Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 05 - Dying for Justice Read online

  Stricklyn stared at her with admiration, followed by a small grin. “You subdued him and brought him in? Too bad you didn’t have a Taser with you.”

  “I hope to be assigned one soon,” Evans said, looking at her boss.

  Lammers cleared her throat. “We have two separate but linked investigations. The attempted homicide from two years ago and the ongoing sexual coercion. I’m not optimistic we’ll convict Bekker of the attempted homicide, but now that he’s facing a slam dunk assault conviction, he might cooperate or plead to the other charges.”

  “Let’s go interrogate him right now.” Stricklyn stared at Evans and warmth spread through her body.

  Lammers said, “I’ve arranged with Sheriff Waters for Bekker to be brought here for questioning, so we can videotape and watch each other’s interrogations.”

  Eager to participate, Evans said, “You’ll let me question him about Gina’s case?”

  “No.” Lammers slapped her leather folder closed. “It’s too personal now.” The sergeant locked eyes on Evans, daring her to contradict the statement. Lammers continued, “You can work the case and watch the interrogation, but you will not come into contact with Bekker. Understood?”

  Evans nodded, wishing she’d hit Bekker harder, since she’d never have another shot at him.

  Jackson spoke up. “I’d like to question Bekker about my parents’ case. He was one of the investigators. Maybe we should start there, get him talking about something that won’t make him defensive.

  “Let’s go round him up.” Lammers stood. “While you’re gone, I have to meet with our spokesperson and decide what the hell we’re going to say publicly about all this.”

  Jackson and Stricklyn walked out together, discussing their trip to the jail. Evans felt like she was watching an X-rated movie. Why did good-looking cops make her so weak in the knees? She hoped it was just a perk and not the reason she’d joined the department.

  She realized Sergeant Lammers was watching her watch them, so she distracted her boss with a question. “Why does Jackson get to work his parents’ case, which is as personal as it gets, and I can’t participate in Bekker’s interrogation because it’s too personal?

  Lammers stepped over to the door and closed it. “If you repeat this to anyone, I’ll have you transferred to sex crimes, clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m letting Jackson investigate his parents’ homicides because it’s only a matter of going through the motions. He needs to believe he tried. But those murders were eleven years ago and his chances of closing them are slim to none. If it wasn’t the handyman, then it was some crackhead who knew they kept cash in the house. The killer is either dead, in jail, or long gone.”

  * * *

  Stricklyn rode with Jackson to the jail and they talked about an interrogation strategy on the way. The IA detective wanted to use a linear approach, working from one crime to the next. Jackson wanted to mix it up and keep circling back to the important points of each case. Stricklyn agreed to let Jackson take the lead for the first round and see how it went.

  After parking near the front doors of the red-brick building, they went up the stairs together. The night before when he and Evans had dropped off Bekker, they’d entered through the side bay in their vehicles, so Bekker would be stripped and processed like any other detainee. Jackson had driven Bekker in the back of his car and the man had been silent until they’d arrived at the jail. As Jackson pulled him out, Bekker had casually offered to resign if they would forget his “little altercation.” Evans had shown restraint and only said, “Not a chance in hell.”

  Today in the public waiting area, a young woman who looked as if she’d never known joy sat stiffly on the wooden bench. He and Stricklyn walked to the reception desk, now walled off with plexiglass, showed their badges, and asked to transfer Bekker.

  “Has he been arraigned yet?” Jackson asked.

  “Let me check.” The female deputy looked like she might burst out of her beige uniform. “At eight this morning. The judge set bail at $250,000.”

  “Oh crap.” Jackson turned to Stricklyn. “He’ll probably come up with ten percent of that before the day is over. This may be our only chance to get anything out of him.”

  The deputy said, “I’ll have someone bring Bekker out.” She made a call and they waited for ten minutes. Finally the door opened behind her and Bekker came through with cuffed hands and shackled feet, followed by an older male deputy. Bekker had dark circles under his eyes and the prison-green scrubs made the rest of his face look pale. A red gash showed through his near-buzz cut hair.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Bekker said, as they escorted him to the car. “But what the hell, it gets me out of the box for a while.”

  At the department, Jackson escorted the handcuffed sergeant to the gray claustrophobic room while Stricklyn went to round up Evans and Lammers, who would watch from the conference room. The plan was to give Jackson some time alone with Bekker to talk about the old homicide case. After Jackson got what he needed, Stricklyn would join him to question Bekker about his ex-wife. Then Jackson would exit and Lammers would come in and she and Stricklyn would ask questions about the sexual coercion and the earlier abuse of a suspect. They had no idea if Bekker would talk at all.

  Jackson clicked on the video recorder and announced the day and time for the camera, then identified himself and his suspect.

  “This is a waste of time,” Bekker complained. “I’m not telling you anything until I consult a lawyer.”

  “I need your help with an old case.” Jackson’s plan was to get Bekker talking about something other than his crimes. “We’ve reopened the homicide of Clark and Evelyn Jackson. You and Santori handled it in 2000.”

  Bekker seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why? We had a confession. It was a slam dunk.”

  “Vargas recanted and new information has come up, so I’m starting from scratch.”

