Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For (24 page)

Jackson drove around the block and parked his car on the tree-lined street to watch the unit for a few minutes. If Bodehammer had seen him coming, the suspect might be in the apartment just waiting for an opportunity to leave. A few minutes later, Whitstone drove up. Jackson signaled her to circle around to the other entrance, then followed her around to the alley. “You can see the apartment from here,” he instructed. “And the suspect is not likely to come up the alley on foot and spot you sitting here.”

“Thanks for asking for me.”

“Don’t let me down.”

Jackson flashed her a quick smile, then walked back to his Impala. He drove out West 11th, heading for the Goodwill donation center on Seneca. Goodwill stores were all over town now and many of them occupied prime real estate. Not this one. The Seneca site was the original building, and it was located on the edge of the west Eugene industrial area.

Jackson walked quickly into the corporate offices on the right side of the property, showed his badge to the receptionist, and asked to see the general manager.

“Mr. Wainwright isn’t in this morning.” The receptionist, a young, round woman with a pierced lip, looked nervous.

“Then I’d like to see the assistant manager.”

“That’s Carlie Jones. Can I tell her what this is about?”

“It’s about an employee.”

She looked relieved as she made the phone connection and announced Jackson’s presence. “She’ll be right out.”

Carlie Jones was the exact opposite of the receptionist—thin, aging, and dressed for business. She shook Jackson’s hand, gave him a gracious smile, and led him back to her office. The room had a window, but the view of the metal building next door made Jackson think it would have been better without.

“What can I do for you?”

“I want to know everything you know about Ryan Bodehammer.”

She hesitated. “I hate to violate an employee’s confidence without a very good reason. Can you give me a good reason?”

“I’m investigating a rape and murder case and Bodehammer is a suspect.”

“Oh dear.” Jones slumped into her chair and took off her glasses. “We knew Ryan had a criminal history when we hired him. We believe in second chances, and our goal is to provide employment opportunities for people who might have trouble finding work elsewhere. We’ve been very lucky so far.”

“Tell me about Ryan Bodehammer.”

“To the best of my knowledge, he’s been a good employee. Until recently.” Jones looked down and straightened the papers on her desk. “For the first year he was here, he showed up on time, rarely called in sick, and didn’t cause any trouble. Then his father became ill with cancer, and Ryan started missing work. But we were sympathetic. After his father died, we gave Ryan the option of taking a month off. He only took a week, because he couldn’t afford to miss more work time.” Jones’ concern for her employee showed in her eyes.

“Is he still working here?”

“Officially, yes. But his attendance is sporadic, and last night he didn’t even bother to call in.”

“When was the last time Bodehammer was here?”

Jones turned to her computer and clicked open a file. After a moment, she said, “He showed up late on Friday and worked until 2 a.m., had Saturday off, then didn’t show on Sunday.”

Jackson jotted down Bodehammer’s recent activity. “What exactly does he do in the center?”

“He processes donations. It’s mostly sorting saleable items from junk.” Jones reached for her coffee.

“Has he ever made hateful comments to other coworkers?”

She looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Does he seem hostile to women? Homosexual women, in particular?”

Jones frowned. “No one has ever complained. But Ryan works a shift with only a few other employees, and I think they are mostly men.”

“What contact information do you have for him?”

Again, she checked a file on the computer, then printed a single-page sheet and handed it to Jackson. He glanced at the information and saw nothing he didn’t already know. Disappointed he had gained so little, Jackson stood to leave. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Jones.”

She stood and shook his hand. “I hope you’re wrong about Ryan.”

As Jackson reached the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back. “How did he get to work?”

She looked stumped. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Who would know?”

“Alberto Perez, our night shift lead, might know.”

“Can you call him now and ask him?”

She hesitated for a second, then picked up the phone. Perez didn’t answer, so she left him a message asking him to call. She said to Jackson, “I’ll contact you as soon as I have the information.”

“Thanks.” Jackson handed her his card.

The morning felt like a bust. The information Jackson had collected from Bodehammer’s probation officer and his employer indicated this suspect was having emotional difficulties and losing control of his life. It meant Bodehammer was looking likely for the crimes, but it also meant he might be hard to track down. If he was off his prescription medication, then Bodehammer might be self-medicating with street drugs or alcohol. He could be in jail somewhere or holed up with his dealer, riding high on a three-day binge. Jackson wanted to keep digging—to check back with Bodehammer’s neighbors and track down his stepmother—but the taskforce was scheduled to meet in twenty minutes. He headed for the department.

Schak was the only one in the meeting room when Jackson arrived. “Did you have a good Sunday?” Jackson asked as he sat down in one of the hard folding chairs.

His partner scowled. “I spent the day trying to talk my son out of quitting his job and taking off to hike the Pacific Crest Trail for six months.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No.” Schak let out a big sigh. “Brad has such a great job for someone who’s twenty. I hate to see him give it up. When he gets back, he’ll have to start all over. And the economy is so bad.”

“I didn’t know Brad was into hiking.”

“It’s a new thing. The influence of a new friend.” Schak suddenly seemed a little embarrassed to be talking about his personal life. “Oh well, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

They both looked up as Quince came in.

“Sorry I’m late. I was out at the community college and everything took longer than it should have.”

