Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Read online

  “I went target shooting with Charles once.” Her eyes narrowed in a flash of anger. “Why?”

  “Your prints are on Charles’ weapon. If we match that gun to the casings found at the crime scene, we can convict both of you.” Jackson gave her a nasty smile. “You’re the one with motive. If you don’t help us pin this on Charles, a jury will assume you’re the mastermind.”

  “Fuck you! I want to call my lawyer.”

  Her outburst surprised him. Had he pushed her too far, too fast? This wasn’t over. Her drug-dealing escapade provided the evidence they needed to get warrants and subpoenas for everything. “Have it your way. You can always sell both your businesses to pay for your long, expensive drug-trafficking trial, followed by your long, expensive murder trial.” Jackson stood. “Still want to make that call?”

  She hesitated. “I think I’d better.”

  They walked her out, and Jackson had a new thought. What if she had tried to set up her brother with the courier so she could get Josh arrested for dealing and out of the way? Then maybe her boyfriend had become impatient and shot him. And they’d gone to pick up the drugs anyway as one more opportunity to make some cash. At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

  CHAPTER 25

  Evans stopped at the interrogation-room door and turned to Schak. “I should take the lead, correct?”

  “Yep. Then I’ll step in when it seems right.”

  “Is he handcuffed?”

  “Oh yes.” Schak shook his head in disbelief. “He was stupidly aggressive during his arrest.”

  They walked into the room, and Evans glanced at the suspect. Kazmir, in dress slacks and a pullover sweater, looked like he belonged on the cover of a golf magazine—except for the red abrasion on his check. But his partially gray hair and deep laugh lines indicated he was at least fifty. Most people got over their criminal tendencies by forty or so. So Kazmir was an anomaly. A slow learner or a sociopath? Her money was on the latter.

  She sat directly across from him, leaving the seat near the door to Schak. “Hello, Charles. I’m Detective Evans.” She gave him a casual smile. “I’m obliged to inform you that this conversation will be recorded.”

  “I’m not worried. I have nothing to hide.” He smiled, but only with his mouth. “Can I get a cup of coffee, please?”

  “No.” Schak crossed his arms.

  Evans glanced at her partner. Was he serious or trying to establish his bad-cop role? She decided to fetch the coffee and earn a few trust points with the suspect. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried to the break room, poured two cups, and secured them with lids, then strode back in. Schak hated the break-room coffee anyway. They all did. She set one down in front of Kazmir.

  “What about the cuffs?” he asked.

  “Maybe in a while. You’ll manage the coffee as is.” He was secured in front, and it was possible to both eat and drink that way. Evans gave him an appreciative once-over. “You’re well dressed. Are you a lawyer?”

  He blinked in surprise. “No, an accountant.”

  Someone who knew how to hide money. “Shanna McCoy is your client and your girlfriend?”

  “So?”

  “I’m just trying to establish your relationship to the person you accompanied to pick up twenty pounds of meth.”

  Kazmir started to complain, but Evans talked over him. “As McCoy’s accountant, you must be aware of her narcotic deals.”

  “I had no idea she was picking up drugs.” His voice was deadpan, and his eyes registered no emotion. “Shanna invited me out to breakfast at Molly’s, claiming they made the best eggs Benedict in town. Then she said she wanted to look at an empty storefront as a potential real estate investment, so we pulled into the shuttered plumbing store. I was shocked to be arrested a few minutes later.”

  He didn’t sound shocked, and Evans didn’t believe a word of it. A practiced liar. A piece-of-shit sociopath who was throwing his girlfriend under the bus without a flicker of guilt. Evans nodded and went on. “We know McCoy is the dealer, and we want to put her away for trafficking. But”—Evans leaned in and lowered her voice—“more important, we want justice for Josh Stalling. If you help us convict McCoy of killing her brother, the drug charges against you go away.”

  “We’ll drop the assault of an officer too,” Schak added, with a smirk.

