Realizing the woman had successfully sidetracked her once more, Lana tried again. “What was her nephew’s name? Do you remember?”
“Kurt,” Nellie said quickly, and then paused. “Kurt, uh... I can’t think of his last name. Starts with an ‘s’ I believe. I keep wanting to say Stapler, but I know that isn’t it. Stagler maybe? No. Oh, wait! Stable, no... Stabler. Yeah, Stabler, that’s it!”
Lana knew enough to stay quiet and let the woman’s brain do its magic uninterrupted. For most people, remembering is a process that unless is stalled, really needs no prompting. “Kurt Stabler?” she asked once Nellie had finished.
“Yes.” Nellie sounded confident now. “Kurt Stabler. That’s his name.”
“And do you know why he stopped coming to visit? Did they have a falling out?” Lana asked, as she scribbled the name in a notebook. She was almost afraid to ask, Nellie seemed to be on information overload. But answers in this case were hard to come by and this one might be critical.
“No. I think she said something about him moving,” was the simple response.
Well that was more like it. “Do you know where he moved?”
“No,” Nellie admitted. “I don’t think Roselyn ever said. If she did, I don’t remember. That’s not too likely though because I have a pretty good memory, if I do say so myself.”
Nodding, Lana slipped the notebook back into her pocket. “Thanks,” she said. “If I have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”
On the way back to the precinct, Lana was in high spirits. This was the most progress she’d made on the case since the investigation had started. Admittedly, it wasn’t much but at least she had somewhere to begin now. And after two weeks, she could hardly wait to be doing something other than stare blandly at the four walls inside Roselyn Wymer’s apartment.
As one of the first priorities, she planned to look up this Kurt Stabler, and see if he could have had anything to do with his aunt’s murder. She also intended to run a check to see if there was any record of him purchasing a 9mm Smith & Wesson.
Chapter Four
Ray Chaffe had a sixth sense that drew him to someone when his services may be needed. As the Central Precinct in-house tech genius, he provided information and Internet data support for all the detectives in the Homicide Detail. Seeing Lana walking into the precinct, he hurried toward her. “You got something for me?”
“Actually, I do,” Lana said. “See what you can find on a Kurt Stabler. He might have relocated away from the Portland area about a year ago.”
“A break in your case?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s the nephew of the victim. If nothing else, talking to him may provide some useful information.”
Ray didn’t answer, he was already typing away at his computer. The man tended to become silent when focused on his work and it was well known that he didn’t appreciate interruptions. Once he’d gotten his radar tuned in, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Knowing it would be a few minutes before he had anything, Lana went to get a cup of coffee.
Walking down the hall to the break room, she met Detectives Damien Spencer and Jamie Wyatt coming in from the parking lot. The two were partners on the Homicide Detail and her best friends at the precinct. Both had started soon after she had joined the force. Any time she needed backup, they were the first to respond. Lana had occasionally been known to bail them out of tough situations as well.
The three routinely engaged in friendly, good-natured teasing and spirited insults that got a little carried away at times. If a stranger had heard them talking, he would have sworn they were bitter rivals—almost enemies; the way they went after each other. Even those who knew them sometimes had to wonder.
But it was all in good fun. The three detectives got along extremely well. Lana trusted them completely, and the feeling was mutual, despite the way they carried on.
“You guys want to join me for some coffee?” Lana asked, once the two were close enough to avoid shouting. “I’m buying.”
Following her into the break room, Jamie laughed. “I thought the Bureau paid for the coffee here.”
Damien laughed. “You’d think the money came out of Captain Hayden’s own pocket, the way he complains about how much we go through.”
Pouring herself a cup, Lana glanced around the room in mock alarm. “Don’t let him hear you say that; he’ll have you back in a patrol car by tomorrow morning.”
“Good thing he’s not here then, huh?” Jamie said.
“Where is he?”
Jamie shrugged. “Said he had a meeting and would be back tomorrow. We only talked to him a few minutes before he took off.”
Damien took a sip of the scalding brew and said, “Did you hear there was another jumper last night?”
Lana gave him a curious look. “Off the Steel Bridge again?”
Taking another drink, Damien nodded.
“What’s that make, five now?”
“Six,” Jamie said. “In just over two weeks.”
The Steel Bridge that crossed the Willamette River in downtown Portland had become the apparent site of choice for anyone with suicidal tendencies. Police had discovered the first body, that of twenty-eight-year-old, Chris Tolley, a couple of weeks earlier. The next victim, Gordon Pickney, was a salesman in his mid-forties. Since then, every three or four days, another jumper made the news: Jenna Li, Vince Edgerson, and Brittany Westbrook. The previous night’s jumper was a school bus driver, Jorge Martinez.
In a city known for roses and cultural art, the tragic suicides had naturally taken center stage. The dark epidemic quickly became the talk of the town and the latest big local story, picked up by all the TV stations in the area.
“We’ve been assigned to the case,” Damien announced.
“Little late to the game, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Damien agreed. “Batting cleanup again. I think it’s just to satisfy the interests of the life insurance companies. A couple of the jumpers had a pretty hefty policy and most life insurance companies don’t pay for suicide. Their family members are pressing for an investigation.”
