Dying for Justice (21 page)

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.” Evans projected more confidence than she felt. She wished Jackson had come with her. “Does the lawyer, Michael Walburg, have relatives or partners I could talk to?”

“I don’t know.” Sharon shook her head. “It was so long ago.”

Evans stood, eager to get moving. “Will you help me by looking to see if Gina has more paperwork here? If she was looking for her birth parents, she should have some documents.”

“Maybe her biological mother contacted her,” George said quietly. “The search goes both ways.”

“Maybe.” Evans thought about what Gina had written. “The letter sounds like it was written to someone she’d never had contact with.”

“We can look at the stuff we put in her room,” George suggested to his wife. The old couple pushed themselves up from the table and moved toward the hall.

“We took some of Gina’s things out of the boxes and set them up for her in the guest room,” Sharon said. “We wanted to make her feel at home.”

The pain in the mother’s face made Evans ache to look at her. She stepped into the bedroom where she’d grabbed boxes from the night before.

“There are some things stacked in the closet,” George said. “Let’s look at those.”

One box held mixing bowls and old cooking pots and another was filled with Christmas ornaments. “We stopped decorating for Christmas after Gina was hospitalized,” Sharon murmured, as she held up a string of lights.

“I just remembered something,” George said. “We threw out a bunch of Gina’s papers after the cat peed in a box. We had to.”

“Oh yeah, Stinky Boy.” Sharon let out a sigh. “He was our last cat.”

Evans, who had no use for cats, kept her comments to herself. They opened every box and every plastic tub in the room but found nothing with information. Discouraged, she asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about the young mother? Or the lawyer who handled the adoption?”

Sharon tried to be helpful. “Mr. Walburg told us the young woman went to his church and her parents were very religious and didn’t want her to keep the child.

“But you never knew the mother’s name?”

“Oh no.”

Evans accepted that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of the visit. “I’ve got to get back to the department for a meeting. Please call me if you remember anything else.”

She moved toward the door and Sharon followed, saying, “Gina’s memorial service is on Saturday at ten at the Unitarian Church. Will you come?”

“I will.” Evans disliked funerals, but she wanted to pay her respects to Gina. Also, they were part of her job. Killers often attended their victim’s funeral, so it was important to see who would show up. She said goodbye and left the house.

As she passed the bloodstain in the driveway, she wondered:
What secret could Gina’s biological mother or father have been willing to kill for?

Chapter 26

Thursday, September 9, 9:20 a.m.

Jackson tossed his pastry wrapper and started reading through his case notes. With food in his stomach and a second cup of coffee priming his bloodstream, he felt a little less weary. Still, working two cases at the same time was taking a toll, and his brain felt cluttered. He leaned his desk chair back, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind. It wasn’t exactly meditation, but in some non-tangible way, the practice helped him prioritize information. Afterward, he would often make a connection he hadn’t seen before. Sometimes, it just gave him a mental rest.

He drifted for about ten minutes, until he heard someone call his name. He quickly opened his eyes.

“What have you got on Gina’s Stahl’s murder?” Lammers towered over him, arms crossed. “The media keeps calling our PR person and she’d like to give a statement.”

“She can tell the press we’ll soon have a sketch drawing of the shooter. The man who sold him the van was supposed to come in this morning to work with the sketch artist.” Jackson looked at his watch: 8:55. He wondered if Joel Greer had shown up.
Crap
. Why hadn’t he remembered to call him?

“Excellent. What else have you got?” Lammers grabbed a chair from an empty nearby desk, pulled it over, and plopped down. A little tension left the room.

“We have a bullet casing from the shooting scene and Evans found the perp’s ski mask on the bike path.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“We dug through the victim’s personal papers last night and found an old letter that looked like a possible blackmail threat.”

“No shit? Who was blackmailing her?”

Jackson shook his head. “Gina wrote a letter asking to borrow twenty grand, but we don’t know who the recipient was. Or if she ever sent such a letter. Evans is talking to Gina’s parents now.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

“A state trooper brought in a suspect in my parents’ case. I had to question him.”

Lammers stared at him for a long moment. “You need to focus on Gina’s murder. The TV stations will be all over it tonight and the public will want it solved. Make this case your priority. In fact, call in Schakowski to help. ”

Jackson kept his face impassive, but his chest tightened. “You’re the boss.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your other case, just put it on a back burner for now.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s get the sketch of this guy to the media as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll call Greer now.”

Lammers shoved the chair back to its desk and strode off. Jackson reached for his phone, then realized he didn’t have Joel Greer’s number. Evans had been the one to contact the Explorer’s owner. His realized this must be what it was like sometimes for his team members when they worked his cases. The difference was he was always the one who had to answer to the sergeant.

