Wrongful Death (A Detective Jackson Mystery)

by L. J. Sellers

  Dread growing in his gut, Jackson called Detective Dragoo on his work cell phone. It took seven rings, but the tech specialist finally answered. “Yes?”

  “Jackson here. We need your help with the sexual predator case. Can you come in right now?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We think the predator might strike tonight. We have a warrant that gives us access to the profile we think he’s using, and we need you to hack in so we can see private conversations.”

  “I can try, but these things take time.”

  “You’re coming in?”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  What if they were too late? Just because the perp hadn’t been violent in the past didn’t mean his deviant behavior wouldn’t escalate. A young girl’s life could be at stake. Should they have asked Dragoo to hack in without a warrant? Would he have done it?

  Jackson searched their database of citizens who’d interacted with the police and only found one Norton. A male, too young to be Skylar’s father, and currently in jail. He tried the online phone book and found ten pages of listings for people named Norton. He didn’t have time to call all of them asking if they knew Skylar. Crap! Who would know how to find her? Someone at her school? A friend, of course. Jackson scrolled through her friends to see who was online. A girl named Beth was the first Eugene friend he came across. How to approach her—from Ashley’s profile—without freaking her out? He didn’t have time to be anything but direct. He keyed in a private message: This is Detective Jackson. I need your help to find an online predator. Do you know Skylar Norton’s phone number? Or where she lives? Or how I can contact her parents? This is very important.

  He studied the message, worried she would think he was a predator. Asking about Skylar’s parents made him seem less so, but it wasn’t enough. He added, Call Sergeant Lammers at the Eugene Police Department to verify my identity, and tacked on his boss’s cell phone number.

  After he hit Send, he repeated the message to another of Skylar’s friends, then called Schak. “Anything new?”

  “Not yet. Sophie hasn’t spotted anyone matching the cop’s description, and I haven’t seen him outside the house. Did you find contact information for Skylar?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Schak’s voice was tight. “If the perp lures her away from the party, instead of coming here, this could go badly.”

  Jackson feared that too. “You’ve seen Skylar’s photo, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m a half block from the house, it’s dark as hell, and these young girls all look the same to me.”

  “Do we know a patrol officer or two we can absolutely trust for backup?”

  “Brad! My son. Why the hell didn’t I think of him earlier?”

  Jackson hadn’t thought of him either. “Brad hasn’t been on the force long, that’s why. Get him out there, even if he’s off duty. I’ll call Lammers. I’ve been giving her number to teenage girls as a reference, so she’ll soon be pissed off that we haven’t notified her of this sting.”

  “It came together too quickly to do anything but respond. Plus, we still don’t know if Kelsey Walker is anyone but who she claims to be. It’s just a hunch. I’m hoping to hear from my contact at Facebook soon.”

  “I’ve got Dragoo coming in to hack into her account.”

  “Excellent news.”

  They hung up, and Jackson checked his monitor. One of the girls had responded to his message: U R a cop?

  He typed back, Yes. Please tell me how to reach Skylar, then hit Return. He sent another message right away: Do you know Kelsey Walker? Ever met her in person?

  After a few minutes, the girl responded: The number you gave doesn’t answer, but voice mail message matches. IDK Skylar’s number or address but I know someone who might. I’ll get back to you.

  IDK meant I don’t know. He knew that one. Jackson messaged back: Ask everyone you can think of. I need to know right now!

  He found another friend in Skylar’s group who was online. Dustin. Was he really a high school boy with kinky hair and glasses? Could he trust him? Jackson copied and pasted the message he’d sent the girls and tried again.

  While he waited for a response, he called Lammers. His boss picked up, sounding sleepy. “What’s going on, Jackson?”

  “Possibly an arrest. We found a Facebook profile that interacted with a sexual assault victim. We think it’s our perp and that he’s targeting another victim right now.”

  “So go get the bastard. Why are you calling me?”

  “We need backup. I’m at the department monitoring the profile and trying to locate the girl’s contact information. Schak needs you in the field.”

  “You can’t get a patrol officer?” She sounded more worried than irritated now.

  “The perp may be a cop, and the sting is going down in what could be his patrol area.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” A drawer slammed in the background. “I’ll be out the door in three minutes. Where am I going?”

  “A party near the UO.” He gave her the address. “One more thing. The description of the cop matches Quince, and we can’t reach him.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Schak wished he’d pressured Dragoo to help them earlier. But he and Jackson were by-the-book investigators, and he’d worried that if they busted the perp based on information they’d obtained illegally, the pervert would beat the charges. But if they caught him in the act, and the girl could testify . . .

  He had to quit thinking about the conviction process. What mattered was catching this guy. Schak shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. But his hips hurt from sitting too long, and his toes felt a little numb. He glanced over at the party house. A young couple came out the door, the girl a step ahead. For a fleeting second, they were under the porch light, and he focused on her. Shoulder-length hair, college-aged, and a little overweight. Probably not a potential victim. Schak rolled down his window a few inches anyway, as he’d been doing intermittently, to hear what he could. The girl tripped on the step going down, but the guy caught her and grabbed her ass as he helped her straighten up. They both laughed.

