Liars, Cheaters & Thieves (10 page)

Before she had a chance to google Mazari’s late wife, her phone rang. It was Kim Bradley, the woman she’d dated before falling half-assed in love with a male college professor. That disastrous relationship had taught Sophie to stay away from men. They weren’t worth the great sex.

“Hey, Sophie,” Kim said, “I was surprised to hear you’re still at the paper. But I’m glad.”

“And you’re still not reading the paper, or you would have seen my byline,” Sophie teased.

“Busted.” Kim laughed. “So why are you asking about Rafel and Joanna?”

“Rafel was murdered last night, and I’m working on a feature story about him.”

“Oh my god. That’s awful. Do you know who killed him?”

“Not yet. I’m looking for background stuff, people who knew him well and can give me some insight into who he was.”

“If you want to hear the good stuff, talk to Rafel’s sister, Sasha. If you want the dirt, talk to Joanna’s sister, Laura. She thinks Rafel killed Joanna for cheating on him.”

CHAPTER 11

Jackson checked his watch: 5:05. He had just enough time to stop at the Sixth Street Grill and fulfill his obligation to meet his ex-wife’s new boyfriend, then slip out before his task force meeting at six. They’d invited him and Katie to dinner weeks ago, and he’d reluctantly agreed. In theory, he wanted to be a reasonable, politically correct divorced parent. In reality, he hated the idea. After scheduling the dinner, his house buyers had closed their loan two weeks early and offered him cash to let them move in right away. He’d obliged by stepping up his moving plans, only remembering his dinner engagement after it was too late. This would work out for the best, he decided. He’d get his social obligation out of the way without having to sit down for a meal with a woman he no longer cared about and a man he didn’t want to know.

He took the expressway toward Eugene, popped in his earpiece, and hit speed dial #1.

“Hey, Dad. How’s the case going?”

“It’s interesting, but still unsolved. How’s the moving?”

“We finished around four, I gave the movers their check, and now we’re getting ready to meet everyone for dinner.”

“What do you mean
we
?”

“Me and Harlan. He’s coming to dinner. It’s only fair, since he helped us move all day.”

“You and Harlan are at the new house by yourselves?”
Had Katie taken a shower with the boy in the house?
Jackson’s heart missed a beat.

“Yeesss.” She drew out the word in exaggeration. “We’ve been setting up the beds so we’d have somewhere to sleep tonight.” She burst out in a nervous giggle. “I mean you and I. Harlan’s going home after dinner.”

Had he not been driving, Jackson would have closed his eyes in horror. “Today was an exception, but as a general rule, I don’t want Harlan in the house when I’m not there.”

“Got it. Are you coming to dinner?”

Jackson avoided a direct answer. “I’m headed to the restaurant now.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

Katie clicked off before he could offer to pick her up rather than have her ride with Harlan, a sixteen-year-old boy, the riskiest of all drivers.
Crap. You can’t have it both ways
, a voice in his head chided.
You can’t treat her like an adult when it’s convenient, then act like she’s still a little girl when you’re worried. Why not?
he countered. It was a time-honored parental tradition.

Jackson found a parking spot in the tiny lot behind the restaurant. Renee had likely chosen the venue because it was a few blocks from police-department headquarters. She also knew it was one of his favorites, and they’d eaten a few meals together
here during their sixteen-year marriage. He hurried inside, glad it had stopped raining but worried about Katie and Harlan driving in the dark.

A few minutes early, he stepped into the lounge and spotted Renee and her date. A wave of apprehension rolled over him, like a body block from an invisible linebacker. If Renee was drinking again, he wasn’t staying. From a distance, he sized up Ivan Anderson: older, with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick body. No gut though. A nice face, Jackson had to admit, and a nice dresser too. The turtleneck was a little much, but what did he care? Renee looked the same as the last time he’d seen her. Dark curly hair, cut short, but skinnier than she’d ever been during their marriage. And still pretty, despite years of alcohol abuse—if you didn’t look too closely.

He strode over to their high-topped cocktail table and tried to smile sincerely. But the glass of wine in front of Renee made him wince.

“Don’t worry. It’s nonalcoholic,” she said, reading him.

Jackson was only semirelieved. Beverages that looked and tasted like alcohol seemed like a bad idea for an alcoholic. Renee made introductions and Jackson shook Anderson’s hand, pleased the man had a good grip.

“Should we go into the restaurant?” Renee asked. “Katie and Harlan will be here soon.”

“Sure.” He would wait until the last minute to announce he wasn’t staying.

Once they were seated in the other half of the establishment, they chatted about Katie for a minute. But Jackson had little time and soon looked at Anderson. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an investment banker and stockbroker.”

So the guy had money.
Jackson hated him a little. “Sounds like a secure position.”

“I’ve been with the company for six years.” Anderson smiled. “I was in Denver before that. After my wife died, I moved out here to be close to my daughter.”

Knowing the man had a child he was close to gave Jackson a little peace of mind. “How old is your daughter?”

“Twenty-four. She graduated from the University of Oregon last year and got a job with KRSL news. Dakota Anderson. She’s on at eleven. Maybe you’ve seen her.”

“I think I have.” Jackson hadn’t, but he would now.

Katie and Harlan walked up, and Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. His daughter was safe and he could leave soon. He snuck a peek at this watch. Katie noticed but didn’t say anything.

Renee asked about the move, and his daughter filled in the details.

“Your dad wasn’t with you?” Renee scowled.

“I picked up a homicide case this morning.” Jackson tried to sound casual, but he felt defensive.

“Your work must be fascinating, yet emotionally challenging,” Anderson commented.

“That’s exactly right.” Jackson gave him points for schmooze, but he had to get out of there. “I have a task force meeting at six, so I have to run.”

