Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death Page 3

  Her computer was still on from that morning, so she opened her Facebook page. She’d created the page at the urging of one of her co-workers, feeling a little silly about it at the time, then let it sit for a month or so. Recently, she’d been using the site, making friends, and communicating with people, including Danette. Kera hoped Danette’s page might give her a clue.

  She typed Danette’s name into the search bar and when her page came up, the first thing Kera checked was her last status update. At 10:15 the night before, Danette had posted: This baby won’t go to sleep and it’s making me crazy. The previous post at 2:06 yesterday afternoon said: Micah is napping and I get to be a person for a few minutes!!!

  Kera scrolled down through a few more posts and got distracted by pictures of Micah. He looked so much like Nathan as a baby. Kera wondered if her grandson would still look like his father as he got older. If he did, would it be joyful or painful for her? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Kera forced herself back to the task.

  Danette’s picture jumped out from the top left corner. She was striking, with prominent wide cheekbones, irises so dark you couldn’t tell where the pupils stopped, and a full mouth that needed no lipstick. Few people would call her cute, but no one could walk past Danette without noticing her. Jackson had commented once that Danette was a darker-toned version of herself and that was probably why Nathan had been attracted to her.

  She moved down the page and clicked open Danette’s friend list, hoping to find a dark-haired young man named Chad. He was not in the list of ninety-seven. She clicked open the pages of the last four friends who had commented on Danette’s page and posted the same message: Have you seen or heard from Danette today? Do you know where she is? If so, please e-mail my FB page. Kera would have liked to hear from them in person, but she didn’t dare post her phone number on an open Internet page.

  The baby cried out, making her jump out of her chair. Kera rushed to the living room. Micah was still on his blanket in the playpen and hadn’t been awake long enough to work up a good wail. She picked him up and headed straight for the diaper bag. How long before she had to go out and buy baby supplies?

  Kera fixed a bottle of formula and carried Micah into her office. It was tricky with the baby in her lap, but she managed to check her Facebook e-mail and was pleased to see she had already heard from a young woman named Melissa. Unfortunately, Melissa had nothing to add to the situation but panic. (OMG!!) Kera spent a few minutes responding and soothing the woman’s fears. That was the dilemma. By asking around, she was spreading the worry. If Danette waltzed in an hour later, safe and sound, Kera would feel guilty about getting everyone stirred up over nothing.

  This wasn’t nothing. Jackson sensed it too or he wouldn’t have made all the effort this afternoon.

  Kera called Danette’s mother again. “Margaret, it’s Kera. Have you heard anything?”

  “I called everyone I could remember Danette has hung out with in the last year. No one has seen her or heard from her.” Mrs. Blake sounded as distressed as Kera felt.

  “Unless you think Danette will show up at your house, you’re welcome to come to Eugene and stay with me while we figure this out.” Margaret lived in Corvallis, another college town about thirty miles away. “I know how hard it is to be alone when you’re worried about your child.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind. If I can arrange for some time off work, I might do that.”

  After they hung up, Kera started thinking about Danette’s computer and what she might learn by checking her e-mail. Jackson had already been inside the house, so it must be easy to get in. Kera called him, but he didn’t pick up, so she left a message. He was probably home by now, having dinner with Katie. Kera suppressed a little pang of jealousy. Jackson needed alone time with his daughter. That’s what made him a great guy.

  Chapter 5

  Jackson entered Sergeant Lammers’ office and braced himself for an argument. The big woman smiled. “Jackson, how are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” Her niceness worried him.

  “What did your doctor say?”

  “He thinks I’m constipated.”

  “He says you’re full of shit?” She burst out laughing.

  Jackson returned the grin. “Aren’t we all?”

  The sergeant got control, smiled again. Denise Lammers was two hundred pounds of muscle and ambition. Even when she looked happy, she was still intimidating. “Do you have the doctor’s report?”

  “The office faxed it over. It was addressed to you.”

  “I haven’t seen it, but if you say you’re ready to take on big cases, I’ll send them your way. You still have the best homicide clearance rate in the department.”

  “Thank you. Is that all?”

  “Actually, I have a request.”

  Jackson’s bowels churned. “What is it?”

  “I want you to do an interview with a reporter. Take her around with you for a day and show her what the job is like.”

  Now he understood the smile and hated her for it. “Why me? Why not Evans or Quince? They both like that kind of thing.”

  “She asked for you.”

  Oh shit. A squeezing pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced shot through his left kidney. “Why is this necessary?”

  “It will be great PR for us. An in-depth story about how the homicide department solves cases. The reporter may even turn it into a book.”

  “We don’t need that kind of publicity.”

  Lammers slammed her meaty fist against the desk. “Yes we do! We are in a funding crisis like never before. The county releases criminals from the jail as fast as we arrest them, and the public is fed up. But the damn taxpayers won’t approve bonds to increase the budget. The best thing this department has going for it is our homicide clearance rate. We might as well showcase the part we get right.” She whacked the desk again, a little less vigorously. “It’s an interview, Jackson. She earned the right. Just fucking do it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jackson left the room. As he strode down the hall, his chest tightened. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Even more than he hated the idea of spending a day with Sophie Speranza, reporter for the Willamette News, he hated being ordered to do so. This was not in his job description.

