Liars, Cheaters & Thieves (25 page)

Jackson’s jaw clenched. Hailey shouldn’t have called these people and riled them up. “I don’t know who killed Jake Pittman, but I am investigating. Someone saw your truck at his house last night, so I want to talk to you. Just talk.”

“I know how the police work. You’ll try to pin this on me.”

“I just want to take your statement so we can clear you.”
It was mostly true.

“Send all the other cops away. They make me nervous.”

“They won’t leave me here alone. Especially if you have a weapon. Do you have a gun?”

“There’s one here, but I’m not holding it and I’m not violent. I just don’t want to be handcuffed and shoved in the back of a cop car like some criminal.”

“I understand that, and it’s not necessary. Sheila tells me you ride a trike. Did you build it yourself?”

“I did. Why do you ask?”

“I built a trike last summer too. I used a Volkswagen squareback. What’s yours?”

“Type-three engine with an automatic transmission.”

“I wish I’d gone with an automatic, but I was totally new at it. I plan to take the thing apart and redo the frame soon, make it more stable.”

“You should just buy a frame. There’s a guy here in town named Hutchison who has an excellent design. I finally bought one and I love it.”

“Does he have a website?”

“Yeah. Hutchison Trikes.”

“I’ll check it out.” Jackson knew it was time to make progress. “Will you sit down with me and answer questions?”

“Where? I’m not coming out with all those cops here. Some itchy-fingered asshole will shoot me.”

“I won’t let that happen. The command unit is on the way. It’s a big RV with an interview room.” Jackson scrambled to work through the logistics. “First, send Sheila out with the weapon so we know your wife is safe and you’re unarmed. Then when the command unit is here, the patrol cops will leave. You’ll come out with your hands in the air and let me search you. Then we sit down in the RV and take your statement.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Another detective will be watching from the back. It’s policy.”

“Let me talk to Sheila.”

Dolan clicked off before Jackson could respond.

Another five long minutes passed, Sheila Dolan pushed out the front door. A halide floodlight lit up the yard, triggered by her movement. She clutched her jacket closed with one hand and held a weapon down at her side with the other.

“It’s me, Sheila. Everything is fine.”

She walked past her husband’s truck and down the driveway toward him. Jackson had his hand on his weapon from the moment he saw the door open. “Put the gun on the ground.”

“All right.” She did as directed. “It’s registered and legal, and Matt didn’t threaten anyone with it.”

“We’ll just take it temporarily.” Jackson strode quickly toward her and scooped it up. “Why don’t you wait in my car where it’s warm?” He pointed at his unmarked cruiser.

“I’ll stay here until Matt comes out. I want him to feel safe.” Sheila trotted into the middle of the yard where her husband
could see her from the bedroom. The blinds moved a little as Dolan peeked out.

While they waited, Jackson checked his text messages. Quince had responded with:
In Cottage Grove, talking to more fraud victims. Get there when I can.

A few minutes later, they heard the rumble of the CU’s engine idling in the street.

“Let’s get these patrol cars out of the driveway so the command unit can park close to the house.” Jackson hollered orders, not wanting to take any flak about his decision. The two officers moved quickly to their cars, backing out of the driveway. He watched them pull down the street and park a few houses away. He turned to Officer Meadows. “My team is inside the CU, and that’s all the backup I need. This will go better if you all leave.”

“Your call.”

“I appreciate your responsiveness in getting here and keeping Dolan detained.”

“Good luck.”

Meadows waited for the giant RV to pull down the driveway, then drove down to rendezvous with the other patrol officers. Jackson wondered how their reports would read. He felt confident he’d handled this well. The last thing the department needed was another news story about officers breaking through a door or setting off a flash-bang grenade near an innocent citizen. Not that Dolan was necessarily innocent, but Jackson preferred to use a subtler approach. He wanted information, and relaxed suspects talked more than terrorized suspects.

Schak climbed down from behind the wheel and stood next to Jackson. “First time I ever drove that rig. You made my day, pal.”

“Then my work here is almost done.” Jackson glanced at the rig. “Is Evans coming?”

