Chapter 6
Tuesday, April 7, 8:16 a.m.
When the doorbell rang early the next morning, Kera nearly dropped the coffee she was carrying. She set the cup on the desk and ran for the front door. It had to be Danette. Thank God, this would be over.
Margaret Blake stood on the front step, her expression grim, her black clothes giving off the vibe she was already in mourning.
“Margaret, come in.”
“Call me Maggie, please. We’re family now whether we like it or not.” Danette’s mother came in, pulling a small suitcase behind her. Mrs. Blake was shorter, heavier, and paler than her daughter. Kera often wondered about Mr. Blake because Danette looked nothing like her mother.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“What else could I do? I was going crazy sitting at home.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Kera led her toward the kitchen.
“Sure. How’s the baby?”
“He’s fine. He’s sleeping in his daybed in my bedroom. He was up half the night and just went back to sleep. I feel like I haven’t slept.”
“Me neither.”
Kera noticed Maggie did not ask to see Micah. In the kitchen, Kera poured coffee and Maggie said, “I didn’t want Danette to have this baby. I was so afraid it would ruin her life. I raised a child alone, so I know how difficult it is. Now something terrible has happened to her.” Maggie began to cry.
Kera instinctively put a hand on her shoulder. It was good to have Maggie here. Now she had a reason to stay strong and not give in to her own emotions. “We don’t know that she’s in danger. In fact, I think she may have taken off with a new boyfriend.”
“Without the baby?”
“Danette’s appointment yesterday was with a psychiatrist. I think she’s been depressed.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know. Danette and I haven’t been close lately. We argued so much about her decision to keep the baby it caused a strain. I feel terrible.”
“Whatever is going on with Danette is not your fault. Post-partum depression is caused by brain chemistry and hormones.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ll file a missing persons report with the police, then go over to Danette’s house and, if I can get in, I’ll go through her e-mail to see what I can find.” Kera finished her coffee, which had gone cold. “Would you mind staying here and taking care of Micah? I think one of us needs to be here in case Danette shows up.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
As she drove downtown to city hall, Kera wanted to call Jackson and see how he was doing, but she didn’t want to wake him this early after his long ordeal at the hospital the night before. He’d called her around nine o’clock and told her about his RF diagnosis. Her instinct had been to drive straight to the hospital, but Jackson had convinced her to stay home with the baby. She felt guilty about not being with him during his procedure, but she suspected that’s what Jackson wanted. He wasn’t ready to let her see him in a hospital gown. She understood he associated medical issues with weakness. As a person with a chronic disease, he would have to get over that.
Until she’d researched it online the night before, she hadn’t known much about retroperitoneal fibrosis. Now she knew it was fickle. Some people lived long relatively normal lives, and others had surgery after surgery and still died young.
By the time she found a place to park on Pearl Street, the sun had burned through the clouds and was shining brightly on the new leaves sprouting everywhere. Climbing the stairs to the white-brick building, Kera felt a glimmer of optimism. Spring was a time of rebirth. Jackson would be one of the lucky ones, and Danette would be fine too. Maybe she had simply taken a day to clear her head.
Once inside police headquarters, Kera stated her business to the woman behind the plexiglass, then was escorted back into the bowels of the department. They passed a large open area crammed with desks. She wondered which one was Jackson’s. This was the first time she’d been past the plexiglass.
In a small office down the hall, the desk clerk dropped her off. “This is Detective Zapata. He handles most of our missing people.” The detective stood and smiled broadly, white teeth gleaming under his mustache. Kera liked him instantly.
“Please have a seat,” he said. “How can I help you?”
She eased onto the hard chair, purse in her lap, knot in her stomach. Kera wondered how many others had sat here, worried sick about someone they loved. She took a breath and told him everything that had happened since yesterday morning.
“What was she seeing the doctor about?” Detective Zapata got right to the heart of it.
“Dr. Callahan is a psychiatrist. I suspect, but do not know for sure, that Danette has post-partum depression.”
“Have you tried contacting the father of the baby?”
“My son is the father. He died in Iraq before Micah was born.” She could say it now without losing control.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The detective gave her a sincere look of sympathy. After a moment, he said, “Does Danette use drugs?”
“No.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
“She was seeing a guy named Chad. Tall and dark with a soul patch. That’s all I know. Detective Jackson may have found out more by now.”
Zapata raised his thick dark eyebrows. “Jackson is already investigating?”
“He looked into a few things yesterday.”
The detective gave her a look she couldn’t read. “Have you considered the possibility that Danette doesn’t want to be found?”
“Of course, but what if something happened to her? I want you to investigate.”
“We’ll do everything we can. Do you have a photo of Danette?”
Kera handed him a disk with a JPEG file. “Her mother said this was taken last year.”
“Great.” Zapata slid the disk into his computer. “If you can get the boyfriend’s last name, it would help us.”
“I’ll try.”
After another ten minutes of answering questions, Kera left the little office and headed toward the front of the building. A feeling that the report would be filed and forgotten settled into the pit of her stomach. Thank God she knew Jackson. He would follow up, even if he had to do it on his own time.