  Schak hoped she got home safely. Thank god he’d been born male. Police work had shown him just how bad it could be for women. Social expectations pressured them to look pretty, wear stupid shoes, and hide how smart they were. Men encouraged them to drink, then took advantage of them when they did. Women didn’t get to relax and be themselves until they were over forty and didn’t give a shit about what men thought anymore. The revelation made him think about Tracy. Was that what was going on with his wife? Had she finally decided she didn’t need him—unless he met her terms? He’d been a good husband. Faithful, supportive, and financially responsible. Hell, he even took her dancing sometimes. So he drank a little after work. How could that be a deal breaker?

  The pain in his hips and knees drove him to get out of the car and stretch for a moment. He needed to pee too, but that would have to wait. He should have skipped the coffee. You should have skipped the bourbon too, his conscience echoed. Schak bent over to stretch his spine, reaching for his toes and not coming close. He heard a car, scrambled to climb into his Impala, and scrunched down in the seat. When he scooted back up, he glanced down the street at the vehicle. Older-model dark-colored sedan, like a detective or undercover officer would drive. Or a fake cop? Damn. If Evans were here, she could follow while he watched the house. But if it was the perp, the driver would stay in the area.

  He called Brad again. This time his son answered. “Hey, Dad. Are we still cutting wood this weekend?”

  “I’m on a stakeout, and I need you as backup.” He’d left a message earlier, but his son was bad about accessing his voice mail. No point in mentioning that now.

  “I’m not on duty.” Brad’s tone shifted. “But you sound a little stressed, so I’ll get my weapon and get out the
re.”

  “Thanks, son.” Schak gave him the address. “Watch for a dark sedan, like an undercover vehicle. Mine is parked across the street and halfway down the block, but the other one is on the move.”

  “You’re watching a police officer?” Brad sounded stunned. “Is that why you called me instead of someone on duty?”

  “Yes. But he could be a fake cop. Are you in your car yet?” Schak heard the engine start as he spoke.

  “I’m on my way. What are my orders?”

  “Don’t let him out of your sight, and stay in touch.” Schak realized Brad needed to know more. “If you see him with a young girl, be ready to move in.”

  “A sexual predator? Good god.”

  “He may not be in that sedan. If you don’t spot it, keep circling. Our description is mid- or late thirties, six-foot, and good looking.”

  “You know I’m not in uniform or in my patrol car, right? I won’t have a radio.”

  “I know.” A damn shame. But once they had the guy, they could call in patrol backup. “Keep in touch.” Schak hung up, leaving his earpiece in. Cell phones had altered the function of his job and made it so much easier. The internet, on the other hand, was a mixed bag.

  Six minutes passed with no movement outside the house and no contact with his team. Finally, Sophie texted him: I haven’t met Kelsey. I don’t think she/he is at the party.

  That only confirmed their suspicions. If Kelsey were a young woman, she would be at the party she had instigated. He wanted to text back, but it wasn’t really in his skill set. His fingers were too damn big, and he hated the process on principal. Yet, he knew it was only a matter of time before he forced himself to learn.

  Lammers called a few minutes later. “I’m here, but there’s nowhere to park in sight of the house.”

  Jackson had called in their boss? “Close by is good enough. Keep an eye out for a dark sedan. One cruised past the house about ten minutes ago, but I haven’t seen it again.”

  “Jackson says we’re looking for a guy who matches Quince. Have you heard from Quince?” Her deep voice sounded tense.

  “No, and he’s supposed to be watching the profile.”

  “Something is going on with him. I got a call recently from the Portland PD, where he’d applied for a job. But you can’t repeat it to anyone.”

  That threw him. Was Quince relocating to get away from his crime scenes or to deal with a personal crisis? “I’m stumped, but we’ll know soon enough.”

  “I’m parked on High Street for the moment, but I’ll get moving again soon.”

  “My son, Officer Brad Schakowski, is with us too. He’s in civilian clothes and his personal vehicle, a blue Bronco.”

  “Good. Between the three of us, we should have him boxed in.”

  “I hope so.” Schak clicked off. The additional backup didn’t reassure him the way it should have. Too much time had passed, and he had a growing dread that their perp had outmaneuvered them.

  CHAPTER 37

  Jackson paced the open area behind his cube and racked his brain for other ways to track Skylar Norton’s contact information. He’d googled her and found one mention on the Willamette News website from when she’d participated in a fund-raiser for her high school, which he now knew was Spencer. Not Riverside, like two of the victims, but a school in South Eugene with students from middle- and upper-class families. The school office wasn’t open, and the newspaper hadn’t mentioned her parents’ names, so the article hadn’t been much help. He rushed back to his computer to check the Facebook chat box he had open. Nothing yet. The Kelsey profile was silent too. Feeling useless, he searched for the school’s principal, a name he knew because Katie had attended Spencer. If he could contact the principal, she might be able to access the school’s records.

