Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 01 - The Sex Club (19 page)

“Girls just want to have fun dot com. All one word.”

Jackson repeated it back and signaled Evans to write it down.

“What makes you think it’s relevant to the investigation?”

“I’m not sure.” Kera sounded embarrassed, and he regretted his businesslike tone. In a moment she said, “There was nothing that directly related to her death, but because of the sexual content, I thought you might want to know about it.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll look into it. Thanks, Kera.”

He pocketed the flip phone and turned left on 8th Street. Evans looked at him intently. “Who was that?”

“A nurse from Planned Parenthood. She says that website has a chat room where Jessie’s friends talk about sex.”

“How do you suppose she knows that?” Evans arched her eyebrows.

“That’s a good question. But you can bet, she’ll never tell. Planned Parenthood is very protective of its clients.”

As they pulled into the lower-level parking lot at city hall, Evans said, “You called her Kera.”

“So?”

“You never call anyone by their first name. Except your wife and daughter.”

Thursday, October 21, 7:23 p.m.

Ruth pulled onion and hamburger out of the refrigerator with the intention of making meatloaf. But five minutes later she was still standing at the counter with nothing accomplished. She could not stop thinking about Kollmorgan, the abortionist, talking alone with Nicole.

“Mom? When are we going to eat?” Caleb whined at her from the kitchen doorway.

“Soon, honey.”

“Can I have a snack?”

“No. But you can start on your homework.”

Caleb disappeared and Ruth got busy on the onion. But her mind was a whirl and her nerve endings were firing overtime. It took every ounce of control she had to resist calling the Clarkes and speaking with both Nicole and Joanne immediately. Nicole clearly needed some counseling, and Joanne deserved to know that the devil was after her daughter. But Ruth had to be careful how much she said about Kollmorgan—even to other church members.

Her first order of business was to teach the abortionist-whore that coming after one of the faithful was a very bad idea. Vengeance is mine. Ruth took the biblical sentiment to heart and tried to form a lesson that would be swift and effective. But she couldn’t afford to raise suspicion among either the police or church members. Because she was not finished with God’s work. He wanted her to close the abortion clinic, and she intended to complete that mission.

Ruth chopped and planned. As usual, the cat smelled raw meat and rubbed against her legs. Ruth ignored it. How far should she go to punish Kollmorgan? How many more lives should the abortionist be allowed to ruin?

“Ruth, calm down before you cut yourself.” Sam, her husband, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen. Ruth put her knife down and opened her arms for a hug.

Sam obliged. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m upset about Jessie. And I’m worried about the other girls in Teen Talk.”

Sam pulled back. “Do you think a killer is targeting our girls?”

“I don’t know. It was just a thought. I worry too much.”

He touched her chin. “Then you’re not praying enough. Leave it to God, Ruth. He’ll take care.”

“You’re right.”

Later, during dinner, Ruth came up with the perfect plan. The only uncertainty was the quantity of powder. Too much ricin, and Kollmorgan would die. But that would be up to God. Only He had the moral authority to give and take life.

Friday, October 22, 9:03 a.m.

Fieldstone showed up for questioning the next morning with not one, but two lawyers. His personal attorney, Aaron Park, was a tax and probate man who was not qualified to handle a criminal investigation. So the mayor had called in Roger Barnsworth, a defense attorney who specialized in sexual charges. Barnsworth was a large black man with a shaved head and wide smile. Jackson had encountered him in court before and knew that he was good with juries. He tried not to hate him just because he was a defense attorney.

They stood in the detectives’ work space and introduced themselves, shaking hands politely as if they were about to start a business meeting. On the surface, police work had become very cordial. In the trenches, passions still raged.

“I’m sorry Mr. Fieldstone, but I can only allow one lawyer into the room with you,” Jackson said. He noticed that Fieldstone didn’t look quite as dapper today. He’d lost a little sleep and some of his sun-kissed glow.

Park took off. The rest of them entered the interview room, including McCray, whose role was to throw in a little spice now and then to keep the suspect off guard. The ten-by-twelve room felt like a padded phone booth after the four of them had squeezed in. But Jackson, having slept for five hours the night before, felt refreshed and ready to nail this guy.

He set a tape recorder in the middle of the table, turned it on, and stated the date and the names of the participants. There was no wall camera recording the interview. No opaque observational window. Such amenities weren’t in the budget when Eugene’s city hall was built fifty years ago, and proportionally, law enforcement’s budget was even smaller now. It fact, the DA’s office was so understaffed, they no longer prosecuted about three hundred types of minor crimes, including shoplifting, forgery, and breaking-and-entering.

Jackson got right down to business. “Where were you on Tuesday, October 19, between 3 and 5 p.m.?”

The mayor was calm and confident. He’d had all night to prepare for the questioning. “I was in a meeting with a lobbyist group until 3:30, then I went out for a walk around the block. It was a nice afternoon. After that, I was in my office until I left for a dinner meeting at 5:30.”

“Who did you meet with?”

“Members of the Conservative Culture Alliance. They’re upset about the county’s decision to issue marriage licenses to same sex couples.” Always the politician.

“Give me the name of someone at the meeting who can vouch for when it ended.”

“My assistant, Mariska Harrison.”

“Who else?” Jackson was not impressed.

Fieldstone turned to his lawyer. “Do I have to give him a name? It was a private meeting.”

Jackson cut in. “I need an impartial witness. And I’d like to point out that a solid alibi can only help you.”

“Sam Greiner,” Fieldstone offered.

