Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (9 page)

The room was quiet for a moment, and the DA stood. “Update me after the interrogations. But my instinct tells me it’s the competitor. Drug dealers are vile, and this state will regret legalizing that crap.” He nodded at everyone and left.

Jackson glanced at Evans. “Let’s do a quick second board for Sergeant Lammers.”

As Evans wrote
Lammers, poisoned
, Quince sat forward, his mouth open. “What the hell?”

Jackson gave him a brief update, then turned back to Evans. “Did you talk to the sergeant at the hospital?”

Stress flashed across Evans’ face. She still hadn’t learned to keep a deadpan expression. Jackson probed. “What happened?”

“This information is absolutely confidential. I don’t want anyone outside this room to know. Not your spouses or any other officers. I especially don’t want it in the reports.” Evans waited for everyone to verbally agree, then announced, “Lammers’ partner says the sergeant ate a pot brownie right before she became ill. Lammers uses medical marijuana for pain management.”

What the hell?
It was the last thing Jackson had expected to hear. But he understood chronic pain, and with pot being legal, he wouldn’t judge her.

“I’ll be damned.” Schak slapped the table. “If the boss wasn’t sick, I would give her a boatload of crap.”

“Did you get a sample for the lab to test?” Jackson asked.

“Not yet. I’m going out to her home this evening.” Evans made a wide-eyed face of uncertainty. “I don’t know how we handle this. We could all be in deep shit if the chief finds out and we weren’t the ones to inform him.”

Now that pot was legal, could employers even test employees for it? Especially without a specific reason to? This would soon become an issue in every state that had legalized it. Jackson realized the task force members were all waiting for him to respond. “We’ll give Lammers a day or so to recover, then I’ll pressure her to take the information to Chief Warner.” Jackson locked eyes with Evans. “I appreciate how you’ve tried to handle this, but your responsibility is to yourself and whatever you think is right. If you don’t want to wait to inform the chief, that’s your decision.”

“I’d rather Lammers told him. She’s still pretty sick though. They think it might be amatoxin poisoning.” She wrote the word, followed by
deadly mushrooms
.

Jackson was concerned about the marijuana supply. “Where did she buy the stuff? A grower could have accidentally distributed a toxic product, and other consumers could be in danger.”

“Green Medicine on West Sixth.” Evans wrote the retailer’s name on the board. “It’s closed now, but I’ll be there in the morning when it opens.” She looked around the room. “It’s still possible that someone targeted Lammers personally. I’ll fingerprint the containers tonight when I’m out there.”

Quince spoke up. “If the pot supply is tainted, we have to consider that these cases could be related.”

A moment of silence as they all processed the possibilities. Jackson turned to Evans. “When you’re at Green Medicine tomorrow, get a list of all their suppliers.”

“What if our perp is a nutcase?” Quince asked. “Someone who hates the new pot law and wants to create a backlash?”

Jackson had just had the same thought. “A strong possibility. We’ll look for social media postings that might give us a clue.”

“Letters to the editor too,” Evans added. “If that’s the motive, he’s probably older than forty.”

“Or she,” Jackson said. “I know women aren’t usually shooters, but they are known to use poison.”

Schak cut in. “I know we already have enough suspects and motives to consider, but if the woman is with the DEA and someone with criminal intent discovered that, she could have been the real target.”

Jackson’s gut and shoulders tightened all at once. They didn’t have enough people on the team to cover everything. He needed to pull in someone from Vice to check out possible drug-dealer connections.

A rap on the door made them all look up. The desk officer stepped in with a large brown bag. “You ordered some sandwiches?”

“Thank god.” Schak sucked in his stomach. “I’m so hungry, my belly button is rubbing on my backbone.”

Quince laughed, and Jackson rolled his eyes. “After we eat, we’ll conduct the interrogations, then meet back here in about an hour. Quince, watch Schak on the monitor, and Evans will watch my session. Interrupt or text if you get an idea that could be productive.”

Schak grinned. “If I get a confession, will you order dessert?”

CHAPTER 11

With her designer clothes and intricately painted fingernails, Shanna McCoy looked out of place in the interrogation area, even though it was the soft room with big brown couches and a burgundy rug. Sometimes adults were present when they questioned kids here, but usually it was a male teenager, on his own, slumped against the furniture while biting his nails. So McCoy was an anomaly in this space. She’d called her lawyer earlier, then stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. It wasn’t the first time Jackson had seen someone handle the stress of a pending interrogation by napping. She sat up when he opened the door and stuck in his head.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee.” No pleasantries from her.

