Free Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 01 - The Sex Club by L. J. Sellers Page A

came and went on the bus just like all the other ex-cons who work for me. I don’t know a thing about his personal life, and I don’t care. He’s dependable, but a little slow-moving. That’s all I can tell you.”
    “Thanks. Will you show me who he is?”
    The big man sighed and heaved up from the desk.
    Grady was about thirty-five with a thin build that suggested vulnerability. His delicate features said “trust me.” Jackson could see how female students would find him approachable.
    “Can you make this quick?” he asked before Jackson could speak. “I’m on the clock here, and I don’t want to lose my job.”
    “Why don’t you clock out? This may take a while.”
    Jackson followed him to the time clock near the front office, then suggested they talk in the car.
    “I don’t think I can help you much.” Grady flashed Jackson a power smile.
    They climbed into the Impala, and Jackson slammed the car door shut.
    “I’m one of the good guys,” Grady offered. “I go to work. I go to meetings. I see my PO once a week. That’s my life.”
    “Where did you go after work yesterday?”
    “Home.” Grady smiled sadly. “If you can call that place home.”
    “Did anyone see you there? Did you make any calls?”
    “I don’t remember. Why? What is this about?”
    “Just answer the question. Did anyone see you after work yesterday?”
    “Not right away. I went straight to my room and slept for a while. Then I went to a meeting later. People saw me there.” A drop of sweat started down Grady’s forehead.
    “What meeting? When and where?”
    “AA meeting. At the Baker Building near campus. It started at six.”
    “You’re an alcoholic?”
    “No. But I have to attend two meetings a week to live at the Recovery House.”
    “Why do you live in a Recovery House if you’re not an alcoholic?” Jackson asked.
    Grady shrugged. “It’s cheap. And the residents make no judgments.”
    Time to mix it up, he thought. “How well do you know Jessie Davenport?”
    Grady blinked. “Who?”
    “Jessie. You know. The girl you’ve been seeing.”
    “No.” Grady shook his head emphatically. “You’ve got the wrong sex offender. Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t me.”
    Jackson forced Grady to make eye contact. “What makes you think something happened to her?”
    “Because you’re here, asking me questions.” Grady’s cool charm started to frazzle.
    “Tell me about the girl you had sex with before you went to prison.”
    “No. That’s the past. You can’t do this to me.” Grady rocked forward in the seat.
    Jackson put the keys in the ignition. “Let’s go down to the station and get a DNA swab. I’ll call Barstow and see if your PO can join us for a chat.”
    “Oh shit.” Grady grabbed the door handle and pushed out of the car. Jackson, a step behind, paralleled his move. Free of the car, Grady ran for the railroad tracks. Jackson raced after him, the Sig Sauer jamming into the ribs under his arm. Mud sucked at his shoes, and his heart pounded heavily. Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to chase a suspect.
    It was a short chase. Grady lost his footing on the muddy railroad embankment and went down. Jackson slid into him and landed on Grady’s stomach with both knees. Grady was cuffed before he could get his feet under him.
    The Hyster driver watched from his perch on the big yellow machine as Jackson led Grady to the Impala.
    “Don’t do this to me,” Grady pleaded again.

Chapter 8
     
    Wednesday, October 20, 10:15 a.m.
    Ruth was carefully packing potassium nitrate into a four-inch metal cylinder when the doorbell rang. It startled her so badly she almost dropped the device. She tried to ignore the intrusion, but whoever it was rang several more times. Then she remembered the radio was on in the living room and realized her visitor must feel certain she was home. She set the would-be pipe bomb down on the laundry table, stepped out into the hall, and closed the laundry