  Evans’ phone beeped, indicating she had a text. Normally, she would ignore it during an interrogation, but her gut told her it was important. She slipped the cell out of her jacket pocket and pressed the Messages icon. Quince had texted: McCoy accused Kazmir of killing brother. Use it.

  Evans let a smile play on her lips. “Your girlfriend just told another detective that you killed Josh. She says you talked about it openly.”

  “That’s nonsense.” The first sign of concern flickered in his eyes.

  Another beep. Evans looked at her phone. Quince had sent a follow-up text: Kazmir was mad that Stalling wouldn’t sell. They wanted $.

  She slid the phone over to Schak, then clucked her tongue in mock sympathy. “Shanna McCoy is selling you out right now. She may have plotted with you to murder her brother, but as long as you’re the one who pulled the trigger, you’ll go to prison while she gets a deal.” Oh hell. She’d forgotten her role as good cop for a moment.

  Schak noticed too and stepped in. “It’s too late for you to work out a plea deal, but hey, you might as well take your backstabbing girlfriend down with you.”

  Kazmir snapped his head toward Schak. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. Everything you say could be a lie.”

  Evans went out on a limb. “Her betrayal is on video. We can show it to you.”

  The suspect’s expression froze, then shock took over his face. “Yes, I want to see what she said about me.”

  Schak raised his voice. “And I want to know how much Ganja Growers offered for your girlfriend’s pot business.”

  Kazmir rolled his eyes. “That offer was laughable compared to what Kaylyx was willing to pay. I don’t even know why Shanna was considering it.”

  Evans felt out of the loop on these deals. She’d left Ganja Growers for the SWAT call before McCoy showed up, and she’d missed that part of the task force meeting.

  Schak tried to keep Kazmir talking. “Maybe McCoy was trying to protect her brother’s job. Or maybe she just wasn’t as greedy as you are.”

  Kazmir glared. Schak had touched a nerve.

  “How much was Riverside Farms worth to the New York company? Half a million?”

  “At least. We were still negotiating.”

  “What did Matt Sheldon offer?”

  Kazmir made a scoffing sound. “A lousy three hundred thousand. He only wanted to pay for the land and the buildings, and not the profit potential.”

  “But a half million was enough to kill Josh for, wasn’t it? McCoy already told us you did it.”

  “She lied! I can’t believe she’s trying to pin this on me.” Kazmir’s nostrils flared, and his cuffed hands balled into fists. “If that bitch used my gun . . .” His voice trailed off.

  What was he saying? Evans had to press him. “If you know McCoy killed her own brother, tell us now. It’s the only way to avoid a conspiracy-to-commit-murder charge.”

  “I don’t know anything for sure. Except that I regret getting involved with her.”

  Evans remembered Jackson’s account of his first interview with the couple. “Why did you lie about where you were at the time of the murder?”

  Kazmir closed his eyes.

  Regret?

  “It just seemed easiest. I was with another woman and didn’t want to have to bring it up. Shanna’s unpredictable.” He blinked twice. “And I wanted to protect her too, you know, in case she’d done it.”

  “Yet you’re the one who ran from Detective Jackson when he questioned the two of you.”

  “I didn’t run. I just left. I had somewhere to be.” Kazmir’s flat tone took on an edge of w
eariness.

  “What’s the name of the woman you were with? If you have an alibi, let us check it out.”

  “Maureen Pearl.”

  The mayor? “Seriously?”

  “Please be discreet when you talk to her.” Kazmir leaned back in his chair. “I’m done answering questions, and I want to call a lawyer.”

  Schak pressed him, but Kazmir wouldn’t speak again. Schak pushed back his chair and stood. “You can make that phone call from jail. I’ll be back to escort you over in a few minutes.”

  Evans followed Schak out. Jackson and Quince were already in the open space. Jackson looked over expectantly. “How did it go?”

  “Weird.” Evans and Schak said it at the same time.

  “Jinx.” Schak gestured at the side-by-side doors. “We should book them both on the drug-trafficking charge, then see what they say after a few days in lockup.”

