Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (16 page)

“Do you want me to start now?”

Jackson heard his hesitation. Who the hell wanted to go out on a wet March night looking for a teenager who didn’t want to be found? But how was he supposed to function, to sleep, not knowing where she was? “In the morning is fine. I’m checking the downtown area now. But I have an autopsy to attend in the morning and more people to interview for this case.”

“She’ll be all right, Jackson. Katie is smart and resourceful beyond her years.”

Not when she’s drunk.
“I know. Thanks, pal. I’ll let you know if I hear anything or come up with any leads.”

“Keep your mind strong.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

Jackson cruised the core city blocks, past the bus depot and the library where the kids hung out during the day in small groups, often wearing trench coats and boots and sporting piercings and pink hair. But the teenagers were long gone, either home to the parents they defied by not going to school or home with friends to sleep on a couch in a tiny, filthy apartment… but not before getting drunk or high.

Jackson prayed Katie was smart enough to stay away from heroin or meth. But alcohol made people stupid, and Katie was
hurt and confused. Should he have sent her somewhere? To a private school or camp? Unless she was locked in, no facility could keep her either. In a few short months, his daughter had morphed from a child he could control with a stern voice into a young adult who was beyond his reach. This was the point where counselors—and parents who had been through it—would encourage him to let go and accept the things he couldn’t control or change.

He wasn’t ready.

After a half hour downtown, he drove south to his own neighborhood, cruising past the home that he, Katie, and Renee had shared for most of Katie’s fifteen years. He half expected to see his daughter sitting on the porch in front of the garage where the two of them had built his trike, a three-wheeled vehicle made from a Volkswagen bug and a Harley motorcycle.

Jackson circled back and parked across the street. He wouldn’t have blamed her for wanting to come back here. It was her home. First he’d uprooted her so he could sell the house and get out from under the mortgage he shared with Renee, then Katie had been through the kidnapping and shooting death of her mother. Her life had been completely disrupted over the last six months. Jackson wished he could go back too. He would have given anything to have Renee hassling him about money again. If he had stayed in this house, would his ex-wife still be alive?

Shaking his head to throw off that line of thinking, Jackson eased back onto the street. Ten blocks away, he passed the home he lived in now, which was also the home he’d grown up in. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. His brother, Derrick, who had lived there all along, was on the road, driving a big truck twenty-five days of the month. Missing his only connection to his childhood family, Jackson pulled over and called Derrick.

His brother answered, sounding sleepy. “Jackson? What’s wrong?”

Jackson wanted to chuckle and say
I must not call you very often
. But the words caught in his throat, and he blurted out, “Katie ran away.”

“Oh no. Have you heard from her?”

“No. It just happened.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll be back.” Derrick chuckled. “Remember when I took off to go stay with Grandma when I was ten?”

“Of course. I went with you.”

“No you didn’t.”

“What are you saying?” A weird distress wormed into Jackson’s chest. “I remember packing a little blue backpack, the one with the flag decal sewn on.”

Derrick laughed again. “Yeah, you packed all right, but you didn’t go with me. You chickened out.”

“No, I remember crossing the park with you and stopping to look at a dead bird.”

“That was a different time, Jackson. We were older then. You didn’t walk across town to Grandma’s with me.”

Stunned that his brain had co-opted his older brother’s adventure somewhere along the way, Jackson changed the subject. “When will you be home?”

“Next Friday.”

“Let’s work on your trike that weekend.”

“I’m ready.”

“I’ve got to go. Katie is still out there.”

“Take it easy.”

Jackson hung up and kept moving. He had a missing daughter and work to do. Going home was not an option.

River stayed at her desk, reading through employee files on her monitor until she thought she’d go blind. The bottled water company had a high turnover and had hired twenty-eight people in the last twelve months, with twenty-two quitting and three being fired. None had any connection to LTE that she could find on Facebook, Twitter, or any other social media. She found her employee list from JB Pharma and scanned through it again, looking for overlap between the two companies.

A name popped out: Cory Shekel. A look at his termination/hire dates made it clear that he’d left Rock Spring to go work for JB Pharma, which paid a better starting wage. He’d been at the other company when each was attacked. River would pay him a visit—but only if nothing else broke open soon.

She scanned the JB list again and spotted a Samuel Greene. River’s pulse quickened. Could Samuel be related to Adam Greene, the LTE member? Or maybe even an alias? River texted Dallas:
Does Adam have a brother? Or ever go by the name Sam?

His employee file indicated he’d only worked at JB Pharma for three months, quitting two weeks after the sabotage incident. Mr. Greene was looking like a good possibility for the earlier vandalism. But Dallas had been with him at the time of the Rock Spring arson, so he wasn’t the rogue operator. Should she ask the Portland bureau for a full-time surveillance team for Adam Greene? With Dallas already in the thick of it, and Greene not being their primary target, it seemed wasteful.

River’s stomach growled again, so she shut off her computer, called in a to-go order from Papa Soul’s, and headed out. The drive to the restaurant in the Whiteaker area only took her a few blocks out of her way, but it was worth it for deep-fried oysters and mouthwatering corn bread.

The delicious smell drove her crazy until she popped one of the oysters in her mouth as she crossed the overpass to River
Road. Once it hit her stomach, River relaxed. She became aware that very little traffic was on the road, but that a vehicle with high headlights was behind her. Had it been back there before she turned on Chambers?

