Watching Danny die had bothered her more than she’d expected. Yet, afterward, she’d felt mostly relief. She loved Danny, but she hated Danny. He’d been forced on her by her first husband, a man she’d grown to hate. But she’d tried to love her son. Then Danny had taken Kurt’s wholeness when he’d shot her little one all those years ago. Heartbreaking! With his looks and charm, Kurt could have been a politician or an actor. But no. Danny had robbed him of that. Then just as Kurt was getting better as a result of taking a new miracle drug, Danny had threatened to take what was left of Kurt’s life and freedom after he’d discovered his unsavory activities. She couldn’t let him. Kurt deserved a chance to really live. She could have put a stop to Kurt’s deviancy, if Danny had given her a chance. But he was so self-righteous.
Focus! She had to dig out of this. She would get the best defense lawyer she could afford. She would also file a lawsuit against the police department for harassment. Because they would never prove their case. Never! This would all work out. She might lose her job and reputation here in Eugene, but the rest of the world needed doctors. And she needed to continue making life-and-death decisions. It was how she thrived. But she had to get Kurt back on her side. “Danny confronted me about your sexual escapades and blackmail schemes. If you hadn’t worn the damn cop uniform and used his password to access files, he might have never suspected you.”
“Was he going to turn me in?”
“Of course. But none of that matters now. We need a cohesive story.” She grabbed her son’s hands and squeezed hard, her voice low and pleading. “You need to tell them you were mistaken about the night you saw the blood on my face. Say it was Thursday, and I’ll say it came from a trauma case in the ER.”
“It’s too late.” Kurt moved toward the door. “You killed Danny, and it’s all fucked up now. I can’t help you. Only myself.” He pounded on the door and yelled to be let out.
CHAPTER 43
Wednesday, November 26, 3:45 p.m.
Schak slumped into a chair in the conference room. His body felt as if he’d been beaten with a bat, and his heart had shriveled to a black hole. His entire second family—gone. He would never spend another moment, outside of court, with any of them. Kurt and Donna had turned out to be strangers—people he didn’t even know.
Donna’s lawyer had arrived before they could pressure her into a plea deal, and she’d stopped talking except to say she’d been home all Friday evening. He and Jackson had consulted with the district attorney, who said it was too soon to charge her with murder. The video of her confession to Kurt would likely be suppressed by a judge, but Kurt would testify against her. The DA’s office had produced a subpoena, so they were able to collect a DNA swab before they were forced to let Donna go. At least they had her forensic evidence to compare with everything at both crime scenes.
The rest of the team filed in, looking glum. Evans started to say something to him, but Schak held up his hand. “No sympathy, please. Let’s just get this done.” Schak wanted to go see his wife and son, to know that he still had a family.
“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and I want you all to take the day off,” Lammers said. “I know we have a lot of work ahead to build a case against Donna Thompson, but we can wait until Friday to start.”
“At least Kurt took a deal.” Evans turned to Schak. “Why did he need the money?” Her voice had a pained quality he’d never heard before.
“Expensive gene therapy treatment that was helping him walk.”
“So he regained the use of his legs and decided to become a rapist.” Evans shook her head in disgust.
“Kurt says he didn’t rape them, that it was all manual.”
“Kurt’s a misogynistic soulless idiot.” Contempt oozed from every pore in Evans’ face. “But he confessed, so he’s going to prison, and we don’t have to talk about him.” Evans flashed a small smile. “Speaking of idiots. Gene Burns was arrested again last night. He hit Trisha, and this time there’s a witness.”
Jackson said, “Good to hear,” but nobody else seemed to care.
“What do we have left to talk about?” Schak asked. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“We need a plan for Friday,” Lammers said. “We have to take Donna Thompson’s photo to every business near the crime scene and to every homeless person in the camp. We need at least one eyewitness who saw her in the area.”
The video footage from the business district hadn’t caught the car. And Donna had changed her story about meeting Danny that night, claiming it was the night before at a different homeless camp. Jurors wouldn’t buy her lame confusion if they had an eyewitness contradicting it.
“Jacob Walsh saw her,” Jackson reminded them. “I’ll take a picture to him and get it confirmed. I also need to follow up on my promise to buy him a unit in Opportunity Village.”
“I want to split that cost with you,” Schak offered, surprising himself. “And I’ll go with you when you talk to the chief. We need to change some attitudes around here.” Starting with his own. He’d been too quick to think a street person was capable of murder and too slow to see the truth about his own family.
“We need to find the clothes Donna Thompson wore that night,” Jackson said. “Even if we have to search every trash can in the area.” He hit the table for emphasis. “She was there! She sat in his car and got him high on alcohol and benzos, then dragged him to the brush where Scully stabbed him. We need a search warrant for her home immediately.”
