Rules of Crime (2013)

by Sellers, L. J

  “It’s time. Fouts, go first and take the front of the bus. Anderson, follow in a few minutes and sit somewhere in the middle. I’ll get on at the last minute and head to the back. Quince, Torres, and Gilson, fan out around the station in your cars.” She didn’t really need to repeat the information. They’d been over it thoroughly but she was being careful. After the last failed effort, losing both the money and the courier, she couldn’t afford to botch this one too. The bureau was looking for a reason to fire her. She no longer fit their profile. But dumping her after her operation would have been politically ugly, so they were waiting for an opportunity. The universe had gifted them with this potentially high-profile train wreck. No one had ever expected her to handle anything like a ransom kidnapping after she’d relocated to Eugene. A made-to-order FUBAR scenario.

  “I still can’t believe the transit people actually wanted us to do this without our weapons,” Fouts complained again. “This town is so fucking politically correct, it’s surprising they even have a jail.”

  “We don’t,” Detective Quince said. “It’s run by the county.” He grinned, climbed into his car, and headed for the Chase bank on the other side of Eleventh Avenue.

  Fouts moved quickly to the station, a lean man with a muscular, caffeine-fueled walk. After a minute Anderson followed, head down and legs heavy. River hurried along the block and approached the idling bus from the other side.

  In addition to the three cars they had in the proximity, two more agents were parked along the bus route and several Eugene police officers were on standby in the area as well. River would have liked more agents on the scene, but she had tag teams watching her suspects, Striker and Talbot, round the clock.

  She ran the possible scenarios in her head again. The kidnapper could text Anderson and order him to throw the money out the bus door when it opened, then grab it from the sidewalk and run or bike away. Or he might already be on the bus and grab it as he passed by to exit. Or he might order Anderson to get off the bus and onto a bicycle. Or worse yet, onto another bus. The thought made her clench her hands. An unexpected change of direction would put Anderson out of their communication reach and give the kidnapper the best chance of escaping. If they followed Anderson onto another bus, the kidnapper would likely see them and call off the drop. Either way, it might put Renee’s life at risk.

  River took a cleansing breath and reminded herself that she would make peace with any outcome. Ultimately, she was not in control.

  She jostled through a crowd of unloading passengers from another bus and scurried aboard the number 36 bus moments before the driver pulled the door closed. She flashed her badge as if it were a monthly pass. Fouts sat directly behind the driver, looking like an uptight accountant in his elbow-patch jacket and narrow glasses. Anderson sat near the middle, wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt with UO lettering on the back. After her sleepless night, River probably looked like a housewife who had taken one too many Valium and forgot where she parked her car.

  The bus rolled forward and threw her into a seat in the back. She hadn’t been on public transportation since college. The stench of the idling engine was overpowering. Was this a mistake? Should she have followed in her car? No, she was here now and it was the right move. Staying with the target was key.

  They exited the station onto Tenth Avenue, then turned on Willamette. After a few blocks, Anderson’s voice was suddenly in her ear, whispering, “He just texted and said to get off the bus, run down Thirteenth, and catch the number twenty-eight.”

  “Do what he says. Fouts will stay with you. I’ll hang back in case he reverses direction.” They couldn’t both follow him to another bus without it being obvious. If the kidnapper was watching Anderson, a careless move on their part could be fatal to Renee.

  River spoke into her radio. “CR to Quince: Follow the number twenty-eight bus on Thirteenth.” He was the closest. The others had moved farther down the bus line toward Eighteenth, and still others were waiting farther west.

  “Copy that.”

  The number 36 bus had stopped and Fouts trotted down the steps, ahead of Anderson who was still making his way to the front. River exited out the rear door just in time to see a cyclist whiz by and crash into Fouts, knocking him down. The cyclist went down too, swearing as he lost contact with his bike.

  Was he part of the courier’s escape plan? River ran toward the two men on the ground, as Anderson took off down the side street as instructed.