In the lobby, an attractive young woman with short red hair stood in front of the window and swore. “Damn! Detective Jackson said to meet him here at ten o’clock.”
“I can try to locate him for you,” the desk officer said, her voice muffled behind the protective shield.
“I think I can help.” Kera turned toward the petite woman with the oversized red leather bag. “I’m Kera Kollmorgan, a friend of Jackson’s. He’s out sick this morning. I’m sure he’s sorry to have missed your appointment and you’ll hear from him soon.”
“Sophie Speranza, Willamette News.” She offered her hand and gave Kera a quick sizing up.
The infamous Sophie? Kera found it hard to believe Jackson had planned an interview with her. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve read your news stories.”
Something clicked in Sophie’s eyes. “You’re the nurse from Planned Parenthood who was almost killed last fall.”
“Still alive and well.” Kera suddenly realized she had an opportunity here. “Would you like to have coffee, Sophie? I have a story you might be interested in.”
They walked over to Full City Coffee, ordered tall house blends, and found a small table in the back of the crowded little pastry house.
“Is that how you know Jackson?” Sophie asked. “From the Planned Parenthood bombing?”
“It’s how we met. We’re dating now.”
“Interesting.” Sophie dug around in her big bag for a notepad and pen. “What’s really going on with Jackson? I can’t imagine him calling in sick.”
“It’s the truth and that’s all I can tell you.”
“Okay. What’s your story?” Sophie clicked her pen, signaling her readiness.
“My daughter-in-law is missing. She dropped off her baby with me yesterday morning to take care of for an hour and never came back. No one has seen her since she left the doctor’s yesterday around ten o’clock.”
“No kidding?” Sophie looked up from her scribbling. “Do you think she abandoned her baby?”
“Why do you assume that’s what happened?”
Sophie held up her hands. “It was just a question.”
“Sorry I snapped. I’m curious about why that was the first thing you thought.” Kera believed Detective Zapata had come to the same conclusion. “Why not assume something happened to prevent her from coming back?”
“I’m not sure.” Sophie put her pen in her mouth and pondered. “It’s the baby factor. A young single mother, likely overwhelmed. She doesn’t seem like a target for a kidnapper. What else is there? If she had been in a car accident, you would have heard by now.”
Kera struggled to control her emotions. “I know. I’ve been through a hundred scenarios in my mind. Danette’s car is gone but her clothes are not.” Kera took a sip of her coffee. “What if someone did grab her? What if she fell and hit her head and now has amnesia? I’d like to get Danette’s picture in the paper and on the network news. It’s the least we can do.”
“Tell me everything. I’ll do what I can.”
Chapter 7
Jackson woke with a burning need to pee. He felt as if he’d consumed a twelve-pack of diet soda, then promptly passed out. He charged into the bathroom and relieved himself.
A few minutes later while getting dressed for work, his bladder signaled him again. He headed back to the bathroom. How much fluid had they given him at the hospital?
Apparently, not that much. The need to pee was there, but the urine was not. Jackson remembered the ER doctor casually mentioning the stents might produce a slight discomfort. Oh joy. Nothing like walking around with a full-bladder sensation. His ex-wife had complained about the feeling for the last month of her pregnancy. Now he understood.
At least his kidneys were still working, Jackson reminded himself as he made coffee. So far, no intense pain like before. The disease was livable for most patients, the doctor had said. Jackson tried to put the diagnosis and impending surgery out of his head. Obsessing about it wouldn’t change his reality. He had a young woman to find.
Again, all eyes were on him as he entered the crowded space. The wooden slats outside the windows gave the room a jail-like quality. For a while, they’d had hope the voters would approve a bond for new headquarters, but the economic meltdown had crushed it. Jackson moved a little slower than usual, the stents exerting a constant mild pressure. He hoped no one noticed. His co-workers were giving him the once-over, this being the first time he’d called in sick in recent memory. He nodded at Schakowski to let him know information would be forthcoming and ignored everyone else.
Jackson checked his voicemail and found two calls from Cheri, his hospitalized assault victim. In the first, she said she wanted to change her statement and press charges against her boyfriend. In the second, she did a one-eighty and said never mind. Disgusted, Jackson hung up and listened to his third message. It was from Sergeant Lammers.
“I can’t believe you called in sick just to get out of an interview with a reporter!” Lammers shouted the minute the door closed behind him. She was standing, her giant frame almost eyeball-to-eyeball with his. “Shit, Jackson. That really sets my ulcer on fire.”
“I was at the hospital until about two this morning. I honestly forgot about Sophie Speranza.”
“The hospital?” Lammers looked skeptical, but she sat down.
“The pain got pretty bad, so I went to the ER. They did a CAT scan and found a growth.”
“A tumor?”
“No, a fibrous growth. It’s not malignant like cancer, but right now it’s interfering with my kidneys, so I need surgery. I’ll be fine.”
“Shit, Jackson. That sounds serious.” Lammers almost looked sympathetic.
He pulled his shoulders back. “Not really. I’ll just need to take steroids.”
