“Sorry, but I’ll pass. I don’t trust the system.” Durkin took another drink of beer.
Jackson thought about the ex-con’s fingerprints on the beer bottle and made a note to have the crime lab compare Durkin’s prints to those at the scene. “Were you ever in the house at 2353 Emerald Street?”
“No.”
“When I come back with a subpoena, I’ll have to take you down to the department for a cheek swab. Why don’t you save us both the trouble?”
“I didn’t kill anyone and I don’t have to prove it.” Durkin bolted to his feet, sounding frustrated. “I run a legitimate business now and I donate ten percent of my profits to the Big Brother/Big Sister program for kids. I also sponsor teenagers to come up here and race. The idea is to help young people stay out of trouble so they don’t make the same mistakes I did. I don’t appreciate being hassled.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“I thought they caught the killer and he went to jail.” Durkin vibrated with impatience.
Jackson didn’t budge from his chair. “It turns out, they didn’t. What did you think of my parents?”
“I never met them.” Durkin gestured toward the door. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“That’s a big house you’re building.”
“It’s a lodge. A lot of people come here to race.”
“Did the money come from your loan shark days?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Are you still in contact with Seth Valder?”
“Not since I got out. I gave up the old life.”
Jackson sensed he’d been lied to again, but Durkin seemed to be done talking. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes, why?”
“I want the number.”
“I don’t want to be harassed.”
Jackson waited him out.
Durkin sighed and gave him the number.
Jackson stood to leave. “Keep your dogs under control when I walk out so I don’t have to shoot them.”
Chapter 17
Wednesday, September 8, 2:16 p.m.
Evans checked her notes for Gina’s neighbor who had moved. The name wasn’t there.
Shit.
How could she have been so sloppy? She used her desk phone to call the Riverside Terrace and was relieved when the manager picked up.
“This is Detective Evans again. I need the name of the neighbor who lived on the other side of Gina Stahl at the time of her assault. You told me she moved.”
“Give me a sec and I’ll look.” After a while, the manager said, “Alison Bertram. I have her forwarding address, but it’s in Salem. Do you want her phone number too?”
“Thanks, I’ll take both.”
Evans made of note of the name and number. “I noticed a camera mounted on the front gate. Do you still have video footage from 2009?”
“You’ll have to call the company that maintains the camera. It’s Secure Systems West.”
Evans thanked her and made the next call. She asked to speak to the manager, and a moment later, a man came on the phone. “This is Chuck Summers. How can I help you?”
Evans introduced herself. “I’m investigating an assault that took place a few years ago at the Riverside Terrace. Do you have security film from August 3, 2009?”
“Of course. Which cameras do you need?”
Yes!
“The front gate and anything that would show the exterior of apartment sixteen.”
“Would you like me to download the files to a disk?”
“That would be great. Can I pick it up now?”
“Sure. We’re always happy to work with the police department.”
A surge of adrenaline pulsed in her veins. Evans stood and began to pace. What if the cameras had caught Bekker driving into the parking lot or walking up to Gina’s apartment? By itself, it wasn’t enough for a conviction, but it could give them leverage for a plea bargain. Then she remembered the attacker had worn a mask. When had he put it on? What kind of vehicle had Bekker driven two years ago? Would he have taken his city-issued car?
The quickest route to that information was the department of motor vehicles. She called Stacy Garrett, Jackson’s contact at the DMV, and introduced herself.
“How can I help you?” The woman sounded annoyed.
“I’d like to know every vehicle Gary Bekker has owned since 2008.”
“It’s crazy busy here today. Can I call you back on my break?”
“Bekker is a dangerous man who’s about to make bail. I need this info to keep him locked up.”
The overworked state employee sighed. “Give me a minute.”
Syrupy pop music filled Evans’ ear. She set her cell phone on the desk while she was on hold and mentally kicked herself for not doing all of it yesterday. She’d been sidetracked with contacting Bekker’s sexual victims. Evans snatched up the phone when she heard Stacy talking.
“Gary Bekker has owned a 1997 red Chevy truck since 2002. In 2007, he appeared as a co-owner on a white Ford Fiesta that is no longer registered to him. That’s it.”
“Can I get the license numbers?”
Stacy rattled them off, then hung up before Evans could thank her.
Impatient to pick up the video disk, Evans quickly called the number for the neighbor who had moved and was subjected to an annoying voice message from a young man named Troy. Obviously, it was not Alison’s number anymore. She keyed Alison into the database and came up with the old address at Riverside Terrace.
Crap
. She had no intention of spending an hour driving to Salem without contacting the woman first.
