Liars, Cheaters & Thieves (33 page)

A huge farm truck rumbled past, carrying a load of pumpkins. Sophie made a U-turn in the narrow road and headed back to the Mazari property. A car coming in the other direction caught her eye. Was it Sierra and the guy? She slowed and stared at the vehicle as it approached. No, it wasn’t even the right color.
Chill
, she told herself.

At the forlorn little house, she backed into the parking area so she’d be ready to drive off in a hurry if she needed to. Her car was visible from the road, so Jackson would see it when he came. She ran around the corner of the house and saw that the Charger was still there. Relieved, Sophie hurried to her car, climbed in, and locked the doors. She grabbed her laptop from under the seat, clicked it on, and waited impatiently for Word to open. When it did, she started typing notes from the scene. She wanted to capture the details, the colors, sights, and senses while it was all vividly clear in her mind. She paused every few seconds to look up and make sure she didn’t have company and to check her cell phone. But of course, Jackson hadn’t gotten back to her. Even if he had bothered, she didn’t have reception here. Should she have mentioned that to him?

Sophie keyed in a few more thoughts, closed out the file, and tossed the laptop into the passenger seat. She had to get out and investigate more.

CHAPTER 33

Jackson pounded on the door of the Sawyers’ house again, knowing intuitively no one was home. Not one of their three cars was in the driveway, and all the lights were off. It was possible Cody’s car was in the garage and he was home, avoiding the police, but Jackson didn’t get that sense. Sometimes he acted on his gut feelings, especially if he had nothing else to go on. More often, he waited for the evidence to substantiate his thinking. This case was so weird and complex—compared to a typical spouse-on-spouse homicide—that he was leery about overstepping his authority. The lack of clear forensic evidence in the second murder made it even harder to sort out.

Finally, he walked away and climbed in his vehicle. He wouldn’t force his way into the house without backup, but knowing that uniformed officers were now looking for Sawyer’s car gave him some sense of relief. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and noticed he had a message from Sophie Speranza. He would have ignored her, but the first few lines of text started with
Red Charger.
His pulse quickened and he opened the message:
Red Charger parked at Rafel dad. Saw sierra & some guy in it this a.m. Check out? 77895 Hayes Lane. Off River R.

What the hell?
Sierra was with Cody Sawyer at her father-in-law’s home? What was Sophie doing there? And why was she texting him about the situation rather than pulling out her little recorder and chatting with the couple? Jackson found Sophie’s last call to him and pressed
Call Back
. It rang six times, then went to voice mail. She must be interviewing Rafel’s dad, Jackson thought.

He started his car, put in his earpiece, and sped away. If he got there in time, this could be an ideal opportunity to bring in both Cody and Sierra for questioning. They would put them in separate interview rooms and pit them against each other until one opened up. The tactic could be very effective.

As he waited to turn on Amazon Parkway, he started to call Schak, then remembered he was in court. He called Quince instead. “I just got word that our main suspects are together at Rafel’s father’s house. I’m headed out there now and could use some backup.”

“What’s the location?”

“It’s 77895 Hayes Lane, off River Road, and close to Junction City, I think.”

“Never heard of it, but I’ve got GPS on my phone, so I’ll find it. What’s the situation? Anything tense?”

“A newspaper reporter informed me, so it’s probably civil.” Jackson had second thoughts. “But they are murder suspects, so I’ll get Evans on it too.”

He hung up and called Evans, leaving her a voice-mail message with all the details. Knowing her, she’d beat them both out there.

The drive back into town from South Eugene was slow with thick traffic in the Thirtieth Avenue area. By the time he reached downtown, where he could turn and head west, he felt jittery with
impatience. River Road was even worse, with the area around Beltline congested to the point of not moving. When had his quiet little college town morphed into a busy, often frustrating concentration of people?

Jackson finally cleared the suburbs and pressed the accelerator, passing several slow-moving cars just to blow the sludge out of his engine and his veins. Ten minutes later, moving too fast, he shot past Hayes Lane and had to turn around.

The secondary road wandered past fields and small clumps of oak trees and finally curved toward the river. He watched for addresses but also kept his eye out for Sophie’s dark-green Scion.

Sophie listened for the distant voices as she walked toward the house. They were quiet now, but she heard another rhythmic sound she didn’t recognize. Every fiber in her body wanted to drive to the end of the property and see what the hell they were doing, but self-preservation overruled curiosity. She would wait for the police officers and follow them back. For now, she’d snoop in some windows and take more notes.

The living room was cluttered and dusty, she noted, pressing close to the glass. But no one seemed to be home. She walked toward the driveway running past the house and rounded the corner again, wanting to check on the situation at the end of the dirt road. But first, she stopped parallel to a small window on the side of the house. A roll-up shade covered the top half of the glass, but the bottom was visible, even through the streaks of dirt that the fall rain hadn’t washed off yet. She stepped through the weeds and peered in.

Sitting on the floor with his back against a bed was an old man with his face half blown off. Sophie instinctively recoiled.
Was that Zain Mazari? Shocked and sickened, she pressed her nose to the window again. A shotgun lay on his outstretched legs, as if he’d dropped it there, and a book of some kind was on the floor next to him.

