Dying for Justice (9 page)

“We have to start somewhere.”

“Maybe some other time.” Derrick took a long pull of beer.

“I called you a couple times over the years, but you didn’t answer and I didn’t leave a message.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“What happened, Derrick? How did you get like this?”

His brother let out a bitter laugh. “You mean drinking at home on a Tuesday morning?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“Let’s see.” Derrick mockingly held a finger to his mouth as if pondering the question. “My parents were murdered. My brother stopped talking to me. My wife left me, and my employer laid me off after seventeen years of loyal service. I’ve applied for a hundred and sixty-two jobs in the last year and in response, I received three phone calls, two no-thank-you emails, and one interview.”

“A hundred and sixty-two?” Jackson was stunned…and skeptical.

“I’ll show you the damn Excel file.” Derrick was working up some hostility.

“I believe you. I just didn’t know the job situation here was that bad.”

“I don’t want your pity. Why don’t you get out of here?” His brother pivoted back to his computer. “I’ve got porn to watch.”

At a loss for an intelligent or snappy comeback, Jackson walked away.

Out in the yard, he heard voices in the house next door that belonged to the Brickmyers. Jackson cut across the lawns and knocked on the door. He’d stopped by late yesterday afternoon, but no one had been home.

A woman yanked open the door, her face transmitting exasperation. “Yes?”

“I’m Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I need to ask you some questions about a crime that happened next door eleven years ago.”

Confusion replaced her exasperation but only for a moment. “Can it wait? I’m trying to get three kids ready for school. They have a late start today, but they still need to be on time.”

In the background, a child yelled, “I’m telling.”

Jackson had a flash of guilt about interrupting her busy schedule, but he suspected there would never be a better time. “Sorry, but this can’t wait. I’m investigating a homicide.”

Her face softened. “I remember it. Come in.” She stepped back and let him pass through. “We’ll talk while I make lunches.”

As Jackson followed her to the kitchen, a boy of around ten scampered up to his mother, asking where his backpack was. She told him to check the laundry room. Jackson sat at the table, still covered with half-empty cereal bowls, and took out his notepad. “What’s your name and how long have you lived here?”

“Angie Brickmyer. We bought the house in February of 2000. That was before we had kids.” She gave him rueful smile.

“Your neighbors were murdered on September 23, 2000. Where were you that day?”

“I was home sleeping. I’m a CNA and I worked a lot of graveyard back then.” She frowned suddenly. “They caught the guy and he went to prison. Why are you asking this now?”

“New evidence has been discovered and the case is open again.”

“Did the guy have an accomplice?”

The idea hadn’t occurred to him. “What makes you ask?”

She shrugged. “The killer confessed, so what else could it be?”

“Did you hear anything unusual that afternoon?”

“No. I woke up when I heard the sirens coming down the street.” Angie spread peanut butter on row of bread slices as she talked. “That was before the kids. I was a heavy sleeper.”

“Did you see a car parked outside your house that day?

“Not that I remember.”

“Did you know Clark and Evelyn Jackson?”

“Not really. We’d only been in the neighborhood a couple of months. I’d met them both and they seemed real nice, but we didn’t socialize.”

“Had you noticed any change in their behavior? Any new visitors at the house?”

“No. Sorry.” She looked up at him with a hint of sadness. “We were shocked to learn our neighbors had been shot dead in their living room. But then they caught the guy right away and it wasn’t some random home invasion, so we decided to stay.

“Did the police question you?”

“Briefly, but I didn’t know anything then either.”

“Did you call the police and report seeing someone leave the victims’ house?”

“No. Like I said, I was sleeping that afternoon.”

A different young boy ran into the kitchen, crying. Jackson thanked Mrs. Brickmyer and left. The source of the anonymous tip mystified him. None of the neighbors had made the call. Jackson started to think the man in the blue sedan had reported seeing Hector Vargas leave the house. But why? Unless he was the killer and hoped to frame the handyman for the crime.

Chapter 11

Tuesday, September 7, 2:35 p.m.