“Thank you.” Jackson jotted it down, thinking he’d seen the name recently. “Mayor, this will be a really long morning if you don’t cooperate. We’d like to clear you of involvement as quickly as possible.”

Nobody believed that.

“Did anyone see you during your walk?”

“I’m sure they did. I don’t recall anyone specifically.”

McCray jumped in. “But you recall that it was a nice day?”

“Yes. That’s what made me think to go outside.”

“What time did you get back?”

“Around 4:20, I think.”

“Did you look at your watch?” McCray pressed. “I mean, you’re a busy man. You must look at your watch quite regularly.”

“I don’t remember.”

“After your walk, did anyone see you while you were in your office?” Jackson asked.

The mayor pretended to think about it. “I don’t think so.”

“What did you do during that time?”

“Read, studied, prepared for my dinner meeting.”

Jackson decided it was time to mix it up. “Whose panties were in the pocket of your bathrobe?”

Fieldstone’s face went blank, like a man trying to lie without giving it away. “A prostitute’s.”

The response threw Jackson off a little. The mayor had clearly thought this through. “What’s her name?”

“Heather. We didn’t exchange last names.”

“How often does she come to your apartment?”

“She was there once. On Monday evening.”

“Where can I find this woman?”

The mayor shrugged. “I have no idea. I met her in the bar at the Hilton.”

Jackson was suddenly a little nervous about the DNA results on the orange panties. What if they didn’t belong to Jessie? The mayor could have screwed a hundred different women in that apartment. And how much time should his team waste trying to track down a prostitute who probably didn’t exist?

“How many women have been in your pleasure pad?”

“Don’t answer that.” Barnsworth jumped in and suddenly decided to earn his fee.

“Does your wife know about the prostitute?”

Barnsworth stood. “We’re done here.”

“Mayor Fieldstone isn’t,” Jackson said.

McCray suddenly produced a photo of Jessie taken during her autopsy and shoved it across the table at Fieldstone. “How well do you know this girl?”

The mayor leaned back away from the photo. He seemed to struggle for control. After a long moment, he said, “I told you. She goes to my church.”

“You weren’t that sure yesterday.”

No response.

“Do you know her by name?” Jackson needed the mayor to make a statement that they could later prove to be a lie. Then they would have leverage.

“I believe her name is Jessie.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“I can’t think of it at the moment.”

“Have you seen or spoken to Jessie outside of church?”

“I may have seen her at a church function that was held somewhere other than church property.” Fieldstone’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes were jittery.

Jackson kept trying. “Have you ever seen Jessie or spoken to her at any functions that were unrelated to your church?”

A slight hesitation. “No.”

“Does that mean you consider sex a religious experience?” Jackson asked.

“We’re done,” Barnsworth stood to leave. Fieldstone followed suit.

“Not yet.” Jackson stood up too, so he could look his suspect in the eye. “Mayor Fieldstone, what did you and Jessie talk about so frequently on the phone?”

Fieldstone lost a little more color from his face, and Barnsworth looked stunned. “Don’t answer that.”

“Do you admit making four phone calls to Jessie Davenport?”

“My client isn’t answering any more questions.” Barnsworth grabbed the mayor’s elbow and pushed him toward the door. “Good day, detectives.”

“We may want your client back in here very soon for more questions,” Jackson warned. “Don’t make any travel plans.”

“I’m giving a speech at the Republican party headquarters in Portland tomorrow.” The mayor tried to demonstrate that he was still in charge of his own schedule.

“Plan on coming right back. Thanks for your time.”

After they left, McCray said, “He doesn’t have an alibi for the time of Jessie’s death.”

Jackson shrugged. “But he has money and politically connected friends. Just wait. He’ll produce someone who saw him taking a walk.”

By 10:35 a.m., Jackson was on Interstate 5, heading once again for the medical examiner’s office in Portland. His critical cargo today was a pair of orange panties, a tiny container of lip gloss, and a set of high-quality blue sheets. He hadn’t yet received the DNA results from the trace evidence collected during the autopsy, so he had no illusions about getting the new samples processed in a hurry. For all of technology’s advances, lack of funding still kept criminal investigations moving at a glacial pace.

Fifteen minutes into the trip, Judy Davenport called him on his cell phone.

“What’s going on? Have you found Jessie’s killer yet?” Her distress was palpable.

“We have a solid lead. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“But how did she die? I want to know. Did she suffer?”

Poor woman. Jackson felt bad that he hadn’t called her after the autopsy. “Jessie didn’t suffer. She was suffocated, but there were no bruises.”

“Thank God.”

Jackson shifted the phone to his other hand, so he could pass a line of slow moving trucks. “Mrs. Davenport, did you know that your daughter was sexually active?”

A pause. “I don’t believe it.”

“If you know who she was having sex with, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me.”

“Jessie was a good girl. You just find her killer.” And she hung up.

Jackson sighed. Some parents never got over the denial, even when confronted with the evidence. He’d seen it time and again, and it was bad for the child.

The sun popped in and out of the clouds as he drove, and Jackson kept putting his sunglasses on and taking them off. A Led Zeppelin CD kept him company for the first half of the trip, then his thoughts turned to Kera Kollmorgan. Jackson suspected that she knew more about Jessie than she was telling. Last night, he’d visited the website she mentioned but had been unable to access any of the chat rooms because he didn’t have the right user name. But clearly, Kera had been able to get in. He needed more information from her. And he suspected that, with the right pressure, she would help him. Because he believed that’s what she really wanted to do.