“Any witnesses this time?”
“None that have come forward.”
“Have you asked around?”
“You trying to poach our case?” Jamie spoke up.
“No, just curious. I would’ve thought you’d have already tried to find any witnesses. Six jumpers in the middle of a big city? Someone would had to have seen something.”
“Hey! Give us a break!” Jamie protested. “We were just given the case this morning. We’re planning on canvassing the area later today. There are a couple of apartment complexes, Rose City Apartments and the Commodore Center, that could provide a bird’s eye view. Thought we’d question the tenants on the side that faces the bridge, see if anyone saw anything.”
From the doorway, a female voice broke in on the conversation. “You two making excuses again?”
All three in the room turned to see Sophia Davis, the department psychiatrist.
“We’re discussing the Steel Bridge jumpers,” Lana told her. “There was another one last night.”
“Early this morning actually,” Damien said.
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Sophia said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Sad for the families,” Lana said. “I’m not too distraught over someone who took their own life.”
“Well, I see these people as revealing their deep emotional needs and opening up to their true inner self. Their action is a cry for help.”
“You know they jumped off the bridge, right?” Lana said dryly. “Little late to help them now.”
“Oh, but not just any bridge—the Steel Bridge,” Sophia emphasized, taking a drink from her cup. “There’s obviously a reason for choosing that bridge over another. I think it has to do with the symbolism of it; what that bridge represents. Besides being strong, steel is usually associated with cold, a callousness—isolated and unfeeling. I think these jumpers are endeavo
ring to send a message, attempting to tell us how they feel, and what’s going on in their head. No doubt, they feel alone and disconnected, like they’re getting the cold shoulder from life, so to speak. It’s their way of telling the world they need help.”
Lana rolled her eyes. It was plain she didn’t think much of the doctor’s analysis; didn’t think much of psychiatry in general. “You know,” she said, “I bet they did feel cold—about the time they sank into the frigid water.”
Accustomed to the detective’s disregard for her profession, Sophia was unfazed by the caustic remarks. “That’s actually a very big part of this too,” she explained. “Water plays a huge role in the psyche of the mind. In this case, you’re right; the water serves to represent the same cold feeling but it also offers a familiarity—and an escape. These people couldn’t live with the cold, as in rejection, but they embrace the symbolism of it in death. Does that make sense?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Lana said bluntly. “You know what else doesn’t make sense? This many people committing suicide in such a short amount of time. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It’s a snowball effect.” Sophia Davis spoke with the same condescending tone as if she were trying to educate a small child. “Once it started, the others, who are hurting, see those who have jumped as being free. It follows that they would seek the same release for themselves.”
Shaking her head, Lana said, “As my dad used to say, ‘If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you?’ I don’t think most people would. Most people aren’t that weak.”
“Well you have a lot more faith in humanity than I do,” Sophia countered. “From my experience, most people are dependent and susceptible to the influences of those around them.”
“I’m sure you see the world that way,” Lana said. “And being a psychiatrist, I can understand that you do. I happen to disagree. I think most people would be fine on their own if other people would just leave them alone. And I’m still convinced there’s something else going on here. You can’t tell me that in two week’s time, six separate people all thought jumping off a bridge, the same bridge, sounded like a good idea. No, something doesn’t add up.”
Detectives Wyatt and Spencer had remained silent, letting Lana and the psychiatrist have their verbal scuffle. With a mischievous look toward Lana, Jamie spoke up. “So I assume you’ve changed your mind about taking over our case and will be helping investigate?”
“No, I have my own case,” Lana reminded him. Then with a playful smile she added, “Maybe after I’ve solved mine, I can take a look at yours.”
“And exactly how is your case coming along?”
Lana quickly lost her smile. “Not the best,” she admitted without going into detail. She tried to avoid discussing the challenges of her cases whenever possible.
“So you still have no leads? Is that what you’re saying?”
“It will come together,” Lana said, sounding far more confident than she felt.
With her mind back on the case and eager to see what Ray had discovered, she downed the last of her coffee, excused herself, and hurried back to the patrol room. “Find anything?” she asked, seeing the tech was no longer seated at his computer.
Ray nodded. Whirling then, pulling a sheet of paper from the printer, he read; “Kurt Stabler, forty-five, lived in the suburb of Gresham until eleven months ago. That’s when the company he worked for, Corsent Industries, reassigned him to their European market, moving him to Sweden. His stay there was brief—about a month—he moved on to Greece, then eventually to Paris, where he now lives. I checked his passport and, barring some sort of travel game of hide and seek, he hasn’t been out of the France since his arrival three months ago.” Finishing the summary, Ray handed the paper to Lana. “I also found a phone number—it’s there on the top—in case you wanted to get in touch with him.”
Looking over the report, Lana noticed there was a lot more information than he’d given her in the short synopsis. As usual, Ray had done a remarkably thorough job. She told him so.
“Just doing my job,” Ray insisted modestly.
