Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For (37 page)

The young man at the desk had dark hair with dozens of tiny little braids. Jackson decided it was better than some alternatives. “I’m Detective Jackson. Can you find out the condition of a man who was brought in with a gunshot wound about an hour ago? His name is Ted Conner, if that helps.” This was Eugene, not Chicago. There would be only one gunshot victim tonight.

After a moment on the phone, the nurse said, “He’s still in surgery.”

Jackson pushed Conner from his mind. If he died, Jackson would get the mandatory counseling and move on. He couldn’t waste any more time worrying about a man who had murdered an innocent woman and tried to kill his own daughter. Jackson headed for the maternity ward where a new life was about to come into this messed up world.

The waiting room had only one other person, an older man who was nodding off. Jackson chatted with Katie on the phone while he waited for Kera. He made arrangements to pick Katie up tomorrow after school. He really wanted to go home, eat a roast beef sandwich, and sleep for ten hours. Sergeant Lammers would not be happy that he was waiting until tomorrow to write up a report about the shooting incident. Too bad. He was exhausted.

He was also deeply disturbed by the violence Ryan Bodehammer and Ted Conner had committed for no other reason than their hatred of gay people. Jackson knew he needed to make changes in his own speech and thinking. He needed to push for changes within the department, including sensitivity training. A lot of grief would come his way from the good ol’ boys club, but he’d weather it. He hoped they would all be better peace officers for it.

He heard Kera’s voice, that warm sexy tone that made him want to simply sit and listen and watch her gorgeous lips move. He looked up as she flowed into the room, fast and fluid like a small stream. A well-dressed man with a perfect nose and a touch of gray strode into the room behind her. The infamous Dr. Daniel Kollmorgan. It hurt to see them together—both tall and attractive, both medical professionals with college degrees and world travel experience. In that instant, Jackson knew he was out of his league. Kera and Daniel belonged together and he needed to get out of the way. They were still a family, and they had a grandson to help raise together.

Kera gave him a quick hug and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

Jackson hugged her back, unable to speak. He shook hands with Kollmorgan as Kera introduced them and managed a small nod. He said to Kera, “Where’s Danette?”

“She just got admitted. Let’s all head down to her room.”

“I can’t stay.” Jackson kept his voice light. “I haven’t slept much in days, and I need to crash. Call me and leave a message when you have news.”

Kera locked eyes with him and wouldn’t let him look away. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, and pushed past them out of the claustrophobic room.

On the elevator ride down, Jackson worked hard at not feeling anything. His romance with Kera had been too good to be true, a passion born of a shared traumatic experience. He would let her go gracefully. He’d do whatever it took—voluntary overtime, frenzied dating, finishing the trike—to numb the pain.

His phone beeped as he walked out of the elevator and into the lobby. The screen indicated a text message. Katie, of course. Jackson pressed through the appropriate combination of buttons to access the message. It was from Kera and simply said,
Nice try. But you’re not getting away
.

Jackson smiled and headed home.

Sunday
,
February 24

Jamie looked up the flight of stairs, stopped, and sighed. Every step she took tugged at her chest with little slivers of pain, and she was easily winded.

“You don’t have to do this,” her mother said, reaching for her arm. “No one would blame you if you never spoke to him again.”

“I have to.” Jamie started up the stairs.

“I’m here to visit Ted Conner,” she said to the female sheriff behind the plexiglass.

“ID please.”

Jamie slid her driver’s license though the small scooped opening at the bottom of the glass. Her hand shook as she let go of the card.
You don’t have to stay long
.
You just need to find out
… She still wasn’t exactly sure what she would say, but the questions began to form.

Through the glass, her father seemed smaller than she remembered. Older too. A week in the hospital recovering from a bullet to the chest would do that. Yet his expression was still confident and he sat ramrod straight, as always.

“I think you’re supposed to pick up the phone to talk,” her mother said, hovering behind her.

Jamie picked up the black phone receiver hanging on the left of the small booth. Her father picked up his. “Hello, Jamie. Thanks for coming.” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry I shot you, honey.” He began to sob. “You made me crazy that day. Please forgive me.”

