Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (10 page)

CHAPTER 12

Wednesday, December 2, 7:26 p.m.

Evans pulled up in front of Lammers’ house, surprised by the three vehicles in the driveway. The home caught her off guard too. Unlike her neighbors’, which had complex high-peaked rooflines, the sergeant’s house spread out on a single level, with a shed-style roof covered in solar panels. A wall of windows across the front shimmered with backlighting from inside the house. Had she and her partner designed the home? Evans hurried to the door with mixed feelings. She hated the secrecy of this assignment, which went against her DNA. Yet she felt honored to be charged with finding out who may have tried to kill her boss, a woman with significant political clout in the department.

Lammers’ partner opened the door and greeted her warmly. “Come in. We’ve got some family here, but they won’t get in your way.”

Evans stepped inside. “Susan, can I get your last name? For my report.”

“Burkowitz.”

Evans jotted it down and decided to refer to her as Susan. She wasn’t a victim or a suspect. The thought stopped her cold. Assuming that Susan hadn’t poisoned her partner was a rookie mistake. First, poison was more typically a woman’s method of murder than a man’s. And second, people of all ages and types killed their intimate partners—for all kinds of reasons.

“Denise lapsed into a coma again,” Susan said, working hard to keep it together. “Her heart rate kept plummeting, so they’re giving her atropine, but it doesn’t look good. I’m heading there again soon.”

Damn!
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The look of worry and love on Susan’s face seemed to rule her out as a suspect.

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“Nothing. Just making mental notes. Show me where the sergeant kept her stash.” Evans couldn’t bring herself to call her boss Denise, but calling her Lammers in front of her intimate partner seemed wrong too. She decided to get the fingerprints first, then do a quick look around the house afterward. As she followed Susan through the living room, Evans noticed a good-looking man in the kitchen. Tall, with tight abs and broad shoulders. Maybe a little younger than she was. Lammers’ son? She’d never heard her mention him.

Susan didn’t stop for introductions, but the man glanced over and smiled just before they stepped into the garage.
Gorgeous!

A small car took up half the space, and the other side functioned as a tidy little gardening space, with a potting bench and organized shelves. Evans followed Susan to a cabinet in the back.

“Gardening is Denise’s hobby,” Susan said.

“What do you do?” Evans asked.

“I used to be an accountant,” Susan said. “But now I make decorative mirrors and sell them at the Saturday market.”

A good trade-off.
Evans looked around for entry points. One window, a regular door, and a double-wide overhead door. “Have you noticed anything unusual? A window open that you thought you closed? A locked door tampered with?”

“I don’t think so. This is Denise’s area, but she never mentioned anything like that.”

Evans pulled out gloves and the fingerprint kit. “I’ll start with the cabinet knobs, then print her paraphernalia, then move to the doors and window. It should take about an hour.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Evans flipped on more overhead lights and got to work. It was unusual to collect fingerprints for two cases on the same day, especially after not doing it at all for years. But Violent Crimes was like that. Last summer, they’d had three outdoor domestic homicides in a row, followed by two neighbor-on-neighbor killings in the fall. But poison was rare.

After fingerprinting the handles of the cabinet, she opened it to discover a shelf that held a small water pipe and a sealed plastic bag with a brownie. Interesting that Lammers kept even the edible marijuana out here. Evans sprayed the pipe’s handle with a superglue-like substance, then picked up prints with a sticky paper strip. The plastic bag was more challenging, but she found a few clear thumbprints and lifted those.

Floodlights came on automatically when she stepped outside, and the cold night air made her shiver. The garage window had a screen that hadn’t obviously been tampered with. It seemed unlikely anyone had entered the space that way, but she took some prints anyway, then did the same with the doorknob.

If anyone had entered the garage illegally, they’d probably come in through the overhead door. You could buy universal clickers online that would easily open just about any garage. A thief’s magic key. But the real question was: Who would know Sergeant Lammers consumed marijuana and kept it in the garage? Unless they’d been watching her for a while.
Creepy.
If Lammers had been anyone other than law enforcement, an accidental poisoning would be the most likely scenario. Now the sergeant was unconscious again and unable to answer questions.