  Did Katie know Skylar? It didn’t matter. His daughter was unconscious in the ER after a miscarriage. He didn’t even want her to know he was working instead of sitting by her side, waiting for her to wake up. She’d never mentioned Skylar anyway. It was a big school with nearly fifteen hundred students.

  A soft ping made him glance at the dialogue box. Beth was back with a message. After giving him Skylar’s number, she wrote: She lives on High Street between 39th and 40th, but Jess doesn’t know the address. A green, 2-story house.

  Jackson quickly keyed back: Parents names?

  Beth: IDK

  Jackson called Skylar’s cell phone. It rang eight times, then went to voice mail. He left her a message, stressing the importance of a return call. At the last minute, he added, “Don’t go anywhere with a stranger, no matter what he looks like or what he says.” Intense enough to make her cautious but vague enough to keep the department off the hook in case they were wrong.

  Now what? He couldn’t stay at his desk. The Kelsey profile had been inactive for hours, and he hadn’t accomplished anything. Schak already had the backup he needed. Jackson strode across the building to the tech area. Dragoo was hunched over a keyboard, glancing at his monitor occasionally.

  “Any luck getting into the profile?”

  “Not yet.” Dragoo looked up and grimaced. “Facebook has decent safeguards, and this profile has little to work with.”

  Jackson made a decision. “I’m driving over to the home of the potential victim. Call me if you come up with anything.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Call Schak too. He’s watching a party house where they all could be.”

  Snow fell as he drove up Willamette Street, a now empty thoroughfare that had been clogged with traffic a few hours earlier. He called Schak, nervous about leaving his computer duties. “What’s the update?”

  “People are coming outside. Some are leaving, and others are just standing in the snow like drunk fools. But I don’t see our perp or our victim. Did you find her contact info?”

  “Yeah, and I called, but she doesn’t answer. So I’m driving up to Skylar’s house.”

  “What’s the location?”

  Jackson gave him the cross streets and description. “No address, sorry. Are you coming out?”

  “I’m staying here until everyone has gone home. Then I’ll knock on the door and look into every bedroom if I can.”

  “I’ll talk to the Norton family, then we’ll regroup. It seems like our perp may have backed off tonight.”

  “I hope he didn’t spot me.”

  “He may have just had trouble luring a victim out in this weather.” Jackson turned left on Thirty-Ninth. “I’m almost there. Call me if anything changes.”

  He hung up and turned right on High Street. About half the houses on the block were two stories, and in the dark, they all looked brown. Did he have to get out and look at names on mailboxes? He rolled down his window for better visibility, and snowflakes drifted in. He searched the left side of the street first, driving in the wrong lane. The main lights were out in most houses, with just an upstairs lamp or a small glow from a back room. Nothing moved on the street. Not a car, not a walker, not a stray cat. Snow drifted down, wrapping the neighborhood in an eerie silence.

  Jackson cruised slowly, ignoring the ranch styles and the split-levels, watching for the big two-story homes. That one was definitely beige, but sometimes beige looked like pale green to him. Had she meant sage or forest green? He stopped the car, jumped out, and checked the mailbox. Not the Nortons. He turned back to his car and spotted something unusual farther up the street. A dark lump on the lawn of another house. A sleeping dog? He jumped into his car and rolled forward. The home connected to the yard was a two-story. When he reached the edge of the lawn, the shape came into focus. A person lying across the walkway. Oh no. The other victims had been dropped in their parents’ front yards after the assault. Goddammit, they’d been too late.

  Heart hammering, he slammed his car into park and shut it down, leaving it in the street. Jackson ran to the body in the grass and kneeled
down. A teenage girl, slim and lifeless. He touched her neck. Dear god, she was cold. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911. “Jackson here. I’ve got a young girl with hypothermia. High Street between Thirty-Ninth and Fortieth.” Keeping the line open, he ran for the trunk of his car. Inside were a tarp and a blanket, as well as other emergency supplies. He grabbed the blanket, slammed the trunk, and ran back to the girl.

  A porch light came on, and the front door opened.

  To the dispatcher, Jackson said, “I’m taking her down the hill. She’s not injured, just freezing. I’ll meet the ambulance at the Woodfield Station shopping center.”

  Someone ran toward him on the sidewalk. “Skylar?” Then full panic. “Skylar!”

  The man grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m EPD. She’s freezing, so I’m taking her to the ER. Open the back door of my car!” Jackson threw the blanket over the girl, scooped her up, and ran for his vehicle.

  CHAPTER 38

  Wednesday, November 26, 7:50 a.m.

  Jackson stood in the conference room, chugging coffee and waiting for the others to show. The caffeine made him sweat, but the weight in his legs and eyelids didn’t change. He’d been up until three that morning talking to Skylar’s parents in the ER lobby, then conferring with Schak and Lammers near the party house, while the snow blanketed everything around them. Then he’d gone back to the hospital to take Katie home. She’d been sleeping when he left that morning, and Benjie was still with Kera. In about two hours, she would bring the boys and meet him at the juvenile court for the custody hearing. Of all days to be this tired and full of self-doubt. He wanted the judge to see him at his best. But the task force had to regroup and form a new plan for catching the predator.