Read Online Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For by L. J. Sellers - Free Book Online
Book: Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For by L. J. Sellers
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Authors: L. J. Sellers
Tags: detective, thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Crime Fiction, Police Procedural, Murder, eugene, homicide, hate crime
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your mother?”
“She’s sober, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I want to know if you’re happy about being over there.”
“Oh sure. We’re working on a huge scrap book that’s all about me.”
“Sounds fun. I hope to wrap up this case quickly, so I’ll see you soon.”
Jackson met Michael Quince in the conference room. The basic facts of the rape cases were known to everyone in the violent crime unit, but Jackson needed specifics. Quince, a thin dark man with movie star looks, had been a detective for five years, working robbery for the first three, then sex crimes for the last two years. He’d been assigned to a bomb investigation a few months back because of his military experience, but he had called in the FBI for help. It had been a one-of-a-kind case for Eugene.
“What’s the rapist’s MO?” Jackson shifted in the hard metal chair. The city’s tight budget wouldn’t allow anything in the conference room to be updated. The department needed a whole building—because the one they were in would crumple in an earthquake—but voters had decided that idea was just a fantasy.
Quince cleared his throat, as if preparing to give a speech. “He attacks from behind, delivering a blow to the victim’s head. Neither woman has any idea what she was struck with. The pathologist looked at photos of their wounds and said it was something smooth and cylindrical, like a flashlight or a heavy pipe.”
“Were they knocked unconscious?”
“Not at first. Just hurt and stunned enough for the guy to get a jump on them.” Quince rifled though a stack of notes ripped from various tablets. Jackson thought Quince had good potential as an investigator, but disorganization could get in his way.
Quince continued, “The first victim, Keesha Williams, was struck twice in the head, then the guy pushed her down on the floor, ripped her blouse off, and tied it around her face so she couldn’t see him.”
“Could she describe anything about him?”
“She said he seemed average, not noticeably large, but very strong. She thought he smelled like a smoker.” Quince glanced at his notes, looking for more detail. “His voice seemed young. That’s all I got from Williams, age twenty-six.”
“We’ll get back to her. Tell me about the second attack.”
“Amy Hastings was jogging on the path around Amazon Park around 9:30 p.m. She heard someone behind her, then she was hit in the head. Twice. Then the guy pulled a pillowcase over her head, dragged her into the bushes, and raped her. He punched and kicked her repeatedly and told her not to move for five minutes or he’d kill her.”
“So he brought the pillowcase with him?”
Quince nodded. “Improving his technique with the second strike.”
“And her attack sounds more violent.”
“Definitely. His anger is escalating.”
“Where was the first victim attacked?”
“In her home. He came in through an unlocked back door.”
“How far apart on the dates?”
“Three weeks. And it’s been two weeks since the last one.”
There was a moment of silence as they both realized the perpetrator was likely to strike at any moment.
“Were these women random choices or do they have something in common?”
Quince looked distressed. “That’s the critical question, and I don’t have a good answer. Both victims had attended Lane Community College in the past, but weren’t students there anymore.”
“I want to talk to both victims. Will you set up interviews for me? As soon as possible?”
“I will. But the grapevine says you already have a suspect in custody for your homicide.”
“There are some potential kinks in the scenario.” Jackson squeezed his forehead, a habit he’d recently become aware of. “Was either of your rape victims penetrated with an object?”
Quince raised an eyebrow. “Amy Hastings said he used something
“She’s sober, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I want to know if you’re happy about being over there.”
“Oh sure. We’re working on a huge scrap book that’s all about me.”
“Sounds fun. I hope to wrap up this case quickly, so I’ll see you soon.”
Jackson met Michael Quince in the conference room. The basic facts of the rape cases were known to everyone in the violent crime unit, but Jackson needed specifics. Quince, a thin dark man with movie star looks, had been a detective for five years, working robbery for the first three, then sex crimes for the last two years. He’d been assigned to a bomb investigation a few months back because of his military experience, but he had called in the FBI for help. It had been a one-of-a-kind case for Eugene.
“What’s the rapist’s MO?” Jackson shifted in the hard metal chair. The city’s tight budget wouldn’t allow anything in the conference room to be updated. The department needed a whole building—because the one they were in would crumple in an earthquake—but voters had decided that idea was just a fantasy.
Quince cleared his throat, as if preparing to give a speech. “He attacks from behind, delivering a blow to the victim’s head. Neither woman has any idea what she was struck with. The pathologist looked at photos of their wounds and said it was something smooth and cylindrical, like a flashlight or a heavy pipe.”
“Were they knocked unconscious?”
“Not at first. Just hurt and stunned enough for the guy to get a jump on them.” Quince rifled though a stack of notes ripped from various tablets. Jackson thought Quince had good potential as an investigator, but disorganization could get in his way.
Quince continued, “The first victim, Keesha Williams, was struck twice in the head, then the guy pushed her down on the floor, ripped her blouse off, and tied it around her face so she couldn’t see him.”
“Could she describe anything about him?”
“She said he seemed average, not noticeably large, but very strong. She thought he smelled like a smoker.” Quince glanced at his notes, looking for more detail. “His voice seemed young. That’s all I got from Williams, age twenty-six.”
“We’ll get back to her. Tell me about the second attack.”
“Amy Hastings was jogging on the path around Amazon Park around 9:30 p.m. She heard someone behind her, then she was hit in the head. Twice. Then the guy pulled a pillowcase over her head, dragged her into the bushes, and raped her. He punched and kicked her repeatedly and told her not to move for five minutes or he’d kill her.”
“So he brought the pillowcase with him?”
Quince nodded. “Improving his technique with the second strike.”
“And her attack sounds more violent.”
“Definitely. His anger is escalating.”
“Where was the first victim attacked?”
“In her home. He came in through an unlocked back door.”
“How far apart on the dates?”
“Three weeks. And it’s been two weeks since the last one.”
There was a moment of silence as they both realized the perpetrator was likely to strike at any moment.
“Were these women random choices or do they have something in common?”
Quince looked distressed. “That’s the critical question, and I don’t have a good answer. Both victims had attended Lane Community College in the past, but weren’t students there anymore.”
“I want to talk to both victims. Will you set up interviews for me? As soon as possible?”
“I will. But the grapevine says you already have a suspect in custody for your homicide.”
“There are some potential kinks in the scenario.” Jackson squeezed his forehead, a habit he’d recently become aware of. “Was either of your rape victims penetrated with an object?”
Quince raised an eyebrow. “Amy Hastings said he used something
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