  He felt the other detectives in the crowded room watching him as he strode toward his desk. It was that point in the late afternoon when they had people from both shifts milling about. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He needed a moment to process. Burying his face in his computer screen so no one would come up to him, Jackson tried to work his mind around the situation. Sophie had broken open a case in February by interviewing assault victims and finding the link between them, so he owed her something. This would be a chance to pay her back. The slate would be clean and he wouldn’t have to take her calls anymore.

  “Jackson, are you okay?” Evans voice was suddenly there. Jackson opened his eyes, not realizing he’d even closed them.

  “I’m fine.”

  From the look on Evans’ face, she didn’t believe him. “What did the doctor say?”

  How the hell did everyone know he’d been to the doctor? “I’m fine.” He stared hard, hoping she would back off. She was the newest detective in the unit and had been assigned to work with him a year ago as a training experience. Evans had quickly proved to be a resourceful investigator. As a bonus, her heart-shaped face, bright blue eyes, and tight body were a nice change of pace from looking at Schakowski. “How’s your case going?”

  “Don’t change the subject. The doctor said you’re fine, now what did Lammers want? You looked so pissed coming out of there, it has to be major.”

  “She wants me to give Sophie Speranza an interview, take her around with me for a day.”

  Evans started to laugh, then stopped. “I’m sorry. It won’t be that bad. Let me know if I can help.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll call Sophie now and set it up. Might as well get it over with while I don’t have a big ca
se hanging.”

  “I thought you were working on a missing persons case.”

  Crap. Just because he’d been to see his doctor twice in the last ten days didn’t mean everyone had to know his every movement. He was fine! Out loud he said, “Danette dropped her baby off with Kera this morning and never came back. We have no idea what’s going on.”

  “That’s pretty weird. Her baby’s only a few months old.”

  “Danette may be just taking a break. It’s tough being a single mom.”

  “Again, let me know if I can help. I’m still interviewing witnesses in the bar shooting, but I have a confession so the hard work is over.”

  “Thanks.”

  Evans went back to her workspace, about six feet away. The big open room was crammed full of desks, and the workstations were grouped by unit: burglary/theft, violent crimes, and special investigations. Narrow walkways lined with filing cabinets separated the clusters. The only bright spot was a bank of windows along the outside wall, but the vertical wooden beams surrounding the building ruined the view.

  After staring at his phone for a full minute, Jackson called Sophie.

  She sounded surprised to hear from him. “Thanks, Jackson. I’m so excited about this opportunity.”

  “Can we do it tomorrow? I happen to have some free time, and who knows when it will happen again.”

  “Sure. I can arrange that. How early can I come in? I’d like to spend most of the day.”

  “Be here at ten o’clock and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “See you then.”

  Jackson dreaded the interview most of all. He hated answering questions. He could ask them all day, but it was not in his nature to respond to probing. He shut off his computer, filed his paperwork from the assault case, and headed out.

  On his way to pick up Katie from drill team practice, the pain flamed near his kidney again. This time it was so bad he had to pull off into a store parking lot. He waited ten minutes for the burning to subside, then called his ex-wife.

  “Renee? I need you to do me a favor and pick up Katie and take her to your place.”

  “Are you working a homicide?”

  “I’m going to the emergency room.”

  “Seriously? In the sixteen years we were married, you never saw a doctor except for your annual physical.”

  “Maybe I should have. Tell Katie I’m fine. I just need to get an MRI, so I know what’s going on.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  Jackson realized he’d never told Katie or Renee about his flare-ups. Only Kera and Sergeant Lammers knew the specifics. “I’ve had this pain in my lower abdomen off and on for months.” He decided to keep the chest-tightening symptom to himself. “Don’t worry. My doctor thinks it’s nothing.”

  “Keep us posted, okay? Katie will worry if you don’t call.”

  Jackson started his cruiser and headed across the downtown area to North McKenzie. He’d spent plenty of time at the hospital over the years, usually waiting to question a victim or a witness, but he’d never been a patient. This morning when Kera said he might have a growth, it had been a wake up call. What if this was cancer? It felt like it had invaded his kidneys. Nobody survived kidney cancer. What if he had waited too long?

  Jackson thought about his last will and testament, which hadn’t been updated in a long time. As a patrol cop, he’d been encouraged to keep his affairs in order. The first responders to a situation were always more at risk. Oh, damn. Was Renee still his beneficiary? He would have to change that and ensure his life insurance money went into a trust for Katie.

  The downtown hospital was only a block from the University of Oregon, and the side-by-side institutions were major employers and life forces in the community. North McKenzie was building a new hospital on the outskirts of Springfield, so the dynamic would change and not for the better. Jackson found a parking space on the first floor of the overpark across the street. Grateful for the short walk, he tried not to hold his gut or wince as he hobbled in.

