Read Online Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) by L.J. Sellers - Free Book Online Page A

tough financial spot?
    Jackson added the pawnshop to his list of things to check out, packed Carla’s things back in her purse, and started on Lori’s red backpack.
    At a quarter to eight, Sergeant Lammers burst into his space. “Good, you’re here. We need to talk.” She kept moving, right past his desk, a wall of muscle and political ambition that could not be ignored or denied. Jackson followed her down the hall.
    “The media is reporting these homicides as a home invasion,” she said as they entered her office. “We’re swamped with calls from hysterical citizens. Tell me you’ve got a suspect.” Lammers motioned for him to sit.
    “I have two suspects, both with personal motives. Roy Engall, the dead man’s ex-boss, was being blackmailed by the dead man, and Shane Compton, his nephew, is a drug addict.”
    “What’s his motivation?”
    “I don’t know yet.” Jackson pulled his shoulders back and tried to feel confident.
    “Is he a meth user?”
    “I assumed so, but I’m not certain.”
    “Is Shane Compton in custody?”
    “Not yet. We’re looking for him.”
    “What about the other one? Engall?” Lammers tapped her pencil.
    “We have him under surveillance.”
    “You think he killed the whole family because someone was blackmailing him?” She was as skeptical as Evans.
    “I don’t know yet. It’s only been twenty-four hours.”
    “It’s weak, Jackson. All of it. I want someone in custody before the day is over. If it turns out to be the assholes who are doing these car jackings, you can have your pick of assignments for a year.”
    “I’ll do what I can.” Jackson left, thinking he had a better chance of winning the lottery than bringing in the carjackers in connection with this case. He laughed at the notion that picking his assignments was some kind of reward. He would always choose cases like this.
    Jackson hurried into the downtown hospital for the second time in twelve hours. Autopsies, or posts as the new pathologist called them, were conducted in the basement in a small room called Surgery 10. It was only his fifth post mortem in this convenient location. Until recently, he’d had to travel to Portland for autopsies, taking up a good part of the day. Lane County had finally hired its own pathologist, Rudolph Konrad, and Jackson was still developing a working relationship with him.
    “You’re on time. I appreciate it.” Konrad gave him what counted for a smile. Jackson had seen the man’s resume and he knew the pathologist was at least forty, but he looked younger. It must be the thick blond hair and chubby cheeks, Jackson thought as they shook hands.
    The medical examiner came in behind him, and the dingy basement room felt even smaller. One wall was taken up by a bank of huge stainless steel drawers and a hint of rubbing alcohol hung over everything. “We started with the woman because of her extreme blood loss,” Gunderson said, pulling on a gown. Jackson suited up as well, including booties.
    “Do you plan to attend all three family members’ posts?” Konrad asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “I ask because there may not be much to discover during the autopsies themselves.”
    “I like to see the trace evidence even if the cause of death is obvious.”
    “We’ll get started.”
    Konrad pulled back the white covering, and there was the hand in its own little plastic bag, resting innocently on Carla Walker’s pale stomach. The toast and coffee in his stomach roiled at the sight. “Can we do the hand first, then put it away?
    “Is it creeping you out?” Gunderson, all in black, seemed mildly amused.
    “A little.”
    Konrad reached for the appendage. “The only other case I’ve seen like this was a high school boy who drowned after losing a foot in the propeller when he fell out of his boat. The foot was still hanging by some skin when they pulled him out of the water. The ME at the scene detached it for safe keeping.”
    Jackson wanted to