Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (23 page)

Thursday, March 14, 8:05 p.m.

After not finding Todd Sheppard at either the library or the Mission, Jackson met Kera for dinner at Sweet Basil downtown. She was already there when he walked in and she embraced him in a tight hug. His weary body seemed to draw vitality from hers. Jackson stayed in Kera’s arms longer than he ever had in public. Damn, she was good for him. “Thanks. I needed that. Today was hard for me.” They took seats across from each other.

“You must mean Katie. What happened?” Kera squeezed his hand.

“The good news is that she went to her counseling appointment. But McCray had to take her. She still doesn’t want to be around me.”

“I’m sorry. I know that hurts.”

Jackson could see his pain reflected in her eyes. “I just hope the counseling helps her. I’m more worried about Katie’s drinking
than anything else.” Jackson hesitated, then finally told Kera about watching Katie at the rental and at the counselor’s office. “Was that obsessive?”

“Of course not. You’re just worried and not ready to let go of the idea that you can keep her safe.”

“How do I let go?”

“You don’t. It just happens gradually.”

A young male server with pink hair that flopped over his eyes stopped and took their order. They hadn’t even had to look at the menu.

“Where is Katie staying?” Kera asked.

“With her boyfriend and his mother.”

His girlfriend winced. “Anyone you know?”

Jackson shook his head and a flash of anger surfaced. “What kind of mother lets her son’s fifteen-year-old girlfriend move in with them? What is she thinking?”

Kera sipped her tea and took time answering. Her voice was gentle. “Maybe the mother reasons that it’s better than having Katie on the streets. Or better than having both kids stay with someone else just so they can be together.”

“The mother should have called me.”

“That would have been the right thing to do.”

Kera didn’t ask him what he would have said if the boyfriend’s mother had called. Jackson wasn’t sure. But what he wanted to tell her was,
Don’t let them have sex in your house. Don’t condone their relationship and act like it doesn’t matter.

“You don’t know that they’re having sex,” Kera said. “Not all teenagers in relationships do.”

His girlfriend knew him well. But she also worked at Planned Parenthood and understood better than most people that trying to control teenage sexual behavior was impossible. She’d helped
him understand that when two of her young clients had been murdered a few years back.

“I have to stop thinking about it.”

“Good idea.”

Kera talked about her volunteer work with injured veterans, then mentioned that Danette and her boyfriend seemed serious. “If Danette moves out, I’ll miss Micah dearly. I can’t imagine not having him with me.” Kera’s eyes brimmed with tears. She’d lost her son, Nathan—the baby’s father—in the Iraq War.

“Danette will bring Micah over all the time for babysitting,” Jackson reassured her. “And she hasn’t gone anywhere yet.”

Their food came, and while they ate Jackson talked about his case without mentioning names or critical details. “I have to interrogate a suspect again tonight, so I can’t stay long.”

“I know.” She smiled and he knew they were okay. During his time off after Renee’s death, he and Katie had spent a lot of time with Kera and her family. For a while, their companionship had masked the growing space between him and Katie.

Jackson’s phone rang, and it was Schak. “Hey, partner. You ready to do this? I’m sitting outside the storage place, and Todd Sheppard just went inside his little hobbit hole.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Should we call for some backup?”

“Hell yes.” Schak laughed. “I’m not even sure a taser will take that guy down.”

“I don’t want to stun him. He has a brain injury already.”

“I hear you, but I want to be ready for anything.”

“Call for a uniform and get Evans too. She’ll be annoyed if we leave her out. See you in a few.”

A blue patrol car was parked on the street, and Schak’s sedan was in front of the office. Schak and the officer stood next to the gate.
The moon peeked through the clouds and gave them a sliver of light. Jackson grabbed his taser and a flashlight and climbed from the car, aware that the steady downpour had finally stopped.

As he walked up, Schak said, “I called the owners for the code, but then I discovered the gate isn’t latched properly.” His partner gave it a push and it slid open.

“So anyone could have entered the night Cooper died.” Jackson realized it hardly mattered. All three of their suspects admitted to being at the crime scene.

They heard another car pull up and turned. Detective Lara Evans jumped out and trotted up, carrying a sledgehammer.

“You brought a lock pick.” Jackson envied her energy and foresight.

“I like to be prepared.” She grinned, and Jackson remembered her bringing one from the storage office that night. She might finally get her chance to use it. “What’s the plan?” Evans asked.

“We persuade Sheppard to come down to the department and make a statement. Once we have him in the interrogation room, we push for a confession.” Jackson didn’t say that the man’s brain damage would probably make it easy to convince him to unburden himself, but they were all thinking it.

“What if he doesn’t come willingly?” Evans asked.

“I have a recorder. We can take his statement here. If he confesses in any way, we take him to jail, even if we have to stun him. No batons.”

“What if Sheppard doesn’t confess?” Evans was forcing him to think it through. That’s why Jackson always wanted her on his team.

“We leave him here and do our job until we have enough to convict him.”

“You don’t think he’ll run?” Schak looked skeptical.

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

The wind gusted and Evans zipped her leather jacket against the cold. “I don’t think he did it. My money is on Patrick Brennan.”

“We’ll search Patrick’s place as soon as we have a warrant.” Jackson turned to Schak. “Did you look at the video from the office camera?”

“A waste of time. The camera only catches people at the keypad, so once the gate is open, anyone can come and go without being recorded.”

“Who do we have on the clip?”

“Craig Cooper. That’s it.”