Evans googled the address for the security company, pulled on her jacket, and headed out.
Forty minutes later, she checked the disk into the crime lab and went to look for Joe. She found him in his office, comparing fingerprints.
“Hey, Joe.” Evans had once called him Berloni, the way law enforcement called everyone by their last names, and Joe had strongly objected. She waited while he finished his scrutiny. “What case are you working on?”
“The woman who was buried in her backyard. They found the murder weapon and I’m checking the prints.” Joe looked up. “What happened to your face?”
“An altercation with a suspect. I’m fine. Any luck with the prints?”
“Not yet. I keep getting interrupted.” He smiled to soften his words. “What can I do for you?”
Evans handed him the disk, now in a plastic bag with labels. “This is camera footage of an apartment complex where a woman was attacked and given an overdose of drugs. She went into a coma for two years, then recently came out of it.”
“I saw the story in the paper this morning.”
“What the hell?” Evans immediately thought of Sophie Speranza, who’d been leaving her messages, asking about the case. “Who would give a reporter information? Thank God my suspect is in jail.”
“Is the woman in danger?”
“If he gets released on bail, she could be.” Evans didn’t want to believe Bekker was that stupid or irrational, but he’d already proved her wrong. “What I need you to look for on the footage is a red Chevy truck driven by a man. He’s around five-ten and one ninety. He may be wearing a ski mask. I’m looking for him in the vicinity of apartment sixteen around nine in the evening.” She hesitated. “He could be driving a department-issued vehicle.”
Joe raised his eyebrows. “An officer?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll get one of the assistants to start wading through the footage, but we’re pretty swamped. It may be a day or two.”
“The suspect is in jail on unrelated charges but he was arraigned this morning. If he makes bail, I need a good reason to pick him up again.”
“We’ll do it as fast as we can.”
At the department, Evans went straight to the break room, hoping to find a newspaper, but she found someone’s uneaten lunch instead. One of the joys of working with mostly men. She wanted the news story in front of her when she called Sophie Speranza to give her a verbal ass-kicking. Evans jogged over to Full City where they had a newspaper stand nearby.
She bought a paper and hustled back to City Hall, her weapon bouncing against her ribs as she ran. She laid the paper out on her desk, found the story on the front page of the City section, and quickly scanned it. At least the reporter had not given Gina’s name. Yet Speranza had named the care facility, so anyone who knew Gina was there would know she was now conscious. The story quoted Gina and her parents, so they had obviously consented to the coverage. The quotes mentioned the ex-husband and Gina’s effort to document his criminal activity, but didn’t give his name or occupation. The reporter had been careful to let her interview subjects make the unsubstantiated accusations.
Crafty
.
Evans called the Willamette News and asked to speak to Sophie Speranza. The reporter didn’t answer her phone, so Evans left a message. Trying not to sound hostile, she simply asked for a call back on her cell number. Next, she searched Salem’s online white pages and found a new phone number for Gina’s unaccounted-for neighbor. She called and left Alison a message as well.
Frustrated by her lack of progress, Evans read through her notes and mentally retraced the steps of her investigation. What had she not done yet? She visualized the visit to Gina’s parents and the boxes full of her personal belongings. Was there any value in digging through the rest of it? She was no longer looking for a suspect; she was in the phase of building a case. Would she find anything in the pile of stuff that would incriminate Bekker?
She couldn’t just sit and wait for people to call back, so Evans decided to see the victim again.
Gina was out of bed and sitting in a chair by the window. A slender woman with short red hair and a digital recorder sat next to Gina, leaning forward and looking earnest. They both looked up.
“Detective Evans. Oh my God, what happened to you?” Gina’s smiled faded.
“An altercation with a suspect. I’m fine.”
Gina gestured at the redhead. “This is Sophie Speranza from the Willamette News.”
The reporter jumped up and stuck out her hand. Evans ignored it. “I need to talk to you outside.”
“Sure. I’ve got some questions for you anyway.”
The ballsy little bitch
. Evans gestured for the reporter to move through the door. She followed and closed it behind her. In the hall, an old man with a walker moved slowly past, so Evans waited. When he was clear, she yelled at Speranza, but without raising her voice. “You put Gina’s life at risk by printing that story this morning.”
Speranza blinked and rocked back, but she quickly recovered. “The care facility sent out a press release and both Gina and her parents consented to an interview. They think the publicity will pressure the department to do something about Gary Bekker.”
“We are doing something, but you could jeopardize our investigation.”
“I don’t buy that. If you want Gina to be safe, arrest Bekker.”
