Read Online Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) by L.J. Sellers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L.J. Sellers
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stepping inside. The living room was overly warm, and she could hear the baseboard heater working. Evans locked the door, pulled off her jacket, and hung it on the knob. Technically, a search warrant would have made this more clearly legal, but her gut told her that Kayla Benson had something to hide and would never make an issue of it.
Evans glanced around the dark room, noting only a few items of furniture. Clicking on lights as she progressed, she did a quick tour through the rooms to clear the space. No one was hiding in the closets. But not much else was in the closets either. Some clothing and a few cleaning supplies. Clearly, the occupant hadn’t been here long. Kayla Benson, or whoever she was, traveled light.
No computer anywhere either. Also unusual. Evans pulled on gloves and began a methodical search, starting in the bedroom. The single dresser held the basics: jeans, T-shirts, and a couple of sweaters. No occasional-use items like a bathing suit or formal dress. A small jewelry box held earrings and nothing else. She went back to the closet and checked the top shelf. Nothing.
Weird . Did the woman not own a computer, or was she hiding it? Some young people relied totally on their phones for internet use, but the phone in the victim’s purse was a small cheap model. Her boyfriend, Stalling, didn’t seem to have a computer either, so maybe they got by without. Evans searched the nightstand and found only a few paperbacks—humorous chick lit with bright covers.
On a whim, she grabbed the mattress and lifted it.
Well, well. A small black handgun and a slim laptop. What was this woman into? Evans shifted the weight of the mattress to her left hand and retrieved the items one at a time, setting them on the nightstand. After she let go, Evans sat on the bed and examined the weapon. A small semiautomatic Colt pistol. The serial number had been filed off, and the gun was probably untraceable. She sniffed it and didn’t detect any trace of it having been fired recently. But only comparing it to the shell casings at the crime scene could determine if it was the murder weapon. Evans set the gun down and opened the computer. She turned it on and waited. A dialog box appeared, asking for a password. More secrets.
Evans tried a few easy numeric passwords, then various combinations of the name Kayla Benson. This wasn’t her field of expertise, and after ten minutes she gave up. Evans stared at the gun and laptop for a long moment. Why would a pothead keep these items hidden in a room that didn’t look lived in? Who the heck was Kayla Benson?
Evans pulled out her tablet computer, logged on to Facebook, and searched for Benson. Her photo loaded at the top of the results page, followed by several women with the same name. A quick search of her account revealed that it was new—her first status update had been posted only a few months earlier, and she had only fifty-six friends.
The explanation for all of it came together in a flash. The woman was probably an undercover operative, most likely a federal agent.
CHAPTER 9
What now? Evans wanted to put the gun and laptop into evidence bags and turn them both in to the specialists. If the victim had died, that would have been the procedure. But this was a weird gray area, and she wasn’t sure of the legalities. If Kayla Benson was a federal agent, Evans didn’t want to interfere with her investigation. Was she FBI? More likely DEA. Benson had been shot inside a marijuana nursery. Was the business part of a bigger drug-smuggling ring? And why hadn’t the agent identified herself when Evans had confronted her? If Benson didn’t cooperate, Evans would get a search warrant that included both items.
She put the gun and laptop back, took photos of them in their hiding place, then conducted a quick search of the bathroom and kitchen. Nothing revealed the occupant’s real identity or was otherwise significant. But it didn’t matter as much now. As an undercover agent,
Evans glanced around the dark room, noting only a few items of furniture. Clicking on lights as she progressed, she did a quick tour through the rooms to clear the space. No one was hiding in the closets. But not much else was in the closets either. Some clothing and a few cleaning supplies. Clearly, the occupant hadn’t been here long. Kayla Benson, or whoever she was, traveled light.
No computer anywhere either. Also unusual. Evans pulled on gloves and began a methodical search, starting in the bedroom. The single dresser held the basics: jeans, T-shirts, and a couple of sweaters. No occasional-use items like a bathing suit or formal dress. A small jewelry box held earrings and nothing else. She went back to the closet and checked the top shelf. Nothing.
Weird . Did the woman not own a computer, or was she hiding it? Some young people relied totally on their phones for internet use, but the phone in the victim’s purse was a small cheap model. Her boyfriend, Stalling, didn’t seem to have a computer either, so maybe they got by without. Evans searched the nightstand and found only a few paperbacks—humorous chick lit with bright covers.
On a whim, she grabbed the mattress and lifted it.
Well, well. A small black handgun and a slim laptop. What was this woman into? Evans shifted the weight of the mattress to her left hand and retrieved the items one at a time, setting them on the nightstand. After she let go, Evans sat on the bed and examined the weapon. A small semiautomatic Colt pistol. The serial number had been filed off, and the gun was probably untraceable. She sniffed it and didn’t detect any trace of it having been fired recently. But only comparing it to the shell casings at the crime scene could determine if it was the murder weapon. Evans set the gun down and opened the computer. She turned it on and waited. A dialog box appeared, asking for a password. More secrets.
Evans tried a few easy numeric passwords, then various combinations of the name Kayla Benson. This wasn’t her field of expertise, and after ten minutes she gave up. Evans stared at the gun and laptop for a long moment. Why would a pothead keep these items hidden in a room that didn’t look lived in? Who the heck was Kayla Benson?
Evans pulled out her tablet computer, logged on to Facebook, and searched for Benson. Her photo loaded at the top of the results page, followed by several women with the same name. A quick search of her account revealed that it was new—her first status update had been posted only a few months earlier, and she had only fifty-six friends.
The explanation for all of it came together in a flash. The woman was probably an undercover operative, most likely a federal agent.
CHAPTER 9
What now? Evans wanted to put the gun and laptop into evidence bags and turn them both in to the specialists. If the victim had died, that would have been the procedure. But this was a weird gray area, and she wasn’t sure of the legalities. If Kayla Benson was a federal agent, Evans didn’t want to interfere with her investigation. Was she FBI? More likely DEA. Benson had been shot inside a marijuana nursery. Was the business part of a bigger drug-smuggling ring? And why hadn’t the agent identified herself when Evans had confronted her? If Benson didn’t cooperate, Evans would get a search warrant that included both items.
She put the gun and laptop back, took photos of them in their hiding place, then conducted a quick search of the bathroom and kitchen. Nothing revealed the occupant’s real identity or was otherwise significant. But it didn’t matter as much now. As an undercover agent,
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