  The glass-walled waiting area in the ER was moderately quiet. Jackson only counted three people who looked miserable enough to be checked in for services: a young man with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand, an older woman who kept putting her head in her lap, and a little boy with fever-pink cheeks who slept against his mother. The others waiting in the hard plastic chairs were keeping company.

  Jackson sat in one of the little cubicles at the check-in counter. A thirty-something woman in purple scrubs with deadpan delivery asked him twenty-seven questions: When was your last bowel movement? Are you here because you want pain medication? Have you ever been tested for HIV?

  He was glad he wasn’t bleeding, because she was in no hurry to get him back to see a doctor. After fifteen minutes with the Questioner, he took a seat near the dizzy old woman. Jackson knew he should call Kera, but he hesitated. She was already worried about Danette and he hated to add to her stress. Yet his cell phone was in his hand and he felt an overwhelming need to hear her voice.

  “Hi Kera. Any news?”

  “Not yet. I even got on Facebook and contacted some of Danette’s friends. It’s almost seven o’clock. This is not a case of a young woman stealing a few hours of free time.”

  He could hear her effort not to sound panicked. “You’re probably right, but it could still be a case of a young woman escaping the responsibilities of parenthood. There’s no reason to assume she’s in danger.”

  “I want to get inside her house and get on her computer. I need to find Chad’s last name so you can run a background check.”

  Jackson lowered his voice. “It’s not a good idea. What if Danette is in trouble? What if the perpetrators come to her house looking for something? You could be in danger.”

  A pause. “I hadn’t thought about that. What could Danette be involved in?”

  “Drugs come to mind.”

  “She’s not a user. I would know.”

  “She does need money, and there’s money in running drugs.”

  “I don’t believe it.” In the background, Micah started to wail. Kera said, “I’ve got to go. Call me later.” She got off the phone.

  Jackson wanted to wail too. The hot-knife pain that used to come and go was now constant and nailing him on both sides. If both kidneys hurt, it probably wasn’t cancer.

  Jackson looked around to see if anyone had been called back while he was on the phone. The young man with the bloody hand was gone. Had he got tired of waiting?

  Two hours later, he climbed on a table and closed his eyes as they slid him into a big square machine with a round hole in the middle. The ER doctor, a thin man with an Indian accent, had ordered a CAT scan. When Jackson had mentioned his primary care physician’s theory about constipation, Dr. Malik looked alarmed. “That is nonsense.”

  Two hours after that, Dr. Malik came into the little exam room where Jackson was stretched out on the narrow table trying to nap. He sat up, pulling the thin blanket with him. The doctor looked distressed. Jackson’s heart missed a beat. “Mr. Jackson, I think I know what’s going on.”

  “Yeah?” His heart slammed so hard he expected the doctor to hear it. “What have I got?”

  Dr. Malik pulled up a rolling stool and sat close to the exam table. He held out CAT scan images for Jackson to view. “Do you see these white swirls here?”

  All Jackson saw was a big black-and-white mess, but he nodded. They’d given him a painkiller earlier. It hadn’t done much for the hot knife feeling, but his brain was a little fuzzy.

  “We’re looking down from your skull into your abdomen. The round area in the middle is your aorta, and the white swirls are a fibrotic growth. I consulted with a local urologist and we believe it’s retroperitoneal fibrosis. You’ve probably had it a long time.”

  Jackson’s hand went to his heart. It wasn’t cancer, but it sounded serious. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Is it going to get me?”

  “That’s hard to say. It’s very thick around your aorta,
but it doesn’t seem to be growing over your heart.”

  “Why do my kidneys hurt?”

  “Because this growth goes around your aorta all the way down to the top of your legs. See here?” The doctor held up another black-and-white image and pointed at something. “These are your ureters. The fibrosis is strangling them and preventing your kidneys from draining properly. You’re lucky because I’ve seen this disease before even though it’s very rare. Most ER doctors wouldn’t have any idea what this is.”

  Jackson tried to feel lucky. “What do we do now?”

  “Step one. We put stents into your ureters to open them up.” The doctor used his fingers and his clipped Indian accent to outline the plan. “Step two. You make an appointment to see a urologist and a cardiologist.”

  “Can you give me a clue? Is this thing reversible?”

  “The growth can often be controlled with steroids, but you will likely need surgery to free the ureters from the fibrosis.”

  “There’s no cure?”

  “No, but you may be able to live with it for quite some time.” Dr. Malik gave him a grim smile. “Sometimes, but not often, it goes into remission.”

  “Will I be functional and able to work?”

  “Most likely.”

  Jackson reached for his pants. He’d heard all he could process in one sitting.

  “You’re not going home yet.”

  “No?”

  “We have to put stents in right now or you’ll lose your kidneys.”

  Jackson tried to imagine how they would get stents into his urinary channels. Oh God. Nauseated, he lay back down.

  “We can give you anesthesia so you’re unconscious, but it’s really not necessary. It’s a very simple procedure.”

  Right. Why would he want to be unconscious while they shoved little plastic tubes into his penis? Jackson suppressed a moan. The anesthesia would take too much time before and after. He needed to get this over with and get going. He had a missing person to find.

  “You can give me something though, can’t you? Maybe a mild tranquilizer?”