  “Fouts, are you okay?”

  “Yes and no.”

  The bus pulled away from the curb with their bicycle still mounted on the front rack.

  Damn.

  She looked over as the 28 bus rolled up on Thirteenth Avenue. The doors popped open and Anderson climbed aboard.

  Damn. Someone had to stay with the target. She spoke into the radio: “This is CR: DF is down. Following target on bicycle.”

  River cursed under her breath, grabbed the bike that had crashed into Fouts, and mounted the two-wheeled contraption.

  Fouts tried to stand and cried out in pain. From the ground, the cyclist yelled, “What the fuck?”

  “FBI. You’ll get it back.”

  River pushed off, asking the universe to keep her safe. She hadn’t ridden anything but a stationary exercise bike since grade school. All her years in the field had never required her to pedal anywhere. She’d clung to the back of a motorcycle once during a brief high-speed chase, but most fieldwork involved sitting in cars, asking questions, and occasionally following on foot.

  River started pedaling down the bike lane. Cars whizzed past her and she couldn’t believe people rode next to traffic like this all the time. Please let Quince or Torres pick the tail. She was in no shape to keep up with the bus. Yet she gave it her all, sucking wind and pumping until her legs ached. Which took about two minutes.

  On the radio, Quince said, “I’ve got eyes on the number twenty-eight.”

  “Copy.”

  The bus couldn’t move any faster than the traffic on Thirteenth and had to stop once for a red light, so she managed to keep it in sight. As they neared the university, she realized what the kidnapper probably had in mind. Being the only agent on a bicycle, it would be all up to her.

  Anderson’s fuzzy voice whispered in her earpiece. “He just texted. I’m getting off the bus and walking left.” Or at least that’s what she thought he said.

  River was sucking in too much oxygen to respond. The driver pulled over at the next bus stop and Anderson exited. She stood and pushed hard, hoping to make the light. Cars honked as she crossed in front of them and she swerved hard to keep from hitting a pedestrian. The young woman turned and cursed at her. River kept pedaling, watching Anderson as closely as she could, while still keeping one eye on the road in front of her. Good glory. How did people do this every day?

  Anderson walked past a group of connected shops and said something, but she couldn’t understand. There was too much traffic and noise.

  Another cyclist passed her. River scanned ahead and saw that the sidewalks on the next block were filled with young college students. They were near the edge of campus now. As Anderson approached Alder Street, he slipped the backpack from his shoulder and carried it by his side.

  Oh no.

  A young man on a bicycle came out of nowhere, grabbed the backpack, and raced toward the college. No! The courier had the money and was a block and a half away. River pushed harder, but her thighs burned and her throat closed up like a dry vacuum. She tried to focus on the courier details. Oversize dark jacket and dark knit cap. She couldn’t see his pants well enough to know what they were. As she approached the cross street where Thirteenth Avenue dead-ended into the campus, Quince yelled into the radio, “Stay with him! I’ll park and follow.”

  She did her best, but the campus was swarming with students and she had to slow down to weave around them. She saw the courier make a sudden right onto a path between two buildings. She followed the turn but couldn’t spot the guy in
the puffy black jacket. Had he ditched the bike and run into one of the huge brick buildings? Students swarmed around her, some looking her up and down like she was an alien specimen.

  River kept moving but she knew she’d lost him.

  CHAPTER 27

  Tuesday, January 10, 3:52 p.m.

  Jackson and Schak crossed the street to the federal building, jumped through the security hoops, and took the elevator to the third floor.

  “I hope this goes quickly,” Jackson commented as they approached the conference room. “We still need to search Dakota’s condo and get into all her electronic files.”

  “Renaldi’s place comes first, if we get the warrant.”

  “I’m not holding my breath. Who knows how long it will take the county to authorize an animal-control specialist to get out there. This funding crisis is crippling us.”

  “And the scumbags are laughing it up.”

  They entered the meeting and took seats at the long table. River and four other agents were already there, looking impatient. Detective Quince was seated at the end.

