Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (9 page)

“Just a moment.” The clerk took her time. “It’s at one thirty.”

“Thank you.” He clicked off and sat for a moment, willing the anxiety to leave his body. Katie would get through this. She just needed a treatment program and some intensive counseling. He’d taken her to a grief counselor, but after one session she’d refused to go back, calling it “pointless.” Then Katie had started drinking and staying out late with people he didn’t know. He’d tried to keep her busy with movies, shopping, and board games at home, but it had driven them both crazy. They weren’t used to that much time together, and the more time Jackson had spent with her, the angrier she’d become. Katie blamed him for her mother’s death, and he couldn’t argue the point. He’d mistakenly shot his ex-wife while trying to rescue her from a kidnapper.

Jackson pushed all of it from his mind. Thinking and worrying and planning hadn’t done any good. He would ask for the court’s help today. For now, he had to check in with his boss before meeting Evans back at the crime scene for a daylight view.

CHAPTER 7

Wednesday, March 13, 6:30 a.m.

River turned off the radio and forced herself to sit up. Three hours of sleep was not enough and never would be, no matter how many times she’d gotten by on it. She skipped her morning yoga and headed straight for the shower. The family room where she normally did her yoga routine was being remodeled and currently didn’t have flooring. The thought reminded her that she’d seen her contractor’s van in a pullout just down the road from her house—at three in the morning when she’d finally made it home. What was that about? Had Jared been too tired to drive home?

She dressed in dark slacks and a peachskin jacket that hid her somewhat androgynous body, made a strong cup of tea, and warmed up leftover chicken marsala for breakfast. While eating, she checked her work phone for messages. Jamie Dallas, her undercover agent on the Downdraft case, had texted her at 2:27
a.m., and she’d missed it. The text said simply:
I have Cricket’s address!

River texted back:
Meet at Glenwood Cafe on Will. at 10.

The young woman was making fast progress. Dallas had only been in town six weeks, but she’d already earned the attention and trust of Adam Greene, a prominent LTE member. River was eager to meet with Dallas this morning and find out if she knew anything about the firebomb incident.

The doorbell rang, and River reflexively checked her weapon. It had to be Jared Koberman, the handyman she’d hired to remodel her entire house. River headed for the front door.

She’d only been in Eugene six months, after transferring from the Portland office where she’d worked for years. Her transition from Carl to Carla had been liberating—like taking off an ill-fitting disguise she’d been wearing her whole life—but it had also made her a target of coworker harassment. Even though only a few agents had given her a hard time, River had decided that a new location to go with her new identity would give her a clean start. The heart attack that had triggered her lifestyle change turned out to be a blessing.

She glanced at the camera monitor, saw that it was Jared, and pulled open the door. “Good morning.”

He smiled, and her core temperature rose. She loved Jared’s weary but honest blue eyes, his trim mustache—which law enforcement men never wore—and his strong jaw line. His wrinkles didn’t matter.

“Good morning, River.” He stepped in carrying a toolbox, a leather tool belt, and a thermos. “What’s wrong?” he asked a second later.

“Nothing. Just not enough sleep.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” River made another
cup of tea but didn’t offer Jared any. He had coffee in his thermos and would say no thanks, as always.

He looked worried as he sat down. “Did I leave too much dust yesterday after I pulled out the old carpet?”

“No. Your work here is great. I’m just wondering why I saw your van beside the road late last night.”

Jared looked down, shifted in his chair, then finally met her eyes. “I told you I was losing my house?” He said it like a question.

“I remember.” He’d also told her his business had almost gone under during the recession.

“They finally evicted me. A place I had lined up fell through, so I put my stuff in storage, and I’m sleeping in my van for now.”

Now River understood why he’d been working late every night and seemed reluctant to leave. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It should be temporary.”

“You don’t have any family you can stay with for a few weeks?”

“Not really. My sister is here in town, but she’s already got a full house.”

River’s impulse was to invite him to stay with her in the interim, but her law enforcement brain kicked in and said,
Are you crazy?

He stood. “I should get to work. I won’t park out there if it bothers you, but I hate to waste my time and gas money driving back and forth.”

“It doesn’t bother me. In fact, you can park right in the driveway.” She’d only known him for a month, but she trusted Jared. She’d run a background check before hiring him, then eventually, she’d let him work in her house even when she wasn’t home. It was the only way the entire remodel would ever get done. The only possessions she really cared about were her Glock, her
Honda Element, and her computers—all of which she took with her every day.

“Thank you.” Jared’s voice had a little catch in it. “I appreciate that. I should have a new place soon.”

River stood to leave. “I’ll see you this evening.” She knew her colleagues would find it unsettling that she trusted this guy, but River had learned to rely on her instincts about people. The only person she’d ever been wrong about was her father, Gabriel Barstow, who turned out to be a serial killer. Though even as a child, she’d known something was off about him. Like the way he never hugged her or looked directly in her eyes. As a young boy, she’d thought it was mostly her father’s discomfort with people of his own gender, but then the FBI had shown up to search their basement and she’d realized the terrible truth.

As she grabbed her briefcase and headed out, River remembered the warning her father had sent from prison six weeks earlier. An inmate he’d pissed off had threatened to “ruin her” as a way of retaliating against the old man. The inmate’s name had seemed familiar, and River had looked up Darien Ozlo and discovered she’d been on the FBI team that had sent him to prison for extortion and assault. For weeks after receiving her father’s letter, River had been on guard, keeping an eye out for lurking strangers or cars following her home, but so far, the threat hadn’t materialized. She’d made a few calls and found out Ozlo had checked in with his parole officer after being released, so River was inclined to think his threat had been hot air and posturing. Or maybe her father had made it up just to get her attention after River had ignored him for a decade.

