A little.”

  Konrad reached for the appendage. “The only other case I’ve seen like this was a high school boy who drowned after losing a foot in the propeller when he fell out of his boat. The foot was still hanging by some skin when they pulled him out of the water. The ME at the scene detached it for safe keeping.”

  Jackson wanted to tell him to shut the hell up. Instead, he nodded as though it were an interesting tidbit. The last thing he needed was a rumor spreading through the department that he was squeamish about severed appendages. For some of his co-workers, practical jokes would be impossible to resist.

  “I believe her heart was still pumping when the hand was severed,” Konrad said in his flat voice. “But not at full capacity. The single blow to her head probably knocked her out, but didn’t kill her. The bat found at the scene is the most likely weapon.”

  “Are there defense wounds on her hands?”

  “There are none on this one.” Konrad held Carla’s left hand under a bright table light and began taking scrapings from under the nails. “I don’t see any obvious trace evidence either.”

  “Was the hand severed with the same knife that killed the boy?”

  Gunderson spoke up. “It seems very likely. The wounds are all consistent with that weapon, but we won’t know for sure until we do his post tomorrow.”

  Jackson had learned to live with the vagueness of autopsies. Very little was ever completely conclusive, except when things didn’t match.

  Konrad took his time conducting an inch-by-inch search of Carla’s body. He noted the sprinkling of moles on her shoulders and the uneven sizes of her breasts. The reddish-purple livor mortis on the backside of her body indicated she’d lain face up since her heart stopped and had not been moved.

  The internal examination was longer and slower. After forty minutes, Jackson felt jumpy and ready to get out. He’d learned almost nothing except that Carla had a significant scar on the inside of her lower right thigh. Konrad guessed it had been made by barbed-wire fence long ago. The pathologist had opened Carla’s body cavity and examined her organs, which revealed a healthy woman with no obvious
disease or damage.

  “This is surprising,” Konrad said, without sounding surprised. He had both hands in her lower abdomen.

  Jackson waited.

  “Her uterus is enlarged and I think she was pregnant.”

  Chapter 9

  Five weeks earlier, Monday, April 19

  Carla woke up in a good mood. Sunlight slanted through the blinds and a little breeze delivered the smell of morning dew. She loved this time of year when the world seemed fresh and bright again. Carla threw back the covers, put her feet on the floor, and pushed out of bed ready to start the day. She promptly felt nauseated and bolted for the bathroom.

  What the hell was that about? Carla wondered after upchucking what little was in her stomach. Feeling slightly better, she padded into the kitchen to make coffee, thinking she would let Jared sleep in. He’d been getting up for work at the crack of dawn since they’d been married and he deserved a break.

  Not much of one though. He had to find a new job immediately. The seven hundred dollars they had in savings would be gone in a month without his paycheck coming in. Carla pushed the worry away. She couldn’t change reality by making herself sick over it. They would survive this. In fact, if Jared ended up with a job requiring him to pay into social security and unemployment, they’d be better off in the long run.

  The coffee didn’t sit well on her stomach. She dumped the rest, then showered and dressed for work. Carla heard Lori’s radio playing softly and knew her daughter was getting ready. Thank God one of her kids liked to get up early and work hard in school. She was proud of Lori for holding down a waitress job during her whole senior year as well. She couldn’t believe Lori was graduating from high school in a month. Where had the years gone?

  She opened Nick’s door. His alarm blared and he slept right through it. “Nick!” She shook his shoulders. He sat up, slammed off the alarm, then grinned at her. “I’m up.”

  “I’m going to work early. Don’t forget to turn in your homework. Love you.”

  Carla heard the shower running in the hall bathroom, said goodbye to Lori through the door, and headed out. As she reached her car, Shane pulled up in his little white Toyota truck.

  “Morning, Carla.”

  “Hey, Shane. You’re a little early. No one’s ready for school yet.”

  “No problem. I’ll make sure Nick doesn’t go back to bed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Carla watched him lope up to the house. Since Shane had been laid off, he’d had more free time and was taking the kids to school and bringing Lori home from softball practice. Carla appreciated the help and couldn’t wait until Lori could afford the used car she was saving for.

  Carla hopped in the Subaru, and as the engine roared to life, she said a little thank you to God or whoever was in charge. The last thing they needed was car trouble. So far, the Subaru had been very faithful. Carla kept coming back to the idea they should sell the truck but she hadn’t said anything to Jared. He was so down about being unemployed, she couldn’t kick him with that reality yet.

  Silver Moon Jewelry had expanded soon after she started, and the new worksite was bigger and nicer, but she wasn’t crazy about the location off West 11th. Not that it mattered, Carla reminded herself, as she hurried into the long narrow building. This was her dream job. She was designing jewelry! She had never been this happy.

  Two years ago, the Willamette News had laid her off after fifteen years of selling classified ads for them. Craigslist had cut the paper’s classified business in half and Carla, having been there the longest, was the highest paid and the first to go. The loss of income and security had knocked her off her feet for a few days, but by the end of the week, she’d started to feel liberated. Nobody enjoyed selling classifieds. Good grief. Every day had been a challenge to get through but she’d stayed because of the health insurance benefits for her family.