  River stood. “Let’s get started. We still have a missing woman out there who may be in worse danger than ever.” She looked at Jackson. “The money drop didn’t go well. The kidnapper had Anderson make two bus changes, then grabbed the backpack and disappeared into a sea of students on campus. We had a GPS unit in the cash, but he ditched the backpack and the tracker in a bathroom on campus.”

  The news was a body blow and Jackson tried not to flinch. “What about Renee?”

  “We’re hoping he’ll let her go now that he has the money, but we can’t assume that.”

  Jackson knew it was just as likely the kidnapper would kill Renee, or order his thugs to, just to eliminate a possible witness. An image of his grief-stricken daughter flashed in his mind. The damage that losing her mother could do. “Have we heard from the agents tailing our suspects?”

  River looked at the agent across from Jackson. “What’s the report?”

  “Daniel Talbot spent the day at Talbot and Finch Accounting on Twentieth and Willamette and is still there now. Gus Striker was home most of the day, then left just after three p.m. and drove to Lucky Numbers, a tavern on Highway 99. He’s still inside.”

  River added, “Our tech team says the messages to Anderson’s phone bounced off a tower at Eighteenth and Chambers, which means Talbot could have been sending them from his office, while a courier picked up the money.”

  “Striker sounds like he’s out of the running.” Jackson was relieved he’d never have to explain entering the man’s house without a warrant.

  River moved toward a large whiteboard where she’d listed Talbot at the top on one side. “Are we down to one suspect?”

  “We have Jacob Renaldi too.” Jackson looked at his notes. “He’s Dakota Anderson’s boyfriend and the last known person to see her alive. He also works for Evergreen Construction, which is owned by Talbot. I think they may have worked together on the kidnapping.”

  River absorbed the information like water after a marathon. “Fascinating. What else do we know about him?”

  “He breeds protection dogs, so we think he knows what happened to Dakota.”

  “Do we have him in custody?” River talked over her shoulder as she wrote the information on the board.

  “He’s in an interrogation room at the department.”

  “Excellent. I’d like to question him later. What’s your take?”

  “He’s hard to read, impassive one minute and semi-distressed the next. You can watch the video.”

  “We need to get teeth imprints from his dogs.”

  “An assistant DA is working on the subpoena and we have a call in to county animal control.”

  Agent Torres made a grunting sound. “They’ll have to tranquilize the dogs. How many are there?”

  Jackson was embarrassed that he didn’t know. “We’re not sure. Renaldi wouldn’t let us look around and he didn’t want to talk about the dogs.”

  “What else have we got?” River glanced over at her agents.

  Agent Gilson reported, “We started searching Talbot’s construction properties today, but were interrupted by the second money drop.”

  “Did you search the Skyridge home with the underground safe room?” Jackson asked. “Renaldi mentioned it as a possibility of where Talbot might hide her.”

  “Not yet, but we will right after the meeting.”

  “A safe room?” River stared at him. “When did you learn this?”

  “Moments ago during Renaldi’s interrogation.”

  “What did he say about Renee?”

  “He claims he never met her.”

  River made a note on the board. “Any witnesses from the crime scene at the dog park? Anything unusual?”

  “No witnesses yet,” Jackson said. “But about twenty feet from the body the grass was pressed down in a large oval, as if two people might have lain there.”

  River kept writing on the board, her marker making a squeaking noise. Jackson wished they were working from his department. He liked to look at the case board early in the morning when his brain was fresh.

  River summed it up: “So Renaldi and Dakota may have had a rendezvous in the park before the dog killed her?”

  “Maybe. We’ll know more after I hear from the crime scene techs.”

  Schak spoke up. “This may be minor, but Renaldi mentioned that Dakota was a shopaholic.”

  “She lost a mother to cancer and stepmother in an accident,” River said, her voice quiet. “Which probably explains that. My instinct is to think she was killed because she broadcast information about the kidnapping on live TV.”