In her office, River prepped for the task force meeting later that morning. She pulled all her case notes together, then listened to her interview with Jerry Bromwell, the night watchman at Rock
Spring. Despite his denial, her priority was to find who he’d gotten naked with in the office and figure out whether that person had left the exterior door open for the bomber to enter the factory. She also had to check Bromwell’s connections to see if he knew anyone in Love the Earth, or ELF Lite, as the FBI jokingly called it. The group seemed to be modeling itself after the Earth Liberation Front, a radical wing of environmentalists that had done millions in damage in the mid-nineties. Until recently, LTE had limited itself to protesting, tree sitting, and other obnoxious but harmless activities. Then, in January, a pipe carrying waste sludge from JB Pharma’s manufacturing plant had been sabotaged. Love the Earth hadn’t publicly taken responsibility for it, but the bureau had reason to suspect the group and had established Downdraft, with River heading the investigation. Her first step had been to put out a nationwide memo asking for a young agent willing to do undercover work in Eugene.

River’s desk phone rang and she picked up. Their front office person said, “Ted Rockman is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

River stepped out of her office so he would see her from the front area. Tall and lean, Rockman came toward her with long strides and stiff-shouldered confidence. He wore his dyed-black hair short, emphasizing his long forehead and prominent nose, and his charcoal-gray suit looked tailor made. River introduced herself and they shook hands, his grip lingering as he sized her up. She was still not used to men looking at her like that. Sometimes it repulsed her, and sometimes it made her cheeks flush. Today, she was too focused to care.

“Thanks for coming in so early.” River rounded her desk and sat. “I tried to reach you last night.”

“I was in Salem. The legislature is in session, and I have an apartment there during the week. I drove down as soon as I got
your message.” He sat on the edge of the guest chair, as if he didn’t plan to stay long.

River wondered about his political aspirations. Was he headed for Washington next? Some men got bored with money and sought power too. “Did you stop by the factory?”

“Yes. It’s not badly damaged. We’ll be up and running tomorrow.” Rockman clenched his fists. “I’m not letting that bastard dictate how I run my life or my company.”

River understood the rage of being threatened. “We have a task force meeting today, and any information you can give me will be helpful.”

Rockman pulled a folded letter from a slim leather binder and handed it to her. “I received this letter in the mail a few weeks ago. I didn’t take it too seriously, but I did add a night watchman at the plant. Now I wish I’d installed a perimeter fence.”

River noted the letter was on white lined paper that had been ripped from a binder. She read it slowly.

Dear Mr. Rockman,

Much has changed since I first protested in front of your company. I know a lot more about myself and about you. I’m prepared to reveal what I know to the public, unless you stop selling bottled water. Don’t you realize how evil your business is? You put water—a free resource with no pollutants and no carbon footprint—into plastic bottles that end up in landfills. Do you know how many plastic bottles end up in landfills each year? 36 billion. Each year. Do you know how many end up in our rivers and oceans? No one does, but there’s a beach at the southern tip of California that has more plastic particles than sand. Most people have access to recycling facilities and they don’t use them. You have a moral obligation to shut down your business. I know you don’t need the money. Do the right thing.

—A citizen of the Earth

All River could think was, 36 billion a year? It had to be an exaggeration. “When did you receive this?”

“On February twenty-fifth.” He handed her the envelope. “It came to my office downtown, but I didn’t see it for a few days because I was in Salem. As I said, I didn’t take it seriously at the time because there wasn’t a direct threat. As a legislator, I get e-mails and phone messages from environmentalists all the time.”

“Any idea who this letter is from?”

“No.” His eyes expressed disappointment. “I was hoping you would.”

“We’re watching a group called Love the Earth, and we’re starting to get names and data.” River came back to the odd part of the letter. “It’s peculiar where the writer says he or she will reveal what they know about you. That sounds personal. Any idea what they’re talking about?”

“It struck me as odd too, but I’m mystified by it. I wish I’d taken the letter more seriously. I’m just glad no one was hurt last night.”

“According to the night watchman, he was the only person in the building.” River paused to see if Rockman would jump in. When he didn’t, she continued. “But I think someone was with him. There was a pair of men’s briefs stuffed in the couch, and something Bromwell said made me think he was lying about being alone.”

“You’re saying he had sex on the job?” The owner looked outraged.

“Most likely. Any idea who Bromwell would bring in?”

“No. But if he did, he’s done working for me.”

“I’d like to see his application file. What if the person he had a tryst with left the door open for the arsonist?”

“An inside job?” Rockman rubbed his face. He probably hadn’t had much sleep either.

“It’s always a possibility.” River softened her voice, hoping he would cooperate. “I’d like to see the personnel files for all your employees.”

“I’ll have someone in my office send the PDFs. I trust the information will never be abused?”

“I’ll keep strict confidence.” Time to probe a little. “Do you own the company outright?”

“My wife and I are joint owners, but we have a profit-sharing plan with our employees.”

“Your office isn’t on the factory site?”

“No. I have a building downtown.” He shifted as if preparing to leave. “Part of my office is used for the Rock Spring operations and another company I own, and I use the back portion for my political headquarters.”

“What other business?”

“Rockman Real Estate.”

He apparently liked the sound of his own name. “Do you have any disgruntled ex-employees?”