Jamie had never seen her father cry before. She bit her lip to hold back her own tears. “Are you sorry you killed Raina?” She locked eyes with him, not allowing her father to look away.

He took a moment to get control, then said, “I’m terribly sorry. That was not my call to make. Only God can decide who lives and dies. Only God can judge homosexuals…or anyone.”

Jamie struggled to stay composed. She already knew how this would turn out. “Do you accept the fact that I’m gay? If I come to visit you in the state prison, will you listen as I tell you about my life and my new girlfriend?”

It was the longest ten seconds of her life, while her father decided how he would answer. At one point, her mother squeezed her shoulder. Jamie waited.

Finally, he said, “I don’t believe you are gay. Give yourself some time to get over Raina’s death. You’ll meet some guy and—”

Jamie gently hung up the phone and pushed off the hard stool. She gave her father a small wave and walked out of the visiting area. Life was short and she would not waste another moment of hers.

Jackson shut off the motor and looked up at the puke-green trailer. The Bronco had been released from evidence bay and was parked in the gravel driveway. A light was on in the kitchen. Cindy Gorman’s silhouette passed in front of the window. Jackson walked up to the front door, thinking about Raina as he did. She would have died even if she hadn’t come to this sleazy little hellhole in the woods. Raina’s presence here, though, and in the life of Josh Gorman, would finally bring justice to another little boy.

Jackson knocked on the door and waited. A sharp pain near in his lower abdomen made him almost double over. He decided it was time to call his doctor. The chest tightness and gut pain had to be more than stress. After a long moment, Cindy opened the door. She had lost weight since the last time he saw her here in the trailer, and dullness was all he could see in her eyes. “May I come in?”

She shrugged and stepped aside. Jackson followed her into the kitchen, where she grabbed a beer and sat down at the little table. “What do you want now? You already took my husband and my son.”

Jackson sat across from her, remembering, they’d sat like this the night after Raina’s death. He believed justice would be served for Raina. The button found near Raina’s blood in the woods matched Conner’s jacket, and the tire tracks matched his Dodge. They were still looking for the .22 rifle, but Jackson expected Conner to plead guilty for a reduced sentence.

He waited for Cindy to look him in the eye. “Tell me about your son, Trevor.”

Her lip trembled. “How do you know about Trevor?”

“The state of Washington keeps pretty good birth records. Of course Trevor never made it to public school so it took us a while to find any paperwork at all.”

Cindy took a long drink of beer. “Now what?”

“Tell me what happened. Bruce already gave you up, so there’s no point in lying.”

A single tear slid down her left cheek. “It was an accident, I swear. It happened right after we moved here.”

Jackson waited.

“I was having a bad day, the boys were being obnoxious. They wouldn’t stop playing some game that involved a lot of shouting.” She squirmed. “Then they broke my mother’s antique mirror. It was the only thing I had left of hers.” Cindy’s eyes begged him to understand. Jackson tried to look empathetic. He needed this confession.

In a moment Cindy continued, “So I’m standing there in the bathroom, holding this big chunk of broken mirror, yelling and swearing. Then Trevor starts laughing. Like it’s frickin’ funny. I snapped. I threw the piece of mirror. Not at Trevor, of course. I threw it at the wall. But it bounced off the edge of the door and hit Trevor in the neck.” Cindy looked down and started crying. “I never saw so much blood so fast. He was dead before I got him to the Bronco.”

“Were you high on meth at the time?”

She looked up, eyes suddenly blazing. “What difference does it make? It was an accident.”

Jackson reached in his bag for his handcuffs. They would convict her of aggravated manslaughter, at least.

L.J. Sellers
is an award-winning journalist and the author of the highly praised Detective Jackson mystery/suspense series:

The Sex Club

Secrets to Die For

Thrilled to Death

Passions of the Dead

Dying for Justice

She’s also written two standalone thrillers:
The Baby Thief
and
The Suicide Effect
.

When not plotting murders, L.J. enjoys performing standup comedy, cycling, social networking, attending mystery conferences, teaching writing workshops, and editing fiction manuscripts. She’s also been known to jump out of airplanes.

Thanks for reading my novel. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review or rating online.—L.J.