Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (10 page)

“Only one that I know of. She quit after she claimed Jerry Bromwell sexually harassed her. I thought she had fabricated the incident so she could collect unemployment. Now I’m rethinking it.”

“Her name?”

“Angie Turnbull. You’ll get her file along with the others, and everyone who’s worked for me in the last year.”

River jotted down the woman’s name. “Will you flag all the employees who’ve been fired?”

“There are only a few. Most quit because they’re bored.” Rockman stood to leave.

River stood too, nearly as tall. “Thanks for coming in.” She handed him a card and hoped he wouldn’t grab her hand again. “Call me if you remember any significant incidents.”

Rockman nodded and strode out, buttoning his jacket as he moved. A confident man who hated the uncertainty his life and business had been thrown into.

River checked her watch:
9:52
. She had to get moving. Her meeting with Dallas was in eight minutes.

She parked in front of the Glenwood Cafe, lamented that she didn’t have time for eggs Benedict, and texted Dallas:
Bring me out a mint tea and we’ll go for a ride.

It was best for her undercover agent not to be seen with anyone from the bureau or come anywhere near the federal building. Dallas had an apartment about a half mile away, so River had chosen this location to be convenient for both of them. It was also nowhere near the Whiteaker, downtown, or campus areas where LTE members often hung out.

Dallas came out moments later and didn’t make eye contact as she approached River’s charcoal SUV. Dressed in jeans and a green sweater and looking twenty-two, Dallas could have been a University of Oregon student. Instead, Dallas was a four-year federal agent with a track record of successful undercover work. River admired her. Long ago, River had made a similar decision to serve her country, particularly because of an agent named Joe Palmer. He’d led the investigation into her father’s murders and given her his business card, saying she could call if she ever needed anything. Years later, after her mother had killed herself and River had been homeless and desperate, she’d called Joe and he’d taken her in and given her direction. As a young male, River had modeled her future after the man who’d profoundly affected her life twice.

River started her vehicle as Dallas slipped in. “Sorry for the late-night text, but there was another attack and the task force is meeting today.” She headed out of the parking lot.

“What happened?”

“Someone set off a firebomb at the Rock Spring bottled water factory. It could be the same perp who sabotaged JB Pharma.”

“So that’s what they were talking about.” Dallas gestured for River to get into the right lane. “We’re headed for the campus area. I want to show you where I think Cricket lives. I followed Adam to his house last night.”

A rush of adrenaline charged up River’s spine. Dallas had sent a picture of Cricket the week before, and they’d found him in the database with arrests for vandalism and failing to comply with a police officer. Now they had a current address. “How did you get the location? Were you there?”

“This is kind of wild.” Dallas turned to her, eyes blazing. “I hung out with Adam again at Tony’s Tavern. He and three other guys talked intently at a corner table for half an hour. I took pictures, which I sent you, but they’re probably crap without enhancement.” Dallas’ voice held the same excitement River felt. They would bust these guys soon. Maybe even catch them in the act.

Dallas continued. “We left the tavern and went back to Adam’s place. After he fell asleep, I opened his laptop and started poking around. I found a file called
Replay
and a bunch of documents came up. One said
JB Pharma
, but before I could open it, Adam’s cell phone rang. I had to slam the laptop closed and get the hell away from it before he caught me.”

“Was he suspicious of you?” River noticed Dallas hadn’t mentioned having sex with Adam, but if he’d fallen asleep, that meant she probably had. It was Dallas’ choice, and River wouldn’t ask about it.

“No. He was upset about the phone call.” Dallas reached into her shoulder bag for her computer tablet. “Later, when I was in my car, I keyed in what he said.” She read from her notes. “
What the fuck? I’m home, of course. You think I acted on my own? I’ll send you a fucking picture of me with someone who’ll vouch for me.
”

“This was after the Rock Spring fire?” River tried to quickly process the information.

“It was around midnight, so it had to be.”

“Maybe someone accused him of doing an independent act of sabotage,” River speculated. “We might have a copycat or someone in ELF Lite who’s hitting his own targets.”

“I think someone in the group went rogue,” Dallas said. “The meeting I witnessed last night seemed argumentative and loud at times. But I didn’t hear anything specific.”

River turned left on Amazon Parkway and headed toward downtown. “When do you see Adam again?”

“Tomorrow night. We’re going to a potluck party.”

“Will Cricket and the other guys from the meeting be there? Should you wear a wire?”

“I don’t know who’ll be there, but I’m not wearing a wire.” Dallas was adamant. “I can keep my digital recorder in my pocket for some situations. I transfer files off it to my tablet all the time. I leave an interview I did for a grant-writing gig on it in case anyone is ever suspicious of the recorder.”

“Be careful. Getting too close to your target can be dangerous.”

After a long moment, Dallas said, “Don’t worry, I haven’t slept with him and I don’t plan to.”

“Good.” Everyone in the bureau understood that some agents made such personal choices to accomplish their goals, but it was against policy, so no one talked about it. River had never done it, but then, she had worked a lot of financial stings in her early years
and had lived a mostly celibate life. “We’ll make a move on them as soon as you have something solid.”

“I’d rather wait. I think they have something big planned for Earth Day. Let me see what I can find out.”

As they neared the University of Oregon campus, Dallas directed River to go east on Eighteenth Avenue, then turn again on Onyx. “I don’t want to drive by the house,” she said, “but when we stop at the nearby corner, I’ll point it out to you.”

The gray sky and leafless trees didn’t diminish the charm of the neighborhoods south of campus. Many of the homes were stately and more than a century old, but even the cottages were well kept with tidy yards and full-grown shrubbery. The farther they drove from the campus, the more the homes began to look like student rentals.