Jackson hadn’t put much faith in the camera, so his disappointment was minimal. “Let’s pull your car up to his unit. No point in making work for ourselves.” He pushed the gate fully open and started toward the third row of storage spaces. His nerves jangled and he had a bad feeling about this. Todd Sheppard was gigantic and unpredictable. And if the suspect felt threatened, he might go crazy on them. Stun guns worked best from ten feet away or more, so the two prongs would separate and lodge in different muscle groups. He would have to remember to step back before using his taser. Jackson turned to Evans, who walked at his side. “I want you to take the lead. You did a good job with Jenna Brennan today, and I think Sheppard might respond better to a woman as well.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

The patrol officer hung back two steps. His job was backup.

At unit D-7, they stopped and Evans called out, “Todd Sheppard? It’s Detective Lara Evans. I need to ask you about something.”

No response.

Schak drove up in the narrow space, left his lights on, and joined them in front of the overhead door.

Evans banged on the metal. “Todd, I’m with the Eugene police. We need to talk. Open the door!”

Except for the wind, the night was silent.

“Come out now or we’re going to break the lock and open the door.” Evans pounded again, then looked at Jackson.

He nodded. She had brought the sledgehammer, so he let her use it. Evans swung the heavy tool over her shoulder and brought it down on the lock with precision.

The noise shattered the night and Jackson flinched. The metal door dented but the lock was solid.

Evans swung the sledgehammer twice more. The second blow knocked loose the latch holding the lock, and the whole device fell to the ground. She dropped the big hammer and pulled her weapon. Jackson pushed open the door with his free hand. The headlights from Schak’s cruiser cast a reflected glow on the cluttered interior.

Todd Sheppard’s big body was sprawled on the floor.

CHAPTER 22

Thursday, March 14, 4:45 p.m.

Dallas hadn’t heard from Adam all day and she started to get nervous. He’d invited her out this evening, but hadn’t followed through with details. Just as she checked her Eugene phone again, a text message appeared from Adam:
Potluck is at 6. Should I pick you up?

She texted back:
Let’s meet there and see what happens. Should I bring something?
She had to keep her car with her in case the action changed and she needed to follow another target.

He responded:
Just your sexy self.

The message made her smile—and start debating again about whether she would hook up with him. Only if it was the one way to get the information she needed. She texted back and asked for an address. Once she had it, Dallas found the address on Google Maps, then texted the location to River, hoping her boss would come back with the owner’s name and some intel.

Feeling hyper and ready to get on with her assignment, Dallas changed into her Eugene clothes: faded jeans, a snug black sweater, and a pair of closed-toed Birkenstocks she’d bought for the UC assignment—shoes that were hideously ugly but weirdly comfortable. Her research had indicated that Birkenstocks were appropriate in Eugene, but so far none of the young women she’d met had been wearing them.

She grabbed her handbag, tucked a small Kel-Tec into a secret panel at the bottom, and threw in some pepper spray disguised as perfume. Her slim digital recorder went into a pocket of her sweater, and she slipped a switchblade into her jeans pocket. Dallas reluctantly left her Glock in the nightstand by the bed. She’d never fired a gun until joining the bureau, but she had a natural talent and was accumulating quite a collection. Her sniper gear was in a locked safe in her Phoenix condo, where she was based.

Dallas spotted the keys to her leased Prius on the bar counter. Tucking the keys into her front pocket, she glanced outside to check the weather. Even in the rain, she loved the view of the tree-covered hill from the living room window. But she didn’t spend much time looking at it. She was here in Eugene on assignment, and when she wasn’t out there making contacts, she was on her computer, learning everything she could about her targets, or beefing up her background. Fieldwork was like taking on an acting job and living the part 24/7. But not for a paycheck. For the safety and well-being of her country. What could be better?

Dallas grabbed her sunglasses, which she had no use for in Eugene, and headed out.

The home was in Glenwood, an ugly area between Eugene and Springfield that was home to pawnshops, trailer parks, and weird
industrial businesses. Dallas had discovered the area two weeks ago when looking for a used camping backpack at a pawnshop.

Not wanting to be too early, she parked down a side street and watched the house for a while. It was larger than most of the funky little homes in the neighborhood, but moss covered the roof, the lawn was overgrown, and an old yellow school bus sat in the driveway. The bus didn’t look as if it had moved in decades. If Dallas had to guess by appearance, she’d speculate that a pot-smoking slacker lived there, talking to his cat and making jewelry to pay his rent. She’d learned that the homes of bad guys tended to look like everyone else’s.

Moments later, River proved her right with a text:
Amy Washburn, self-employed artist, drug possession and resisting arrest.
The information made Dallas smile. But she would have preferred to discover that the property belonged to one of the four core LTE guys. She waited until she saw Adam’s car park in front of the house, then drove forward and parked behind him. She called to him as he headed up the walkway.

“Hey, Fiona.” He kissed her cheek like an old friend.

His distance made her rethink the evening. Did he have plans for later that didn’t involve her? Good. She would follow him again. Maybe do a little eavesdropping.

For an hour, she sampled potluck food and listened to people talk about their kids, liberal politics, and vegetarian recipes. Deadly dull. Dallas smiled and did her best, all the while keeping her eye on three of the four men who’d met at the tavern on Tuesday night. Based on the conversation she’d overheard between Adam and Cricket, she had to eliminate those two as the Rock Spring arsonist. She couldn’t assume it was one of the other men, but they were a good place to focus. The older one with the beard hadn’t shown up yet, and she was disappointed. River had texted
his name that afternoon, Rick Arbuckle, and he seemed like the better bet. The young one with the mohawk, who looked fresh out of high school, was at the party but kept to himself. When she saw him step outside, Dallas decided to make his acquaintance.

On the covered porch, he lit a cigarette, its tip glowing in the dark. He turned when he heard the door open. Dallas smiled. “Hey, can I buy one of those off you?”