Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 03 - Thrilled to Death (10 page)

He turned to the cyclist, who was practically bouncing with impatience. “What’s your name?”

“Kyle Larson.”

“Let me see your ID.”

Kyle handed him a well-worn state ID, the kind carried by people who don’t have a driver’s license. It matched the name he’d given.

“Tell me how you found the body.”

“I was biking home from a friend’s in Springfield, and I stopped here to put some air in my tire. It’s got a slow leak.” He pushed his hands through his thick, dirty-looking hair. Jackson guessed him to be about thirty. “I saw some legs on the ground by the blackberry bush. I walked over to see if the person was okay. She didn’t look hurt, but she didn’t look alive either.”

“Did you touch her?”

“No.” He shuddered. “I’ve never seen a dead person before, but I could tell. She was so pale and still, and there was a bug crawling on her face.”

Jackson had no reason to think he was lying. “What’s your phone number in case I have more questions?”

As he jotted down the number, he heard another vehicle pull up. “Thanks, you can go.”

A young woman on a bike came up the path from the river. She saw the line of cars on the asphalt, slowed to a stop, and called out, “Hey, I need to get through.”

Jackson moved toward her. “I’m sorry, but this is a police investigation. You’ll have to find another route.”

“That’s crazy. I work at the gift shop in the stadium and I have to be there in ten minutes.”

“Bike up to Alton Baker Park and come in that way.”

“Oh fuck.” She scowled dramatically before biking away.

Jackson tried not to let it bother him. During his two decades in the department, he’d noticed police officers commanded less respect than they used to. It disappointed him.

As Rob Schakowski walked up, his barrel-shaped body pushing the limits of his suit jacket, Jackson called over to Flaggert, “Will you get some crime scene tape up over here too? We need to keep people from coming up on this side.”

“That’s gonna piss off the cyclists, joggers, and bird watchers.” Schak grinned at the thought. “What have we got?”

“Dead female named Courtney Durham. Age twenty-one. Mother reported her missing yesterday. Last seen Monday night. No signs of blunt force trauma to the body, but bruises on the neck and mild abrasions on the wrists.”

Schak looked surprised, an expression he didn’t see often on his partner’s big blunt face. “Any relation to Dean Durham, the rich real estate tycoon?”

“His daughter. You didn’t see Elle Durham on the news last night?”

“No. I had to drive to Roseburg yesterday to get a statement and didn’t get back until late. Wow. Tough break for Mrs. Durham. First her husband, then her daughter.”

“She’ll blame the department.” Jackson let out a breath. “Let’s see if Gunderson has anything interesting to tell us.”

They left the asphalt path and crossed the now trampled grassy area. Gunderson was manipulating Courtney’s arm. “Rigor mortis is completely set in, so she’s been dead for at least eight hours.” The ME lifted Courtney’s hip and peeked down the back of her jeans, using a small flashlight. “Livor mortis on the back side, so she most likely died right here and has been lying on her back since.” He lowered her down. “I’m not going to get her temperature, because I don’t want to disturb her clothing. If she was out here all night when it cooled down, then she probably died around midnight, give or take a few hours.”

Twenty-four hours after she disappeared, Jackson thought.
Where had she been during that time? What circumstances had stolen her life?

“Could she have been killed elsewhere and dumped?”

“If the killer put her on her back right away and kept her on her back during transport, I suppose it’s possible.” Gunderson took pictures as he talked. “You’ll have to wait for the pathologist’s report. Those bruises on her neck don’t look like they could have killed her, but we won’t know until we cut her open and see if her hyoid bones are broken. Even if she got drunk or high and passed out, it wasn’t cold enough last night for her to freeze. Could be an overdose.” The ME put the camera aside and stood. “Help me lift her into a body bag.”

Jackson thought of the homeless man who’d frozen to death last winter a block from the Mission. He looked back at Courtney. It wasn’t often dead bodies revealed so little. He squatted next to her feet and waited for Gunderson to get into place. As Jackson wrapped his hands around her leather covered ankles, he noticed something on the sole of her boot. It looked like a little piece of tar. Had it come off the bike path? It seemed unlikely. Tar didn’t stick to shoes unless it was warm and soft. April in Eugene wasn’t warm enough to soften blacktop. Hell, August in Eugene was barely warm enough for that.