“That’s typical,” Renee said, rolling her eyes.

And you’ll be drinking again in three weeks
, Jackson thought.
Typical.

He shook Anderson’s hand, then decided he might as well be gracious and shook Harlan’s too. “Thanks for your help today.” He kissed Katie’s cheek. “Have a good time at your mother’s.”

It was all he could do not to run from the restaurant.

Jackson drove the five blocks to city hall, parked in the lot underneath the white-brick building, and ordered Chinese
food for his team. At least he wouldn’t be eating in his car, which he often did while driving to interview witnesses or get search warrants signed. He looked forward to the day he could submit the paperwork online, get a judge’s electronic signature, print it, and go.

Upstairs, department activity was winding down as the day-shift patrol officers filed their reports and the property-crimes and vice detectives left for the day. He ran into Michael Quince as he entered the area where the violent-crimes detectives had their desks crammed together in a too-cozy-for-comfort way. The wooden slats over the outside of the windows gave the room an eerie quality. He couldn’t wait for the move to the new building.

“Hey, Quince. Glad you could make the meeting.”

“Why not? I’ve had dinner at home every night this week. My wife was starting to get suspicious.”

Jackson laughed. “I have to check my voice mail, then I’ll meet you in the conference room. I ordered food.”

At his desk, he sat long enough to see if a witness in a domestic-shooting case had called on his office line. She hadn’t. No surprise. The sister had failed to report the abuse for years.

He checked his cell phone too and found a message from Sophie Speranza, asking for details about the homicide. How the hell did she know about it already? He suspected Sophie had a source in the department that gave her just enough information to send her in the right direction. But then, Eugene only had 140,000 people inside its borders, so word spread quickly among the key players.

He also had a message from Jackie Loomis, the department’s new spokesperson, asking for a statement about the homicide. If Sophie already knew, then the TV stations would cover the story on their late-night news. Jackson called Loomis back and she picked up.

“Thanks for getting back to me. Media people are ringing my phone nonstop. What can I tell them?” She sounded frazzled, and he didn’t envy her job.

“Rafel Mazari was found dead in the parking lot of Pete’s Pad this morning. We believe he was killed sometime late last night, but the cause of death has not been officially determined. We’re looking for witnesses, and you can give them my desk number.”

“The reporters know about the victim’s military service, and they’re going to milk it for all they can. Anything we should add or detract from that?”

“Not yet. I have to go. Good luck.” Jackson clicked off and hurried down the hall. He would have liked more time to organize his notes and figure out a game plan, but he’d made time for his daughter instead. He was happy with that decision. His relationship with his girlfriend worried him though. He’d call Kera after the meeting.

Schak and Evans were already in the small conference room. The city had finally given them a table, but the chairs were still cheap and uncomfortable.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jackson said, sitting down. “To make my daughter happy, I had to meet my ex-wife’s new boyfriend.” He grimaced, surprised he’d shared that. Kera’s openness must be rubbing off on him.

“Sweet.” Schak grinned. “Next, you’ll all be in counseling together.”

“You’re a good man.” Evans leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

“Chinese food, but let’s get something done before it arrives. Evans, will you take the board?” She had the best writing and the best sense of organization.

Evans jumped up and wrote the victim’s name at the top of the long, erasable board. “I’ll make a column for each of
the three people who were with him prior to the attack.” She drew three lines down the board, then put names and tags on the four columns:
Rafel Mazari: victim, Sierra Kent: wife, Jake Pittman: friend, Cody Sawyer: friend.
Under the victim, she wrote:
TOD: 10–11 p.m.
, and under that,
National Guard, Afghanistan.

Jackson turned to Schak. “Did you find the homeless guy?”

“No, but I have a good lead. Two people told me he shows up at the Dining Room every day and waits in line for it to open at three thirty. He was gone by the time I got there today, but I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Is that the free restaurant run by Food for Lane County?” Quince asked.

“Yep. A pain in the ass to the surrounding businesses.” Schak’s voice was matter-of-fact.

Jackson looked up at Evans. “What did you learn from Cody Sawyer?”

“He and Rafel went to grade school in Junction City together and have been friends ever since.” Evans jotted brief notes in the last column. “Sawyer lives with his parents after a period of unemployment, but just started work at Royal Caribbean. He says he was home last night at ten. His mother supports the claim, but she went to sleep and can’t swear he didn’t go back out.”

“Pittman says he was home with his wife, but I haven’t had time to verify it,” Jackson added.

“Mothers and wives,” Schak scoffed. “No alibis at all, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Would your wife lie for you?” Evans asked.

“Depends on how recently I’d pissed her off.” Schak grinned, enjoying his own humor.

Jackson wanted to get back on track. “Sierra says she stopped at another bar, then got home by eleven. I haven’t verified her
story yet either. That’s my priority for the morning.” Jackson paused, knowing he was missing something. “After the autopsy, that is.”

“What else did the wife say?” Evans wanted to know.

“She said her husband had been moody and paranoid since he got back from Afghanistan and kept accusing her of cheating.” Jackson checked his notes. “The boy is Mazari’s child from a previous marriage, and his biological mother is dead.”

“Do we know anything about that?” Quince spoke up for the first time.

“Not yet, but it’s worth looking into.” Jackson added
dead first wife
to his to-do list as Evans wrote it on the board. “Also, Pittman mentioned Mazari was unemployed, and he sounded bitter about it.”

“Do you think it’s a factor?” Evans looked back over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. Let’s brainstorm motive.”

“We have the cheating issue.” Evans made a narrow fifth column on the board. “If the wife had someone on the side, she could have killed Rafel to be free of her husband.”