  “What new information?”

  “A man in a dark sedan, sitting outside the Jacksons’ house the day of the murders. Did any witnesses mention it?”

  “No.” Again, Bekker seemed surprised.

  Jackson wanted to point out the many ways in which the investigation had been shoddy, but that would be counter-productive. “I’d like you to describe the crime scene, since I have no way to see it for myself.”

  “We took photos. They’re in the file.”

  “These are my parents’ murders. Help me out here.”

  “I think you’re wasting your time, but what the hell.” Bekker seemed to realize that talking about an old investigation was better than anything else on the menu of crimes to discuss. “I’ll never forget the case. It was my first double homicide and we found the bodies in the living room. The woman was on the floor with a bullet hole in her forehead, and the old man was slumped against the couch with two holes in his chest. They were dressed like they’d just come back from church.”

  Jackson’s parents always looked their best in public, and until he was thirteen they wouldn’t allow him to leave the house in a t-shirt. “What was your initial impression?” he asked. “Before the tip got called in. Do you remember?”

  “It looked like a home invasion, except we soon realized nothing was stolen, including two rifles in a bedroom closet. Then I started to think it was a professional hit.”

  Jackson was intrigued. “What made you think that?” Eugene almost never had that kind of homicide. The local crime element was definitely not organized.

  “Bullets in the forehead and the chest. Kill zones. Like someone who practiced at a shooting range.”

  “Do you mean law enforcement?”

  “I didn’t think that at the time, no.” Bekker shifted uncomfortably.

  Jackson found it unlikely as well, so he moved on. “What about the money under the woman’s body?”

  “Oh yeah.” Bekker cocked his head. “That was odd. The ME found a hundred-dollar bill when his crew moved her.”

  “What h
appened to the money?”

  “I bagged it as evidence and turned it in to the crime lab.”

  “Did they dust it for prints?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t find a match. Not to Vargas, or the victims, or anyone in CODIS.”

  “That’s seems odd.”

  Bekker didn’t respond.

  “The bill is no longer in the evidence crate.”

  Bekker smirked. “I guess I’m not surprised. I’m sure some technician found it hard to resist.”

  “Tell me about the anonymous tip.”

  “Dispatch got a call from a payphone. The caller said he heard shots, then shortly after, he saw a handyman come out of the house, jump in his truck, and take off. A patrol officer responded to the address, found the bodies, and called us.”

  “How did you come up with Vargas’ name?”

  “There was a check made out to Hector Vargas sitting on the kitchen table, and we had a description of him and his truck. Patrol units picked him up twenty minutes later.”

  “Was there anything about the tip or timing that seemed odd to you?”

  “Nope. Just a citizen doing his duty.”

  “Did you check Vargas’ hands for gunshot residue?”

  “We did, and they were clean. But he had time to wash them. He had the victims’ money. He admitted to being in the house.”

  “Did you look for the gun?”

  Bekker glared. “Of course.”

  Jackson decided to mix it up. “Why did you try to kill your ex-wife?”

  Bekker jerked back. “Why is this old shit coming up?”

  “Gina thinks it’s important. Tell me about your relationship with your ex.”

  “What is there to say? We were in the middle of a divorce. She left me for another guy.”

  That was not what he’d heard. “Really? Who?”

  “Some pansy-ass nurse.” Bekker shook his head in disgust.

  “So you were angry with her?”

  Bekker scoffed. “Hell, yes. But she tried to kill herself. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Why would she try to kill herself?”

  “She was depressed and crazy.”

  “Is that why you stalked her and threatened to kill her?”

  Bekker shifted in his chair. “I didn’t stalk her. I just wanted to see who she left me for.”

  “You admit you threatened her?”

  “I admit nothing.”

  “Where were you that night?”

  “Drinking at the Sixth Street Bar with Pete Casaway. This has already been established.”

  Jackson tried to remember what Evans had reported. “Casaway now says he didn’t see you after seven that night.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Evans recorded the conversation. You have no alibi.”

  “Why is that bitch Evans suddenly all over me?” Bekker’s eyes and nostrils flared, and Jackson got a glimpse of his hatred for women.

  “Does Evans remind you of Gina?”

  “Fuck you.

  Jackson sat quietly, staring down Bekker. The small grey room seemed to shrink and he breathed from his diaphragm to counteract the tension. The more time he spent in this closet, the more difficult it became. After a minute, Stricklyn strode in.

  Bekker laughed. “IA? Really?”

  Stricklyn stood over Bekker, his voice deadly quiet. “You’re charged with assaulting a police officer. You’ll get five years just for that. Throw in attempted homicide and sexual assault, and you’re looking at twenty years, minimum. It’s time to cooperate.”

  Jackson watched Bekker process the charges and calculate how much they knew. Finally the inmate said, “I didn’t assault a police officer. Detective Evans struck me and I defended myself.”

  Jackson let his disgust show. “Why would she do that?”

  “She’s an aggressive bitch.”

  “What were you doing outside that apartment?” Stricklyn asked.

  “Minding my own business.”

  “Tell us about the altercation. How did it start?” This was Stricklyn’s interview now.