“I’ve got the paperwork,” Lammers said. “Evans and I are going out there right after this meeting, and I’ll call in search teams to check trash cans. We’ll nail her, I promise.”
Jackson looked surprised, relieved, and irritated all at once. “I can do it. This is my case.”
“Go home and celebrate your new family member,” Lammers said. “You’ve put in your share of time.”
Jackson didn’t argue. Schak stood too. “I’m going home. I need to find my wife and hug her, then sleep for ten hours.” And attend an AA meeting tomorrow, he thought. Did they have them on Thanksgiving? Probably not. Maybe he’d go tonight and ask Tracy to go with him. The first step toward bringing her home.
4:15 p.m.
As she gathered her personal items into a box, Sophie’s desk phone rang. Oh boy. The dreaded internal call. She answered with her usual chipper greeting.
“Chet Harris. Will you please come to my office?”
This was it. The official You don’t work here anymore.
Sophie trudged downstairs to the management suite. She wasn’t even nervous. She’d known this was coming for so long that it would be a relief to finally have it over with.
She stepped into his office and sat down, intending to beat him to the punch. “I’m sorry, but I can’t cover Springfield cultural events. I’d rather quit. So put me back on crime and courts, or I’ll turn in my resignation.”
“That’s why I called you in, to put you back on your beat.”
WTF? “Wow. I’m surprised, but incredibly grateful. Can I ask why?”
“Your story on the eco-terrorist won the grand prize in the Northwest Journalism awards, and we realized we’d acted too hastily.” Total deadpan. No shame, no apology.
Sophie bit her tongue.
“Congratulations, by the way.” The boss gave her an odd smile.
“Thanks.” Sophie stood. “I’d better get back to work. There’s a dead body that needs explaining.” She walked out before he could get in the last word.
5:07 p.m.
Jackson’s phone rang on the way home, and it was Kera. “Hey, everything all right? You looked worried when you ran out of the courtroom earlier, and I haven’t heard from you.”
“I’m exhausted but good. We arrested the sexual predator and identified the killer, so it was a productive day. What about you?”
“I found a rental for us.”
>
“Nice. Where is it?”
“Off Videra. With a nice view. Do you have time to see it?”
“Right now?”
“I made an appointment, and I’m on my way there. The rental office is closed tomorrow, and I didn’t want to wait until Friday. All the kids are with me.”
“Katie too?”
“Yep. She wanted to see the house.”
“Give me the address, and I’ll meet you there.”
Kera rattled it off and hung up.
Excitement mixed with a little dread as Jackson drove out to the location. They were really going to do this and converge into one house. It will be great, he told himself. They were a family, so they might as well give each other their full support.
One look at the house, and he loved it. Modern lines, tall windows, and a stunning view of the Cascades. Not to mention the three-car garage that would hold all his vehicles and tools.
He parked next to Kera’s car and climbed out. She and the boys were in the house, but Katie had waited for him in the driveway.
“Hey, Dad.” She held open her arms.
His heart lurched. His daughter hadn’t initiated a hug since her mother was killed. Jackson stepped forward and pulled her in for a long squeeze. God, it felt good to have her back.
She pulled away so she could look at him. “In the hospital I started thinking about the baby and feeling responsible for her death.”
Her? They’d lost a baby girl? Jackson didn’t ask. “It’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that.”
“That’s what the nurse said. But still, I could have done a lot better. I know that.”
“You have to forgive yourself.”
She blinked back tears. “I know. And I have to forgive you. Because Mom’s death wasn’t your fault.”
Jackson fought back tears. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
Katie shuffled her feet in the thin layer of snow. “I need to really let Kera into my life too. She’s pretty amazing.”
“We’re lucky to have her.” His heart was about to burst with joy. “Shall we go in and see the house?”
“I still want to paint my room black.”
He pretended not to hear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.J. Sellers writes the best-selling Detective Jackson mystery/thriller series—a two-time Readers’ Favorite Award winner—the Agent Dallas series, and provocative stand-alone thrillers. Her sixteen novels have been highly praised by reviewers, and she’s one of the highest-rated crime fiction authors on Amazon.com.
Sellers resides in Eugene, Oregon, where many of her novels are set, and is a Grand Neal Award–winning journalist. She’s also the founder of Housing Help, a charity dedicated to keeping families from becoming homeless. When she is not plotting murders or working with her foundation, Sellers enjoys standup comedy, cycling, social networking, and mystery conferences. She’s also been known to jump out of airplanes.
Wrongful Death (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 27