Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (25 page)

A long silence.

“Will you agree to see a counselor?”

“Sure.” They both knew it was whitewash. Hartman could go on record as saying he’d ordered her to get counseling, but he’d never follow up. And neither would she.

“What’s happening with the case?”

“My UC is tailing Russell Crowder, who she thinks might be planning something for today. We’ll be ready to step in.”

“Great.”

“If nothing happens today, I may need more surveillance people. Can you request some?”

“I’ll try. But the Portland bureau is dealing with a serial sniper, a rash of armed bank robberies, and two missing women.”

“We’ll do the best with what we have.”

“Take some time off when it’s over.”

“I will.”

River grabbed her casebook from her office and hurried down the hall to the conference room. Despite the calming mantra she’d been reciting all morning, a sense of dread had taken root in her system and was steadily growing. The attack on her life had kick-started the old anxiety and now it was in full bloom. When she got like this, wild scenarios played out in her head. Today’s imagined drama featured an eco-terrorist setting off a bomb or poisonous gas in a very public place, after which River would have to call in a team of forensic pathologies to process the bodies.

No!
Dallas had eyes on Russell Crowder, and they would locate Rick Arbuckle today. It had only been two and a half days since the firebomb. The perp hadn’t had time to plan another attack, despite what Dallas thought. River took long, slow breaths as she updated the whiteboard.

Fouts came in, looking thinner than she remembered, but what caught her eye was his expression. He was missing his usual downturned mouth and worried eyes. River resisted the urge to
ask him. If it was personal, he wouldn’t share. If it was related to the case, he would bring it up after Detective Quince arrived.

“Hey, Fouts.”

He shook his head. “You sleep with your bedroom window unlocked?”

The crap had started. “It’s Eugene. And I live five miles from town. But I’m fine, thank you.”

“Glad to see that. I’m starting to like you.” A trace of a smile.

“Wish I could say the same,” she joked in return.

“Seriously, what happened? Why did some California ex-con come after you?”

“I busted him when I was with the bureau in San Diego.” It was a half-truth. She didn’t talk about her father, ever.

Detective Quince strode in, and River was relieved. She liked looking at Quince’s attractive face better than Fouts’ pinched stare. “Hello, Quince. Let’s get started.”

River sat down. “We now have IDs on all four of the men who met at Tony’s Tavern the night of the firebomb. Agent Fouts matched a mug shot of Rick Arbuckle to the older bearded man, and our undercover agent identified the younger mohawk guy as Russell Crowder.” She looked at her printed notes. “I can’t find Crowder in the system. But he’s young, so I faxed a subpoena to a juvenile court judge to see if Crowder has a juvie record. Our UC is tailing him and thinks he may have something planned for today. It seems too soon after the firebomb, but we’ll stay on alert. I may need someone to relieve the UC’s surveillance duty later this evening.”

“I’ll do it,” Quince offered.

“Thanks. I asked for more personnel, but the Portland office is dealing with its own problems and we may not get help.” She looked at Fouts. “What can you tell us about Arbuckle?”

“He has a history of vandalism, so he fits the profile. More important, I checked with his PO and found his address and his employer. Bring Recycling. I’ll try to get eyes on him today.” Fouts looked pleased, and River realized that was the reason for his good mood. Fouts stood and added the details to the whiteboard.

“Excellent.” River looked at the clock. It was almost time. She flipped on the big monitor at the end of the table. “A Quantico profiler is conferencing with us in a few minutes. Maybe we’ll learn something that will help us prioritize our resources.”

A moment later, Agent Moczary’s craggy face filled the screen, and an overhead light shimmered on his endless forehead. Videoconferencing had not been designed with him in mind. “Good morning, Eugenians.”

“Hey, Moczee.” Fouts had known him a long time. “What have you got for us?”

“That depends. We’ve got two incidents: the sabotage to the pharmaceutical company and the firebomb at the bottled water plant. River tells me they may have been committed by members of the same group, but not necessarily the same guy.” Moczary pushed back his nonexistent hair and grinned. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. Either way, he’s likely male, under thirty, and with the exception of the eco-group, he’s most likely a loner.”

River took notes, but this was Profiling 101, and everyone in the room could have come up with it.

Moczary continued. “The act of sabotage is more sophisticated, and that individual likely has above-average intelligence. He’s also confident and probably worked for the company at one point.”

River knew that too. “What about an alias?” she asked. “Would he change his last name to Greene to personalize his cause?”

“Excellent question.” Agent Moczary pointed at her. “I’ve come across that in groups with superiority complexes.”

River glanced at Fouts. “I’ll see if my UC can find out Greene’s real last name.” She turned back to the monitor. “What about the firebomber?”

“He’s harder to pin down. Of the five arsonist profiles, I’d say he best matches the Strategic Fire Starter.” Moczary listed the attributes on his fingers as he spoke. “History of delinquent behavior, low self-esteem, membership in some kind of gang, and history of alcohol or drug use or abuse.”

River didn’t know enough about Crowder yet to properly assess the profile match. She’d only heard his name late last night, and this morning had been chaotic. “We’ll know more about Russell Crowder soon, but I don’t see anything that rules him out yet.”

Quince jumped in with a question. “What about the pattern? One member committing an act of sabotage, then another member using a firebomb. Does that follow a profile?”

Fouts laughed. “You must not have been here in the Northwest when the Earth Liberation Front was active. That was their MO.”

Quince looked more confused than embarrassed. “I thought their crimes were mostly arson.”

“Yes, but they committed vandalism and sabotage too.” Fouts turned to the monitor. “And half of those arrested were women, so I don’t put much faith in the concept that he’s likely a male.”

“The ELF arsonists were different,” Moczary argued. “They were environmentally and politically motivated, and most of them had no prior criminal histories.”

