Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (18 page)

“I told you, I’m not involved.” Candy chewed off a hangnail from her right thumb. “I don’t even know Chris Noonaz. He’s just a Facebook friend.”

“Right now, a judge is issuing a warrant to search your home and computer.” It would be true soon, but not quite yet. “Withholding information about an eco-terrorist who sets off bombs will not play well with a jury, even in Eugene.”

“I don’t know anything about the bomb, I swear.” Candy was emphatic.

River didn’t buy it. “The perpetrator came into the building shortly after you did. We think you left the door open for him.”

“No.” Candy shook her pretty blonde head. “I was just there to see Jerry, like I did last Tuesday and the week before.”

“Did Jerry Bromwell give you the code or did your husband?”

“Jerry, but only recently.”

“Who did you give the code to?”

“No one!” Candy’s voice and eyes flared with passion. “Why would I let someone into the building to leave a bomb? I was in that building! We barely got out before it exploded.”

Candy had a point, but people took all kinds of risks for their causes. And it hadn’t been a high-powered explosive. An incendiary device was meant to start a fire, not blow things up. “Other
people are in danger now too.” River intensified her voice. “What if someone dies in the terrorist’s next attack? How will you feel, knowing you didn’t help us stop him?”

The suspect was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I do know Chris Noonaz. He’s my cousin’s boyfriend. And I know he’s involved with Love the Earth. But I don’t know anything about his plans, and I didn’t leave the factory door open for him.”

“What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Melody Light.”

“Seriously?” River gave her a look.

“Yes. She hates her father. She had it legally changed.”

River related to that. “Where can I find Melody?”

“She works part time at Hummingbird Wholesale.”

Only in Eugene
, River thought. “And her home address?”

Candy picked at her thumbnail again. “Melody may be a hippie, but she’s not an eco-terrorist. And I don’t think Cricket is either.”

“Tell me where to find her.”

Candy reluctantly gave her the location, a duplex near the fairgrounds, and River jotted it down. “Does Chris Noonaz live there too?”

“No. Melody has two kids. She and Cricket are just dating.”

“Did you give Melody the code to the Rock Spring building?”

“No! I’m not involved with that group, and I only met Cricket once.”

River realized Candy had admitted all she would. Time to make her uncomfortable again. “When and how did you get involved with Jerry Bromwell?”

“I don’t know.” Candy started to cry. “He flirted with me and it felt good. My husband is—” Her voice trailed off.

“Is what?”

Candy glared, and River heard her think
I hate you
. The thought hit her with an ugly force, taking her aback. River didn’t hear thoughts often, but when she did, they were usually timid.

River shook it off. “Your husband is what?”

“Not the man he used to be.”

Impotent
is what she meant. River remembered Ricardo Morrison coming at her in a rage and had no sympathy for him. But she worried for Candy’s safety. “Where will you go when I release you?”

“I don’t know.” The woman switched to chewing her other thumbnail.

“You need a plan. I want you to be safe. What about going to WomenSpace?”

“I’ll stay with my brother until Ricardo cools down.”

“Can I drop you off there?” River closed her notepad and stood, eager to question Melody Light, who dated an LTE leader. Maybe she would become an informant.

“Sure,” Candy whined, “but I need to get some clothes from my house first.”

River didn’t have time for that. “I’ll get a police officer to escort you.”

CHAPTER 15

Thursday, March 14, 10:35 a.m.

The gas station where Cooper had worked was only a mile or so down the road from the storage unit where he’d lived and died. It was also right across from the new Sponsors apartments for recovering addicts, where Cooper had been on a waiting list. Jackson wondered how many of the station’s employees were ex-cons. Bordered by empty lots on the left and back side, the station took up a chunk of real estate. Jackson parked off to the side and checked his notes. He’d talked to the owner after leaving the autopsy, and the man had agreed to meet him here. Jackson had arrived early so he could question employees as well.

As he climbed from his car, the sun broke out in an otherwise ugly sky, and for a moment the rain puddles glistened with a dark beauty. Jackson strode toward the attendant booth and the sunlight disappeared. A red truck left the forward pump, and the
aging attendant turned and spotted him. Jackson saw the panic in his eyes from ten feet away.

“Are you Cleland Strep?”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard.

“Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. Did you know Craig Cooper?” Jackson closed the space between them.

“He worked here and I saw him sometimes, but that’s it. I heard he died.” Strep shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and Jackson tensed.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” When Strep complied, Jackson continued. “When did you see him last?”

“What’s today? Thursday? I saw him Tuesday at the shift change.”

“What time was that and what happened?” The gasoline smell intensified and Jackson wondered if gas pumpers ever got used to it. No wonder Cooper had been looking for a better job.

“Four in the afternoon. I worked the evening shift and got here ten minutes before start time. Craig had worked the midday shift and left about five minutes after four.”

“Was he on his bike?”

“A woman picked him up. She was driving a little blue truck, and they put the bike in the back.”

That caught Jackson’s attention. “Do you know who it was? Had you seen the woman before?”

Strep shook his head. “She had messy light-brown hair and a tanned face, like somebody who’s outside a lot. That’s all I know. She didn’t get out of the truck.”

“What do you mean by messy?”

“You know, curly and frazzled.”

A vehicle pulled in and Strep said, “I’ve got to get this.”