“I’ll be right back.” He shut the door and locked it. Also not typical. But she was in custody, she’d been read her rights, and he had the option of pressing several charges against her for the earlier altercation.

When he returned, he sat across from her and listed a few. “I can charge you with assault, obstruction of justice, and interfering with a police officer. But if you cooperate, I’ll chalk your behavior up to grief and let you go.”

“Cooperate how? What do you want?”

“Where were you this morning between seven and eight a.m.?”

She glared at him. “At home, getting ready for work.”

“Alone?”

A long hesitation. “Yes.”

“Where was Charles Kazmir?”

“I don’t know.” She held her jaw muscles so rigid, her words were clipped. “He stopped in for an early lunch with me. Then I had clients this afternoon, and he did some work on his computer in my apartment. Then you showed up.”

“Why would Kazmir lie about being in bed with you at the time of Josh’s murder?”

“He probably thought he was giving me an alibi.”

Bullshit.
“Why would you need one?”

McCoy gave a small shrug. “You were there, questioning me. You saw him trying to get me to stop talking. He’s very protective.”

So was she. He’d circle back to the boyfriend in a few minutes. “Let’s talk about your pot-growing business. Is your brother, Josh, an employee or a partner?”

“Neither. He’s a volunteer gardener.”

They were beating the rules by keeping him off the books. “How do you compensate him?”

She made a scoffing sound. “I’ve been supporting Josh for a decade. Ever since our mother died.”

“He didn’t work for ten years?” Jackson would ask about the profit again and again if he needed to.

“With his criminal history, no one would hire Josh.” McCoy let out a long sigh. “He tried to run his own landscape service, but it didn’t work out. He really had turned his life around, but no one would give him a chance.”

“What about the stolen property in the attic?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“The attic in the farmhouse, where we assume Josh lived, is full of TVs, bike parts, and stereos. I’m pretty sure the serial numbers will confirm that it’s all stolen.”

“Oh shit.” McCoy shook her head. “It must be from long ago. Josh hasn’t been in trouble in a decade.” She snapped her fingers, as if remembering something. “It’s probably not even his. A friend lived there when Josh was in jail.”

“Why not get rid of it?”

“He was probably afraid to. For a felon, being connected to stolen goods is a problem.”

Maybe. But Jackson didn’t buy it. “Who owns the house?”

“We both do.” A grim tightening of her lips.

“But Josh lives there?”

“So?”

Her face worked overtime, trying to hide conflicting emotions.

It seemed staged. Yet earlier, she’d been out of control. “Have you ever done any acting?”

She stiffened. “In college. Why?” Before he could respond, she raised her voice. “Am I not crying hard enough after learning of my brother’s death? You don’t know what it’s been like. I braced myself for his death for years while he was doing meth and stealing and getting arrested. And even though he’s been good for a long time, it still felt like a bonus, like it was too good to be true and that he would get killed in a car accident or die of cancer. Or relapse.” She drew in a breath and relaxed her facial muscles. “So I grieved for him many times, and when I grieve again, it won’t be in front of you.”

Fascinating.
It could be the perfect rationale for killing him. “Did you ever wish him dead?”

“Of course not.” She made it a point to meet his eyes.

She was much more in control now compared to earlier. “Do you take medication?”

“Yes. The officer who brought me in let me have one of my anxiety pills.”

“What’s the name of the drug?”

“Klonopin.”

Powerful, but not an antipsychotic. “Do you take anything else?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?”

She shook her head, an exaggerated display of disbelief. “Why are you making this about me? Someone killed my brother, and you won’t even tell me how.”

If she was acting, she was good. “Josh was shot, along with a woman named Kayla Benson. Do you know her?”

“She’s his girlfriend.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Not much. He met her a few months ago, and I’ve only chatted with her once or twice.”

“Did she live in the house with him?”

McCoy hesitated. “I don’t think so, but she was there the one time I stopped by.”

“Were you involved in the grow operation?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m too busy in my salon.”

“But the license is in your name.”

A small shrug this time. “It was a business opportunity.”

“How much money are you making? Say, monthly?”

She gave him an are-you-stupid look. “It’s only been up and running a few months. I’m still paying off the loan for building the nursery.”

Time to get to the heart of it. “Who would want Josh dead?”

“I have no idea.”

