Rules of Crime (2013)

by Sellers, L. J

  The room was silent. Jackson felt a little queasy.

  “I took plenty of tissue samples,” Gunderson finally said. “Maybe the state lab will isolate the dog’s DNA from the saliva it left in the wounds.”

  “She might have saliva on her clothing as well,” Jackson added.

  “I’ll send it all out this morning.”

  Jackson’s phone rang in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He hurried from the room, grateful for the chance to escape.

  Out in the hall, he looked at the screen. Jim Trang, the ADA. “Jackson here. What have you got for me?”

  “A signed warrant to search Jacob Renaldi’s home and property. It’s limited to items that might be connected to Dakota Anderson’s death. No computer or bank records.”

  “It’s a start. What about the dogs?”

  “I have a subpoena to collect saliva samples and teeth impressions.”

  “Finally. Now we just need someone who knows how to do that. I’m still waiting to hear back from the state police.”

  “I made some calls,” Trang said. “There’s a national laboratory in Ashland that specializes in animal forensics. They’re sending someone up today.”

  “Excellent. I owe you.” Jackson glanced over at the door to the autopsy room. He couldn’t make himself go back inside. Searching Renaldi’s place was more important. “I’ll head out now and pick up the warrant on the way.”

  A new surge of optimism flooded him. They might get a breakthrough—or maybe even find Renee on the property somewhere.

  CHAPTER 34

  Wednesday, January 11, 5:47 a.m.

  Evans put on running pants and a lightweight jacket with pit zips. After a kickboxing workout, she was headed out for a short run. She’d done five miles the night before but her weight was still up a pound, so she would do double runs until it came off. She tucked her cell phone, spare house key, and pepper spray into a pocket and left her duplex in west Eugene.

  Starting slow, she let her legs warm up and her body find a rhythm. Soon she was pounding down the bike path, hoping the sun would break over the mountain. The cold and darkness didn’t bother her as long as she kept moving fast enough to make her heart pound. She’d grown up in Alaska and was used to real winter, which was the worst time to slack off on exercise because she tended to eat more carbs. Like the damn bread on her pastrami sandwich last night, after eating that egg roll on campus. But she loved to exercise, so it tended to balance out.

  For the first two miles, she mulled over Lyla’s case. Like most of the crimes her unit investigated, this one wasn’t a puzzle. She’d found the perpetrator in short order, but the real task was proving it. Sometimes it took months to gather enough evidence and testimony to press charges, and that aspect of the job was tedious. She loved the hunt, the first few days of an investigation when she was tracking her prey. Like all the other victims, Lyla deserved justice and Evans would be patient and do whatever it took, even if it meant interviewing twenty annoying college girls. Maybe she’d get lucky and Joe would be able to match one of Taylor Harris’ sports weapons to the bruises on Lyla’s body. Or better yet, maybe Lyla would wake up and name her attackers.

  Evans wondered what Jackson would be doing on the job this morning. Whatever it was, she wished she could join him. She loved working his cases and going out on suspect calls with him. He’d been her mentor for a year and she’d learned so much. She’d also fallen stupidly in love for the first time in her life. When they started working together, he was going through a divorce and she’d let herself fantasize about having sex with him. It seemed harmless enough until she realized she was thinking about a future with him. But the feelings had all been in her head, not Jackson’s. Then he’d met Kera, a tall gorgeous, wounded woman, and he’d fallen hard for her.

  After that, Evans had started dating again and tried to let go of her feelings for Jackson, but it obviously hadn’t happened yet. She was grateful for her relationship with Ben, the first man she’d been excited about since she’d met Jackson. But she worried she would always have feelings for Jackson. It was like that for some people, even after they married someone else and lived a happy life together. Maybe she needed to transfer out of the Violent Crimes Unit.

  Evans arrived at the department early, determined to find something new to bolster her case against Taylor Harris. She wanted to call Joe and ask about the bruises but it was too soon. Hers was not the only crime he had to process. She called Mrs. Murray at the hospital and learned that Lyla was still unconscious, but the bleeding in her brain had stopped and they were going to let her wake up from her coma…if she could. Evans asked Karen Murray to call her the minute Lyla was able to speak.

  After an hour of running background checks and combing through Facebook pages, she’d learned nothing relevant. None of the women in the sorority had criminal histories, except one for minor in possession of alcohol, and of course they were all Facebook friends. Yet no one had disclosed anything specific about their house, its rules, or its initiation. She stood, thinking she’d make another trip to the sorority, and her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Sophie Speranza. Did the reporter have something for her already?

  “Hey, Sophie. Did you get your story into the paper last night?” Evans hadn’t looked. She got her news online and the Willamette News was slow to post in the morning.

  “I did, and a woman just called me. Anna Compton. She wants to meet with both of us right now before she goes to work.”

  “Where?”

  “The Keystone Cafe on Fifth.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Evans didn’t get far before running into Sergeant Lammers in the hall.

  “I need an update. Come into my office.” Lammers’ scowl was deeper than usual.