“She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Let’s get Dolan out here.” Jackson called the suspect again. “We’re ready for you. Hands in the air and move slowly.”

“I’m not armed and I plan to cooperate. Just don’t cuff me.”

“Okay.” He hoped the man’s meds kicked in soon.

A moment later, Dolan stepped out the door. In the halide light, he looked pale, thin, and young, but as he moved closer, with his hands on his head, lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and a deep furrow creased his forehead.

Sheila started to rush over.

“Not yet! Stay back, please.”

She froze, but blew a kiss to her husband.

“Stop and turn around,” Jackson instructed.

“I thought you weren’t going to cuff me.”

“I’m not. This is just a weapons search. Standard procedure.”

After patting him down, Jackson stepped back. “You can put your hands down. Follow my partner into the RV.” He turned to Sheila. “I’d like to interview you as well. You can wait in the house for now, but don’t make any calls.”

“I have to call my sister. I don’t want my kids to come home until this is over.”

“Fine.” Jackson would have liked to call his daughter too, but it would have to wait. He had a viable murder suspect about to make a statement. If Dolan would admit to being in the victim’s house at the time of death, that was half their case.

The fluorescent light of the command unit made Jackson blink. As he turned on the camera and the video feed, his stomach growled, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. The food he could get by without, but he would have given just about anything for a cup of coffee.

Dolan appeared ghostly white under the harsh lights, and his leg vibrated under the small table they shared. He wore a blue shirt and jeans, both dirty from yard work. The tips of his fingers were stained a permanent shade of mud brown, and he smelled like damp earth. The scent made Jackson think of camping trips he’d taken with his brother.

Jackson sat across from the suspect, their faces only four feet apart. Being inside a vehicle, the space they shared was about twelve feet square. It would have been just as bad as the interrogation room back at the department, except for the hallway opening. That two-foot escape route kept Jackson’s claustrophobia at bay. With no room for a second interrogator, Schak stayed in the back of the RV, sitting on a comfortable couch, watching the live feed, in case Dolan went squirrelly again.

“This is Detective Jackson, Eugene Police, speaking with Matthew Dolan,” he said for the camera. He announced the date and time, advised Dolan of his rights, then paused while Schak brought them each a bottle of water and left.

“Let’s talk about last night, Saturday, November twelfth.” Jackson planned to keep the questioning informal for as long as he could. Dolan clearly had authority issues, and he wanted him to stay relaxed. “How do you know Jake?”

“He used to work for me, until business slowed down and I had to lay him off.”

“Did you visit Jake Pittman at his home on Kentwood last night?”

Dolan hesitated for a long minute. “Yes.”

“What time did you arrive at his house?”

“I think it was around eight thirty. He called me earlier and asked me to come over.”

Dolan’s cell phone was sitting on the table in front of Jackson. He’d taken it when he patted him down, but he had no right to search it without Dolan’s permission. “Show me the call.” Jackson pushed the phone across the table.

Two seconds later, the suspect pushed it back. Showing on the screen was a list of incoming calls, with Pittman’s registering at 7:43 p.m.

“Did he leave a message, or did you talk to him?”

“It surprised me, but I took the call.”

“Why did he want to see you?”

“Jake said he had the money he owed me.” Dolan’s gaze was steady and so was his voice.

Jackson hadn’t expected it to go this way. Dolan was craftier than he looked.

“Out of the blue, Jake called and said he had money for you?”

“Believe me, I was surprised too.”

“Did he say where the money came from?”

“No, and I didn’t ask.”

“How much did he owe you?”

“Nearly four grand.”

“Why did he ask you to come to him? Why not bring it to you?”

Dolan shrugged. “I didn’t think about it at the time. I was too stunned. But he’d probably been drinking and didn’t want to drive.”

Jackson didn’t buy it. Was Dolan lying through his teeth, or had it been some kind of setup? “What did you do after the call? It didn’t take forty-five minutes to drive over.”

“I finished what I was working on, took a shower, and left.” Dolan’s voice stayed even, but the vibrating under the table increased, as though he were growing impatient, eager to tell his story.

“What happened when you arrived?”