River slowed, and the big vehicle slowed too, staying a set distance behind. Was it a tail? A prickly sensation ran up her spine. Who would be following her except someone who meant her harm? Someone like Darien Ozlo, the ex-con who’d threatened to ruin her?

A few blocks later, she pulled off into a 7-Eleven parking lot. In her rearview mirror, she saw a dark Suburban pass by with a man behind the wheel. River ate a few more oysters, checked her text messages, and pulled back onto the road. A vehicle in the distance ahead could have been the Suburban, but in the dark she couldn’t tell. She checked side streets as she passed to see if he was waiting to get behind her again.

Nothing.

Her work phone rang and River answered with her earpiece. “Agent River.”

“It’s Dallas. I got your text, and I’ll see what I can find out. Why do you ask?”

River told her about Samuel Greene’s employment at JB Pharma and they discussed their next steps. As they talked, River glanced in her rearview mirror, but by now, she’d reached the Beltline intersection and more cars were on the road everywhere. In the dark drizzle, all she could see were glaring headlights. River shook off the earlier feeling as a little paranoia from being tired and hungry.

A few minutes later, she pulled down her driveway, and the sight of Jared’s van gave her a rush of pleasure she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

CHAPTER 13

Thursday, March 14, 5:30 a.m.

The alarm jolted Jackson awake, and he slammed the off button and pushed out of bed. He’d started to hate the damn beeping that forced him awake before he was ready. Typical for a homicide case, he’d stayed up late, working until he couldn’t think straight, hoping he would pass out the minute he climbed into bed. But instead he’d lain there worrying about Katie, imagining her drunk and passed out in an alley. Or in some guy’s apartment being sexually abused while she slept. How was he supposed to sleep, live, and function while his baby girl was out there, not in her right mind? Where had she gone?

He stumbled into the bathroom and took a shower, alternating hot and cold, until he shocked his brain and body into sharp focus. After gulping his prednisone, he dressed and strapped on his weapon, thinking of how Katie wouldn’t hug him when he had it on.

Jackson made a pot of dark coffee and called the hospital, just to make sure Katie hadn’t been admitted. Feeling relieved and disappointed, he sat down and glanced at the newspaper headlines while he ate some toast to soak up the acid in his stomach. The top story was the firebomb at the Rock Spring factory, but there was little real information. The reporter, Sophie Speranza—whom he’d grudgingly come to respect—had speculated that the same person or group had been responsible for the sabotage at JB Pharma. Jackson hoped the FBI caught the bastard before he hurt someone.

Where was Katie this morning? Was she warm and safe in bed somewhere? Or hungover and puking into a stranger’s toilet? Not knowing ate at him like a toxic parasite, and Jackson feared he would go a little crazy if he didn’t find her soon. What would he do to find someone else’s daughter? Then it hit him. Phone records. Katie was on his cell phone plan, and he could access a list of her recent calls and texts online.

It took him ten minutes to log in and find his way around, but he finally had a printout of the numbers she’d texted in the last twenty-four hours. Without addresses, they weren’t much use, but he would turn the list over to McCray, who could still access EPD’s databases because of the cold-case work he did as an occasional volunteer.

Feeling like he’d had a breakthrough, Jackson pushed Katie out of his head. He had to focus on this case while the evidence was still fresh, and he hoped this morning’s autopsy would give him more insight. Or at least provide some trace evidence that could be linked to the perp. He was pretty confident that Patrick Brennan was the right suspect, but without solid physical proof or a stronger motive, the district attorney might not get a conviction. Jackson made a mental note to ask Slonecker to their next task force meeting.

Grabbing a thermos of coffee, Jackson left early so he could cruise the downtown area on his way to McCray’s to drop off the cell phone records. He knew the search would be pointless, but he had to do it anyway. He also had to go about his life, just like all the other parents whose kids had run away, disappeared, or become so addicted they were like strangers. He was grateful he had a job that kept his mind occupied.

The elevator ride down to the basement of the hospital filled Jackson with dread. The confining service elevator was unnerving enough, but the dark, narrow hallway was creepy. Jackson had to take a long breath before pushing through the door to Surgery 10, as the autopsy room was called. Looking nothing like the postmortem venue in Portland, where he used to drive for autopsies, the space was shallow and not much bigger than his living room. Oversize stainless-steel drawers filled the right end, and a shiny counter lined the back wall. A tall wheeled table stuck out into the room, and Craig Cooper’s body rested under a white covering. Rich Gunderson, the medical examiner, removed it as Jackson walked in.

“Hey, Jackson. Konrad’s running late, but knowing him, that means he’ll still be here before eight.”

Rudolph Konrad, the pathologist, was a busy man who kept to a schedule and always commented when Jackson was a minute behind. “Good. I’m not ready for this anyway.” He pulled on a protective mask and gloves and stayed near the door.

“We should give him a hard time,” Gunderson said. “Maybe play a practical joke.”

Jackson wasn’t in the mood, and felt relieved when the pathologist walked in a moment later. Konrad’s fleshy face and blond hair made him look twenty-five, but he had the personality of an uptight sixty-year-old. He was likely in the middle somewhere.