“Wait a sec,” Jackson said to the ME. He called to Parker who was on her knees, searching the area between the path and the body. “I need you to bag and tag something from her shoe.” He didn’t want the evidence to drop off during any of the transitions Courtney would go through in the next few hours.

Still squatting, Parker duck-walked the three-foot distance, her smooth face as expressionless as ever. “This little piece of black substance.” Jackson pointed at the boot.

“It looks like tar.”

“Get a sample of asphalt from the path and compare them. See if that’s the source. I have a feeling it’s not.” Jackson thought about the parking lot at Diego’s. Had it recently been repaved? He wished either he or Zapata had gone to Diego’s last night to ask around. Guilt had been picking at his conscience since he got the call from Lammers. Jackson pushed it aside. It had not been his case until this morning, and Robert Zapata had prioritized the cases responsibly.

“You ready?” Gunderson asked.

“Wait. She’s missing an earring.” Jackson scooted two feet sideways and looked at the single earring. It was long and dangly with little pieces of real turquoise embedded in a silver mesh. Jackson took a couple close-up shots of the earring, then scooted back while Parker shot images of Courtney’s head, showing the missing jewelry.

When Parker finished, he and Gunderson lifted the corpse off the wet grass and onto a large black body bag. Jackson inwardly cringed, feeling what her mother would feel when she saw Courtney in the morgue. He could never look at a lifeless young woman without thinking about Katie and how devastating it would be to have someone knock on his door and tell him his daughter was dead.

As they set her down, air escaped in a half-moan, half-burp sound. Startled, Jackson jerked back. Gunderson chucked. “Sometimes the dead like to get in one last word.”

Lara Evans walked up to the group. “Are you okay, Jackson?” She tried to sound casual. “You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine, but I need to take off soon and let you and Schak finish up here.”

“Okay. What’s left?”

“Search the immediate area. We seem to have a missing cell phone. Talk to people at the stadium, see if we have any witnesses.” Evans made notes, but she didn’t need to. She would remember it all and think of things he hadn’t.

“When do we meet up?”

“Probably around six. I’ll call you.”

Another car pulled up. The driver had the good sense to park off the path and not block everyone in. Jim Trang, an assistant DA, climbed out and headed toward them. Of course the DA’s office had sent someone. With a high profile case like the daughter of Dean and Elle Durham, the people in power would be watching everything. Jackson accepted that he wasn’t leaving the area any time soon. He hoped his kidneys could take it.

Suddenly Schak called out, “Look at this.” Jackson jogged in his direction. Schak held up a round disk-shaped object that looked purple.

“What is it?”

“It looks like an asthma inhaler. It was under her body.”

Chapter 12

Diego’s was the closet thing Eugene had to a smutty nightclub, and even then, it was only occasionally risqué. Most evenings it was just another bar catering to the young and adventurous, but a couple times a year it hosted a ball for people in black leather and dog collars who liked to be spanked in public. Oddly enough, the police were rarely called out to the club, unlike other drinking establishments where fights broke out every weekend.

Jackson pulled into the large shared parking lot behind the building, noticing how empty it seemed. Downtown Eugene had been in decline before the recession, but now it seemed abandoned in places. He strode up the alley and into the club, which was tucked in between a Greyhound station and a Thai restaurant. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright daylight to the dark interior. The club had a long mirror behind the bar, a disco ball over the dance floor, and red velvet-like cloth on the walls. Jackson headed straight for the narrow hall in the back. The retail space had housed many different businesses over the years and he hadn’t been in the building since long before it was a nightclub, but the location of the bathrooms never changed.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender was a late thirty-something male trying to pass for twenty. His spandex pullover was so tight his nipples showed and his platinum hair was not a color anyone had ever been born with.

“Just information.” Jackson showed his badge, something he rarely did. “Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I need to know if you’ve seen this young woman.” He caught himself from saying ‘girl.’

