Dying for Justice (12 page)

Chapter 15

Wednesday, September 8, 7:55 a.m.

Evans crossed the breezeway, feeling apprehensive. She had a nasty headache, an abrasion on her cheek near her hairline, and her bruised knees hurt with every step. After booking Bekker into jail, she’d spent hours in the ER at Jackson’s insistence, waiting for a CAT scan of her head, which revealed nothing. He’d come with her to the hospital, making it bearable, but she hadn’t slept well or had enough coffee yet this morning. She worried that Bekker’s attack would somehow be used against her.

Jackson had called Lammers from the jail to update her, and their boss had set up an early morning meeting. The conference was being held in the building next door, which housed internal affairs, and Evans felt out of her element. She straightened her posture, tightened her face to mask her pain, and entered the small gray meeting room.

A tall, gorgeous man with a shaved head stood and smiled warmly. Evans’ heart took a little leap.
Who was this?

“Hello. I’m Ben Stricklyn, internal affairs.” He reached out to shake her hand.

“Detective Lara Evans, violent crimes.” She smiled, hoping he wouldn’t notice the lump on the side of her head.

“That looks like it hurts. Are you okay?”

Reflexively, she touched her facial abrasion. “I’m fine. You should see the other guy.” It was lame, but they both laughed and sat down. Evans was pleased to have a cushioned chair instead of the hard chairs they used next door.

Lammers burst into the room, sucking up the moment with her built-in tension. “Where’s Jackson? He’s supposed to be here too.”

“I’m sure he’s coming.” Evans wished she’d stopped for coffee, but she’d been running late after a rough night and didn’t have time.

“Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover.” Lammers grabbed a chair at the end of the table. “Despite last night’s incident, we still have to keep the investigations involving Bekker as secure as possible. It’s imperative that neither of you discuss these cases with anyone else in the department.” Lammers looked at Stricklyn. “You especially can’t talk to your IA partner and you’ll know why in a moment.”

Jackson hurried into the room and slid into a chair as the sergeant spoke. Lammers paused, gave him a look, then continued. “Much to my disappointment, Sergeant Gary Bekker is suspected of sexual coercion, attempted murder, and now assaulting an officer.”

“He’s been accused of assaulting a detainee as well,” Jackson added.

“Yes, but considering the magnitude of the other charges, that incident is not our focus.”

“Rick Santori was involved in that interrogation,” Jackson said, turning to Stricklyn. “That’s why he can’t participate in the investigation of Bekker.”

“Santori assaulted a suspect?” Stricklyn looked skeptical.

“Eleven years ago,” Jackson said. “Santori and Bekker were assigned to investigate the murder of Clark and Evelyn Jackson. They picked up Hector Vargas, a handyman who worked for the Jacksons, and according to Vargas, they kept him detained for three days without food. They verbally and physically abused him until he confessed to murder.”

“This is disturbing,” Stricklyn said. “It must be especially difficult for you.”

“They also failed to properly investigate the crime,” Jackson answered. “Now the case is cold and some of the evidence is missing. I’d like to see them held accountable.”

They discussed the Vargas situation for a few minutes and Stricklyn said he would make a trip to the prison to interview the inmate. Evans waited for them to come back around to her case.

“Interrogating Bekker while he’s in custody is a priority,” Lammers said. “We’ll strategize about that in a minute. But first, Evans will bring everyone up to date on her attempted homicide investigation.”

Evans launched into her prepared statement, giving a brief summary of her conversations with Gina’s parents and neighbors and described her visits to Bekker’s sexual victims. “As I left Joni Farmer’s apartment, Gary Bekker attacked me.”

“Bekker did that to you?” Stricklyn’s mouth dropped open and he reached over and grabbed Evans’ arm.

His touch gave her a jolt of pleasure. She met his eyes briefly and kept talking. “Bekker struck me in the head with his baton, bashed my face into the side of my car, and pressed his forearm against my throat.” Evans fought to keep her emotions in check. “But I prevailed and arrested him. He’s in the county jail.”

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 happened 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.”