Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) by L.J. Sellers Page A
Authors: L.J. Sellers
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while will help her work through it.”
Jackson resisted the urge to argue.
After a long moment, Judge Holt said, “We just learned that our inpatient treatment program lost its funding, so I’ll honor Katie’s desire to go home. But I want her in daily alcohol treatmentsessions and weekly grief counseling. Please make the necessary arrangements and submit the paperwork to me by the end of the day Friday. If there’s another incident, I’ll have no choice but to recommend incarceration.”
Tension flowed out of Jackson’s shoulders. Katie was coming home. He’d thought he wanted to force her into a treatment program that would contain her and remove her from his responsibility for a while. But after one night of knowing she was behind locked doors, he’d changed his mind. He tried to gauge Katie’s reaction, but he couldn’t see her well enough from the side to tell.
He turned to Jan and Kera. “Thank you for being here. Now I need to find Katie a new counselor.”
The caseworker walked over. “We’ll process some paperwork, then Katie will be released into your custody in twenty minutes or so.” The social worker didn’t look happy, but she dug into her purse and handed Jackson a business card. “This therapist is terrific with troubled teenagers. I’ll give her a call. I think she’s even in the building today.”
Jackson took the card, said thank you, and headed out to wait in the bright light of the lobby. He wanted this to be the last time he set foot in this building, but he knew it wouldn’t be. Now that he had a homicide case to work, he would have to depend on Kera and Jan to keep his daughter out of trouble while he sought justice for a man who’d robbed a bank. On the surface, it seemed wrong, yet Jackson couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change who he was or how he lived his life.
Kera stepped up next to him, and he realized the one change he could make was to move in with Kera. Maybe it would be good for Katie to be around Kera, Danette, and the baby. It might give her a new sense of family.
While they waited for Katie, a woman approached him and held out her hand. “Wade Jackson?” She was in her forties, well groomed, and very overweight.
“Yes?” He shook her hand, feeling a little reluctant.
“I’m Charlotte Diebold, a therapist who specializes in counseling teenagers.”
Jackson looked at the card in his hand. Same woman. “It’s good to meet you. The social worker gave me your card.”
“Yes, she called me. I do a lot of work with kids who come through this courtroom, and I’d love to help with your daughter.”
Jackson decided to trust the caseworker’s recommendation. “How soon can you see Katie? She needs an intervention.”
“I’ll check for an opening this week and get back to you.”
“Thanks.” Jackson nodded and started toward the door. He was ready to get the hell out.
CHAPTER 9
Wednesday, March 13, 11:15 a.m.
True to his word, Ted Rockman had sent personnel files immediately, and River’s in-box was flooded with PDFs when she returned from her meeting with Dallas. While they printed, she skimmed through the documents looking for a woman with a connection to Jerry Bromwell, the night watchman, or someone with a history of volunteer work that suggested an environmental empathy. Eventually, River and/or Agent Fouts would read the files of every single male under thirty as well, in the off chance that the firebomb had been an inside job.
For now, she had to focus on the woman who’d had a late-night booty call with Bromwell. It was not likely a coincidence that she’d come into the building around the same time as the arsonist. She might not be an employee, River reminded herself. And it might not even be a woman. Jerry may have had a male guest. She picked up the files from the printer, found Bromwell’s,and noted his address. It was seven minutes away on Mallory Lane.
River drove over and parked in front of the house next to Bromwell’s. The
Jackson resisted the urge to argue.
After a long moment, Judge Holt said, “We just learned that our inpatient treatment program lost its funding, so I’ll honor Katie’s desire to go home. But I want her in daily alcohol treatmentsessions and weekly grief counseling. Please make the necessary arrangements and submit the paperwork to me by the end of the day Friday. If there’s another incident, I’ll have no choice but to recommend incarceration.”
Tension flowed out of Jackson’s shoulders. Katie was coming home. He’d thought he wanted to force her into a treatment program that would contain her and remove her from his responsibility for a while. But after one night of knowing she was behind locked doors, he’d changed his mind. He tried to gauge Katie’s reaction, but he couldn’t see her well enough from the side to tell.
He turned to Jan and Kera. “Thank you for being here. Now I need to find Katie a new counselor.”
The caseworker walked over. “We’ll process some paperwork, then Katie will be released into your custody in twenty minutes or so.” The social worker didn’t look happy, but she dug into her purse and handed Jackson a business card. “This therapist is terrific with troubled teenagers. I’ll give her a call. I think she’s even in the building today.”
Jackson took the card, said thank you, and headed out to wait in the bright light of the lobby. He wanted this to be the last time he set foot in this building, but he knew it wouldn’t be. Now that he had a homicide case to work, he would have to depend on Kera and Jan to keep his daughter out of trouble while he sought justice for a man who’d robbed a bank. On the surface, it seemed wrong, yet Jackson couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change who he was or how he lived his life.
Kera stepped up next to him, and he realized the one change he could make was to move in with Kera. Maybe it would be good for Katie to be around Kera, Danette, and the baby. It might give her a new sense of family.
While they waited for Katie, a woman approached him and held out her hand. “Wade Jackson?” She was in her forties, well groomed, and very overweight.
“Yes?” He shook her hand, feeling a little reluctant.
“I’m Charlotte Diebold, a therapist who specializes in counseling teenagers.”
Jackson looked at the card in his hand. Same woman. “It’s good to meet you. The social worker gave me your card.”
“Yes, she called me. I do a lot of work with kids who come through this courtroom, and I’d love to help with your daughter.”
Jackson decided to trust the caseworker’s recommendation. “How soon can you see Katie? She needs an intervention.”
“I’ll check for an opening this week and get back to you.”
“Thanks.” Jackson nodded and started toward the door. He was ready to get the hell out.
CHAPTER 9
Wednesday, March 13, 11:15 a.m.
True to his word, Ted Rockman had sent personnel files immediately, and River’s in-box was flooded with PDFs when she returned from her meeting with Dallas. While they printed, she skimmed through the documents looking for a woman with a connection to Jerry Bromwell, the night watchman, or someone with a history of volunteer work that suggested an environmental empathy. Eventually, River and/or Agent Fouts would read the files of every single male under thirty as well, in the off chance that the firebomb had been an inside job.
For now, she had to focus on the woman who’d had a late-night booty call with Bromwell. It was not likely a coincidence that she’d come into the building around the same time as the arsonist. She might not be an employee, River reminded herself. And it might not even be a woman. Jerry may have had a male guest. She picked up the files from the printer, found Bromwell’s,and noted his address. It was seven minutes away on Mallory Lane.
River drove over and parked in front of the house next to Bromwell’s. The
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