Evans quickly took prints from the overhead door, praying it wouldn’t rain. Or snow. The temperature was dropping quickly. She hurried back inside, trying not to feel like she’d wasted her evening. Susan greeted her when she walked into the living room. “Oh, hello. That didn’t take long.”

The man she’d seen earlier stood up from the couch and looked her over.

“This is our nephew Brice. He’s helping with a few things while Denise is ill.”

“Hello. Lara Evans.” She held out her hand.

His grip was firm, and his skin was thick and callused, like someone who worked with his hands. “Brice Ronan.”

“I’m sure the sergeant appreciates your help.” Evans was drawn to his chiseled bone structure and wide-open blue eyes. His face said,
Trust me.
But she couldn’t. Everyone was a suspect. “What do you do?”

“I’m a firefighter. So we work for the same people.”

That got her juices flowing. Dating cops hadn’t worked out for her, but a firefighter could be the next best thing. They had to be adrenaline junkies too. He certainly kept in shape. That was critical. Evans forced herself to think like a detective. “Are you close to your aunt?”

“Very. My mother died when I was young, and Denise has been there for me ever since.”

Lammers was a surrogate mother too? So surprising. She didn’t seem the type. Delving into the personal aspects of her boss’ life felt voyeuristic. But she had to do her job. “Do you know about her medical condition?”

“The fibromyalgia? Yes, of course. Why?”

Susan grabbed Evans’ arm. “Brice is just as shocked by her poisoning as I am.”

Meaning, Susan didn’t want her to question him or the nephew to find out about his aunt’s pot habit. Evans decided to let it go for now. She would check the retail store in the morning. If she discovered the source of the poison was accidental, then she didn’t have to treat this gorgeous firefighter as a suspect. She glanced at his hands. No rings. What next? Men usually pursued her. Except the one she really wanted.

She turned to Susan. “Who else has access to the house?”

“Just Denise and I.”

Her tone was a little shaky. If Brice had a key, why was she protecting him? “I’m done here for now.” Evans gave Brice her most charming smile. “It was nice to meet you. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”

“Me too. I’ll walk you out.”

Yes!
They both knew it wasn’t about safety. She was carrying a Sig Sauer under her powder-blue jacket. Evans nodded at Susan. “Please keep me posted on the sergeant’s condition.”

“I will.”

Evans headed out, with Brice following. He obviously wanted to say something to her in private, but what? She hoped he would ask her out, but suspected it was something about Lammers. And it was.

When they stopped outside her car, Brice said, “Susan thinks I don’t know about my aunt’s medication, but I do. And for the record, I have no reason to poison her. She’s like a mother to me, and I love her dearly.” He grinned. “Plus her death benefits would go to Susan, so I have no motive.”

“Good to know. I’m starting to think it was accidental.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

Evans racked her brain for a reason to see him again. Nothing. “Just put in a good word for me with the fire department when I get canned for submitting incomplete reports on this incident.”

The smile disappeared from his face. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t know yet.” She tried to lighten the mood. “But I passed the SWAT physical, so I’m pretty sure I’d qualify.”

“Wow. You must be stronger than you look.”

“I work at it.” Evans opened her car door. She’d stalled long enough.

“Where do you work out?”

“Mostly at home. I have a padded room for Brazilian jujitsu.” What the hell, she would just put herself out there. “You’re welcome to come over and spar with me.” Did that sound too sexual?

He laughed. “That could be humiliating. Let’s start with dinner sometime.”

Yes!
“I’d like that.” She willed herself to appear casual.

“Friday?”

“Saturday would be better. I’m working two cases right now.” She handed him her business card. “Text me with a time and place.”

“Do you like Thai?”

