Free Justice Denied by J. A. Jance Page A

questions asked.
    “Hey, Beau-Beau,” Kendall boomed into the phone. “How’re you doing these days? Did they finally get all that glass out of your face?”
    Jackson had been first on the scene after I went through the shattered wall of that greenhouse. The last time he had seen me I had been a bloody mess on my way to the ER.
    “Pretty much,” I said. “Although I still find shards of it now and then.”
    “You’re doing better than Captain Kramer,” he said. “You know he’s still out on disability? Everyone says he’s coming back soon now, though, probably sometime in the next couple of weeks.”
    Mel and I might have saved Paul Kramer’s sorry butt, but that didn’t mean I liked him any better. “Glad to hear it,” I lied.
    The words came to my lips almost effortlessly. Maybe I was starting to get the hang of it. After all, I had managed to lie to Mel. Now it looked as though I might be able to spin believable whoppers at the drop of a hat for anybody at all, no exceptions.
    “What can I do for you?” Jackson asked.
    “I understand you’re working the LaShawn Tompkins case.”
    “Yup,” Jackson said. “Hank and I drew that one.”
    Hank was Detective Henry Ramsdahl, Jackson’s partner.
    “How’s it going?” I asked.
    “Is that an official ‘how’s it going’ or an unofficial?” he returned.
    “Unofficial,” I replied. “After the state made that payout inthe Tompkins case, Ross Connors wants to be sure everything is on the up-and-up, but he also doesn’t want to make a big fuss about it, if you know what I mean.”
    “We’re not making much progress so far,” Jackson admitted. “From everything we’ve been able to learn, Tompkins had been keeping his nose clean. We’ve turned up no sign that he was involved in any illegal activities. According to what we’ve been told, LaShawn found God while he was in prison. Once he got out, he straightened up and flew right—right up until somebody shot him dead, which, if you ask me, sounds pretty iffy,” Jackson concluded. “Old bad guys mostly don’t go straight.”
    We were on the same wavelength on that score.
    “With the possible exception of the girlfriend angle, though,” he added, “we haven’t found anyone with a beef against him.”
    “What girlfriend?” I asked. The fact that LaShawn might have a girlfriend was news to me, and it would no doubt be news to Etta Mae as well.
    “Name’s Elaine—Elaine Manning. That would be Sister Elaine Manning.”
    “Sister as in she’s black?” I asked.
    “That, too, but mostly sister as in that was her title at King Street Mission. Also an ex-con. Spent five years at Purdy for armed robbery. From what I can tell, that’s pretty much the prerequisite for becoming a counselor at King Street—you’ve already done your crime and your time. It’s a cachet that gives you more credibility with the clients.”
    “What about Elaine Manning?” I prompted.
    “We’re hearing bits and rumors that she and Brother Mark may have had something going, but that was before Brother LaShawnturned up on the scene. Once that happened, Sister Elaine more or less spun out of Brother Mark’s orbit.”
    “So we could be dealing with a simple love triangle?” I asked.
    Of course, love triangles are hardly ever simple.
    “Maybe,” Jackson agreed. “Problem is, so far we haven’t been able to locate Ms. Manning.”
    “You’re saying she’s gone missing?”
    “Yup. No one’s seen her since sometime Saturday morning. Took off right after breakfast. Since then, she hasn’t shown up at work and hasn’t called in, either. No one seems to know where she is or how to reach her. We consider her a person of interest.”
    Someone close to a murder victim who goes missing about the same time as the murder is always a person of interest, especially if there are hints of a love affair gone bad. Jackson made it sound like it was no big deal, but I guessed that the full powers of Seattle PD were being