Read Online Liars, Cheaters & Thieves by L. J. Sellers - Free Book Online Page A

in back, and climbed from the car. The door on the big processing bay was just closing down, and he caught a glimpse of the Jeep from the crime scene. The drizzle had become a steady downpour, so he dashed for the building. As he reached the door, he realized he hadn’t felt any pain when he ran—for the first time in nearly a year. The prednisone he’d been taking for months was finally working to suppress the fibrotic growth wrapped around his aorta from his heart to his pelvis. Retroperitoneal fibrosis. He’d been diagnosed last spring, then flayed open like a fish to save his kidneys. His doctor had informed him he was lucky to still be functional. Others with the disease often ended up on dialysis or with colostomy bags. The thought of either fate filled him with dread and made him diligent about taking his meds, despite their side effects.
    Inside the lab, he took the stairs up to the second floor and hurried to Jasmine Parker’s office. The technician was just taking off her coat, and her long black hair was wet enough to stick to her back.
    “Hey, Parker.”
    “Already? I just got in from the crime scene.” She shook off like a wet dog and sat down.
    “Why were you out there so long? Did something significant come up?”
    “Not really. I spent some time searching the area, then the tow truck was two hours late.”
    “I saw the Jeep in the bay. Thanks for staying with it.”
    “It’s my job.”
    Jackson sat on the edge of the chair, not planning to stay long, and put the evidence bag with the syringe on her desk. “Schak found this near the edge of the parking lot. It might just be anaddict’s trash, but the victim’s wife works in an animal clinic, and they use this type of syringe.”
    Parker reached for the little bag. “And you want me to log it in for you and dust it immediately?”
    Technically, he should have left it in a locker downstairs, but the syringe was a priority. Jackson tried not to feel guilty. Forensic evidence in homicide cases always took precedence. “Knowing it actually has prints will help us get a subpoena for the wife’s to compare.”
    “I’ll do what I can.”
    “Thanks, Parker. When you have the prints, call Trang in the DA’s office too. He’s working on the subpoena.”
    “I will.” A look of concern flashed across her stoic Asian features. “Are you all right, Jackson? You look tired.”
    He laughed. “I always look tired. But I feel better than I have in months.”
    Back downstairs, he and another technician carried in the weapons and noncritical evidence from his car. Schak had the victim’s computer, and Jackson had Mazari’s wallet and other personal items. They’d examine them more thoroughly after they questioned witnesses—which always came first.
    After leaving the lab, Jackson took Delta Highway toward Springfield, their sister city, where Jake Pittman lived. Jackson had called him earlier and left a message, but hadn’t heard back. He put in his earpiece and tried again. After two rings, a gruff male voice said, “Who is this?”
    “Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I need to talk to you about your friend, Rafel Mazari.”
    “I just heard he was murdered, and I’m upset, so it’s not a good time.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss, but this can’t wait. You were one of the last people to see him alive, and I want to find his killer. Are you at home or at work?”
    “I’m just leaving a job site. I can meet you at Terry’s Diner on Centennial for a few minutes.”
    Jackson would have preferred to see the man’s home, especially if he was anything like Mazari, but he didn’t want to press the issue. Pittman seemed reluctant, maybe even a little hostile. Jackson started to ask how he would identify him, but he’d already hung up.
    At four in the afternoon the diner was nearly empty, so finding the witness was easy. Besides two older women, the only other customer was a man of about thirty, sitting at a table near the front. Jackson