Evans jogged down the stairs, pulling on her jacket, then blinked in the bright sun. She was discouraged to learn Gina Stahl had attempted suicide in the months before the alleged attack. Now she had to seriously consider that Gina may have tried to kill herself, ended up in a coma instead, and was now seeking revenge on her ex-husband by blaming him.

Gina’s neighbors had reluctantly relayed the story of the first attempt. Gina had called them in a sleepy voice to say she had taken too much medicine. They’d come running over and rushed Gina, still conscious, to the emergency room. They told the admitting nurse it was an accident but afterward, they had their doubts. When Gloria found Gina the night she went into the coma, she assumed it was a suicide attempt and reported it that way to the emergency call-taker. Now Gloria believed Gina’s accusations about her ex, but Evans was trying to stay open-minded. Anyone who took an overdose of tranquilizers had some kind of problem. What had Dragoo said about Gina?
Crazy as a bag of weasels
. It didn’t make Bekker any less revolting but he might not be a killer.

As Evans moved up the sidewalk toward the Geezer, the apartment manager came running out of her unit. “Detective.”

Evans saw that she had a small paper sack in her hand.

The manager shoved it at her. “I remembered after you left that I had some of Gina’s mail. The new tenant collected it for a while and turned it into the office. Will you please give it to Gina?”

“I will. Thanks.”

In the car, Evans riffled through the envelopes. A utility bill, two letters from Chase Bank, a bill from Oregon Medical Group, and a plain white envelope with no return address. It struck her as odd and she itched to open it. Gina had given her permission to go through the mail at her parents’ house, so she figured it extended to this mail too. She tore open the plain envelope. The letter was from a local credit union, requesting payment on a $4000 loan, with the threat of turning the debt over to a collection agency. Evans started the car, cranked on the air conditioning, then promptly opened all the mail. She discovered Gina had been overdrawn at the bank and behind on her bills. She owed Oregon Medical Group $2246 for doctor visits and lab fees.

Evans started to rethink her assumptions. Had Gina’s financial troubles somehow led to an attempt on her life? Was Gary Bekker a convenient, but still evil, scapegoat? It was time for another chat with the victim.

On the drive to Rosehill Care Center, Evans left Jackson a message, asking him to call back. She often worked homicides in which Jackson was the lead, and she missed having him and the other detectives to brainstorm with. As much as she’d learned from him already, she felt in need of guidance. She still had two law enforcement men to question: the retired officer who had given Bekker his alibi and the detective who had seen Bekker at a prostitute’s house. She had to keep chipping at the blue wall of silence.

She pulled off the freeway onto Q Street in Springfield and witnessed a homeless man urinating in the parking lot of an insurance office. She understood the sentiment, but thank God his lawlessness was not her problem. She’d had her fill of drunks and assholes as a patrol officer.

Once inside the care center, she learned Gina was in a session in the heated physical therapy pool. Evans went to Gina’s room to wait. She read through her notes and ate a few more bites of her Luna bar. When her phone rang, she wanted it to be Jackson but she didn’t recognize the number.

A male voice said, “This is Pete Casaway, returning your call. How are you, Evans?”

“I’m good. Thanks for getting back to me.” She hesitated. “I need to talk about an old case. Will you meet me somewhere?”

“What’s it about?”

“Sergeant Gary Bekker.”

“What has the prick done now?”

His hostility gave her spirits a lift, so she plunged right in. “You provided Bekker with an alibi for the night his wife went into a coma. I’d like to hear about that evening.” Evans dug in her bag for her recorder as she talked.

“You’re asking me if I lied?” Casaway scoffed. “Even if I did, why would I admit it now?”

“Gina woke from her coma and says Bekker tried to kill her. I’m investigating and I need to know the truth.” Evans held the recorder up to her cell phone, doubtful that it would be effective.

“You’ll never pin it on him, and I have no intention of setting myself up for an obstruction of justice charge.” Someone started talking in the background and Casaway said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait.” Evans frantically searched for the right thing to say. “You won’t be charged, I promise. You’re not in the brotherhood anymore, so you don’t have to worry about retaliation. I’m putting my career on the line here.”

