Lammers’ mouth dropped open in surprise. “Buckley didn’t kill the woman who took his son?”
“He came here after I made the trip to Utah,” Jackson explained. “I think he followed me home from the airport. He may have even been on the same plane.” Jackson turned to Evans. “But Grayson’s heart attack wasn’t karma. It was probably triggered by epinephrine.”
“How? When?”
“At the Pershing rental. Benjie had been having nightmares and asking for a toy he lost. So I went to the crime scene and looked around underneath the house where he’d been hiding. I found his stuffed bear and this.” Jackson held up a yellow-and-gray cylinder.
“An EpiPen?”
“Yes. I asked Benjie if it was his, and he said yes. For bee stings. Eventually, I got the story. He jabbed Grayson with the device when the jackass was assaulting his mother, then ran and hid. The adrenaline probably made Grayson sick and dysfunctional. But it was a child’s dose, so he was able to drive himself home.”
Schak shook his head. “That’s wild. So the cocaine and epi stuff caused a reaction that gave him a heart attack?”
Evans remembered the antidepressant in Grayson’s cabinet and what the ME had said. “No, it was the epinephrine reacting with his depression medication. It caused a hypertensive event.”
“So Benjie killed him,” Lammers said.
“Don’t say that,” Jackson warned. “He just tried to help his mother. He’s a brave and sweet kid.”
“What is the death report going to say?” Lammers pressed.
Evans summed it up. “A heart attack brought on by contra-indicated medications.”
“Have we heard anything about the fire investigation?” Schak wanted to know.
Jackson nodded. “Captain Ottovich called this morning. A witness saw a dark-blue Ford truck in the neighborhood the night of the fire. The same vehicle the owners’ son drives. We think they were trying to collect the insurance, get out from under their debt, and be rid of the house. Proving it will be challenging.”
His phone rang, and they all waited while he checked the caller. “It’s the state lab.” He took the call and switched over to speaker. “Jackson here. And the whole task force. What have you got for us?”
“We rushed the DNA comparisons for the child in question. The woman, Andra Caiden, is the boy’s mother, but the man, Carson Buckley, is no relation.”
A moment of stunned silence.
“Andra duped him,” Schak said, shaking his head. “She took Buckley’s money for a child that wasn’t even his. And now he’s going to prison.”
“How did she get away with that?” Lammers asked.
Jackson gave it some thought. “If the implanted embryo didn’t take, she would have known she wasn’t pregnant. But rather than give up the money, she went out and got pregnant, intending to pass off the kid as theirs.”
Evans didn’t see it that way. “Andra might not have known it wasn’t his child. And it doesn’t matter. He’s a kidnapper and needs to be locked away.”
Jackson spoke softly. “It’s a tragedy for everyone, but Benjie especially.”
“Anything else on this case?” Lammers asked.
“The state pathologist said Lucille Caiden died of natural causes,” Jackson added.
“Let’s move on then. Jackson, you can get out of here and get back to your time off. But the rest of you have new assignments. No homicides this time, just some old-fashioned beat-downs and a crazy lady driving her car into her neighbor’s living room. He says she wanted to kill him. Who wants it?”
What the hell? Evans thought she might as well take one more case while she waited for her transfer. “I’m on it.”
Later at home, Jackson attempted to make lunch while supervising Benjie and Micah. It took twenty minutes to make grilled cheese sandwiches between answering questions and keeping Micah out of the drawers. How did women do this? Katie came into the kitchen just as he shut off the stove. She was starting school tomorrow, and he was afraid to let her leave.
“Nice timing. Lunch is ready.”
“Dad, I have something important to tell you.”
Her tone indicated it was serious. He hoped she didn’t plan to drop out of school. He turned and braced himself. “What is it?”
“Remember when I said I had something important to do Sunday morning?”
He didn’t, so he joked with her. “You went out and got another tattoo? A belly-button piercing? Just tell me.”
She held out a white plastic tube. “I’m pregnant.”
Blood rushed out of his head, and for a moment, he couldn’t think . . . or hear.
“Dad? I’m sorry. If I keep the baby, will you help me?”
A baby? A third little one to care for? He couldn’t handle it. His chest ached, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He wanted to yell. To rant about how she never listened to him. How a child would change her life forever. But the look on her face stopped him. She was terrified and asking for his help.
Jackson opened his arms, and Katie stepped in.
“We’re family. I’ll always help you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.J. Sellers is a native of Eugene, Oregon, the setting of her thrillers. She’s an award-winning journalist and a two-time Readers’ Favorite Award winner—as well as a cyclist, social networker, and thrill-seeker. A long-standing fan of police procedurals, she counts John Sandford, Michael Connelly, Ridley Pearson, and Lawrence Sanders among her favorites. Her own novels featuring Detective Jackson include The Sex Club; Secrets to Die For; Thrilled to Death; Passions of the Dead; Dying for Justice; Liars, Cheaters, & Thieves; Rules of Crime; Crimes of Memory; and Deadly Bonds. In addition, she’s penned three stand-alone thrillers—The Baby Thief, The Gauntlet Assassin, and The Lethal Effect—as well as two books in a new series about FBI Agent Jamie Dallas, The Trigger and The Target. When not plotting crime, L.J. has been known to perform stand-up comedy and jump out of airplanes.
Deadly Bonds (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 26