“We did, but we still have to build a case. I need you to stay away from Gina and her parents until we have something solid on Bekker.”
“What about all the women he sexually coerced? That seems like a solid reason to keep him in jail.”
Evans struggled for the right thing to say. “That investigation is even more critical. Please leave it alone until we’ve made some progress.”
“Maybe I can help you.” Speranza still had her pen, tablet, and recorder in hand. “If I run the story—without naming the women—maybe more victims will come forward. The more accusers Bekker has, the more likely he’ll be convicted.”
Evans had to admit she liked the logic. “I can’t let you name me as a source.”
“Fine. This is off the record. What can you tell me?” Speranza clicked on her recorder.
“No recorder.”
She clicked it off.
“Gary Bekker is being investigated by internal affairs for inappropriate contact with detainees. We have the testimony of two women so far.”
“Will you tell me their names so I can interview them? I promise not to release their identities. I also know a lawyer who will be happy to take their case. ”
“I can’t. But I will give your name to the victims so they can contact you if they choose.”
“How long has Bekker’s behavior been going on?” Speranza’s young face was a mask of determination.
“At least two years. Beyond that, we don’t know.”
“You said you arrested Bekker. What is he charged with?”
“I can’t say.”
“No problem. I can look it up.” The reporter pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket and quickly accessed the Lane County Jail website. She looked up, startled. “He has a pending charge of assaulting an officer. Is that who hit you in the face?”
“I can’t comment. I’m going in to talk to Gina now. Alone.”
“Let me grab my laptop.”
Speranza went back in the room and sat next to Gina for a moment. “I’m not leaving yet. I’m just stepping out for a few minutes. We’ll finish up after the detective leaves.”
“Okay.”
Evans took her chair as she left. “How are you doing? Still making progress?”
“The doctors are stunned by how quickly I’m regaining strength. In fact, I’m going home this afternoon.” Gina gave a sad smile. “I mean to my parents’ house. But I’ll have my own place again soon.”
Evans was surprised by the suddenness of it, but happy for Gina. “That’s great news. In fact, I’ll escort you. I want to look through more of your paperwork. We have to build a case against Bekker.”
“What do you expect to find?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I’ve run out of other sources.”
“Have you talked to Gary’s brother?”
Evans was crushed by her oversight. In avoiding contact with Bekker, she hadn’t talked to any of his non-police associates. “No. You didn’t mention his family.”
“His parents are in San Diego, but his brother lives here. His name is Doug Bekker. He’s a slacker, but a nice guy.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He used to live in a trailer park not far from here. It’s called Meadow View and it’s on 32nd Street just off Q. Doug had the green singlewide at the very end.” Gina shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s still there, but most likely.”
“Would he talk to me about his brother?”
“Oh sure. He loves Gary, but he also hates him. They have a weird relationship.”
Evans understood that. She felt somewhat the same about her own brother. Charged with a new lead, she stood. “What time are you leaving here today?”
“Around five. My parents are out buying me a walker and doing some last-minute preparation at the house.”
“I’ll be back at five.” Evans touched Gina’s arm. “Be careful about what you tell reporters.”
Gina smiled. “Sophie is going to help me launch a comeback. The publicity will be great for my clothing business.”
Apprehension crawled up Evan’s spine. “Bekker is in jail for now, but if he makes bail, I’m worried he’ll come after you.”
Gina nearly dropped her water bottle. “That seems crazy.”
“I know, but he’s not acting rationally. I requested a guard for you, but I didn’t get it.”
“How much is Gary’s bail?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand, but he only needs twenty-five of it.”
“He’ll never come up with that unless he cashes out his retirement, and that would take weeks.”
“Just keep your eyes open and your doors locked. I will make sure patrol units circle by your house as often as possible.”
“Thanks.”
“See you in an hour.”
Evans found Doug Bekker sitting on the deck of his shabby trailer, drinking from a two-liter bottle of soda. Boxes loaded with mechanical parts surrounded him and a rusted kitchen stove took up the rest of the space. Doug wore shorts and sandals and nothing else. With the same ash-blond hair and broad chest as his brother, Evans identified him immediately. But while Gary Bekker looked like a man on permanent stress duty, Doug looked tanned and relaxed. Not a care in the world on a Wednesday afternoon.
Evans noticed two teenage boys across the cul-de-sac and a group of Hispanic men clustered around a food truck nearby. She locked her car and strode over to the man in the lawn chair.
“I’m Detective Evans, Eugene Police. Are you Doug Bekker?”
“I am.” He stood and shook her hand. “You sure are pretty for a cop. Even with that bruise.”