“No.” She cried quietly. “He was a good man.”
“What is Sierra’s booth at the market?”
“She sells braided dog leashes and baked dog treats.”
“Thanks for your time.” Jackson clicked off.
At first, it seemed odd Sierra would be at the Saturday Market the day after learning of her husband’s murder. Yet everyone reacted differently. Some people collapsed and took to their beds. Others kept moving forward, afraid if they slowed down or thought about it too much, the pain would be unbearable.
Jackson grabbed his coat but left his shoulder bag. The craft market was a half block away, nestled into a parklike area on either side of Oak Street, and he wanted to round up Sierra while he could. Hopefully, the subpoena for her fingerprints would come through shortly. He walked down Eighth Avenue, passed by the county court building, and stopped at the market’s information booth. In the courtyard beyond, a group of ragtag drummers kept up a loud, steady beat.
After a five-minute discussion with the cheerful, older woman manning the directory, they finally determined that Sierra’s merchandise was near the fountain across the street. Hundreds of eight-foot booths jammed a two-block area, selling jewelry, ceramics, candles, wooden carvings, wind chimes, yard ornaments, and tie-dyed T-shirts. Jackson hadn’t visited the market since Katie was young and didn’t think he would again anytime soon.
The smell of pot smoke rolled off a young man wearing a kilt who crossed the street in the other direction. He seemed oblivious to Jackson’s suit jacket with the gun bulge. But then, possession of marijuana was a misdemeanor in Oregon, punishable by a small fine.
The crowd seemed thin, but it was the end of the season, possibly the last day of the market until next March. Jackson made his way past college students, hippies, and groups of female shoppers. He spotted Sierra in a booth near the fountain. She was talking to a couple and pointing to a tray of cookies on the narrow counter. As he approached, she listed the ingredients, and he realized they were for dogs.
Sierra spotted him, cringed, and excused herself from the couple.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask a few more questions. Please come with me to the department.”
“I can’t leave my booth.”
“This is important. Can you call someone to come down and watch it for you?”
“You think I didn’t already try? If I didn’t need the money, I wouldn’t be here today.” Distress filled her voice, and he noticed dark circles under her eyes. She was still beautiful.
Jackson’s phone rang. He glanced and saw it was Parker from the lab. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” He answered without taking his eyes off Sierra. “Hey, Parker, what have you got?”
“I ran the prints on the syringe and got a match. She was arrested five years ago during a demonstration. Printed, fined, and released.”
“Who?”
“Sierra Kent.”
CHAPTER 13
Saturday, November 12, 4:55 a.m.
Evans woke before the alarm went off and rolled out of bed. Her thoughts went immediately to the new homicide case. They would get a breakthrough today, she could feel it. She hurried to the kitchen, made a small of pot of Italian coffee, and turned on her computer.
She downed a tall mug of java while catching up on news—mostly about protests around the world, including ones planned for Portland and Eugene that day. She was glad not to be a patrol officer or SWAT member. She didn’t sympathize with the anarchists and tree huggers who demonstrated regularly in Eugene, but she could relate to the 99-percenters and their anger at Wall Street. The recession had crippled law enforcement in Oregon, and the county jail was little more than a joke now.
Humming with energy, she changed into workout clothes and headed for the back bedroom. The thick mats on the floor felt cool to her bare feet. She’d padded the walls too, after she’d injured her ex-lover during a sparring match. Evans loaded a mixed file of techno music and began a rigorous thirty-minute kickboxing routine, followed by fifteen minutes of Brazilian jujitsu. She missed having a sparring partner and wished Ben, the IA detective she was dating, was more interested in martial arts. So far, he seemed content to keep it casual: dinner and sex once or twice a week, with little or no involvement in each other’s personal lives. Sometimes she wondered if he had a secret wife and kids.
Evans laughed at the thought, then went out for a quick run. She preferred long runs after her shift to burn off the tension and calories of the day, but knowing Jackson, they would work late again. That was fine with her. She loved his obsessiveness, among other things.
At headquarters, Sergeant Lammers intercepted her on the way to her desk. “Where’s Jackson this morning?”
Evans was surprised to see her boss on the weekend. “He’s at Rafel Mazari’s autopsy.”
“I know it’s early in the investigation, but do we have a viable suspect?”
“We’re leaning toward the wife, but we don’t have anything solid yet. And we’re still looking for a guy from the tavern who had an altercation with the victim.”
“Shit. The mayor called me last night. He was planning a special event to honor our returning young veterans, and he’s taking Mazari’s murder rather personally.”
“We’re doing what we can.”
“I know. Tell Jackson to keep me in the loop.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Evans resisted the urge to grin. Lammers was built like a refrigerator, had no patience for idle conversation, and barked at the male detectives just to remind them who was in charge. But she had promoted Evans a few months back, making her a full member of the team instead of a trainee, and for that she’d always be grateful.
When the boss strode away, Evans turned on her computer and made a quick list of sites to check: their local criminal database, the citizen’s database, CODIS (the national criminal database), and Facebook. In the recent past, she’d tracked down a few witnesses on the social-networking site, and it sometimes provided key information.