As they approached Emerald Alley, Dallas pointed to the third house down on the left, the least-valuable property in sight. “I sat here on the corner and watched him go in, but it was dark and I was too far away to see the house number.”

“We’ll find it on Google Maps or in the county building if we have to.” River was trying to envision how agents would stage a raid on the place. Access to the home was from a narrow alley. It might be difficult to surprise Noonaz, but they could certainly box him in if he tried to run.

River drove Dallas back to her own neighborhood and dropped her off at the market across from the cafe. “Send me intel as it comes in. If we’re dealing with a copycat or rogue activist, he may not wait long to hit his next target.”

“You got it.”

“Be safe.”

They both laughed. Nobody joined the bureau looking for a safe job.

CHAPTER 8

Wednesday, March 13, 11:35 a.m.

Jackson ordered enough pizza for five people, then finished typing up his case notes to share with the task force. When he’d updated his boss, Sergeant Lammers, she’d told him Schak would be joining the investigation. Jackson had also contacted the detective who’d worked the original bank robbery and the district attorney, Victor Slonecker. He expected Dragoo to be there, but Slonecker would probably send an assistant DA or wait until they developed a lead to get involved. For the detectives, every homicide got their full dedication, but for the media and the upper law-enforcement people whose careers could be damaged by public outrage, some murders got more attention. An ex-con who lived in a storage unit wasn’t someone the public would get worked up over—even if he was trying to start a new life.

A few minutes before noon, Jackson headed into the conference room, a windowless space with a narrow table and folding
metal chairs that made his butt numb if he sat too long. He realized this might be one of the last cases he worked on in this claustrophobic space. The city had purchased and renovated a new building with more space and natural daylight, and they would soon make the move.

“Hey, Jackson.” Evans strode in and took a seat across from him. She looked remarkably fresh for someone who’d also had just a few hours of sleep. They’d met earlier to canvass the crime scene in the daylight, and Evans had mentioned doing a quick workout that morning. He envied her energy. She reached across the table and put down a cup of coffee in front of him. “You look like you could use some caffeine.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Rob Schakowski came in, looking as puffy-eyed as Jackson felt. The veteran detective’s blue jacket strained against its buttons and his buzz cut was going gray. But he was diligent and dedicated, and Jackson was relieved to have him on the task force. “Hey, Schak. Good to have you.”

“The feds didn’t need me on the firebombing, for which I’m grateful. What a clusterfuck.” He grinned and sat next to Evans. “Agent River has the lead, but she has to coordinate with the fire department, ATF arson investigators, and our bomb squad.”

“And Quince,” Jackson added for laughs.

“River indicated it wasn’t an isolated incident, so there’s probably more shit coming down.” Schak pulled a notepad from his carryall. “What have we got with this case?”

“A dead ex-con and almost no forensic evidence.” Jackson stood and rolled the dry-erase board into place. He wrote
Craig Cooper
at the top. “The victim lived in the storage unit next to where he was killed.”

“No shit?” Schak scowled. “Those places don’t have heat or electricity, do they?”

“Nope,” Evans said. “Some newer units are heated, but they’re more expensive and there aren’t many.”

The desk officer stepped in with two pizza boxes. “These are for you, I assume.”

“Grab a piece if you’re hungry,” Jackson said.

“I’m good.” The uniformed officer set down the pizzas and left.

Schak opened the larger box and helped himself. “Thank God you still eat meat.”

Was that a reference to Jackson’s health-conscious girlfriend?
“Hell yes I do.”

While they ate, they talked about the upcoming move to the new headquarters. Five minutes in, Jim Trang, an assistant DA, showed up.

“My subpoena man,” Jackson joked.

Trang put his briefcase on the floor and grabbed a slice. “Whatever I can do to help.”

Evans finished first, headed for the board, and started filling in what she knew. In the left column, she wrote
ex-con, employed at 4-Corner Gas, sister: Jane Niven
. In the right column, she listed their suspect:
Todd Sheppard, neighbor, found the body
.

Schak raised his hand in mock deference. “How does a guy who lives in a storage space have a neighbor?”

“Sheppard lives in a unit too,” Evans said. “And he looks like he’s been there a while.”

“Two homeless guys?” Schak’s tone was skeptical. “Why don’t we have Sheppard in custody?”

Feeling a little defensive, Jackson explained. “Sheppard has a brain injury, and without a car or money, I don’t see him being a flight risk. If the evidence implicates him, we know where to find him.”

“And he weighs three-hundred-plus pounds,” Evans added. “The director at the Mission didn’t look too happy to see us last night when I dropped Sheppard off. Which reminds me—” She turned and wrote on the board:
blood on his face/DNA
?
“It’ll be interesting to see what that reveals.”

Jackson had sent the swab with the crime scene technician the night before. Joe would test some of the sample for easy identifiers like blood type and send the rest to the state lab for DNA analysis. With any luck, they’d have some results by tomorrow and a DNA report in a week. Sometimes it took longer.

“Any other evidence at the scene?” Schak asked.

“Very little.” Jackson looked at his notes. “The victim seems to have died from a stab wound to the throat, but we didn’t find a weapon. Cooper’s storage unit was kind of Spartan, but he did have a laptop. I haven’t searched it thoroughly yet.”

The door opened again, and Detective Dragoo came in. He was in his forties, but he wore his hair slicked back in a retro style and walked with a subtle limp. “Sorry I’m late, but I’m on my way to court and I only have a few minutes.”

Schak and Evans both looked surprised as Dragoo sat down.

“We have another suspect,” Jackson announced. “Cooper was involved in a robbery nine years ago. His partner, Danny Brennan, was shot while being apprehended, and the money was never found. Danny’s brother, Patrick Brennan, was questioned but never charged. The missing money seems like a good motive for murder, so Dragoo will tell us about the old robbery case.”