“Our perps are environmentally motivated too,” Fouts said.

River took charge again. “We have intel that says four men from ELF Lite met at Tony’s Tavern the night of the bombing. Not only did they argue, but our UC says she overheard a conversation that indicated one of the members had gone rogue and planted the firebomb without the consent of the group.”

“Then I’ll modify my profile,” Moczary said. “Teenage delinquent behavior, substance abuse, and low self-esteem coupled with seeing himself as an outsider.”

“What about the letter he wrote to the owner of the bottled water company?” River asked.

“What letter?” Moczary squinted.

“I scanned it and attached it to an e-mail I sent you.”

“Never got it.”

“Damn.” River dug through her paperwork, found the letter, and read it to the profiler. She was reminded of the personal threat of exposure.

“That’s quite odd.” Moczary played with his lips for a moment. “I think our perp has deep personal issues. He may be seeing a shrink and may have been sexually molested.”

“How the hell do you get that?” Fouts’ brows came together in a deep scowl.

“The phrase ‘I know a lot more about myself’ indicates counseling and new self-awareness,” the profiler explained. “The threat to reveal what he knows about Rockman demonstrates that he feels shame and assumes others do too. I’m guessing sexual abuse.”

“You think Rockman, the state senator, abused him?” River wanted clarity.

“Probably not.” Moczary took a long sip of his bottled water. “But I believe the letter writer feels shame about something, and for men his age, it’s often sexual.”

“We appreciate your insight.” River stood.

“Anytime. That’s my job.” The profiler gave them a little salute, and River clicked off the monitor.

“I’m not sure how that helps us, but I’ll relay it to our UC.” River looked at Fouts. “And we should go back through all the
Rock Spring employee files and see if anything new pops, based on the profile.”

“What have you got for me?” Quince asked.

“We need more info on Crowder, but I’m still waiting for a judge to release his juvenile record. If you have any clout over there, please use it.”

“I know the court clerk well.” Quince smiled and River thought she saw a little blush.

Just as they were about to head out, River’s phone rang. She looked at the ID:
Darrell Shoemaker
. Aka Special Agent in Charge from Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. She put him on speaker. “Agent Shoemaker, we’re in a task force meeting, so your timing is good. I’ve got you on speakerphone.”

“I don’t have much yet, but I wanted to let you know that the incendiary liquid in the firebomb was napalm, a mix of gasoline and aluminum salts.”

“Something he could have made himself?” River asked.

“Yes, unfortunately.”

After the meeting, River sat at her desk, thinking about the profiler’s comments. She called Ted Rockman’s office and told his receptionist she needed to speak to him right away.

“Mr. Rockman is being interviewed right now. I’ll have him call you as soon as he’s done.”

“I have one very important question. It’s about the arson at his plant. He’ll want to take it.”

“Just a minute. I’ll interrupt him.”

A moment later, Rockman came on the line. “Do you have a break in the case?”

“Maybe. Do you know a young man named Russell Crowder?”

A pause. “Off the top of my head, no. But I’ve been involved with Boys and Girls Club as well as Boy Scouts, so I’ve met a lot of young people and I can’t remember them all.”

“If you do remember him, please call me.”

“I will.” Rockman hung up.

River wondered who was interviewing him. A local reporter or had the network people hit town on the firebomb story? It was time to check in with Dallas.

CHAPTER 24

Friday, March 15, 8:30 a.m.

As Jackson entered the violent crimes area, Evans spun in her chair and said, “Happy birthday.”

Oh crap.
He’d completely forgotten and he wasn’t prepared to deal with it. “Thanks. Would you keep it to yourself? I’m not in a mood to celebrate.”

Evans’ face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Katie’s not doing well, but I don’t want to talk about it. This case needs our undivided attention today.” He’d texted his daughter first thing that morning, and she had ignored him as usual.

Schak walked up. “Are we meeting this morning?”

“We are.” Jackson grabbed his case folder and coffee and headed for the conference room. Between worrying about Katie and wondering what he could have done to keep Todd Sheppard alive, Jackson hadn’t slept well again.

He and Schak took seats, and Evans headed for the board. Next to Sheppard’s name, she wrote
Killed
/
silenced?

The scene from the night before flashed in Jackson’s memory. The big man’s body had not been assaulted in any visible way. They wouldn’t know how he died until after the autopsy. The pathologist might find the killer’s injection site, or maybe Sheppard had simply had a stroke or heart attack. Jackson hated not knowing, and it contributed to his foul mood.

“It has to be natural causes.” Schak sipped his coffee. “I was watching Sheppard’s unit, except for ten minutes or so when I went to find a restroom.”

“But the killer wouldn’t know that,” Evans countered. “And if Sheppard and the killer know each other, maybe they talked and the killer got worried.”

“Let’s focus on the first death for now.” Jackson turned to Schak. “Do you have anything new for us?”

“Sorry, no. I told you last night, the video was worthless, and I couldn’t find any witness around the storage business.”

“I came up empty yesterday too,” Evans said. “I talked with the neighbors, and only one woman remembered seeing Maggie’s truck on Tuesday. The neighbor thinks the truck was there when she came home at six. But that leaves Maggie still open for Cooper’s time of death, except for her daughter’s alibi.”

Schak looked at the board. “Did you question Jenna?”

“We did,” Jackson said. “She claimed they were both home watching a movie. We think the daughter might have Asperger’s. I did a little reading about it last night, and the condition doesn’t necessarily disqualify her as a suspect. It just means her emotional and social development are off and that she’s probably smart in unusual ways.”

“Patrick is our likely perp.” Schak shifted, looking a little agitated. “We need to search his place before the damn jail releases him.”