  “I agree.” Jackson nodded. “Afterward, we’ll talk about subpoenas and plan our next moves.”

  “What are you buying for lunch?” Schak asked.

  Evans didn’t want sandwiches again. “Let’s eat at the Grill. It’s a block from the jail.”

  “Sounds good.” Jackson stepped toward the first interrogation room. “I think they conspired, and eventually, we’ll nail them both.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Friday, December 4, 10:05 a.m.

  Sophie sipped hot mint tea and reworked her lead paragraph. The dead marijuana crop and the poisoned pot brownies made the follow-up murder story complex and challenging to write—because the link was speculation. A traditional lead, with all the important information crammed into the first sentence, wouldn’t work. Instead, she would craft the story in a step-by-step method to keep from losing readers’ attention, and trust her editor to not hack it to pieces.

  An hour later, as she wrote the conclusion, she speculated about motive and alluded to an anti-pot organization that had formed after the legalization measure had passed, but didn’t actually name the group. Was the allusion too inflammatory? Would her editor cut that line? The group had sent opinion pieces to the paper, and the editor in chief had printed one. The editorial had hinted at an unspecified campaign to undo the law. She opened the website hosted by Citizens for a Sober Society (CSS) and perused the pages, looking for threatening language. It all sounded threatening to her, without actually mentioning anything illegal. Then she remembered the comments section of the blog and found some vitriolic rants and threats. Sophie went back to her article and added the phrase “anonymous commenters on the blog” to substantiate her reference to the group. Too bad she didn’t have any new information about the shootings—except the name of the surviving victim.

  She glanced at the time and realized the morning was gone and she was due to meet Jasmine for a quick lunch downtown. After uploading her article to the shared server, where Hoogstad would review and edit it, Sophie hurried downstairs. She passed the publisher on the way, and they nodded at each other, but didn’t speak. He’d tried to push her off the staff by reassigning her to cover Springfield, knowing she would hate it. Management had done that to other longtime employees whose salaries and benefits were apparently too expensive. But she’d fought back by investigating and helping catch a sexual predator, a high-profile story that had earned a lot of praise from readers. At the same time, she’d won the Northwest Excellence in Journalism award for a story about an eco-terrorist, news that the paper had to announce. So the publisher had kept her on the crime beat—for now. But he didn’t speak to her, and that was never a good thing. It was only a matter of time before he tried some other tactic to get her off the payroll.

  Sophie asked to be seated in a back booth at the Sixth Street Grill, then ordered for both her and Jasmine. She was starving, and her girlfriend tended to run late. While she waited, Sophie checked her email on her phone, then made a list of calls and research tasks for the afternoon. Her first priority was to talk to Josh Stalling’s sister. She’d learned that Shanna McCoy was the registered owner of the Riverside Farms grow operation and that McCoy and Stalling were listed as joint owners of the River Loop 2 property. She hadn’t found a marriage license for the two, so she assumed they were siblings. If McCoy wouldn’t grant her a phone interview, Sophie’s backup plan was to attend Stalling’s funeral service the next day and try to connect with the sister there.

  Jasmine finally came in the back door and slid in across from her. God, she was beautiful. Flawless pale skin, dark hooded eyes, and a perfect nose. Not to mention her long dark hair and even longer legs. They were such opposites. Not that anyone would ever notice, because they rarely went out in public together. Jasmine had agreed to the lunch only because she was working late every night, and they hadn’t been together in days.

  “Good to see you.” Sophie reached across the table and squeezed Jasmine’s hand.

  A rare smile from her stoic girlfriend. “I don’t have much time. Did you order?”

  “Of course.” Sophie leaned forward and whispered, “Did you know Sergeant Lammers is in the hospital?”

  “No.” Jasmine looked startled. “What’s going on with her, and why do you know that?”

  “You know our photographer, Brian? His kid ate a pot brownie that was probably poisoned, and the boy ended up in the hospital.” She paused for effect. “And so did Lammers.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. She has a medical pot card. I actually visited her while I was in the hospital to see Brian.”