“Why?

“Bekker is a criminal and needs to be stopped, but I won’t even be allowed to question him unless his alibi falls through.”

After a long silence, she heard a door close, as if Casaway had stepped outside. “This is officially off the record, okay? I’m only telling you because I came to despise Bekker and the way he treated people.”

Evans wanted to know about the people Bekker had mistreated, but first she had to hear Casaway recant the alibi. “Okay, it’s off the record.”

“I saw Bekker that night at the Sixth Street Bar and Grill. That was true, but I saw him around seven o’clock and not again after that. He came to me a few days after his wife was hospitalized and asked me to make a statement and fudge the time a little. Gina’s parents had gone to IA and accused Bekker of trying to kill her. At the time, the claim seemed outrageous and I wanted to help put it to rest.”

“But it doesn’t seem outrageous to you now?”

“I have less respect for him now. That doesn’t mean he’s a killer, but you deserve a chance to interrogate him.”

“Anything specific you’d like to share with me?”

He ignored the question. “You’ll never build a case against him after two years, but you may get him fired and that would be good.”

“Tell me about the people you said he mistreated.”

“I don’t have time. I’ve got a security shift to work. Good luck.” Casaway clicked off.

Evans shut off her recorder and hoped she had something to play for Lammers. She quickly made notes of the conversation. While she was writing, Jackson called back. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a case that’s getting ugly and I could use your guidance. Can we meet today?”

“I’m on hold with Quest, trying to track down old phone records. What about five or so?”

“Should we have dinner? I’ll be working late.”

“I’ll check with Katie. If she has other plans, we’ll go somewhere to eat and talk.”

“Sounds good. Keep me posted.”

The thought of having dinner with Jackson in a restaurant gave her a surge of pleasure. It might just be a business meeting, but still, it would be their first meal alone together.

Evans was feeling upbeat when Gina rolled into the room in a wheelchair with her physical therapist pushing. Gina smiled when she saw her. “Hey, Detective. I got into the pool and moved my arms and legs. I can’t tell you how wonderful that felt.”

“That’s great. It sounds like your recovery is going well.” Evans felt like an asshole for what she was about to ask.

“She’s making stunning progress,” the physical therapist said. “She’ll be using a walker in a few days.” The therapist flipped the side of the wheelchair down, helped Gina into bed, and left.

“I talked to your old neighbors, the Hutchins,” Evans said gently. “They told me about Gary Bekker stalking you. They also said you tried to kill yourself before.”

Gina’s cobalt eyes flashed with anger. “That was an accident. I was upset and I forgot I’d already taken a Valium. That’s why I called the Hutchins. I wanted to go to the hospital for help.”

“Are you accusing your ex-husband just for revenge?”

Gina’s eyes didn’t waver. “Someone attacked me. He was the same size as Gary and he was a smoker like Gary. And Gary had threatened to kill me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I thought I did.”

“Did anyone else hear his threats?”

“He’s too careful for that.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“He said, ‘If you fuck with me, I’ll kill you, and I’ll get away with it.’”

“When did he make the threat?”

“A week before the attack. I think he spotted me following him so I quit for a while.” Gina sounded tired.

“I have to ask about your finances.”

“What do you mean?” Gina’s face registered concern.

“The manager at the Riverside Terrace has been holding some of your mail.” Evans felt awkward. “You said I could go through your personal stuff so I opened it.

Gina’s eyes narrowed.

“You were overdrawn at the bank and behind on your bills. Did you owe money to individuals too?”

“No. I’d had health problems and wasn’t able to work much for a few months. And I lost my health insurance when I left Gary. I was just going through a tough spot.”

“I’m looking for another possible suspect. Could your financial troubles have led someone to harm you?”

Gina closed her eyes and didn’t answer.

“Did you hear my question?”

“I need a nap.” Gina struggled to respond.

