Jamis Bachman, Ghost Hunter by Jen Jensen

Author:Jen Jensen [Jensen, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635556063
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2019-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The newspaper was called the Sage Creek Advocate. The poster on the wall said it had been operating since 1918. The afternoon light filtered through the windows. There were half a dozen desks in the small, open space, but no receptionist. The walls were a dirty cream color, covered in framed newspaper prints, interspersed with small awards. A single person typed, back to the door, the clicking of keyboard keys the only sound. There was a dying rubber tree plant next to the man’s desk. It smelled like stale coffee. It was like a scene from a comic book. She half-expected Spider-Man to drop from a vent in the ceiling.

She tapped the lone man on the shoulder. He jumped from his seat and knocked the keyboard from the desk. It swung by the cord and snapped against the metal.

“I’m so sorry,” Jamis said.

He took off his headphones and picked up the keyboard. He wore a white short-sleeve shirt with a tie, loosened. His hair was completely gray. She introduced herself.

“Ghost hunter?” Jamis nodded. “Yeah. I thought so. Sampson Birch.”

“Pleasure. Do you have some time to talk?”

He looked at the computer, at the clock, and back at her. “A few minutes.”

“Do you know anything about Stephanie Gardner?”

Sampson pushed back in his chair. He slid a chair to her. “Have a seat.” There was a large, yellowish color stain in the middle of the brown fabric. Jamis looked at it, then looked at Sampson, and decided the desire to talk outweighed her revulsion. “She was murdered. I wrote the article about it. What do you want to know?”

“It’s unsolved,” Jamis said.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. It is. I’ve been digging around a bit. Seems like maybe the police didn’t really do a thorough job.” Jamis avoided touching the armrests of the chair.

“When was that again? I was here, in case you’re wondering.” She was. “Probably the only one still here.”

“Yeah, where is everyone?” Jamis looked around the empty office.

“I do most of the heavy lifting. No need for a big staff. Print newspaper is dying. My online contributors just post from home. Honestly, I think I’ll close this office down next year.”

“That’s really sad,” Jamis said. He shrugged. “Stephanie. She was found on March 16, 1992. I have reason to believe the police chief willfully covered up his son’s involvement, impregnation, and her murder.” She shared details and waited for him to add to it.

When she finished, he turned to his desk and pulled a file from the bottom drawer, almost six inches thick. Paper bulging out the sides, and a large rubber band held it together. “This is my file on Mitch Reynolds Sr., the police chief then. He did whatever he wanted, or didn’t do whatever he wanted, for close to thirty years. Nothing stuck. People down in Arizona get worked up about Sheriff Joe, but that’s because they don’t know Chief Reynolds. These guys are from a different era. They’re outlaws, as bad as the guys they chase. The world changed and outpaced them.

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