  Carla said good morning to the receptionist and trotted up the stairs to her shared office with a big window overlooking a little canal. She loved this space and this job. She’d started out in sales because that’s what her resume said she could do. She had targeted this business specifically because it designed and manufactured beautiful jewelry. Long ago, Carla had wanted to attend college and major in art. Instead, she’d gotten pregnant with Lori her senior year in high school and everything changed. She had tried to bury that part of herself because it wasn’t practical. The layoff had opened the door just a crack and Carla found a way to push through it.

  She sat down at her desk, still excited by the huge monitor they’d given her two months ago when she shifted to full-time designing. Her office partner wasn’t in yet and Carla had a few moments to herself. She pulled off her sweater and opened her e-mail. The top message was highlighted in red, meaning priority. Carla opened it, scowled a little. Helen wanted to see her right away. Could she make herself a cup of tea first?

  She decided against it, grabbed a notepad and pen, and hurried down the hall to the owner’s corner office. Did they have a new big order? Was there a problem with one of her designs? Sometimes manufacturing challenges forced the designers to make changes.

  “Hi Helen. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. Close the door, please.” Helen, wearing her usual velour jacket and yoga pants, smiled tightly, then set her face in expressionless mode.

  Carla’s stomach lurched. Closed door? What did it mean?

  “Carla, I have some bad news. We lost the Lacey’s account, which means we lost half of our business, just like that.” Helen snapped her fingers. “It’s the damn economy. Everyone is cutting back, tightening their expenses.” Helen averted her eyes and bit her lip. “This is very difficult for me to say, but I have to let you go. I’m cutting five people in production too.”

  Too stunned to speak, Carla sat unmoving. This can’t be happening. We can’t both lose our jobs.

  “I’m sorry.” Helen’s expression pleaded with her to understand.

  “Do you think it’s temporary?” Carla’s voice felt weird, as if the words were getting stuck in her dry throat. She should have made the damn tea.

  “I don’t know. Either way I have to cut payroll immediately to stay in business. This isn’t personal; you just happen to be the newest designer.”

  “Can I go back to sales?”

  “I’m cutting someone in sales too.”

  Tears built up and Carla fought for control. “Jared was laid off last week, you know.”

  “Oh shit.” Helen looked like she might cry too. “I’m so sorry.”

  Carla wondered if she was meant to go home right now. She couldn’t bring herself to ask. “I’ll clear out my personal files, then get out of here.”

  “Take your time. Everyone will want to say goodbye.” Helen blew her nose as Carla walked away. Tears burst from their wells and she hurried into the bathroom to cry in private. For a few minutes she let herself sob, without thinking, without recriminations. When it was out of her system, she repaired her makeup as best she could and began to plan. She could find a job in sales. There were always sales jobs. She had to be employed or the kids wouldn’t have health insurance. First she would file for unemployment. How much of a weekly check would she get?

  Before she made it out of the bathroom, her stomach revolted and she was once again hanging over the toilet. Rinsing the sour taste from her mouth, Carla wondered if she had a flu bug. Or was she getting an ulcer? Teenagers could do that to you. Lori had been especially moody lately, and with Jared laid off, Carla had been worrying herself into a frenzy.

  Still, it was unlike her to vomit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thrown up. Carla headed for the door, then stopped dead in her tracks. Oh shit. She’d just remembered the last time she’d lost her breakfast. Fifteen years ago, about seven months before Nick was born. No! This couldn’t be happening. Her doctor had assured her the IUD was effective. She’d reluctantly gone off the pill after fifteen years because her doctor was worried about the long-term effects
on her health.

  She was thirty-six for Christ’s sake. And unemployed. No longer needed in the building. Pregnancy was not an option.

  Being the kind of person who rips off a band-aid rather than peel it slowly, Carla strode to her desk and made short work of deleting personal e-mails and files. She grabbed a box from the mailing room, packed her Christmas cactus and family photos, and marched out of the building, head held high. She smiled and waved but didn’t stop for hugs. She was done crying….and puking for the day.

  Two nights later, Carla took a lasagna out of the oven and calculated it had cost her twelve dollars to make. They were headed over to Tracy and Kevin’s for a potluck dinner and she had to bring something nice. Jared had wanted to buy steaks but she’d vetoed the idea. Her unemployment check would be $310 a week. After paying rent they’d have $400 left for everything else. She couldn’t even buy groceries for a month with that paltry sum. Twice Carla had picked up the phone to call her mother, then set it back down. Her parents lived on social security in a two-bedroom trailer in Veneta. She couldn’t ask them for anything.

  Lori came into the kitchen and hugged her from behind. “Smells great, Mom.”

  “Thanks. I used real Italian sausage like everyone likes.”

  “I wanted to remind you I’m going to the WOW Hall after dinner to see a show. I’d like to take the Subaru.”

  “You can. Lori, I have to talk to you about something.”

  Her daughter crossed her arms but she didn’t roll her eyes. Carla was grateful. Lori had never treated her with contempt the way some teens did with their parents.

  Carla sat down at the kitchen table, which they’d stained and assembled themselves, and waited for Lori to do the same. “I know the money you make at Appleton’s is yours. You work hard for it and you’re entitled to spend it how you like. However, this family is in a bad situation, and if it gets much worse we could get evicted.”

  “That’s not right.”