Jackson had met Cooper’s sister and the description didn’t match. Who was the woman? A girlfriend? No one had mentioned
her. Jackson filled out his notepad, then looked around for cameras and didn’t see any.

A cherry-red 1977 Charger in perfect condition pulled in, and Jackson practically salivated in appreciation. The Charger was even more gorgeous than his midnight-blue 1969 Mustang. The muscle car pulled past the pumps and parked behind his city-issued Impala, which he was suddenly embarrassed to be driving. The owner strode toward him, an older man with a confidence that likely came from his cool-car factor.

“I’m Tom Peccanolo. You’re the detective?”

“Wade Jackson.” They shook hands, something Jackson didn’t often do in his line of work. He reminded himself that the gas station owner was a suspect like everyone else.

“Shall we step into the booth?” Peccanolo gestured and zipped his leather jacket against the drizzle.

“We’ll just move under the carport.” Jackson hated small spaces. “When did you see Craig Cooper last?”

The owner laughed. “So I’m a suspect?”

“It’s just routine.”

“On Monday. I was here for a while in the afternoon and Craig was on shift.”

“Was he a good employee?”

“My best. Always on time and polite with customers. I’m sorry to lose him. He was making a fresh start.” Peccanolo was matter-of-fact.

“Do you know the woman who picked him up on Tuesday?”

“No. I wasn’t here.”

“Have you ever seen him with a woman who has curly, frizzy, light-brown hair and a tanned face?”

“I’ve never seen him with anyone.” The gas station owner sounded clipped now.

Jackson pressed on. He felt like he still didn’t know the victim, and the possibility of a girlfriend hinted at a new layer. “What do you know about Craig’s personal life?”

Peccanolo shifted his shoulders, and Jackson couldn’t read the gesture. Impatience? Remorse?

“In his interview, I asked Craig about his record, and he was up front about his past addiction and the crimes he’d committed. He seemed intent on staying clean and working to rebuild his life. But I didn’t really get to know him.”

“Did he mention a girlfriend?”

“No. He said he had a supportive sister who had stood by him during a rough childhood. I think he was in juvie for a while, maybe a foster home.” The owner gave a gentle smile. “I have a soft spot for ex-cons, being one myself.”

“How many of your employees have records?”

“All of them. No violence though, if that’s what you’re thinking. And I require random urine tests.”

A cell phone rang in the station owner’s pocket, and Peccanolo rushed his next thought. “I’m not saying one of my employees couldn’t have killed Craig, but I highly doubt it.” He took the call and stepped away.

Jackson decided he’d spent enough time at the gas station. He now needed to locate and question the woman who’d picked up Cooper from work hours before his death. What if she had been there when Patrick and Cooper fought over the Bible? Or maybe she’d come back to see Cooper afterward. She could be key to the investigation. Jackson headed for his car.

For a loner, Craig Cooper sure had a lot of company on the day he died. Jackson couldn’t help but think it was still about the missing hundred-plus grand.

On the way to the department, Jackson called his ex-sister-in-law but she didn’t pick up. Unusual for Jan. He left a message, asking if she’d heard from Katie, then called McCray, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t bother the man with obsessive phone calls.

McCray answered on the third ring. “Hey, Jackson. I was just going to call you.”

His heart lurched. “What have you learned?”

“I have an address for the number Katie was texting last night before she took off. I’m heading over there now.”

“Where?”

“On Ferry Street.” McCray read him the address.

“A house? Who owns it?”

“A property management company.”

Not good. “So it’s a rental?”

“Yeah. A couple blocks from her school.” McCray kept his voice even. “What do you want me to do if I see her?”

“Just let me know she’s okay, then keep an eye on her. I’ll text and remind Katie that she has an appointment with a therapist at two.” Jackson accepted that his daughter didn’t want to see him. But someone probably had to take her. “If Katie wants a ride, will you drive her? She doesn’t want to see me.”

“Of course.”

“If she doesn’t go to the counselor or sign in for her treatment program by tomorrow, we’ll have a patrol officer pick her up.”

“Okay, pal. Don’t sweat this. As long as she’s still using her phone, we know she’s okay.”

“You’re right.” Jackson tried to be upbeat. But if Katie wanted him out of her life, she would ditch her phone as soon as she realized he was keeping track of her through it. “Thanks, McCray.”

CHAPTER 16

Thursday, March 14, noon

At the department, Jackson forced himself to focus on his case. He ordered sandwiches for the upcoming task force meeting, then opened his Word doc and updated his case notes with the new information from the morning’s autopsy and interviews. They had so little to work with. The victim didn’t have a cell phone or a bank account, so there weren’t any records to review. And Cooper’s laptop had almost nothing on it. The sister had deleted all of her files before passing it on, and Cooper had only written a few e-mails. Jackson reminded himself they had Patrick Brennan, Cooper’s old associate, in custody, and everything seemed to point to his guilt. So the task force would start to shift their focus to building a solid case against him. Unless the blood on Todd Sheppard’s face turned out to be Cooper’s. Jackson didn’t want that to be true.

He met Schak and Evans in the conference room as the food was delivered. They ate quickly and talked about the firebomb case, which had made the front-page news.

“Quince says they think it might be a rogue operator,” Evans reported. “He spent yesterday looking at mug shots trying to identify two guys from a photo taken in a dark tavern.”