Evans stood by the bed, watching her face. Had Gina purposely avoided the question or was she simply tired after pool therapy? Either way, she was done talking for now. Evans grabbed her shoulder bag and left.

As much as she wanted to give herself more time, Evans knew she had to update Lammers immediately. If the sergeant heard through the grapevine that she was investigating another officer, her boss would feel blindsided and Evans could kiss her detective career goodbye.

Lammers was in a meeting when Evans returned to the department, so she took a minute to type her notes into a Word document. Jackson always created such a file, and it made sense to follow the lead of the investigator with the best track record of closing cases.

As five o’clock loomed near, Evans worried Lammers would head out after her meeting and their talk would have to wait until tomorrow. She was eager to question Bekker, but it would never happen without the involvement of both their supervisors. There was still the huge possibility that Lammers would take the case away from her and put someone else in the lead. If that happened, she hoped it was Jackson. She trusted him to go after Bekker with the same determination he pursued any other suspect. Yet it would probably be Ben Stricklyn in IA, who’d only been with the department for a year.

Lammers’ laugh came booming down the hall and Evans figured this was her chance. She hustled over to intercept the boss at her office door. “Sergeant, I need a minute.”

The big woman looked at her watch. “You know I’m always available to my team, but really, Evans, can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“It’s important.”

“Then come in and give me the short version.”

Evans pulled case notes from her bag as she sat down. The office door banged shut and she jumped at the sound.
Damn
. She didn’t want to look skittish. She sat up straight, wishing for the millionth time she were taller. “This is about the coma woman case you assigned me.”

“The short version.”

“Gina Stahl says her ex-husband tried to kill her. His name is Gary Bekker and he’s a patrol sergeant with our department.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Lammers looked ready to throw something. “What do you mean, ‘she says he tried’? Is she filing a complaint against him?”

“The man who attacked her was wearing a ski mask. Gina says he was the same size as Bekker and she has reason to think her ex wanted to kill her.”

“Ex-spouses often feel that way, so that’s not much to go on. Have you investigated other possible suspects?”

“Of course. But I haven’t come up with any yet.”

Lammers abruptly jerked forward. “You haven’t contacted Bekker, have you?”

“No, but I want to question him.”

“Just slow down.” Lammers tapped her pencil, her face scrunched in concentration.

“There’s more I have to tell you.”

“Oh, christ.” Lammers looked at her watch. “Excuse me.” She made a call on her cell phone and told someone she would be late. Evans would have felt bad about keeping her boss, but she planned to work for another three hours so the sympathy didn’t materialize.

When Lammers hung up, Evans launched into the speech she’d practiced. “Gary Bekker used his authority as a police officer to coerce women into sex. Gina, his ex-wife, started documenting his activities. She even talked to one of his victims. Gina believes that’s why he tried to killer her.”

Lammers started to swear again, then stopped short. “This is a very serious accusation.”

Evans glanced at her notes, looking for a name. “I talked to Trisha Cronin. She said Bekker threatened to put her in jail unless she gave him oral sex. Trisha complied. Eventually, he came back and raped her.” Evans pulled out her recorder but held onto it. “I can play the conversation for you.”

Lammers bolted from her chair, making Evans feel small. “You shouldn’t have gone to see her before talking to me. The sexual abuse is a separate investigation.”

“I know, but I needed to determine if Bekker had real motivation in my attempted homicide case and I believe he did.”

“What a fucked-up mess.”

Evans forced herself to stay quiet.

Finally Lammers said, “The abuse of his authority will need to be investigated by internal affairs. I’ll set up a meeting with Ben Stricklyn for the morning. I want you to update him and turn everything over.”

“What about the attempted homicide?”

“We can keep that case here in the unit but I want Jackson to take the lead. You can work with him but you don’t have the experience to handle this alone.” Lammers help up her hand. “Don’t argue. I want to be briefed every day and I want to participate in the interrogation. I’ll talk to the chief and get him to compel Bekker to surrender to questioning.”

Evans tried to hide her relief. Working the case with Jackson was a best-case scenario.