Behind her, Lana heard someone come into the room and, assuming it was Jamie and Damien, she quickly tried to stuff the profile sheet into her pocket.
She wasn’t fast enough.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any leads yet,” Jamie said.
“Actually, what I said was, it wasn’t going the best,” Lana said. “And no, I don’t have any real leads—just a person I’d like to talk to, if only to inform him of his aunt’s passing.”
“Uhg,” Damien said. “The dreaded next-of-kin call. Better you than me,”
Jamie looked toward Ray, “I don’t suppose you have the profiles of those bridge jumpers for us yet,” he paused, glancing pointedly in Lana’s direction. “Since we were obviously scooped by your ‘favorite’ detective.”
Ray feigned a hurt look. “I can’t believe you doubt my abilities. I can do two things at once, you know.” Pulling a manila folder off his desk, he handed it to the detective. “And for your information, I don’t have any ‘favorite’ detectives.”
“It’s done?” Jamie looked truly surprised.
“Everything you asked for—right there,” Ray said. “Where they lived, where they worked, shopped, restaurants they frequented, where they did their banking—everything. Even where they grew up and a long list of friends for each, among a lot of other information.”
“Any common ties?” Damien wanted to know.
“Not my job to analyze the data,” Ray told him with a wave of his hand. “But, no. Nothing I could find.”
“Other than they all lived in the same Metro area and died days apart, in the same manner, and at the same location.” Lana couldn’t resist putting in her two cents’ worth. “And I didn’t need the profiles to figure that out.”
“Well, when you say it like that it doesn’t sound as if this was much of a coincidence, does it?” Jamie said.
“Because it’s not,” Lana replied confidently, amused that both Jamie and Damien seemed to have dismissed the psychiatrist’s analysis as quickly as she had.
Opening the folder, Jamie carefully laid out each of the profiles on the desk. All six of them.
Six different people.
Six different stories.
The variables in the stories were abundant. The ages ranged from twenty-five to forty-nine. They each lived in different parts of the city, led completely different lives, and came from totally different backgrounds.
And the differences didn’t stop there. Of the six, three had graduated high school, one had enrolled in a business school, and only one had attended college. Income of the jumpers varied greatly; one lived mostly on the streets, two were below average wage earners, another two were apparently well off financially, with the remaining one being considered quite wealthy. Even the ethnicity was as diverse as it could get; Asian, Mexican, Black, Russian, and two were white.
“See?” Ray said. “Like I said, nothing in common. Aside from that dying thing,” he added, with a solicitous glance toward Lana.
“There’ll be something,” she replied. “Just might take a while to find it.”
Noticing the clock, Jamie began gathering up the stacks of paper. “We can go over these more tonight. Right now, we need to get down to those apartments and question the tenants before it gets too late. Mort,” he said, referring to the Medical Examiner, Mortimer Adams, “put the time of death at approximately four a.m.”
“All six have the same time of death?” Lana questioned.
“Different days but yeah, the same time, approximately four o’clock,” Jamie answered. “The sun would have just been coming up by then so there’s a chance we’ll get lucky; maybe someone will remember seeing something.”
“I’ll come with you,” Lana announced suddenly, as Damien and Jamie headed for the door.
“Taking over our case after all?” Damien asked.
“No, I’m still working on
my case. Or, did you forget, the Rose City Apartments is the site of my crime scene?”
Damien shrugged. “Okay, you can hitch a ride with us.”
“In the back,” Jamie said.
Chapter Five
Once they were in the car and pulling away from the precinct, Damien said, “Okay, why are you really coming along?”
“I told you, the Rose City Apartments is my crime scene. I need to go take another look.”
“You’re not a very good liar,” Jamie said with a grin, darting through the mid-morning city traffic.
“You just watch where you’re driving, please,” Lana returned.
Damien pressed the issue. “I let you get away with that excuse back at the precinct but now it’s just us. What are you up to?”
Giving them both a contorted smile, Lana let out a sigh. She knew neither of the two was going to let it go. “Don’t you find it a little odd that two weeks ago, the body of the first jumper, who may or may not have actually been a jumper, was discovered and the very next day, Roselyn Wymer was killed? The lady lived in an apartment that overlooks the Steel Bridge. Apartments that we are on our way to now because it’s likely one of the tenants may have witnessed what happened with one or more of the ‘jumpers,’ for lack of a better term.”
“You think your victim witnessed the first jumper?” Damien asked.
“I think Mrs. Wymer witnessed the first murder, and was quickly killed because of it. I’m hoping to find something in her apartment to support my theory—binoculars, camera, a video camera—something.”
Damien seemed lost in thought. “Say you’re right; that the jumper wasn’t a jumper but was forced off the bridge into the water below. And say your victim saw the whole thing. How would the killer have known that? And how would he have found her?”
“I don’t know,” Lana admitted. “I don’t have all the answers yet. Maybe he saw something. The sun would have just been coming up but maybe it was still dark enough and she had a light on. Her movements could have caught his eye. Or maybe she screamed or shined a light down at him. I don’t know.”
Dead Broke (Lana Denae Mystery Series Book 1) Page 3