As he started to call Evans, his phone rang. “This is Officer Rice. I’ve been working with Joel Greer this morning to create a sketch of yesterday’s shooter. Why don’t you come see what we’ve got.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Jackson hustled down the hall to a cubicle near the missing persons office. Officer Rice, who looked like she could win a body-building contest, sat next to a young man with a long braid and large hoops in his earlobes. He reeked of incense and wore a t-shirt that said
Live in the moment
. Jackson tried not to scowl.

“Detective Jackson, this is Joel Greer.” Rice gestured at the young man. “He sold the Ford Explorer to your suspect.”

They both nodded but didn’t shake hands. “Thanks for coming in.”

Rice held out a piece of white drawing paper. “It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”

The suspect was older than most of the criminals Jackson dealt with, but still an attractive person with a narrow face and a strong chin. Rice had drawn him with sunglasses and a hat because that’s how Greer had seen him. Jackson’s heart sank. Without the eyes or hair, there just wasn’t enough to identify him.

He caught Greer’s attention. “Do you feel confident this is a good likeness?”

The witness cocked his head. “There’s something still not right about it.”

Jackson visualized Bekker. “Are his cheeks fuller here?” He pointed to the area under the eyes.

“No. I think the mouth is wrong in this sketch, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Did you see his teeth? Jackson asked. “Anything noteworthy?”

Greer sat up a little straighter. “Now that you mention it, he had perfect teeth. Like someone with caps or dentures.”

Officer Rice grabbed the sketch and erased the bottom half of the suspect’s face. She was an artist and preferred to work by hand, rather than use software. She drew it again, this time with more fullness, especially around the mouth. Rice held the drawing for Greer to see. “This is how he looks with dentures.”

“That’s much better,” Greer said.

Jackson smiled. “Good work. Thanks, both of you.” He shook Greer’s hand, feeling better about the young man. He turned to Officer Rice. “Can I take this?”

“Of course.”

Jackson took the image to the department’s spokesperson and media liaison. She made several copies for him to take with him, then said she would fax the sketch to all three TV stations and the local paper.

When he arrived back at his desk, he discovered a stack of faxed newspaper clippings on his chair. The top one was dated September 2, 2000. Sophie had done the favor he’d asked and sent him significant stories from the weeks before his parents’ murders. Jackson set them on his desk, started to read the top story, then pushed the stack off to the side. Lammers had instructed him to focus on Gina’s shooting. His parents’ case would have to wait.

He opened a Word document and began to key in his handwritten notes, starting with the evidence: .
38 copper bullet casing and ski mask (both at crime lab).
He checked his watch: 12:05. Probably too soon to call the lab and ask for anything. Next, he made notes about the vehicle used in the shooting:
1996 dark green Ford Explorer, purchased at noon the day of the shooting, from a resident on Clark Street.

Was the location significant? When Evans had asked Greer if the buyer had called first, he said he hadn’t advertised the vehicle in the paper, only put a sign in the window and parked it on the street. That meant the shooter had seen the vehicle for sale while passing by. Did he live in the neighborhood? A little hum of adrenaline thrummed in his spine. If someone recognized the man in the sketch and his address was nearby, that would be enough to get a subpoena for his DNA. Juries loved circumstantial evidence that added up and made their decision easier.

As Jackson finished keying in his notes, Evans strode up. “You should have come with me to the Stahls.” Vibrating with excitement, she grabbed his shoulder. “Gina was adopted. I think the blackmail note was written to her biological parent.”

Jackson tried to remember what the note said. “That seems like a leap.”

Evans pulled up a chair the way Lammers had earlier, set her shoulder bag on it, and dug out Gina’s practice letter. She shoved the paper at him. “Read it again, then let’s meet in the conference room. I’ll be right back.” She headed off in the direction of the restroom.

Jackson reread the note.
I’ve known who you are for years and never contacted you. I’m writing now because I need your help. My health has been poor and I’ve run up a lot of medical bills. I was also unable to work for a while. If you could loan me $20,000, I would be deeply grateful and keep your secret forever.

The salutation was scratched out but it may have originally been two words.
Dear Mother?
Jackson pulled a magnifying glass from his drawer and looked more closely. The first letter in the second word was an
F
.
Dear Father
? The signature had been crossed out as well. He held the magnifier over it and decided it had once said:
Your daughter, Gina
. Jackson now thought Evans’ theory was probably correct. Gina had contacted her biological father for money. Had that been the trigger?

He ordered sandwiches from a nearby deli and headed for the conference room. On the way, he called Schak and left a message: “I’m working yesterday’s shooting and Lammers said to round up some help. If you’ve got time, check in with me. Evans and I are meeting now.”

He set his file and notebook on the table, grateful for the new furnishing. Still, the conference room was too small for comfort and he couldn’t wait to move into their new headquarters on Coburg Road. A year of remodeling had to take place first.

