Rules of Crime (2013)

by Sellers, L. J

  Twenty minutes later he pulled into Ivan Anderson’s driveway, looked up at the high-end home, and experienced a flash of envy. No wonder Renee had moved in with the guy. Would Katie get spoiled on her weekend stays and start to resent the modest older house they shared with his brother? He hoped not. His daughter wasn’t materialistic compared to other kids her age, but she was going through a phase of rapid physical and mental change and it worried him.

  He knocked on the door, self-conscious about arriving so early, but decided that Renee’s fiancé probably hadn’t slept much either.

  Anderson responded almost immediately. He was shorter, thicker, and older than Jackson, but he dressed well and looked like he took good care of himself. “Thanks for coming.” He gestured for Jackson to come in. “Katie said she’d be out in a minute. I know I’m not much comfort to her and she’s anxious to go home.”

  “Anything new?” Jackson looked around the foyer—noting the marble floor and the one-of-a-kind chest of drawers—and realized how shabby his place was in comparison. He forced himself to stop thinking about it. He was never home anyway.

  “No. Renee’s mother hasn’t heard from her and the police haven’t called.”

  “I’ll head to the department and fill out a report. Give me her creditcard and cellphone information, so I can start making calls.”

  Anderson scowled. “What will that tell you?”

  “We need to know if she’s using the credit card and where. Same with the cell phone.”

  “You think she might have walked away from us on purpose?”

  Jackson wanted to say, If Renee is drinking, anything is possible. But he chose to be diplomatic. “I have no idea. I just know that this is how we find people.”

  “Her cell phone is on my T-Mobile plan, and I’ll see if I can find her creditcard statement.”

  As Anderson walked away, Jackson’s daughter ran up the hall, her overnight bag bouncing against her side. In the last year, she’d grown four inches and lost her baby fat. And now with her hair pulled back, he missed the wild curls.

  “Dad!” She threw herself into his arms with an intensity he hadn’t seen since she was ten and got lost at the fair for a few minutes.

  Jackson held Katie tight, his love for her threatening to overwhelm him. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find her.” He almost said, I promise, then bit it back. Renee’s disappearance baffled him and might not turn out well. After twenty-two years as a police officer, it was hard to be optimistic.

  Anderson came into the room and his cell phone beeped somewhere inside his jacket pocket. Jackson and Katie both turned at the sound. Let it be Renee, Jackson prayed, for Katie’s sake.

  “It’s a text,” Anderson said, surprised. He clicked open the text, and his face went slack as he read. “Oh god. Someone has kidnapped Renee. He wants a hundred thousand dollars.”

  His daughter let out a yelp, then covered her mouth with her hand, while the news sucked the air out of Jackson’s chest and left him speechless. It took a moment to process a response. He’d never handled a ransom kidnapping and didn’t think his department had either. “Let me see the text.”

  “He wants the money in cash by three o’clock today or he’ll start cutting off her fingers.” Anderson’s voice broke at the end, and his hand trembled as he passed Jackson the phone.

  Katie burst into tears, and Jackson wanted to smack Anderson for saying that out loud. The guy was so stressed out he was oblivious that Katie was even there. He touched Katie’s shoulder. “Please go wait in the car, sweetheart. There’s no need for you to hear this.”

  “No! She’s my mother.” His daughter struggled to get control. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

  Jackson didn’t want to waste time arguing. He read the brief text: I have your girlfriend. I want $100,000 in cash today or I’ll cut off her ring finger. You have until 3. Do not call the police or I’ll kill her. Put the money in a backpack and wait for my instructions.

  Jackson forwarded the text to his own cell phone so he’d have a copy, then grabbed his notepad and jotted down the number the text came from. It was probably a cheap burner phone from Cricket, and the kidnapper—if he was smart—had thrown it away already.

  “What does it say?” Katie asked. “Is Mom okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Jackson tried not to visualize Renee tied up and terrified. The image came to him anyway. “We have to notify my sergeant and she’ll contact the FBI. They have the resources to handle this.”

  “No!” Anderson grabbed his phone back. “I want to just give him the money and handle it ourselves.”

  For a moment, Jackson was tempted. It was the least risky course of action for Renee—and for Katie, who would be devastated if anything happened to her mother. But he couldn’t do it. “Don’t ask me to cover up a crime. I’m a police officer.”

  “You’re still on vacation,” Katie pleaded. “Let’s just do what he says and get Mom back.”

  Jackson hugged his daughter. “I’m sorry, honey. We have to do this right so we can catch the guy.”

  “I don’t care about catching him. I just want Mom to be safe.” She pulled away and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Anderson said, “I’m not asking you to let him get away with it. I just want to pay the money and get Renee back. Then you can go after him.”

  Jackson sensed Anderson knew something he wasn’t telling. “You said ‘him’ like you know who it is.”

  A long moment. “It might be a client of mine, Daniel Talbot. He lost a lot of money last year on a hedge fund I got him into and he sent me some hostile e-mails.”

  “We’ll take this to my supervisor, get a warrant, and go arrest him.”

  “What about Renee? What if she’s in a basement or storage unit?” Anderson lost control and choked up. “She could die while Talbot’s in custody. We may never find her.”