  “Or found out that her boyfriend was part of it,” Schak suggested. “Maybe she confronted Renaldi and he killed her to keep her silent.”

  The earlier mention of Dakota’s vehicle made Jackson ask. “Did you find anything in Renee’s car?”

  “Oddly enough, I did.” River had a puzzled look in her eye. “There was a white glove on the backseat, but no matching glove or other clothes were in the car. Jackson, you know Renee. Does she wear white gloves?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen, but was it a woman’s glove?”

  “Not necessarily.” River walked to her briefcase, pulled out a clear evidence bag, and handed it to Jackson. “What do you think?”

  The glove was made of thin suede, like a driving glove, and it seemed an average size, larger than most women’s hands but too small for many men. “The kidnapper could have dropped it.” He had no other explanation.

  A moment of silence as they all churned it over.

  “A calling card?” Agent Fouts tentatively suggested.

  “Seems unlikely in a cash-motivated kidnapping.” River wrote it on the board anyway, then turned back. “Just before the meeting, we learned that the first perp to pick up the money was identified as Noah Tremel, a member of the Westside Kings. The courier today was wearing a dark, down- or polyester-filled jacket and dark knit cap. Gang clothing. We either have a local gang trying to cash in big or the kidnapper hired a few gang members to help him abduct Renee and fetch the money. We all need to go to our street sources and see what they know.”

  Jackson thought of his informant. Loki had once been loosely connected to the Westside gang through his brother. He would call him after the meeting.

  Schak cleared his throat. “If Renaldi is one of the kidnappers and we have him in custody, then he can’t let Renee go.”

  A longer silence this time.

  “But if we let him go,” River argued, “he can get rid of the attack dog before we get impressions of its teeth. And Talbot is probably the main perp. He has the beef with Anderson.” She looked around for disagreement. “Let’s keep Renaldi in custody until we can process his dogs.”

  “What’s our next step?” Agent Fouts asked.

  “Hit the streets and talk to CIs and the Westside Kings. Somebody out there knows something. I’ll question Tremel’s direct a
ssociates, and Quince, who’s investigated local gangs, will join me.” She looked at Jackson. “Can you do anything to expedite the warrant for Renaldi’s property?”

  “I’ll try.” Jackson was itching to search Dakota’s apartment, but finding Renee had to be the priority. “The media has known about the kidnapping since Dakota’s broadcast last night. When do we ask for the public’s help in finding Renee?”

  “We give the kidnapper—or Renee—another hour to contact us. If not, we’ll get her photo on the late news tonight.”

  “I’d like to get it into tomorrow morning’s paper as well, if it’s not too late.” Jackson thought of Sophie.

  “I’ll let you handle that.”

  “Should we release the news of Dakota’s death?”

  “Yes, but not how she died. We have to keep something back for now.”

  “Of course.”

  When it was time, Jackson would contact Sophie Speranza, a reporter for the Willamette News. She’d left him two messages today, and knowing her, she’d leave him two more again tomorrow. She’d once nearly ruined his career with an ill-timed front-page photo, and he’d resented her for it. But since then she’d given him critical pieces of information that led to breakthroughs in his cases. He’d come to respect her tenacity and investigative skills, but she was still a pesky reporter.

  River was still talking. “You need to stay focused on Dakota’s death. It could lead us to Renee.”

  Jackson knew what he needed to do, he just didn’t have legal permission yet. He’d always been a by-the-book officer, but waiting for paperwork while his family was at stake didn’t seem right.

  CHAPTER 28

  Tuesday, January 10, 2:47 p.m.

  Evans finally found a place to park in front of McArthur Court, a century-old auditorium that was no longer used for university basketball. Directly across the street was the Pioneer Cemetery, which took up about four square blocks and in places was thick with trees. The cemetery had been there first, and the university had tried and failed several times to condemn the property and build on the land. But unearthing the dead was not politically popular, so the graveyard remained.