After twenty minutes in the criminal databases, all she uncovered was that Jake Pittman had once had a DUII and, two months later, had pleaded guilty to a menacing charge in exchange for a one-year probation. Both incidents were seven years old. Cody Sawyer hadn’t even had a traffic ticket since he was nineteen. Pittman was not on Facebook, but Sawyer was. Evans learned his date of birth, place of employment, and favorite music, but didn’t find anything indicating he belonged to a survivalist group. She noticed his status said Single rather than In a relationship, even though Sawyer had told her he had a girlfriend.
Evans heard Jackson come in and settle down as his desk. She glanced over. He looked great in a royal-blue shirt under his black suede jacket.
After sifting through Sawyer’s friends for a few minutes, Evans found Hailey Pittman, who she assumed to be Jake’s wife. The photo showed her in a deck chair, and it wasn’t flattering. Hailey had limp, ash-colored hair, a narrow face, and only fifty-eight Facebook friends. She worked at Evergreen Insurance, only a short drive from the department, so Evans decided to head over and chat with her. She would verify Jake Pittman’s alibi and see what else she could learn about the guys. Evans tucked her iPad in her shoulder bag, stopped to check in with Jackson, and headed downstairs to her car.
The insurance office was in one of the black-glass buildings behind Valley River Mall. Shaped like bathtubs, the buildings were a local joke, but still commanded high-dollar leases because of their location. Evans took the stairs to the second floor and found Hailey in the office across the hall. She was behind a tall counter, wearing a headset and talking rapidly to a customer.
Evans waited for her to disconnect and introduced herself. “Do you have a moment, Ms. Pittman? I need to ask some questions about Rafel Mazari.”
She looked nervous. “I have to answer the phones.”
“I only need a few minutes. We can step out in the hall.” Evans didn’t want her distracted every time the phone rang. “This is impor
tant.”
Hailey excused herself, then stuck her head into an office in the back and asked someone to answer the phones.
Out in the hall, Evans realized Hailey was only about five foot one. Evans pulled her shoulders back, feeling tall for a change. “Did you know Rafel Mazari?”
“Yes. He was Jake’s best friend.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to kill Rafel?”
“No. I can’t believe what happened. Rafel was a veteran, a hero, like Jake.”
“Jake is in the military?”
“He was in the army and did a tour of Iraq in 2006.” Her pride was evident.
The information seemed significant and Evans wrote it down, but she couldn’t make a connection, so she jumped to the meat of the interview. “Do you know anyone connected to Rafel or Jake who has a shaved head and a beard?”
“No.”
It was worth asking. “Where were you Thursday night?”
“Me?” Hailey pointed to herself in openmouthed surprise.
“I have to ask.”
“Home.”
“What time did Jake come home from Pete’s Pad on Thursday night?”
“I don’t know.” She looked confused.
“But you were home.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t hear Jake come home or speak with him?”
Hailey gave a tiny shake of her head, as though Evans might be stupid. “I don’t live with Jake. I left him months ago and filed for divorce.”
Evans was taken aback. “You didn’t see him at all on Thursday?”
“No.”
“Interesting.” On her notepad, she wrote Pittman lied/alibi.
“Can anyone verify that you were home Thursday night between ten and eleven?”
“My roommate was there.”
Evan got the name and contact information, then moved on. “What did you think of Rafel?”
“I felt sorry for him.” Hailey glanced toward the office door.
“Did you like him?”
“I liked him before he shipped out, but he was different when he got back.”
“How so?”
“I don’t want to speak badly about him.”
“I’m trying to find his killer. I need to know what was going on with Rafel.”
“He was withdrawn and depressed. But that seemed normal, considering his circumstances.”
“Why did you leave Jake?”
“We had money problems.” Hailey lowered her voice. “Why does it matter?”
“We’re looking for a motive for the killing.”
“Jake didn’t kill Rafel. They were best friends.” Hailey started to tear up. “No matter how broke Jake was, he wouldn’t let that affect his friendship. He loved Rafel.”
“How broke was Jake?”
“I supported him for a year after he got laid off. Being dependent on me made him mean.” Hailey looked at the office door again. “I really should get back.”
Evans remembered the fraud case with the phony veterans’ fund. “Did Jake come into any unexpected money lately?”
Hailey blinked. “I don’t know.” Her voice vibrated with stress.
“Did you ever hear him mention the Veterans Relief Fund?”
“Maybe.”
“Why are you protecting Jake?”
“I don’t know anything about his finances now.”
She was shutting down, so Evans let it go for the moment. “What do you think of Sierra?”
“She’s okay. The whole back-to-nature thing is a little weird to me, but then I’m a city girl.”
Evans remembered what the neighbor had overheard. “Did you ever hear Sierra threaten Rafel?”
“No, but I saw her kill a chicken like it was nothing. It kind of grossed me out, and I quit going to their barbecues.”
“Would Sierra have any reason to kill Rafel?”
Hailey hesitated, twisting a pen in her hands. “Rafel thought she was cheating on him.”
“With who?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t spend that much time with them.”
Evans knew there was more. “If she wanted out of the marriage, why not just leave him?”