  Jackson’s chest tightened in a painful squeeze. “We have to get the FBI involved, set up a money drop, and follow him. It’s the only way to catch the perp and get Renee back safely.”

  Anderson covered his face with his hands. “I can’t let Renee die because of my financial mistake.”

  Jackson looked at his daughter and tried to sound confident. “Renee’s not going to die.” He caught Anderson’s eye. “Don’t say that again.”

  “Sorry.”

  Jackson turned to Katie. “Please call your aunt Jan. I think you should stay with her until this is over.”

  She started to protest, then stopped. “I can tell her about Mom, can’t I?”

  “Yes, since Jan is her sister. But please don’t tell anyone else.”

  “What about Harlan?”

  Katie’s boyfriend had gone back to being just her good friend, and Jackson was relieved. “No. The fewer people who know, the safer your mother is.” Jackson wasn’t sure that was true, but it was how the department operated.

  “I’m not going to school today.”

  Jackson didn’t care about that. As long as Katie wasn’t alone while he tried to get her mother back. “Call Aunt Jan.” He turned to Anderson. “Let me see the e-mails Daniel Talbot sent you. We might as well print them as probable cause for a warrant.”

  Anderson headed down the hall and Jackson followed. On the way Anderson asked, “Why did he wait until this morning to contact me? He’s had Renee since Saturday.” Color had drained from his golf-tanned face.

  “To make you worried and eager to part with the money.” It was just a guess. Jackson wasn’t a kidnapping expert, but he needed Anderson to stay calm.

  They entered a large corner office with a wall of windows that had closed blinds. Anderson apparently had no use for the view. The stockbroker sat down at his computer and pulled up his e-mail on one of the monitors. After a quick search, he had two e-mails open and the printer rumbling. Jackson looked over Anderson’s shoulder and read the text. It had no greeting and no signature, but the sender’s address read dtalbot@
comcast.net.

  You call yourself a money manager? That Trenton hedge fund you suggested lost 26% of its value in the second quarter, but you said to hold. Now it’s down another 18%. I’ve lost half my investment. Eighty thousand. Gone! You’d better make good on this.—DT

  The second e-mail simply said, I’m filing a lawsuit and reporting your firm to the Better Business Bureau. You’re incompetent and shouldn’t be allowed to give anyone financial advice.

  “What do you know about this guy?” Jackson reached for the printouts.

  “Just that he owns a construction company. He was a new client with a chunk of cash and asked me to put him into something aggressive. That means high risk, which I explained.”

  “Did you meet him in person?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s in his early fifties. He wore jeans and looked like he’s spent a lot of time outdoors. You know, a tanned, lined face.”

  “Any reason to suspect he might be violent or unpredictable?”

  “Not at the time.”

  “Has he filed a lawsuit?”

  “No. He knows it’s almost impossible to prove fraud or negligence in the market. It was just a bad trade.”

  “Let’s get down to the department.” Jackson moved toward the hall.

  “Shouldn’t I start liquidating the cash?”

  “If you plan to pay.”

  “You don’t think I should?”

  “I can’t advise you one way or another. Department policy. And I’m sure the FBI won’t either.” No one wanted the financial or emotional liability.

  Back in the living room, Katie was seated on a couch, staring at her cell phone.

  “Did you get a hold of Jan?” Jackson asked.

  “Yeah, she’s leaving work now. She’ll meet us at her house.” His usually playful daughter had never looked so serious. It crushed him to see it. He hated that he couldn’t protect her from everything.

  Jackson turned to Ivan. “I’ll drop Katie off, then head into the department. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have a plan. Do not contact Talbot.”

  Jackson bounded up the stairs from the underground parking lot and hurried to the area that housed the Violent Crimes detectives. Just seeing the group of crowded desks and wall-to-wall filing cabinets calmed him. This was his real home, the lifeblood that defined him and gave him purpose. Moving to the new department building next year wouldn’t change that. The feeling wasn’t about the physical space. It was the energy that pulsed through the people who worked here and their shared pursuit of making things right. Jackson clicked on his computer, dropped his carryall to the floor, and started toward Lammers’ office.

  Rob Schakowski, a longtime partner in the unit, looked up from his desk. “You’re back early. The vacation was that good?” Schak started to say something else, then stopped, most likely from the look on Jackson’s face.

  “Renee’s been kidnapped and I have to see Lammers.”

  “Holy crap.”

  Jackson wanted to say more, but it already felt like too much time had lapsed since the perp’s contact. “I’ll update you soon.” Schak would probably get assigned to help him with the case.

  His boss’ door was closed so he knocked once and pushed it open.

  Sergeant Denise Lammers stood by her window. At the sound, she spun, looking startled to see him. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be back until Thursday.” She was Jackson’s size—six feet, two hundred pounds—but on Lammers it looked bigger.

  “My ex-wife has been kidnapped.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” She stared at him for a long moment, assessing the seriousness of his statement, then plopped into her chair. “What does the perp want?”

  “A hundred grand. But I’m not the target. Renee’s fiancé, Ivan Anderson, got the text.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Liquidating assets into cash.”