  Jasmine stared, mouth open. “I’m so surprised, I don’t even know what to say.”

  “I think the poisoned pot brownies are connected to the poisoned pot crop at the crime scene.”

  “I heard about the crop. The state lab is testing the plants and the soil to determine what caused them to die.” Jasmine took a sip of her tea.

  “You’ll let me know?”

  “Try to get the information from Jackson. Otherwise it would be too obvious where the leak came from.”

  The food arrived, and they ate their salads mostly in silence, both feeling pressured to return to work quickly.

  After a few minutes, Jasmine asked, “Are you covering the SWAT standoff incident too?”

  “Yeah, that’s another odd one. Detective Evans thinks the 911 call was a prank.” Sophie put down her fork. “Evans is the one who shot the suspect, and she’s pretty upset.”

  “A prank? Good god. Who would do something like that?”

  “We’re both trying to figure it out.” Sophie wanted to interview Harron’s sister too, but just hadn’t had time yet.

  They finished their meals and talked about their respective work overloads. As the food server brought the check, Sophie said, “Let’s go to the coast this weekend. We’ll walk on the beach and talk about something besides crime.”

  “That sounds lovely, but it’s my parents’ anniversary, and they’re having a small party.”

  Sophie hated Jasmine’s parents, even though she’d never met them. “Any change of heart about coming out to them?”

  “Not yet.” Her girlfriend gave her a look. “Be patient. My dad will retire next year, and they’ll move to Arizona. I’ll tell them after that, when I don’t have to face the backlash at every Sunday dinner with them.”

  What if her parents didn’t move? What if her mother got sick and Jaz was afraid to bring up the subject until she got better? There might always be an excuse. But she kept her concerns to herself. “Have fun at their party.” She stood to leave.

  “Don’t be hurt.” Jasmine stood too.

  “I’m not. It’s your loss. Call me when you miss me.” Sophie turned toward the entrance.

  She spotted Jackson and his team of detectives walking toward a big corner table in the front. Behind her, Jasmine let out a whispered curse, something she rarely did. Sophie spun around, but her girlfriend was already retreating toward the back door. Had the detectives seen them together? On some level, Sophie hoped they had. Yet the blowback for Jasmine could be s
erious. Damn! She really wanted to walk up to Jackson’s table and chat with the group about their investigations. But out of respect for her girlfriend, she followed her out the back door.

  Jasmine was already getting into her car and didn’t look back. Sophie pulled on her jacket against the cold and hurried down the alley to where she was parked on the street. Halfway there, her phone rang. She stopped and looked at the number, not recognizing it. But she was expecting a lot of return calls. “This is Sophie.”

  “The reporter?” The voice was male and gruff.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name isn’t important. What matters is that the damn state legislators grow some balls and put a stop to this marijuana nonsense.”

  Oh boy. Another crackpot. “Why are you calling me instead of your representative?”

  “Because the public needs to know. The poisonings won’t stop until they repeal the pot law.”

  Oh no. Her heart dropped into her stomach. He was the crazy person. Sophie turned back toward the restaurant, hoping to keep him talking. “Isn’t killing people a bit of an overreaction?”

  “How many people do you think will die if half the drivers on the road are stoned?” A little catch in his raspy voice.

  Was this personal for him? “We have a process for repeal. Your group should work within the law.” She walked as fast as she could. Jackson needed to hear this guy’s voice, his demands.

  “I’m not a group. Just a righteous man doing the right thing for this state.” He shifted into a matter-of-fact tone. “Tell the public and the legislators they need to act now and get that crap off the market. They need to call a special session and just do it.”

  “That all takes time. Are you going to keep poisoning people?” She fumbled in her bag for her recorder. If she could capture his voice, it could be used as evidence.

  “The pot is what’s poisoning people. But only I know what’s in the brownies. Tell ’em all that those people will die if the state doesn’t repeal this law immediately.”