  “I only have a minute.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Evans followed her into her office and closed the door, thinking it would be nice to have a private office. But she’d rather be in the field. “I’m making progress. In fact, I’m almost certain Taylor Harris, one of the victim’s roommates, assaulted her. Taylor texted and arranged a meeting with Lyla right before the attack.”

  “How did the search dog work out? Worth the department’s money?”

  “I think so. We found the crime scene and I took photos. I also found a receipt that I need to match to a credit card. And I turned in several potential weapons from Taylor’s room. Joe is comparing them to her bruises, using high-tech photography.”

  “Good. Because I need you to work the kidnapping/homicide case. The media has been calling nonstop about what we’re doing to find the kidnap victim, and now Dakota Anderson’s death by a dog attack is out there too. We have to get this under control and Jackson needs help. He left a suspect in the interrogation room for six hours yesterday and the man had a seizure.”

  Evans cringed, then regretted it. She had to get better at keeping her cop face on all the time. “We’ve all done that. Sometimes longer. We count on the desk officer and the rest of the office staff to check on them.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him.” Lammers gave her a brief rundown on the kidnapping/homicide case, then said, “Now check in with Jackson and help him close out this mess.”

  Evans started to mention her interview, then changed her mind. “I’m on it.” She bolted out of the sergeant’s office, fully intending to follow orders—right after she talked to Sophie’s witness and stopped to see Joe at the crime lab.

  Anna Compton was bone thin and dressed in baggy purple scrubs. Her short hair radiated a similar color. Across from her at the table sat the reporter with bright-red hair, a red handbag, and a pale-pink shirt. They were quite the rainbow, and Evans felt a little drab in her sage blazer. She slid into the booth next to Sophie.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had to meet with my boss right after you called.” She looked at Anna. “I’m Detective Lara Evans. Thanks for coming forward.”

  A group of male college students came into the smal
l restaurant, and the young woman tensed like a deer ready to run. “I don’t have much time. I have to be at the nursing home soon.”

  “You work as a CNA?” Evans wanted her witness to relax a little.

  “Yes. After four years in college and forty thousand in debt, this is my future.” She seemed more sad than bitter.

  “What did you major in?”

  “History.”

  No wonder, Evans thought. She had no words of support or advice.

  A waitress came to the table and Evans said, “Just black coffee, please.” The other two women already had mugs and Sophie was picking at a bagel.

  It was time to get some answers. “Did you live in the house at 1985 Potter?”

  “Yes, for my last two years at the university. I moved out two years ago.”

  “I need to document this interview.” Evans pulled out her recorder, heard no objections, and pressed the button. “What’s the name of the sorority?”

  “They don’t think of it as a sorority, but it’s called the Kappa Non Gratas. They take pride in their non-approved status, but the name is a secret, so no one ever uses it.”

  “Were you initiated when you moved in?”

  “Yes.” Anna looked down.

  “Please describe that for me.”

  “I promised myself and my house sisters that I would never tell a soul.” She twisted her napkin into a tight roll. “But it’s gone too far. I can’t believe that girl is in the hospital.”

  “Do you know what happened to Lyla Murray?”

  “No. I’m sorry. But I can imagine.”

  “What did they do to you in your initiation?” Evans wanted names but it seemed wise to work up to it.

  “There were two phases. First they made me sit naked while everyone in the house critiqued my body. It was bizarre and humiliating.” Anna didn’t make eye contact while she talked. “For the next part, only the house leader and her second in command participated.” She paused and sipped her coffee. “They took turns beating my ass with a paddle.”

  “This took place in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did it last?”

  “I don’t remember. It seemed like forever at the time.”

  “Did you have bruises or welts?”

  “Both. I carried an extra sweater around for two days to sit on in my classes.”

  “I’d need to know the names of the women who assaulted you.”

  “Ashley Harris and Jennifer Warzinsky.”

  Taylor’s older sister. Evans made a note of the names. She’d question them as soon as she had a chance. “Did Taylor Harris live in the house at the time?”

  “Yes. She was a freshman.”

  “Do you know if she participated in any beatings?”

  “Not that I know of. She wasn’t house leader until this year.”

  “Did you participate in any hazings?”

  Anna bit her lip and glanced away. When she looked back, tears rolled down her face. “I never hit anyone physically, but I helped humiliate other girls who joined the house.”

  “Will you testify to this in court?”

  “Yes, but there’s no point. I let them beat me. I signed a consent form.”

  That startled Evans and she wondered if Lyla had signed anything. Would such a document hold up in court? Would a prosecutor even take the case if Lyla wouldn’t or couldn’t testify?

  “Can you help me understand why you would let them do that? What was so special about joining that club?”

  “I wanted to have friends I could count on and to hang out with pretty, popular girls. Most of all, I needed a stable place to live while I finished college. My first couple years were awful. I moved three times, worked too many hours, and almost flunked out.” Anna pulled on her jacket. “I have to go.”

  “How did you get in? I mean, how does the house choose members?”

  “By invitation. You have to know someone to get accepted.” She slid out of the booth. “I don’t know who hazed Lyla or why they hurt her so bad. I’m not in touch with anyone there. Maybe it just got out of control, but it’s time to make it stop.”

