Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (7 page)

“You’re calling it a firebomb. Has someone identified the device?” River would get to the witness in a minute.

“We did.” The big man next to Quince reached out to shake her hand. “Sergeant Bruckner, EPD SWAT commander. We found the remnants of an incendiary device. Its primary purpose was to start a fire, but it didn’t do much damage, because most of the building is metal.”

“I’m familiar with the mode. A similar device was used as a distraction at a protest outside Pan Pacific Oil in Portland last year.” River stopped herself from saying more. She’d been working the local case for six weeks now, and she wasn’t authorized to talk about the investigation. “I’d like to take the evidence back to the federal building.”

“ATF will want it,” the firefighter captain said. River hadn’t caught his name. “They’ve got someone coming down from Portland.”

“ATF can get it from us. Our bomb tech needs to see it first.” These investigations involved so many departments, it was confusing and counterproductive. River wished they would consolidate all the federal law-enforcement agencies into a single department the way countries like Germany and Japan did.

“You work it out then. “Sergeant Bruckner shrugged. “The evidence is in the truck. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks. I’d need to go in and see the location now.”

“Not yet. The explosives unit is still searching for more devices. It should be clear soon.” Bruckner turned and strode toward the reinforced vehicle.

River looked at Quince and Schak. “Who owns this company?”

“Ted Rockman. He’s a state senator, and this is just one of his businesses.”

“Is he here?”

“No one has been able to reach him.”

“Do you have his number?”

“I’ll text it to you.” Quince completed the task while River talked.

“Do you have any insights or observations I should know about?”

“You have to consider the possibility of an inside job,” Schak said. “The perp came in through a supposedly locked door.”

“That one?” River pointed at the standard-size door nearby.

“Yes.” Jerry Bromwell, the night watchman, spoke up. He was in his late thirties, with a face that had been attractive before he lost his back teeth. “The overhead door didn’t open, and that’s the only other way in.”

River was ready to question him at length, but it had started to rain and she wasn’t dressed for it. “Let’s go sit in my car while you answer some questions.”

Bromwell’s eyes flashed wide, and she wondered why that worried him. River turned to the detectives. How to put this diplomatically? “We’re already tracking a local group we think might be responsible. There’s no need for the Eugene Police Department to spend its scarce resources on this case.”

Schak grinned. “You’re telling us to go home?”

River smiled back. “I’m suggesting that you can.”

“Then I’m out of here.” Schak fist-bumped Quince’s shoulder. “You should go too.”

Quince didn’t move. “I worked a bombing at the Planned Parenthood a few years ago with Agent Fouts, so if you need me, I’d like to be on the task force.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow and let you know when.”

They all headed for their cars, but River stopped and signed for the transfer of the bomb evidence. The parts now fit into a small plastic bag that she tucked into her briefcase. “Thanks, Bruckner. I’m setting up a task force meeting tomorrow, if you want to be there. Your experience could be helpful.”

“I’ll check with my supervisor.”

Next to her, coatless and hatless, Jerry Bromwell shivered in the rain.

“I’ll be in touch.” River nodded at the sergeant, then grabbed the witness’ elbow. “Let’s go.”

On the way, he mumbled, “I already gave my statement to the detective.”

“That’s fine. We’ll do it again. We often get more information with each session.”

In the car, she started the engine and cranked up the heater for Bromwell. River pulled off her coat, knowing she’d be sweating in a moment. She twisted sideways in her seat to face her witness and started a new recording. “How long have you worked for Rock Spring?” If the bomber had inside help, the night watchman was a good candidate.

“Two years. Why?”

“I’m going to ask a lot of questions. They’re all important. Please just answer them.”

“Fine.”

“Where were you when you heard the intruder?”

“In the office. It’s upstairs in the back of the factory.”

“Were you alone?”

He blinked rapidly. “Of course. Why?”

River pulled in a breath of patience. “First, I think you just lied to me. And second, do not ask me
why
again. I want to know everything. It’s how I do my job.”

