Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Read Free

fault. The crime rate in Eugene kept escalating, yet they were the least-staffed law enforcement agency in Oregon, which, in turn, had one of the lowest rates of officers per population in the country. Oregonians were mostly progressive, except when it came to taxes to pay for services.
    Jackson didn’t bother to go home first or stop at the department. He was still in his slacks and jacket and driving his city-issued car because he’d gone straight from work to Kera’s. Once he was out of the downtown area, he called Kera and told her about Katie’s incident. She was her usual supportive self.
    “You did the right thing. This is Katie’s third drunk episode in the last five weeks… that you know about. She’s becoming a danger to herself.”
    “I know. But this will only make her more angry with me.”
    “You have to worry about her future, not how she feels about you. She’ll come through it. She loves you.”
    Jackson wasn’t sure he believed that anymore. “I’m on my way to a homicide, so I don’t know when I’ll see you next.”
    “Damn. Who is it this time?”
    “A man stabbed near a storage unit. Could be a burglary gone bad.”
    “I wish you’d taken more time off.”
    “The Violent Crimes Unit is understaffed, and I’m hoping this will be an easy one.”
    Kera was silent. He’d taken three weeks of leave after his officer-involved shooting, and it had seemed like forever. In the month he’d been back, Lammers hadn’t given him any challenging cases. He knew it was time. “I’ll be in touch.”
    “Take care of yourself.”
    Jackson drove out Highway 99, an ugly strip of road in West Eugene made bearable by the cover of night. The route had been improved recently with trees and sidewalks, but the road ran parallel to the railroad tracks—never good for property values—and the outdated mishmash of buildings hadn’t changed. Except for the new apartments built by the Sponsors program. The unitswere freshly painted in rich fall colors and seemed a little too nice for the ex-cons and recovering drug addicts who occupied them.
    In the distance Jackson spotted the busy glow of high-powered flashlights. He hated working crime scenes in the dark, but a late-night scene with a still-warm body was better than bright daylight and a rotting corpse. The sooner they acted on the evidence, the more likely they were to make an arrest.
    He turned on Jessen, then into a small cul-de-sac, and parked on the street. The storage business didn’t have or need a parking lot, and two patrol cars took up the space in front of the office. It seemed like an odd place for a homicide, and Jackson wondered if the altercation had started at the nearby Lucky Numbers tavern. The tavern owner, Seth Valder, was in jail for filming pornography with a minor, and Jackson hoped the tavern manager was stealing Valder blind while he did his time.
    Jackson climbed from the car and it started to rain.
Oh fuck me
, he thought, pulling his waterproof gear from the backseat, along with his leather carryall bag and a heavy-duty flashlight. As soon as he had the gear on, the rain stopped. He unbuttoned the jacket but didn’t take it off. He knew Eugene weather in March.
    He walked toward the silver Airstream that served as an office for the storage company, and a patrol officer approached. “Welcome to the night shift.”
    “I’m familiar with it.” He knew he sounded tense, but that was the job. “What have we got?”
    “The body is in the third row.” The officer pointed to the left, where small lights illuminated the ends of ten narrow metal buildings.
    The units were visible through a metal fence. “Any witnesses? Who called it in?”
    “No witnesses so far. And the guy who called didn’t give his name. Dispatch says the call came from the tavern.” The patrol officer pointed again.
    Jackson didn’t have to look. “We need to find him.”
    “Detective Evans is over there now.”
    That was why he loved working with