“Should you be at work?”
“No reason not to.” Jackson kept it casual. “I’ll need some time off after the surgery, but that’s it.” He refused to think about or mention that the nasty stuff was growing around his aorta too. This could be his last month on the job for all he knew, but the mode around here was Show no fear.
“Hmph.” Lammers tapped the desk with her pen. “When is your surgery?”
“I don’t know yet. I have an appointment with a urologist on Wednesday.”
“Keep me posted. If you need time off, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
He turned to leave, and Lammers said, “Call that reporter and reschedule your interview ASAP.”
Crap! He left Lammers’ office, thinking her lack of curiosity about his condition was both welcome and unsurprising. He would not get so lucky with the other detectives. He decided to circumvent answering questions all day by sending out a group e-mail. It would spare his fellow tough guys the uncomfortable social encounter in which they had to express concern while not openly feeling sorry for him. Instead, they could shoot back an e-mail that said, Tough break. Take it easy.
Jackson decided to call Sophie and get the interview over with today if he could. He hated having it hanging over him for Lammers to nag him about. Sophie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Jackson. Thanks for calling. Are you okay?”
“Sort of. We can still do the interview if you’re up for it. I’m working on a missing persons case and you can sit in on some of the process.”
“Great. I’m on my way.”
When they were in the privacy of the soft interview room, Sophie said, “I met your girlfriend this morning. I like her. She’s a feisty take-charge kind of woman.”
Jackson recoiled from the idea of Sophie chatting up Kera. “How did you meet Kera?”
“Right here, out in the lobby. She had just filed a missing persons report, and I was here to meet you. She told me about Danette. I’m hoping to get a story and photo into the paper.”
“Great. This is one kind of case that needs publicity.” Unlike all the others you hound me about. “Let’s get this rolling.”
Sophie looked at her list of questions. “What made you decide to be a cop?”
Jackson decided to share a memory from when he was a kid, hoping it would make the reporter happy so they could move on. “When I was ten, my older brother Derrick and I had a yard service. Once, being lazy kids, we dumped leaves in the trashcan of the crazy old woman next door and she called the police. When the cop showed up at our house wanting to talk to us, I was scared. But he was a good man, gentle, and he listened to us. In the end, he complimented Derrick and me for having our own business. I was captivated by his uniform, his gun, his authority, and his compassion. At that moment, I decided to become a cop when I grew up.”
“Is this the only job you’ve ever had?”
“Since I was twenty-two.”
“Any regrets?”
“None. I love my work. The only downside is sometimes during the first few days of a homicide I have to leave my daughter with her aunt or her mother, but I try to make up for it.” Jackson stood. “Let’s go down to missing persons, so you can see how we work a case.”
In the expanded cubicle area that served as his office, Robert Zapata was on the phone, looking tired and annoyed. He motioned for Jackson to sit, but Jackson waited, not wanting to put pressure on his kidneys until he had to.
“Hey, Jackson. Take a load off.” Zapata rubbed his eyes. “Who is this lovely woman with you?”
“This is Sophie Speranza from the Willamette News. She’s writing a story and is here to observe.” They both took seats, Jackson pulling a chair from a nearby empty desk. “I wanted to let you know what I’d done so far about Danette Blake.”
“I’m listening.”
About halfway through his summary, the front desk officer ste
pped into the space and announced, “We’ve got another missing woman.”
Chapter 8
“This is Elle Durham. She’d like to speak with you about her daughter.”
A thin blond woman in her late forties slipped into the crowded space. The desk officer backed out to make room. The blond woman had been attractive once, but now her skin seemed too loose for her face. Her gray cashmere pantsuit, on the other hand, fit well. Jackson couldn’t name the designer, but he knew money when he saw it.
In a moment, he recognized her name. Her husband, Dean, now deceased, had invested first in timber, then real estate. The Durhams owned half of downtown Eugene and various other commercial properties.
Jackson looked over at Sophie, hoping she would leave without being asked. Her eyes begged him to let her stay. His expression said no.
“I’ll be in touch about when we can finish this,” she said, gathering her notepad and recorder. They all waited quietly while she put on her coat and left.
Zapata spoke first. “Hello, Ms. Durham. I’m Detective Robert Zapata. Please have a seat.”
“I’m Detective Wade Jackson.” He pulled the chair back for her.
“My daughter, Courtney, didn’t come home last night and didn’t call. I’m very worried.”
“How old is she?” Zapata asked.
“She just turned twenty-one.”
“She lives with you full time?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Durham seemed surprised by the question.
“When did you see her last?” This was Zapata’s area of expertise, so Jackson let him take the lead. Considering Danette’s disappearance, he intended to hear this one out.
“She left for Diego’s last night around 8:30. Diego’s is a nightclub.”
“Has your daughter ever stayed out all night before?”
A long pause. “Yes, but she always calls.”
“Did she drive to Diego’s? Have you checked to see if her car is in the parking lot?”
“She always takes a cab if she plans to drink, so her car is still in the garage at home.”
Thrilled to Death v5 Page 4