She stared at him until he finally mumbled, “It’s an old habit. My wife is nosy.”

“Who was with you in the office?”

How does she know?

Bromwell’s lips didn’t move, but River heard the question anyway—a panicked cry that crossed the space between them without being uttered out loud.

“Who is she?”

Bromwell blinked and stammered. “No one. I told you. The second shift leaves at seven thirty, and I’m alone until the day shift comes in at five.”

River let it go for now. She would circle back when he was feeling less guarded. “How did the intruder get into the building?”

He squirmed in his seat. “I don’t know. He couldn’t have used the overhead door because I would have heard it open. And the man-door is always locked and you need the code to open it.”

“Do you know the code?”

“Of course.”

“Who else does?”

“The owner and the shift leaders. There could be more, but I don’t know.”

“There’s no other entry?”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back, but it’s a one-way door with no handle on the outside.”

River made a mental note to examine it for pry marks. “Where did the sound of the intruder come from?”

“Downstairs, but that’s all I could tell. At first I thought it was the foreman coming back for something, so I headed down.”

“What happened next?”

“I called 911 as soon as I saw him.”

“Where was he?”

“In the little hallway leading to the break room.”

“What was he wearing?”

“All black, with a black ski mask.”

It was the first time anyone had seen the potential eco-terrorist, and River was disappointed not to get a description “Did he notice you?” She had some concern for Bromwell’s safety.

“Yeah. He tried to run past me and I grabbed him.” Bromwell gestured with a clenched hand. “I tried to cuff him with the plastic slip cuffs they issued me, but the prick hit me and ran off.” Bromwell paused.

River sensed he wanted praise. “That was brave, but maybe not a good idea.”

The night watchman’s face fell. “I didn’t go after him because I saw the bomb, and I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“What did you do?”

A slight pause. “I ran from the building.”

His story didn’t sit right with her, and River returned to the idea that he had someone with him. But she needed physical details first. “Tell me about the guy in the ski mask. How tall was he?”

“Big guy. Maybe six-two and muscular. He had forty pounds on me and I weigh two hundred.”

Here we go
, River thought. The watchman wanted to make himself feel better about running away. “This is critical,” she said. “Without a description of his face or ethnicity, we need to know his exact size and shape.”

Bromwell bristled. “I told you. He’s at least six-two and two-forty. And strong.”

River studied the witness’ face. No bruises or red marks. Was he exaggerating? “Where did the attacker hit you?”

He patted his chest. “Right here.”

“So he ran out, and you looked at the bomb. Where was it?”

“On the floor in the hallway.”

“You recognized it?”

“Oh yeah. It was obvious.”

“What did it look like?”

“A shiny metal thing attached to a stick of dynamite.”

The metal cylinder had likely held a flammable liquid that burned when the dynamite exploded. Sweat began to roll down her chest into her bra. Time to switch gears. “Have you heard of the group Love the Earth?”

Bromwell shrugged. “I think I’ve seen the name in the paper.”

“Do you know any of its members?”

“No. Why?”

She let that one go. “What are your environmental politics?”

He narrowed his eyes in irritation, but worry lines appeared on his forehead. “I don’t know what you mean. I recycle at home, but I’m not a nutcase about it.”

“What else can you tell me? Any sign that the perp had been here before?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Any threats? Letters, e-mails, or texts complaining about the company?”

“We had some protestors last year, but that’s all I know about. The owner recently added the night watch shift, so he must have been worried.”

“When did that shift start?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Do you know the owner?”

“I see him at the Christmas banquets. Nice guy.”

“Okay, Jerry. We’ll wrap this up. But as soon as the building is cleared, I’m going in there to look around. And if you
had company tonight, I’ll find evidence of that. And tomorrow, I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.” She patted his arm. “Anything you want to tell me now?”

A long pause. “No.”

River stuffed the bomb evidence under her seat, they climbed out, and she locked the car.