“Jake gave me thirty-eight hundred in cash. Then he apologized for not repaying the loan and offered me a beer.” Dolan didn’t blink or look away.

Jackson had a flash of doubt and felt the squeeze of a headache coming on. “What happened next?”

“We sat down, drank a beer, and talked for about twenty minutes. Then I left.”

“Hold out your hands for me.”

Dolan looked down at his hands, shook his head a little, then held them out, palm up.

“Turn them over.” Jackson studied the backs, noting a few small white scars in addition to the brown stains, but saw no bruises. But three of Dolan’s knuckles on his right hand looked swollen. “What did you and Jake fight about?”

“Nothing!” Dolan yanked his hands back. “I slammed my hand against the side of the truck yesterday when I was loading branches. My hands always look like this.”

Was Pittman’s DNA under those dirty nails?
Even with a subpoena, they might not find it. They also needed to search Dolan’s house for the clothes he’d worn the night before and examine his truck for bloodstains. Jackson hoped Evans was working on a search warrant. He remembered what Evans had said about yelling, after questioning the teenager next door.

“Jake’s neighbor heard loud arguing, so we know things didn’t happen the way you just described. What did you argue about?”

“Nothing!” Dolan pounded his fist on the table.

Jackson instinctively shot to his feet. “Calm down.”

“Sorry.” The suspect slumped and crossed his arms. “This upsets me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Jake was fine when I left him.”

“What time was that?”

“Before nine. I was only there for twenty minutes.”

It still fit the window of Pittman’s death. But to get Dolan to move toward a confession or a plea bargain, he needed to catch him in a lie. “What did you do after you left?”

“I went home and finished my bookkeeping.”

“Was your family here?”

Dolan sighed. “No. My wife and the boys went out to a movie and didn’t get home until after eleven.”

“What did you do with the money?”

“I deposited most of it in the bank this morning on my way out of town.”

“Which bank?”

“The Chase ATM inside Fred Meyer. Right up the street on Division. I have the receipt in my wallet.” Dolan produced a piece of paper that showed he’d made a $3,800 deposit at 9:17 that morning.

Jackson’s mind scrambled to come up with a new scenario. “Here’s what I think happened. You heard Jake had come into some money, so you stopped to see him and collect what he owed you. He denied it and wouldn’t give you any.” Jackson watched Dolan’s face carefully as he talked. “You got physical with him, maybe grabbed his shirt and pissed him off. So he punched you, and you hit him back. After a few blows, Jake lost his footing and fell against the counter, hitting his head.”

Dolan shook his head back and forth, the movement growing in intensity as Jackson talked.

“Then you searched his place until you found the cash. You thought it was your money and you were entitled to it.” Jackson lowered his voice. “But you didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident when he fell. That’s what it looks like.” Jackson left out the information about the victim’s slit throat. He had to keep
something back only the killer would know. Especially since it looked like they couldn’t arrest Dolan just yet.

“No.” The suspect pushed his hands through his hair. “Someone else must have shown up after I left.”

“You were there at the time of death, Matt. You can’t change the evidence. Tell me your side of it, and I can get you a deal for manslaughter. I don’t believe you meant to kill him.”

Dolan leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

Jackson waited.

His cell phone rang and he quickly silenced it. Dolan looked up and shook his head. Jackson cursed himself for forgetting to shut off the phone.

New tactic. “Did you know Rafel Mazari?”

Dolan started to hyperventilate. “I didn’t kill anybody! You can’t pin these murders on me.”

“So you did know Rafel?”

“I’d met him, but I didn’t hang out with him. I know Sierra because I know her mother.” Dolan was talking rapidly now. “Our families have been friends for decades. I landscaped that yard before Sierra turned it into an overgrown mess.”

“The house on Santa Rosa?”

“Yes. It belongs to Vanessa Kent. She moved to Seattle a few years ago and let Sierra and Rafel move in.”

The connections were interesting, but not likely relevant—unless Dolan knew Sierra well enough to be helpful. “Was Sierra cheating on her husband?”

“I don’t know her that well.” A flush of pink appeared on his pale cheeks.