  “Why should I tell you anything? What’s in it for me?”

  “We’d like to keep your cases from going to trial and becoming a media frenzy. The DA is willing to drop the assault-of-an-officer charge if you plead to assaulting your wife. We’ll knock it down from attempted murder. It’s a sweet deal and you should take it.”

  “I didn’t assault anyone, so no thanks.”

  Stricklyn glanced at his notes. “Let’s talk about Trisha Cronin. When did you first meet her?”

  A flash of panic registered in Bekker’s eyes. “I’m not answering any more questions until I see a lawyer.”

  “Right now, the whole department thinks you’re a rapist. That’s going to stick unless you tell us your side of the story.”

  “They believe a hooker?” Bekker tried to look scornful, but Jackson heard distress in his voice.

  “And a heroin addict. These women are glad to tell their stories now that someone is listening.” Stricklyn tapped his notepad on the table. “Attacking Evans outside one of your victims’ apartment made you look guilty as hell. Judges and juries hate dirty cops, so your lawyer will advise you to stay out of court.” Stricklyn stood. “I’ll get you a glass of water and let you think about how you want to play this.”

  Jackson was glad to get out of the room, yet he hated to give up the interrogation before they’d made progress. Still, Bekker was not his focus…unless he was the man in the blue sedan… who had assassinated his victims with kill shots, then came back later to investigate the crime. It was possible, but so far, he had no reason to think that.

  “Did you get anything useful?” Stricklyn asked, as they stood in the hall.

  “I’m now considering the possibility that my parents were a professional hit, as unlikely as that seems.” Jackson started toward the break room. “I’ll get Bekker some water while you confer with Lammers.”

  Stricklyn laughed. “We’re not getting him anything. Let’s see how he likes it.”

  * * *

  “That motherfucker! I can’t believe he’s saying I hit him first.” Evans now realized why Lammers wouldn’t let her in with Bekker. She might thump him.

  “Would you stop bouncing? You’re making my blood pressure spike.” Lammers turned to her as they stood side by side in the conference room, watching the monitor. “You got pictures of your injuries, correct?”

  “Jackson took them when I was in the ER, so I have a paper trail too.”

  “Good.” Lammers touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Bekker has lost all credibility. He’ll do time for assaulting you.”

  Evans watched Jackson and Stricklyn leave the interrogation room and struggled to get her emotions under control. She had to stay professional. She’d gone over to Full City for coffee while the guys picked up Bekker and now the caffeine was working against her. “Even without the shit he’s saying about me, Bekker seems a little off, like he might have a mental problem.”

  “You think?” Lammers cast skeptical eyes down at her.

  Evans ignored the sarcasm. “His hostility toward me is irrational. What if he makes bail? If he does, I want a twenty-four-hour watch on both him and Gina.”

  “Don’t worry, if he makes bail, we’ll pick him up on new charges.”

  “Good to know.”

  On the monitor, Bekker suddenly turned to the camera and made a kissing gesture.

  Evans hated and feared him more than anyone she’d ever known…except maybe her father. “Is Bekker setting himself up to be incompetent to stand trial?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Jackson and Stricklyn came into the conference room, and they all sat at the new table the department had recently brought in. The hard metal chairs had not been replaced.

  “What do you think?” Jackson asked. “Did you pick up anything we might have missed?”

  Lammers responded, “When you asked Bekker about stalking an
d threatening Gina, he got very uncomfortable. He squirmed in his chair, then tried to cover it by leaning back and acting casual. I think we can assume Gina is telling the truth about that.”

  “I’ll hit that subject again in the next round,” Stricklyn said.

  “He also seemed upset when you mentioned that his peers in the department thought he was a rapist,” Evans commented. “I think you can use that as leverage too.” She looked at Stricklyn. “You told him the DA was willing to drop the charge of assaulting me. Have you talked to Slonecker?”

  “I made that up. We’re not dropping it.”

  “Damn straight. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t back off. He’s a psychopath.”

  “Exactly why you’re not in there,” Lammers said.

  After another ten minutes of strategizing, Lammers and Stricklyn headed to the interrogation room.

  Jackson and Evans stood near the monitor watching Bekker. His eyes were closed and his body slack, as if he had dozed off.

  “Look at that fucker,” Evans said. “Only the guilty can sleep in an interrogation room.”

  “True enough. The innocent are too worried.”

  Evans used the opportunity to pick Jackson’s brain. “Now that Bekker’s in custody, what should I do next on this case?”

  “Have you talked to all the possible witnesses who might have seen Bekker in the vicinity the night Gina was assaulted?”

  “I haven’t tracked down the neighbor who moved yet.”

  “See if you can find him or her. What about video? Does her apartment complex have cameras? Maybe Bekker or his vehicle got caught on tape somewhere.”

  “Great ideas. What’s next for you, Jackson?”

  “Going through at my parents’ phone records and questioning a loan shark.”

  They watched as Lammers and Stricklyn got Bekker talking about the women he’d victimized. Only, in his warped perspective, they were just friends. Fuck buddies. Evans felt queasy listening to him. “I’m going back to work,” she said, heading for the door.