As Jackson reached in his carryall for Courtney’s photo, the bartender glanced over at an older man seated at the end of the counter. Jackson looked over too, then made a mental note: medium build, salt-and-pepper hair, thin face, and black trench coat. “Who’s that?” He nodded in the gentleman’s direction.

The bartender shrugged. “Just a customer. I wanted to make sure he didn’t need anything.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jason Speggel.” He stared at the photo. “I’ve seen her. She comes in a couple times a month.”

“When did you see her last?”

Jason worked his mouth around while he thought about it. “Couple nights ago?”

“Be specific. This is important.”

“Is she okay?” He glanced at Courtney’s photo again.

“What night was she here?”

“Monday.” He snapped his fingers. “Of course. Monday is Ladies Night. Drinks are half price and the cocktail servers are guys.”

“How late was she here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Who would know?”

“I think Alec was working that section where she and her posse were sitting. He might know.”

“First, I need Alec’s phone number, then I want to know about the posse.”

The bartender looked at the clock behind the bar. It was 4:45. “Alec will be here in about ten minutes. Or so.”

“Tell me about the posse.”

“It’s a bunch of rich-bitch party girls. One of them is named Madison, and I only know that because someone screamed her name Monday night when she came in. They were already half drunk.”

“How late does the group usually stay?”

He shrugged. “Alec would know.”

Another patron sat down at the bar and Jason looked relieved. “Excuse me,” he said, moving away. “I’ve got a customer.”

Jackson perched on the nearest bar stool and filled in details on the sketchy notes he’d been taking. He was not optimistic he’d learn anything from Alec either. This may not have been Courtney’s last stop for the evening. She could have gone to another club or to a private party. Jackson wrote,
Find the cab driver
, at the top of his notepad.

Jackson ordered a cup of coffee, then called Katie and Kera and left them both messages. It would be a long night and he would likely work straight through it. He was relieved it was Renee and Katie’s regular visitation day. For now, his daughter spent every other weekend at Renee’s, plus every Wednesday night. Jackson was still skeptical his ex-wife’s sobriety would last, but it was a relief to get a break. Being a full-time single parent and a homicide detective had overwhelmed him at times. Jackson had even considered resigning from the department and taking a DA investigator position with regular hours.

A guy who looked a lot like the bartender, only actually young, breezed into the club and called out, “Hey, Jason, note that I’m on time. You said it couldn’t happen.” He walked behind the bar and poured himself a soda from the fountain.

“Are you Alec?”

“Who wants to know?” The kid gave Jackson a playful grin.
Was Alec coming on to him?

“Detective Jackson, violent crimes. I need to talk to you about one of your Monday night customers.”

“Violent crimes, huh?”

“Let’s go over to a table.”

Once they were seated, Jackson showed him the photo.

Alec smiled. “That’s Courtney.” Then it hit him. “Oh no. What happened?”

“You tell me. Who was she with? When did she leave? Did anyone leave with her?”

Alec swallowed hard. “She was with her usual group. I only know Madison Atwell and Zoey Kingsley. The other two are kind of new. I think Courtney left around midnight, but I’m not sure. Most of the others had already left. I saw Courtney dancing, then about ten minutes later, I cleared their table.”

“Who was she dancing with?”

“Some guy I’d never seen before.”

“Describe him.”

“About five-eleven and very lean. Blond hair, kind of long, but a nice face. He was wearing jeans and a black button-up shirt.” Alec leaned forward. “Please tell me what happened to Courtney.”

Jackson decided he had no reason to withhold the information. “She’s dead. If she was a friend of yours, I’m sorry for your loss. But I need to keep asking questions. Do you know if any of her friends live over by Autzen Stadium?”

Alec blinked rapidly and seemed unable to speak.

“Are you okay?”

“Sort of.” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t know her personally, or any of them, except as customers. I only know last names because some of them pay with a credit card. I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to look at credit card receipts for Monday night.”

“There’s no names on them.”

“I want to see the times.”

Jason, the bartender, unlocked a small office off behind the bar and looked around for the receipts while the owner directed the search via a cell phone. Once they’d located the stack of paperwork, Alec, the cocktail server, thumbed through the pile.