“My favorite.” Technically, cheeseburgers were her favorite, but she rarely indulged and nobody would ever know. The first snowflake of the season fluttered between their faces. “I’d better get going. See you Saturday.” Evans climbed into her car and backed out. She’d planned to see Ben after getting the fingerprints, but now she had second thoughts. At this point, she and Ben weren’t officially dating anymore, but they still engaged in casual sex. He didn’t want to commit to a full relationship until his son was out of high school, but she suspected that excuse would last through college too. As much as she liked Ben, she wasn’t in love with him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be longing for Jackson. Maybe Brice was the one who could help her move on.

CHAPTER 13

Wednesday, December 2, 8:15 p.m.

Jackson finished typing his case notes and shut off his computer. The interrogations had used up the last of his energy, but it was too early to quit working. The first twenty-four hours of a homicide case were crucial, and the first three days usually determined the outcome. If they didn’t know who the shooter was by the weekend, statistics indicated they probably never would.

Earlier, he’d stopped by the tech department, and the officer working late had been able to hack into Stalling’s phone with one of the gadgets the department had acquired last year. Cell phones had become minicomputers, and the Supreme Court had decided the police couldn’t search them without a warrant. Unless the owner was dead. Jackson had the victim’s phone with him and planned to search it at home—after spending some time with his kids.

He picked up Benjie from Kera’s and promised her a long, lazy Sunday together. She understood that she wouldn’t see much of him for the next few days. It was already past the boy’s bedtime, so Benjie slept in the car on the way home. But once they were inside the house—the place where Jackson had grown up—his adopted son was wide-awake.

“I’m hungry. Let’s have a snack. And a game of Uno.” Benjie looked at him with such love—and expectation—he couldn’t deny him.

Bedtime wouldn’t be critical until he started grade school in a few years. “Sure. What do you want to eat?”

“A picnic, please.”

Jackson laughed. The boy loved healthy food, and he’d had to start keeping more of it in the house. He put baby carrots, cherry tomatoes, olives, and slices of turkey on a plate and took it to the table. “You eat while I get the cards out.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

As Jackson stepped into the hall, Katie came out of her bedroom. “Hey. You worked late and forgot to call me.”

He almost laughed. She’d run away from home the previous year, gone for weeks at a time without contacting him, and burned ten years off his life with worry. Now she expected him to check in. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Someone was murdered?” Her brown eyes went soft with concern. She was still wearing her curly hair pulled back tight, but she’d cut down on the dark eye makeup and had started wearing colors again. Tonight she had on a pink T-shirt, and it warmed his heart to see it. A year and a half of all black had been hard to take.

He nodded and held out his arms. “Can I have a hug?”

“Gun?”

“Give me a second.” He pulled off his holster, then secured the weapon in the safe he kept on the nightstand by his bed. It opened with the press of his thumbprint.

Katie was no longer in the hall when he came back.
Typical.
He grabbed the Uno cards from the closet and headed to the kitchen. His kids were chatting at the table.
Kids
.
He was still getting used to the plural version. As he sat down and took off his shoes, he asked Katie, “Are you going to join us for a game?”

“One game. I have more homework.”

“That’s all Benjie has time for too.”

“I’m not tired!” As a demonstration, the boy opened his eyes wide.

Katie and Jackson both laughed.

“Can I deal?” Benjie picked up the cards.

“Sure.” Once the boy had started talking again after his trauma, Jackson had come to realize he was exceptionally smart. At least for his age.

They played a round that lasted too long, and Benjie squealed with joy every time he drew a wild card. He also got tired of holding his cards and laid them on the table for everyone to see. Katie eventually took advantage of that and won, probably just to end the game. She high-fived her little brother and said, “You’ll get me next time.” Just the way he had taught her when she was little and got upset when he beat her at checkers. When Katie stood and did a little victory dance, her right sleeve slid up.

What was that on her shoulder?

Jackson glanced at his son. “Go put on your PJs and brush your teeth.” He helped the boy down from the chair to get him moving, then turned to Katie. “Show me your upper arm.”

“Don’t freak out. Please.” Her eyes begged for understanding.

“Show me.”

