Read Online Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) by L.J. Sellers - Free Book Online
Authors: L.J. Sellers
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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.”
“So the owner was expecting trouble.”
“Could be.” River was ready to move on. “I think I’ll look at the emergency exit, then head up to the office.”
She located the back door by the glow of the red sign in an otherwise dark area stacked with boxes. They’d left a path to the door, but just barely. River stopped five feet out, got on her knees, and shined a flashlight on the cement in front of the door. No footprints. Even if they had dried in the last hour or two, the dirt outlines would have still been there. She took photos of the floor, then pushed open the door and braced for an alarm.
None sounded. She would have to ask if there actually was an alarm and, if so, who had disabled it. A small light above the door gave her some illumination, but she ran her flashlight along the seal. There were no signs of the emergency exit having been pried open from the outside.
As she climbed the stairs to the office, River felt weary for the first time that evening. It was a good sign and she hoped she would sleep well when she finally got home. The rectangular room had a long window overlooking the factory floor but otherwise was utilitarian with dirty white paint, fluorescent lights, and cheap desks. Only the couch gave it a comfortable touch, and the first thing River noticed was a pair of men’s underwear stuffed between the cushions.
So she’d been right. Jerry Bromwell had company when the intruder broke in. Who was she and why had he lied?
CHAPTER 6
Wednesday, March 13, 6:45 a.m.
Craig Cooper’s sister lived in central Eugene, a few blocks from the library, in one of the few adobe houses in town. Even in the predawn darkness, thanks to the shift from daylight saving time, Jackson noticed the smooth exterior, curved-edged windows, and peculiar roofline. He stopped to read the sign at the edge of the walkway:
Jane Niven, Spiritual Guide
.
Oh crap.
Woo-woo types drove him crazy. Whenever the department asked for the public’s help, they always got calls from the genuine crazies and a few from the borderline types who thought they communicated with the dead. He prayed Jane Niven was neither.
At the door, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before knocking. The tall cup of Italian coffee he’d drank on the way over hadn’t kicked in yet, and the three hours of sleep he’d managed to get hadn’t done much except remind him that he wastired. He waited a few minutes, then pounded again. A single-seat electric car was in the driveway, so he assumed someone was home.
Finally, he called out, “Eugene Police.”
Two minutes later, a long-haired woman in a lime-green bathrobe opened the door. “What’s wrong? What the hell time is it? Let me see your badge.” The words came at him quickly yet had a sleepy, surreal tone.
“Jane Niven?”
“Yes.” She flipped on the porch light, and he could see that she had the same narrow nose and mouth as her brother.
“Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I’m here about your brother, Craig Cooper. May I come in?”
Her rounded shoulders sagged even lower. “Damn. I thought he was going to make it this time.”
Jane walked away but didn’t close the door, so Jackson followed her inside. She moved into a galley kitchen and turned on more lights. “It’s not even seven. No wonder I’m half asleep.” She turned to face him. “I’m making coffee. Whatever you want to know about Craig will have to wait until I can at least smell it.”
When she had a pot brewing, they sat at a small round table with a flowered fabric cover.
“What is it this time? Did he relapse?” Jane’s brow creased. “I’ve seen no signs that he was using.”
Jackson didn’t know how to ease into it. “Ms. Niven, I’m sorry to inform you that Craig is dead.”
She
“He may not have expected anyone to be here,” River added. “The watchman said he’s only been on shift overnight for two weeks.”
“So the owner was expecting trouble.”
“Could be.” River was ready to move on. “I think I’ll look at the emergency exit, then head up to the office.”
She located the back door by the glow of the red sign in an otherwise dark area stacked with boxes. They’d left a path to the door, but just barely. River stopped five feet out, got on her knees, and shined a flashlight on the cement in front of the door. No footprints. Even if they had dried in the last hour or two, the dirt outlines would have still been there. She took photos of the floor, then pushed open the door and braced for an alarm.
None sounded. She would have to ask if there actually was an alarm and, if so, who had disabled it. A small light above the door gave her some illumination, but she ran her flashlight along the seal. There were no signs of the emergency exit having been pried open from the outside.
As she climbed the stairs to the office, River felt weary for the first time that evening. It was a good sign and she hoped she would sleep well when she finally got home. The rectangular room had a long window overlooking the factory floor but otherwise was utilitarian with dirty white paint, fluorescent lights, and cheap desks. Only the couch gave it a comfortable touch, and the first thing River noticed was a pair of men’s underwear stuffed between the cushions.
So she’d been right. Jerry Bromwell had company when the intruder broke in. Who was she and why had he lied?
CHAPTER 6
Wednesday, March 13, 6:45 a.m.
Craig Cooper’s sister lived in central Eugene, a few blocks from the library, in one of the few adobe houses in town. Even in the predawn darkness, thanks to the shift from daylight saving time, Jackson noticed the smooth exterior, curved-edged windows, and peculiar roofline. He stopped to read the sign at the edge of the walkway:
Jane Niven, Spiritual Guide
.
Oh crap.
Woo-woo types drove him crazy. Whenever the department asked for the public’s help, they always got calls from the genuine crazies and a few from the borderline types who thought they communicated with the dead. He prayed Jane Niven was neither.
At the door, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before knocking. The tall cup of Italian coffee he’d drank on the way over hadn’t kicked in yet, and the three hours of sleep he’d managed to get hadn’t done much except remind him that he wastired. He waited a few minutes, then pounded again. A single-seat electric car was in the driveway, so he assumed someone was home.
Finally, he called out, “Eugene Police.”
Two minutes later, a long-haired woman in a lime-green bathrobe opened the door. “What’s wrong? What the hell time is it? Let me see your badge.” The words came at him quickly yet had a sleepy, surreal tone.
“Jane Niven?”
“Yes.” She flipped on the porch light, and he could see that she had the same narrow nose and mouth as her brother.
“Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I’m here about your brother, Craig Cooper. May I come in?”
Her rounded shoulders sagged even lower. “Damn. I thought he was going to make it this time.”
Jane walked away but didn’t close the door, so Jackson followed her inside. She moved into a galley kitchen and turned on more lights. “It’s not even seven. No wonder I’m half asleep.” She turned to face him. “I’m making coffee. Whatever you want to know about Craig will have to wait until I can at least smell it.”
When she had a pot brewing, they sat at a small round table with a flowered fabric cover.
“What is it this time? Did he relapse?” Jane’s brow creased. “I’ve seen no signs that he was using.”
Jackson didn’t know how to ease into it. “Ms. Niven, I’m sorry to inform you that Craig is dead.”
She
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