Evans hurried in behind him. “It’s strange having a meeting with just us,” she said. “Should I take the board?”

“Please do.” Jackson slid into a chair, suddenly feeling bone tired after three nights of little sleep. “Lammers said to get help on the case so I called Schak. I think we’ll use him to put up pictures of the perp in the neighborhood where he bought the vehicle.”

“You think someone might have seen him around?”

“I think he might live or work in the neighborhood. Greer said he didn’t advertise the Explorer, so our shooter must have seen the For Sale sign while passing by.”

“Good thinking. Clark is not exactly a main street.” Evans drew a line down the middle of the five-foot dry-erase board. On one side, she wrote
2009 assault/overdose
, and on the other side she wrote
2011 shooting
.

“Do you think we have two perpetrators?”

“Not really, but we do have two assaults and two sets of evidence. I think it makes sense to keep them separate, even though it’s the same victim.” She looked at him for approval.

“Makes sense.” He watched Evans list everything she knew about both assaults. She had a methodical mind, nice penmanship, and a great ass. He could do a lot worse for a partner. He noticed
camera footage
in the first column. “What film do you have?”

She turned to face him. “Gina’s apartment complex had a security camera at the gate. I tracked down the footage and dropped it off with Joe.”

“What’s he looking for?”

“A red Chevy truck. That’s what Bekker drives. Or a man in a ski mask.”

“We need to get this sketch over to the lab right away.” Jackson slid the oversized paper out of his folder.

Evans came around the table and stood next to him, scrutinizing the suspect’s face. Her hip brushed against his arm and Jackson lost his train of thought.

The desk officer knocked on the door and stepped in with two white bags. “You ordered sandwiches?” He set down their lunch, gave a mock salute, and turned to leave.

“Thanks,” Jackson called after him. He grabbed a diet Pepsi, popped the top, and took a long pull.

Evans kept studying the sketch. “How old would you say the perp is?”

“Fifty-five or so. Maybe older.”

“It’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?”

“Somewhat. Remember the Waddling Bandit? He was seventy.” Jackson pointed to the blackmail note. “I think Gina wrote this to her biological father. Look at the first letter.” He handed Evans the magnifier, wishing she’d move one step away.

Evans looked at the salutation and closing line. “You’re right. Shit.” She tapped the magnifier in her palm. “So Gina tried to squeeze money out of her biological father by promising to keep his secret.” Evans began to pace. “But what secret? The fact that he had daughter no one knew about?”

“It must be bigger than that if killed her over it.” Jackson could not imagine anyone killing their own child for any reason.

“How did she find out his secret? When and how did she discover he was her father?” Evans paced in front of the board as she talked. “Gina’s parents say she wasn’t interested in knowing her biological parents. They said she never looked for her mother.”

“She may have told them that to spare their feelings.” Jackson gestured at the lunch bags. “Why don’t you sit down and have a sandwich?”

Evans ignored him. “We have to find Gina’s mother, the young woman who gave her up for adoption.”

“What do you know about her?

Evans turned to the board and wrote:
Underage? Family knew lawyer, Michael Walburg.

“Have you contacted the lawyer?” Jackson asked between bites.

“He’s dead. The adoption took place in 1965.

“Who’s dead?” Schak sauntered in, a little grin playing on his face.

“An old lawyer,” Jackson said. “I’m glad you’re here.” He would tell him about the poster assignment a little later.

“We’ve got a pool going on whether Bekker shot his ex-wife,” Schak said. “I bet against the trend and said he didn’t do it, so you’d better tell me you have a new suspect.”

“We do.” Jackson slid the sketch over as Schak sat down.

“Sweet deal.” Schak snapped his fingers. “I’m long overdue for a win.” He studied the image. “This nose and mouth looks kind of familiar, but the name isn’t coming to me.” Schak glanced at Evans. “Are you going to eat that sandwich?”

“I’ll split it with you.”

Jackson studied the sketch again and didn’t get a feel for the man at all. He spent five minutes bringing Schak up to date while they ate their turkey on whole wheat.

“Boy, this dude really wanted her dead,” Schak said. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re trying to figure out how to track down a private adoption from forty-six years ago.”

“I’ll contact the lawyer’s family and see if they still have any of his paperwork,” Evans offered.

“Are private adoptions registered with the state?” Schak asked. “Can we get a court order to look at old records?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Jackson said. “That would be a great help.”

“What’s the lawyer’s name and what was the year?” Schak made notes as Evans gave him the information.

Jackson’s phone rang and he looked at the ID: Jasmine Parker. “It’s the lab.” He clicked on the speaker and set the cell on the table. “Parker. I’m in a meeting with Schak and Evans and I’ve got you on speakerphone.”

“Can you hear me okay?” She came though well, despite the static.