Katie pushed up her short sleeve. The tattoo was simple black ink with the word
Renee
. Her dead mother.
Oh god.
How could he be mad? The tattoo was ugly and forever, but at least it meant something to her. “I understand. I just hope you don’t regret it someday.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll take that hug now.”

She stepped close, and he wrapped his arms around her. Love and guilt poured out in equal measure. He’d killed her mother accidentally, in the line of duty, and for a while it had driven his daughter away. A miscarriage had brought Katie back to him, providing her with some understanding of what it was like to be responsible for another person’s life—and death. But their relationship still felt tenuous.

“Okay.” She squirmed to get free. “That’ll hold me for a while. Back to my homework.” He watched her walk away. At least she would finish high school. And not be a teenage mother. She’d also quit drinking. The tattoo was no big deal.

As much as he wanted to change out of his work clothes, he decided to wait until he’d looked through the victim’s phone. If he found a critical lead, he would have to go out and pursue it. Jackson grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper, a habit he’d picked up from Kera, and settled into his recliner.

He turned on Stalling’s phone, now that the password had been disabled, and accessed his call log. That was odd. Stalling’s last call had been to 911.
What the hell?
The dispatcher had said a witness made the call, but obviously he’d used the victim’s phone. But why? For the same reason he’d hung up without giving a name? To protect his identity? One more person to round up and question—if they could find him.

The three previous calls had come in the day before. Two were from the same number, identified in the contact list as Matt Sheldon—the name on the Ganja Growers business card found at the scene.
Interesting.
Jackson would have to question the competitor first thing tomorrow. Assuming he could find him. If Sheldon was guilty, he might be on the move or hiding out. The third call had come late, just after ten at night. The number wasn’t listed in Stalling’s contacts. Jackson switched to his own laptop and googled the number, but wasn’t able to track it down. He would have to search the databases at work.

Scrolling through the previous days on the phone’s log revealed little. Stalling had talked with two other marijuana retail stores and twice with his sister, Shanna McCoy. But she’d said they hadn’t seen each other in a while and implied they were out of contact. Why lie, or mislead him, about that? The sister was odd, for sure. What motive did she have for murder though? To gain full ownership of the house? To get a troubled brother out of her life once and for all? Those motives didn’t seem to add up to murder. Because he hadn’t found a computer in the house, he assumed Stalling had used his phone to store his emails, notes, and other personal information. But so far, Jackson hadn’t been able to locate any files. Maybe the victim hadn’t used email. Or taken notes on his phone. Some people were simply not plugged into the digital world. Jackson was doing his best to keep up, but so far he’d only mastered texting and online searches with his phone. Someday, the department would issue phones with applications that scanned fingerprints into the database and other great features. Whatever made his job easier.

That reminded him to check Stalling’s text messages. There were none on the morning of his death, but the night before, Stalling had contacted someone listed only as Darby:
Be here by seven tomorrow.

Who was Darby? More important, had he shown up at the nursery and started shooting? Or had he simply discovered the victims and used Stalling’s phone to call it in? Jackson needed Darby’s last name. The sister might know, but she probably wouldn’t take his call. Jackson used his own phone to call Darby’s number, but no one answered, and he didn’t leave a message. Warning the suspect that the police wanted to talk could be counterproductive. Jackson called the desk officer at headquarters. “I’m working at home, and I need a favor. Do you have time to track down some information for me?”

“It’s a little crazy in here tonight, but I’ll try. What do you need?”

“Everything you can find about the person connected to this phone number. I have the name Darby. Could be first or last.” Jackson rattled off the digits, thanked her, and hung up.

A knock on his door startled him. Jackson shoved aside his laptop and pushed up from his chair. Should he get his weapon? No. It was probably a friend of Katie’s. Young people didn’t realize that nine thirty was too late to make unexpected social calls. Jackson hurried to the door. “Who is it?”

“Deputy Arlen.”

This wouldn’t be good. He just hoped it was information about his current investigation. Jackson put his eye to the peephole. The man visible in the motion-sensor light was dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. Jackson opened the door. “What have you got?”

The deputy held out a stack of papers. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re being sued.”