Hailey glanced around, then whispered. “Most military men have life insurance. Rafel may have been worth more dead.”
CHAPTER 14
Jackson took Sierra to the interrogation room and gestured for her to sit. “Empty your pockets and give me your backpack while we talk.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“Then I’ll cuff you and do it myself.” If it came to that, he would wait for Evans and let a female officer search Sierra’s pockets, but he wanted to keep this simple if he could.
“You can’t cuff me and search me unless you arrest me.”
“I’m officially arresting you for obstruction of justice. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“You win, fucker. Take the damn backpack.” She tossed it at him, and he had to react quickly to catch it. Sierra had already called him a few choice names when he’d threatened to cuff her and escort her past her peers at the market. But she’d grudgingly come along rather than be handcuffed in public. He’d allowed her to make a call, and she’d asked a friend to come down and close up her booth at the Saturday Market. Her lack of cooperation made her look as guilty as her fingerprints at the crime scene.
“Pockets too.”
She pulled a tube of chapstick from her front pocket and tossed it on the table, then shoved both hands deep into her jeans and turned the pockets inside out. “Happy now?”
“I’ll be back in minute with something to eat.”
He left her uncuffed, dropped her backpack in his desk drawer, and ordered two turkey sandwiches and Diet Pepsis from a nearby deli. While he waited for the food to be delivered, he called his team and asked them to come in. Next, he conducted a cursory search of Sierra’s pack: wallet, keys, knit vest, water bottle, paperwork for her pet-stuff business, and finally, in a small outside pocket, her cell phone. Too bad he couldn’t search it without a warrant.
He called the assistant district attorney, who still didn’t pick up, and left a message: “We’ve already got a match on Sierra Kent’s fingerprints to the syringe at the crime scene. So skip that paperwork.” Jackson started to ask him to write a search warrant for Sierra’s cell phone, but wasn’t optimistic that Trang was even working that day. They’d handle it themselves.
The food arrived, and he took Sierra a sandwich and soda. She wouldn’t look at him or speak. He set it down and went back to his desk. His team hadn’t shown up yet, so he wolfed down his sandwich and made a quick call to Kera, who answered right away.
“Hello, Wade.”
The sound of her warm, sexy voice was like a pain reliever kicking in. And she rarely called him Wade anymore because everyone else called him Jackson. “Hey, Kera. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ve been working nonstop on this case, but I’ve missed you.”
“I know you’re on a homicide. I didn’t expect to hear from you at all.”
“We caught a break today, and I think I’ll have some time tomorrow. I’d love to see you.”
“Don’t you still have to unpack?”
“It can wait.”
“In that case, I’ll get Danette and the baby out of the house tomorrow afternoon so we can be alone.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Can you be here for lunch?”
Before he could respond, Evans rushed up to his desk, eyes popping with energy. He had his earpiece in, and his teammate didn’t realize he was on the phone. Evans blurted out, “We’ve got some stuff to catch up on.”
“I’ll meet you in five minutes,” he said quietly, waving her off.
“Sorry,” Evans mouthed, and walked away.
To Kera, he said, “I’ll call you tonight to confirm.” The line was silent. “Kera?” Had they been cut off, or had she hung up? A small stone of worry lodged in his gut. It
was time to interrogate his suspect, so he texted Kera and said he’d see her tomorrow.
Operating from the same guilt, he made a quick call to his daughter, knowing she was at her mother’s and not likely to pick up. He left a message: “I’m just checking in to make sure everything is okay. Call me if you want to leave for any reason. I love you.”
He would have felt better if he’d actually talked to her. He was trying to be less overbearing, but Katie had been through so much with Renee’s alcoholism and relapses. He simply didn’t trust his ex-wife. If Katie were still ten instead of fifteen, he wouldn’t let her be alone with her mother. His daughter had learned long ago not to get into a car with Renee when she’d been drinking, but her mother’s mood swings could be damn near as damaging.
Schak hurried up to his desk, and Jackson snapped his mind back to work. “Let’s go question our suspect. I want you to watch from the conference room. I called the DA, and he said he’d be here soon.”
“Will do.” Schak headed for the hall and Jackson followed. He liked to have an observer for interrogations when he could. Sometimes it was easier to spot a suspect’s reaction if you weren’t in the middle of it.
Evans joined them as they moved past her desk.
“What did you find out?” Jackson asked, knowing she had something to share.
“Pittman lied about his alibi, and Mazari may have had a life insurance policy. We need to ask about both.”
“We’ll add it to our long list.”
They stepped into the windowless space, and Jackson immediately felt the closet-size room begin to shrink. The dingy gray walls lacked a one-way observation window, but two years ago, they’d finally purchased a video recorder for the room. Once he got into interrogation mode, Jackson hoped the claustrophobia would fade and let him work.
Sierra was on the opposite side, facing them, looking gorgeous and defiant as ever. She wore a dark-green sweater and faded jeans, and her dreadlocks were gathered loosely behind her neck. Jackson wondered how much her hair weighed and if it gave her headaches.
Liars, Cheaters, & Thieves (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 10