“No problem. We’re still waiting on Evans.”

As Quince sat down, Evans rushed in. “Sorry I’m late. I made an arrest this morning and wasted the last hour at the jail.”

“What happened?” Jackson’s brain scrambled to remember which suspects he’d given her to check out.

“I went to see Jacob McFetter, from your new suspect list. I didn’t really expect to find him at home Monday morning, but there he was.” Evans took a moment to sit and put her shoulder bag on the floor. Jackson noticed that her hair was tousled. When she saw him looking at it, she said, “You should see the other guy.”

It made them all chuckle. Evans continued her story. “So Jacob swings the door wide open and is standing there in his undies. And, as nice as he was to look at, what caught my eye was the pile of stolen goods stacked in the center of the room behind him. Stereos, purses, bike parts, shopping bags, even a 42-inch flat panel TV. So I told him he was under arrest. The little shit ran for the back door!” Evans shook her head in mock disgust. “How was he to know that I’m not only a sprinter but a hurdler too? I nailed him in the backyard, two feet outside the door.”

Jackson visualized Evans leaping over the pile of stolen goods in a hurdler’s stretch. First the image amused him. Then it made him feel old. “That’s quite a morning’s work.”

“No shit.” Schak gave Evans a fist bump.

“Did you have a chance to question McFetter about our case?”

“Actually, I did. On the ride to jail, I asked him where he was on February 13. Guess what?”

“He was in jail,” Quince guessed.

“Yep. So he didn’t kill Raina.” Evans turned to Jackson. “I called Lammers and she said she’d assign another detective to follow up on the stolen goods.”

Jackson drew a line through Jacob McFetter’s name, then looked at Quince. “What did you find out at LCC?”

Quince grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He looked down at his notes. “Keesha Williams attended LCC in 2004 and 2005. She was in the dental hygienist program and had a total of eight teachers. Amy Hastings attended in 2006 for two terms and 2007 for one term. She took mostly writing classes and had seven teachers. Raina Hughes attended in 2007 and 2008 and took an assortment of transferable core classes. She had thirteen different teachers.” Quince looked up at Jackson. “They shared one, and only one, teacher. His name is Derrick Michelson and he no longer teaches there. He resigned last week after allegations surfaced that he’d had sex with a student. No one would tell me the student’s name because charges were never filed.”

“Excellent work. Will you put all that on the board for us?” Jackson said. “Any chance you know where to locate Professor Michelson?”

“I have an address.”

“Great. As soon as this meeting is over, bring him in.” Jackson turned to Schak. “What have you got for us?”

“I located and talked with both of the suspects you gave me. Sean Grimes moved to Portland three weeks ago and has been at work until 5 p.m. every day, including February 13. I verified that with his employer, so he’s not likely. Butch Seltzer is a possibility. He has a job and a girlfriend and is staying out of trouble, but his PO says he definitely has an attitude about homosexuals. I think he’s worth tailing.” Schak looked pleased with his morning’s work.

“Great, let’s get Butch Seltzer on the board, and I’ll get you some help in keeping a 24/7 watch on him.” Jackson glanced at his notes. “I also have a round-the-clock watch on an apartment occupied by Ryan Bodehammer. He’s bipolar but off his meds, he’s angry at his stepmother, who may or may not be a lesbian, his father died a few months ago, and his PO described him as ‘spinning’. So finding Bodehammer is a priority.” Jackson looked at Evans. “I need to find his stepmother too. So far, I don’t know his father’s name.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Right now, our number one suspect is the horny college professor. We know he had contact with all three victims.” Jackson paused. He wondered why Quince had not found the teacher when he investigated the second rape. Then he remembered that Quince, on his own, had tried and failed to get a subpoena for the college records. Shit! Raina might be dead because some misguided judge thought she was protecting students’ privacy.

“Jackson?”

He looked at Evans and grinned. “Just thinking.” He turned to Quince. “Did you talk to the college nurse about Raina’s Vicodin use?”

“Apparently, Raina was hit by a car on her bicycle a few years ago. The nurse says Raina needed surgery to correct a shoulder problem but never got it because she didn’t have insurance. So Raina had chronic pain. The nurse noticed Raina’s Vicodin use was steadily increasing, so she put a limit on the prescription and referred Raina to a pain specialist. The nurse claims that the amount of Vicodin she prescribed could not have caused liver damage in the space of two and half years.”

“She must have had another source. Did anyone find out anything from Raina’s friends about her Vicodin use?”

Schak should his head, and Evans said, “No. She must have kept it a secret. Her grandmother couldn’t even name a doctor Raina had seen recently except at the health clinic at LCC.”

“I still want to find out if she was buying it off the street, but that may be a dead end. She could have bought it online. So we’ll let that line of inquiry go for now. “ Jackson decided to wrap up the meeting. He wanted to get everyone back out there. The attacker probably had another victim lined up in his crosshairs. Jackson couldn’t bear the thought of looking at her dead body and knowing he had failed. “We have two, no three, solid suspects. Gorman is not off the hook yet. He may be a conspirator. Let’s find the other two and bring them in for questioning. Evans and I will locate and bring in Ryan Bodehammer. Quince will locate and bring in Derrick Michelson, and Schak will keep an eye on Seltzer. Stay in touch.”