Jackson spotted a Scion on a property on the left side of the road. He braked and turned, taking the corner a little faster than he’d intended. He raced up the driveway and parked next to the house, keeping his vehicle in the road to block it. He climbed out and headed for Sophie’s car, and she rolled down the window as he approached.

“The red Charger is on the back of the property, and I hear two voices. I saw a similar car at the Animal Care Clinic this morning.” The reporter’s voice was wound tighter than usual, but she relayed the information like a pro. “Sierra picked up her final paycheck, then climbed in. The guy driving looked tall and skinny with dark hair and a soul patch.”

“Cody Sawyer.” The name popped out of his mouth without thinking. “Thanks, Sophie. Now you need to leave. Start your car and drive away.” Jackson glanced at the road to see if Quince was coming, then turned back to his own car.

“Jackson, there’s more,” Sophie said softly. He spun back around.

“There’s a dead guy in the house, and it looks like a suicide.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins. “You went in the house?”

“No. I saw him through the bedroom window, and he’s obviously dead. It looks like he put a shotgun in his mouth.”

Jackson’s brain scrambled to form a plan. This wasn’t the EPD’s jurisdiction, but it was his case. The sheriff’s department would have to be notified, but he had two murder suspects to apprehend immediately. They may have killed the old man and
made it look like suicide. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Sergeant Lammers, but the call wouldn’t go through. He radioed the department instead and gave the details.

While he was talking, Quince came flying down the driveway and parked behind his car. Jackson got out and trotted back to him. “They’re down this road, parked in the grove. Let’s both drive back.”

“Right behind you.”

Jackson jumped in his car and pulled forward. He made a point to drive slowly, not wanting to spook the suspects. He didn’t expect them to be armed, but he’d operate on the assumption that they were. Pittman’s weapon had disappeared from his house the night he died.

He drove past a fallow field and neared the clump of trees. The dirt road went through the middle of the grove, and the Charger was parked about twenty feet in. Off to the left, he saw Sierra and Sawyer.
What were they doing? Digging a grave?
His pulse escalated, and he touched his Sig Sauer on reflex.

At the sound of his engine, they stopped and looked up. The couple froze, shovels in hand. Through his windshield, he saw them talking to each but couldn’t hear what they were saying. Jackson parked, shut off his car and stepped out. Behind him, Quince did the same.

“Put your hands in the air,” Jackson called out.

He took one step, and they bolted for the Charger.
Shit!

“Freeze!”

He had his hand on his weapon, but he didn’t draw it. The suspects weren’t armed, and he had no reason to shoot them. They scrambled into the vehicle and fired up the engine. Jackson considered shooting at their tires, but his training didn’t call for it. The tactic was rarely effective, and people got hurt. Blocking
their escape made more sense. He jumped in his cruiser, trying to determine how far the dirt road went and what was beyond it. He hoped it would dead-end into a fence or the river.

Mud flew at this windshield as the Charger raced through the trees ahead of him. Jackson gunned his engine, staying close behind. Beyond the trees was another field, this one smaller. Jackson tried to see past the vehicle in front of him. How deep was the property? Did it have a fence across the back? He sensed Sawyer knew the area and thought he had a chance to get away. Jackson envisioned them abandoning the car and jumping into the river. The shooting pain in his gut told him this would not turn out well.

Ahead and to the right, he saw the far corner of the acreage. A wire fence ran along the back, but it leaned heavily away from them. Sawyer planned to run through the fence. Beyond it were more fields and a strip of trees running along the horizon. The river!

The Charger flew past an old hay barn, plowed over the decrepit fence, and careened to the left. Jackson gunned his engine and followed, ending up on another dirt road. They raced down a path that cut between fenced fields on both sides. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Quince’s vehicle right behind him. He wondered where Evans was and where this road came out. Instinct told him it emptied onto a main road. Was Sawyer’s plan to outrun them?

Idiot!

As predicted, the dirt path came out on Hayes Lane, and the Charger made a wild turn to the right, headed for River Road. Jackson slowed for the corner, and the fleeing car gained ground. They rounded a curve, and a flatbed truck came into view, driving toward them from the other direction. The truck began a wide turn across the road, aiming for a tree-lined driveway, still
unaware of them. Jackson slammed his brakes, steered to the right, and prayed Quince wouldn’t rear-end him. He heard the squeal of the Charger’s brakes as it slowed and veered off the road to avoid a head-on collision with the farm truck. As Jackson skidded through the gravel and came to a stop, he saw the sports car bounce through a shallow ditch.

A moment later, it plowed into one of the thick trees along the driveway. The air filled with the deafening sounds of crunching metal and glass and screaming truck brakes. The big vehicle slammed to a stop just before it pinned the Charger to the tree.

Jackson shut off his engine and glanced back. He saw Quince in the ditch, but both he and the cruiser seemed fine. Jackson radioed for help, then jumped from his car and ran toward the wrecked vehicle. The passenger’s side was totaled, and he hoped Sawyer and Sierra were still alive.

CHAPTER 34