Death Deserved (A Detective Jackson Mystery) by L.J. Sellers Read Free Book Online

older than McCoy.
    A wave of emotions washed over her face as she stood up. First relief, then anger.
    Jackson tried to catch the man’s eyes. “Who are you?”
    “Charles Kazmir. I’m Shanna’s accountant and significant other.” He stepped toward Jackson. “Unless you have an arrest or search warrant, I think you should leave.”
    Was he just a jackass, or did Kazmir have something to hide? “Did you know Josh Stalling?”
    “Of course. He was a pain in the ass.” The corners of the man’s mouth turned down. At first glance, his face had seemed to match his attractive clothing, but now a coldness set in.
    “Why didn’t you like him?”
    “General reasons. He had an ugly past and an aversion to the truth. I didn’t trust him.” Kazmir’s face darkened, as if he regretted his words.
    “That’s not fair! Josh had changed,” the sister shouted at her boyfriend, but he ignored her.
    Jackson locked eyes with him. “Where were you this morning between seven and eight?”
    “Upstairs, in bed with my girlfriend.” The man pointed his finger at the ceiling. “We’re done answering questions.”
    McCoy rushed at Kazmir and grabbed his arm. “Why did you say that? What’s going on?”
    He’d lied about his alibi? A red flag! Jackson started to step between them to get answers, then changed his mind. It could be informative to hear how this played out. He slipped his recorder out of his pocket and clicked it on.
    “Shut up, Shanna!” Kazmir was livid.
    “Did you kill Josh?” Her eyes were wide with shock and anger.
    “Hell no! What are you saying?” Kazmir reached out to soothe her.
    “Don’t touch me.” McCoy brushed his hand away. “Where were you?”
    This time he grabbed her arm, yanked her in close, and put his face next to hers. “We’ll talk about it later.” His voice oozed menace.
    Jackson stepped forward, wishing he had a baton or a stun gun on him, instead of just his Sig Sauer. The Taser was in the car. “Let her go!”
    McCoy punched her boyfriend in the chest and started to sob. Kazmir headed for the stairs, dragging the woman with him.
    Jackson reached for his phone and pressed the speed-dial button for the call center. “Detective Jackson here. I need backup near the corner of Eighth and Lincoln. The salon in the middle of the retail stores.” The exact address had escaped him for the moment.
    “I’ll send officers now. Any details?”
    “Domestic disturbance.” Jackson hung up and put the phone in his pocket. He itched to draw his weapon, but these people weren’t armed. Yet Kazmir could be the killer, and Jackson wouldn’t let him get by without a physical altercation. Oh hell. Was there another exit from upstairs?
    The grieving sister was now hysterical. She resisted Kazmir’s efforts to drag her up the stairs and shouted profanities. “Let go, you fucker! I’m sick of your control.”
    From his spot on the narrow step above her, Kazmir didn’t have much leverage, despite his size advantage. He tried coaxing her. “It’s not what you think. Give me a chance to explain, just not in front of a cop.”
    McCoy yanked free, spun, and ran toward the front door. Jackson cut her off, and she smashed into him.
    He rocked back, but caught himself. The woman bounced off and screamed, “Get out of my way!”
    Jackson took five steps back and stood in front of the entrance. He glanced at Kazmir. The man turned and charged up the steps.
    “Is there another exit?” he shouted at the woman.
    She looked confused.
    He pulled his phone out and hit the call-center icon again. “Jackson here. I need a unit in the alley behind the building, watching for a man in black slacks and a light-colored pullover. Six-feet, two hundred pounds, blond hair.”
    McCoy’s emotions seemed to shift again, and she looked alarmed. “Don’t let them shoot Charles!”
    He’d seen a lot of grieving people react in unique ways, but this woman was a wild card. He wondered about her mental health.