  Sophie, who’d been quietly making notes, reached for Anna’s arm. “Can I call you with some follow-up questions?”

  “There’s not much else to say.” The young woman rushed from the restaurant. Through the window, they watched her unlock her bike and ride away.

  Fifteen minutes later, feeling charged, Evans jogged upstairs to the second floor of the crime lab. She’d left Joe a message and hoped to find him here. He wasn’t in his office but Jasmine Parker said to look in the big bay, so she headed back down.

  The row of large processing rooms had overhead, garage-style doors accessible from the parking lot, but they could also be accessed from a hallway along the back. She stopped at the second door, knocked briefly, and entered the room. Except for the high ceiling, it looked much like a garage, only with unusual tools. Joe was taking fingerprints from the door of a new silver Honda.

  “Hey, Joe. How’s it going? Working on a stolen vehicle?”

  He laughed. “Not a chance. We don’t have time for that.” He glanced over. “Sorry, but I don’t have good news on your case. I wasn’t able to match the victim’s bruises to any of the weapons you brought in.”

  “Crap.”

  “But I think I know what they used.” He cocked his head. “I wish I could show you but the images are on my computer. I think it might be a golf club. In close-up, the bruises have an inner edge that looks curved but I haven’t had a chance to do an actual comparison.”

  She hadn’t seen clubs in Taylor’s room. Had the other hazer supplied the weapons? Evans tried to let Joe off the hook. “You must be swamped.”

  “We all are. I was going to call you, then I got orders to help process everything from the kidnapping/murder case ASAP.”

  “Is that Renee Jackson’s car?”

  “No. That one is next door and already processed. This is Dakota Anderson’s. She was killed the next day and is somehow connected.”

  “She’s the daughter of Renee’s fiancé, Ivan Anderson. He’s the one who got the ransom demand.” Evans felt a tug of adrenaline that she’d been assigned such a bizarre, high-priority case. “They think Dakota was killed by a dog.”

  “I heard the Westside Kings might be involved.”

  “That’s the theory. I’d better run. I’ve been assigned to the case now too. Let me know about your golf club theory when you have time.”

  Jackson called on the drive to the department. “Evans, I need your help on Dakota Anderson’s death. Have you got some time today?”

  “Sure. Lammers told me you’d call. What do you need me to do?”

  “Dig through Dakota’s computer and credit card records. Her laptop is in an evidence bag in my desk drawer and the paperwork is in a box under my desk. I haven’t had time to go through it all yet.”

  “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

  “I want to know how much debt she had, but more important, I’m curious about a group of photos. The same people, including Dakota, are in several vacation pictures. See if you can identify her friends on Facebook or other social sites.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “And bring it all to the task force meeting at the FBI office this afternoon at two thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Wednesday, January 11, 1:43 a.m.

  The sound of beeping worked its way into an already weird dream. River sat up in bed, realizing it was her work phone. She grabbed it from the nightstand and answered without looking at the screen. “I’m awake. What is it?”

  “It’s Torres. Anderson is trying to drink himself to death. I poured out what was left of the alcohol but he tried to get in his car and drive to buy more. So I took his keys. Then he started on his wine collection. I’m worried he’ll drink himself into a coma.”

  Just what they needed. “Tell him he’s a suspect i
n his fiancée’s kidnapping, slap some cuffs on him, and question him until he passes out.”

  “Copy that. I considered cuffing him but I wanted to run it by you first.”

  “Sorry you have to deal with this. If we don’t hear from the kidnapper today, we’ll stop babysitting Anderson. But we won’t quit looking for his fiancée until we find her.”

  “I feel sorry for the guy. He’s taking his daughter’s death really hard and he’s given up hope of getting Renee back.”

  “When he’s sober, try to talk him into getting help. A rehab center or grief counselor, something.” River had seen her share of counselors over the years. Some were a waste of time, but her last counselor had helped her let go of a lot of guilt.

  River woke several hours later and couldn’t go back to sleep. After her morning yoga, she had leftover lasagna for breakfast, made a cup of chai tea, and opened her laptop to review her case notes. There was something about this case they hadn’t seen yet. Some reason Renee was still a hostage after the kidnapper received the money. The courier had the cash, River corrected. Maybe he had never delivered it to the ringleader. Or maybe the leader had killed Renee to keep her from identifying him. She could be buried in the woods and never surface.

  River read through everything, ruminating over the details. The disparity in the amount of the two ransom demands bothered her. Had one of the couriers taken over the scheme? A gang member with lower expectations of what constituted a windfall? Or had Diaz tried to kidnap Dakota and for some reason ended up unleashing his dog on her instead? River realized she didn’t know enough about Dakota’s death. She started to call Jackson to set up a task force meeting when her phone rang. Agent Fouts.

  “Hey, partner. I could use some good news.”

  “I located Bartolo Diaz. An informant called back this morning and said the guy lives in an apartment off Centennial.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s the corridor that runs by Autzen Stadium and connects Eugene and Springfield.”

  “I thought that was Martin Luther King.” River was confused now.