He pulled out the business card Schak had found in the grass. “Do you know Matt Sheldon?”

A flash of irritation. “He owns Ganja Growers. I’m competing with him for the same retail business.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Has he ever threatened you or Josh or your business?”

“No.”

“Did he visit Josh at the nursery?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Her leg vibrated under the table.

She was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Jackson’s phone beeped, and he slipped it out of his pocket. “Excuse me.” He had a text message from Evans:
She’s lying. She and Matt are FB friends and used to date.
Jackson set the phone on the table.

Why conceal it?
“Wasn’t Matt Sheldon your boyfriend before Charles Kazmir?”

“Oh Jesus. That was years ago.”

“But you lied when you said you didn’t know anything about him. Why?”

“He’s an ex. I just don’t want to talk about him.”

Too bad.
“Did you learn the marijuana business from him?”

She shifted in her chair. “Sort of.”

“But now you’re in the same business, competing with him. That must piss him off.”

“I don’t know. We’re not in contact.” She abruptly stood. “Where’s my lawyer? I called him over an hour ago. Are you keeping him from coming in here?”

“I don’t think he showed up yet, but I’ll check with the front desk.” Jackson stood too.

“Either take me to jail or let me walk out now.” Her face contorted again. “I have people to contact about Josh’s death.”

Jackson decided to let her go. The assault charge was bogus, and they had no evidence against her for the shootings. She wasn’t even a strong suspect—just a strong connection to several men who were. But McCoy seemed off, and he suspected she was hiding something. Most people were.

“We may have more questions. Please stay available.” He opened the door and held it while she exited. “I’ll walk you out.” It was easy to get lost in the new building, and they preferred not to let nonemployees wander around unsupervised.

At the main door, she left without looking at him or asking to make a call. She didn’t have a purse or a coat or a cell phone, but she walked across the parking lot with her head held high. Jackson would have preferred to have someone follow her, in the hope that McCoy would lead them to Kazmir, but they didn’t even have the manpower to investigate her thoroughly.

He headed down the hall to the interrogation area and stepped into the small room where the video cameras fed into monitors. Evans and Quince stood in front of one, watching Schak question the neighbor, Clark Paulson.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“It’s weird.” Quince turned to him and made a he’s-crazy gesture. “This guy started out all angry and defensive, then went quiet and sad. Now I think he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”

“I think so too.” Evans turned to Jackson. “Let’s press this guy. He admitted to threatening to shoot the victim, and I think he followed through. Tell him we’re charging him with two counts of murder.”

She was probably right. “I’m going in.” Jackson crossed the space and entered the other small room. He sat down next to Schak without saying a word. He would watch for a few minutes before he decided how to play this. Or let Schak give him a cue.

“This is my boss.” Schak nodded in Jackson’s direction but kept his eyes on the suspect. “You stalled too long, and now your fate is in his hands.”

Okay, bad cop.
He hadn’t played that role in a while. “Two people dead.” A lie, but lying was allowed, in fact required, when acting as the bad cop. “The DA has decided to charge you with two counts of murder in the first, and he’ll ask for the death penalty.” Because of the appeal process, Oregon hadn’t actually put anyone to death in decades, but the DA always pushed for the death penalty with homicides anyway.

The old man’s bottom lip trembled over his toothless mouth, but he was silent.

“Your lack of remorse will turn the jury against you. But it won’t matter. You won’t last long in prison.”

“I am sorry!” The words exploded out of the suspect.

Jackson flinched, then braced for more. Might as well let him run with it.

“I’m sorry for everything.” Paulson let out a sob. “I’m sorry I abandoned my kids when they were little. I’m sorry I was so mean to my second wife. I’m sorry I cheated on my taxes every way I could. I’ve led a shitty, worthless life.” He cried softly. “But you gotta let me out of here.”

The sight of him was hard to take. Jackson reminded himself that this self-centered asshole might be a killer too.

“I know I shouldn’t a’ taken my handgun when I yelled at that punk for stinking up the neighborhood.” The old man hung his head. “But I didn’t kill him. Or the girl.”

Jackson slapped his hand on the table to get him to look up.

The old man jumped and cried out.

“But you knew the girl was there.” Jackson turned to Schak. “How does he know that?”

“You know I didn’t tell him. He must have been there.”

Paulson began to sob and finally put his head on the table. Watching a grown man cry was disturbing. Jackson stood. “Let’s book him.”