  “Let me get the FBI on the line and we’ll do a conference call.” Lammers gave Jackson an odd look. “We’ve got a new liaison over there. I met her last month but I’m not sure about her yet.”

  While they waited for the agent to pick up, Lammers asked, “How was your vacation? I mean, up until it was interrupted.”

  “Relaxing.”

  “Liar.” Lammers gave him a knowing grin.

  The FBI supervisor came on the line. “Agent River.” Her voice was deep, smooth, and confident.

  “Sergeant Lammers here with Detective Jackson. We have a kidnapping. Jackson’s ex-wife, Renee Jackson.” Lammers looked over at him for confirmation. Jackson nodded. When Renee had mentioned she was engaged, he’d hoped she would change her name when she got married. Now he just wanted her to survive.

  “Kidnapped? As in, for ransom? Or simply abducted?”

  “The perp demanded a hundred grand,” Jackson said.

  Agent River made a low whistling sound. “That’s pretty steep for a police officer. This must be personal.”

  “I’m not the target,” Jackson said. “Renee’s fiancé, Ivan Anderson, got the text. He’s a stockbroker and he thinks one of his disgruntled clients might want his money back.”

  “Is Anderson there with you?”

  “No. He’s rounding up the cash,” Jackson said. “He intends to pay.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Until three today. But he took her late Saturday afternoon.”

  “That’s a little odd. Did you get proof of life?”

  “No. Just a text.”

  “Not good. She may be dead already.” They heard a shuffling noise, like someone moving into action. “I hope we have enough time. I’ll get the tech guys and a mobile surveillance team down here from Portland and round up the local field agents who are available. We’ll set up a command post at the target’s house.”

  “Be discreet,” Lammers said. “He may be watching the house to see if Anderson brings in law enforcement.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not going in with a big FBI sign on the side of a van.” Agent River tried for levity. When no one responded, she asked, “Who’s the disgruntled client?”

  “Daniel Talbot. I printed out some angry e-mails he sent Anderson recently.”

  “Fax those over to me, along with the text he sent. We’ll get a surveillance team on Talbot as soon as we can.”

  “He owns Evergreen Construction,” Jackson added.

  “Good to know,” River said. “Give me the target’s address and we’ll meet nearby in forty minutes.”

  “Ivan Anderson lives near the corner of Fortieth and Braeburn. We can confer in the parking lot of the Catholic church on Willamette.”

  “What’s nearby? I’m still learning my way around Eugene.”

  “You’ll pass a huge memorial park on the right.”

  “I’ll see you in forty.”

  Lammers clicked off. “We’ll let them take the lead, but I want you and Schak on the task force.” His boss stood abruptly, as if she’d just remembered something. “I can’t make the meeting with Agent River because I have cases to assign and I have to see the chief today.”

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “We’ll get her back, Jackson.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Monday, January 9, 8:45 a.m.

  Lara Evans stepped into Lammers’ office and grinned at her boss. After the sergeant had made her a permanent member of the Violent Crimes Unit, Evans had stopped feeling intimidated. As the newest member, she got assigned all the weird grunt cases, so she didn’t have much to lose. “Good morning.”

  “You can stop smiling. I’ve got another unconscious assault victim for you.”

  Evans sat, not worried yet. Her first solo case had involved a woman who’d come out of a coma after two years and claimed foul play. How bad could this one be?

  “So far, we don’t have a name. Someone dropped her off in front of the ER Saturday night without any clothes or ID.” Lammers handed her a sh
eet of paper. “The hospital sent a report but there’s not much to go on. Please head over to North McKenzie now. We need to identify her.”

  “Has anyone filed a matching missing-person report?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m on it.” Evans stood. “Was she sexually assaulted?”

  “I don’t know. They just said she had internal bleeding and required surgery.”

  “I’ll do my best to get the bastard.”

  Evans grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag and headed for the parking lot under the building. Her bag was stuffed with tools for processing crime scenes, and she wondered how many she would get to use this time. She’d worked several homicides with her mentor, Wade Jackson, but she’d never been assigned the lead on a murder yet. Her last two assault cases had been homeless men attacked by other homeless men. Not her favorite. The witnesses were often incoherent and the attacks were usually provoked. This new case both intrigued and intimidated her. Starting with no ID and no witnesses would be challenging.

  The drive out to the hospital took twenty minutes. That was one of the best things about Eugene and all its outlying communities. It was a real city, but you could still get almost anywhere by car, bus, or bicycle in less than half an hour. Evans also loved the cultural diversity—university students, Latinos, hippies, yuppies, outdoor enthusiasts, and environmentalists—Eugene had it all. A stimulating change of pace from bland, boring Fairbanks, Alaska, where she’d grown up. As a teenager, she’d tried to create her own excitement and it had landed her in trouble, including an overnight stay in jail. Her parents had kicked her out and she’d headed south and never looked back. She understood that on some level joining the police force was a way of keeping her own energy under control.

  The victim was in the intensive care unit, so Evans stopped by the nursing station first. She caught the attention of a twenty-something woman in yellow scrubs. “I’m Detective Evans, Eugene Police. I’m here to investigate the assault victim with no ID.”