River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(57)

When Parker didn’t respond, he said, “I did some more digging, a few more clicks. Guess where John Jackson lives?” He didn’t wait for a reply this time and kept talking. “He’s still at his old man’s house about a mile down the road from our buddy Clint.”

Parker closed his eyes. He knew all of this, although he hadn’t known Russell had been Becca’s neighbor when they’d been kids. That was the strange part about their town. The people were so spread out that it was impossible to know who your best friend’s neighbors might be.

“So,” Rick said. There was a beat or two before he added, “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I have to go,” he said. “Thanks for the help.”



Parker pulled into the lot of Portland’s police department. He cut the engine and got out of the car, spying the chief’s cruiser as he walked into the squat brick building. The place was a mishmash of colors, mostly beige and cream. It smelled like coffee.

Jenna, the only secretary in the department, sat behind a small desk behind the counter. She hadn’t changed. She still wore her hair long and straight and parted to the side. But her black frames were new, giving her a no-nonsense look, a different kind of look than when she’d walked the halls in high school.

“Is the chief here?” Parker asked.

“Hey, Parker. He’s in his office. Go on back.”

He rapped his knuckles on her desk. “Thanks, Jenna.”

Any other day he would’ve knocked before entering the chief’s office even though the door was wide open. Given his foul mood, he walked in without bothering.

“What brings you by, Detective?” Toby asked, closing the file at his desk.

“I just came from Clint’s,” he said.

Toby sat back in the chair. Underneath his uniform was a body he’d allowed to go soft with age, plump, a sign he was comfortable in this town with his job and position. He ran a hand down his face, his stubby fingers stopping at his chin. “He’s in bad shape,” he said.

“Yes.”

Toby nodded. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“What do you know about the first river body case?”

“It’s been a long time. I can’t say I remember much. Nothing is jumping out at me anyways. As I recall, it was taken from us pretty quickly by some of your guys.” He pointed at Parker’s suit, his uniform. “Why?”

Parker sat in one of the chairs in front of Toby’s desk without being asked. “We found the rifle.” He’d gotten the call earlier that morning. His team had dragged the river for nearly twenty-four hours before finding it. If only they’d found the knife too.

“Who’d you trace it to?”

“It looks to be clean.”

“Prints?”

“We’re working on it.”

Toby threw his hands up. “Well, I guess you don’t have much then, do you?”

“What does Clint know about the first case?” he asked. “What’s his real connection to the Scions? There’s more to it than him just being Russell’s stepbrother.”

“Now, hold on, Son,” Toby said. Parker hadn’t been called son since he was a boy running plays on the football field and fishing in the river with his dad. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions you don’t want to jump to. I’ve known Clint a long time, and there isn’t any way he did something illegal. He was a good cop. He kept that stepbrother of his in line. And speaking of the Scions, I think I have something you might want to take a look at.” He pushed the file on his desk toward Parker.

Parker opened it. It was an arrest report listing the names of eleven club members, including John Jackson, who had all been arrested for disturbing the peace.

“You see the date right there.” Toby tapped the report where the date was typed in. “These fellas spent the night in jail. They weren’t released until noon the next day. So, you see, they were in jail when your victim was shot and whatnot.”

“Isn’t that convenient.” Parker looked up from the file. “It looks like this name was added on as an afterthought.” He pointed to John Jackson’s name, which had been typed underneath the other names.

“Watch yourself, Son.” Toby shifted in his chair, lifting his bulk and settling it back down again. “You don’t want to go around accusing the wrong people.”

“Why don’t you level with me,” Parker said. “What exactly is going on here?”

Toby grabbed the report from Parker’s hands. “Damned if I know,” he said. “My advice to you is to take this seriously”—he shook the report in Parker’s face—“and start looking for another angle. Because if you don’t and you’re looking for trouble, well, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.” He dropped the file back onto the desk.

“That’s it?” Parker asked. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

“That’s it.”

“Right. Well, thanks for nothing,” Parker said and stood. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Son,” Toby said, “I don’t suppose there’s a chance you’re going to take my advice and leave this one alone.”