“Can I go home?”

“Yes, but I’ll want to talk again tomorrow.”

The rain had let up, and River felt strangely energized. This was the kind of case she loved. Tracking a perpetrator who kept hitting new targets and taking more risks until they caught him. It was usually a bank robber, but she would enjoy this challenge. She had worked a similar eco-terrorist case in Portland, which was why her new boss had assigned this one to her.

River called the owner, Ted Rockman, left him an urgent message, then jogged back toward the building, ready to take a look inside. But first she had to examine the entry door and see just how secure it was.

The man-sized door had an electronic lock, operated by a key code. Anyone who knew the code could enter. She pulled out her recorder and made a verbal note to ask the owner for a list of everyone who knew the code and how often it was changed. The idea of an insider intrigued her. River was reminded of the animal-rights activists who went to work for the poultry or pork companies to secretly record what they considered to be atrocious conditions. She admired their dedication to their cause. But she still didn’t understand the hostility toward the bottled water company.

Had anyone dusted the entry for prints? River had called one of the bureau’s evidence technicians on the way over and left a message, but she hadn’t heard back or seen him yet. River took pictures of the door and key code, and headed toward the open
overhead door in the middle of the building. She nearly bumped into a tall Asian woman wearing a long black raincoat and carrying a large dark case.

“Excuse me. I’m Agent River.”

“Jasmine Parker, with EPD crime lab.”

“Sergeant Lammers called you out?”

“She called everyone.” Jasmine’s face was expressionless, but her eyes held mirth.

River smiled. “I appreciate you working tonight. Someone from our evidence response team should be here soon too. Please coordinate with him and let me know what you find.” River handed her a business card.

“I will.” The tall woman stepped under the door’s awning to get out of the rain. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” River never counted on luck to solve her cases, but every law enforcement officer knew that serendipity often played a role in their outcomes.

The fire trucks left the parking lot as River approached the overhead door. Bruckner gave her the signal that she could enter the building. The stench of burned wood and metal made her eyes water, but at first glance she didn’t see any damage. The bottling lines were intact, and she wouldn’t be surprised to hear they were back in operation soon.

Past the conveyor belts, she spotted the burned area near a short hallway. Unlike the high-ceilinged metal exterior, the interior rooms had been constructed of wood and drywall, and the perp had placed the device strategically to start a fire. Two men stood at the edge of the blackened area, pointing and talking. River introduced herself, then learned that the older man was the fire chief and the stout guy with the sideburns was a police sergeant with specialized training in explosive devices.

“What have we got?” she asked.

“An incendiary device set off by a homemade detonator,” the fire chief said. “A crude but effective firebomb.”

“The night watchman saw a metal cylinder attached to a stick of dynamite. Have you seen anything like it used here locally before?”

“No.”

The bomb expert added, “We haven’t had any eco-terrorism in Eugene since the feds convicted most of the Earth Liberation Front. But your office would know more about that.”

“The key word there is
most
,” River said. “We believe three members left the country and are still at large. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover they’d come home.” The international organization had contained a subgroup that lived mostly in and around Eugene, but they had damaged lumber mills, ranger stations, and other targets all over Oregon and Washington. In Eugene, they’d burned a car lot full of gas-guzzling SUVs.

“Bastards.” The fire chief almost spit the word.

“What else can you tell me?”

“Not much until we analyze the evidence and see what liquid was used.”

The bureau would do that at Quantico. “Show me the fire’s point of origin.”

The fire chief led her across the blackened floor and down the short hallway. “I believe the perp placed the incendiary device about here.”

A chunk of wall was completely burned out, leaving only the metal trusses on the concrete floor.

“He chose this spot because of the wood and drywall, I assume.” River was looking for confirmation.

“Looks like it. I don’t think he expected the whole place to burn, just to do some damage.”

“He may not have expected anyone to be here,” River added. “The watchman said he’s only been on shift overnight for two weeks.”