Rules of Crime (2013)

by Sellers, L. J

  He stopped by Lammers’ office to give her Daniel Talbot’s information and she promised to have patrol units watch his locations until the FBI had people in place. Next Jackson updated Schak on the case and asked him to join the FBI meet-up. He left the building feeling better now that processes were in motion and Schak was on board.

  Driving up Willamette, Jackson passed the huge grassy memorial park and thought about his murdered parents. Their ashes were interred in the Westhaven building, but he never visited. When he wanted to feel close to them he hiked Spencer Butte and gazed out at the city below, something they’d done as a family many times during his childhood. He’d wanted to spread their ashes on the butte, but his brother had insisted they put them in a vault where he could visit. Jackson didn’t understand the notion, but it had been important to Derrick, so he’d let it go. Just as he’d let his brother stay in their parents’ house instead of selling it. Some people had a harder time moving on.

  He pulled into the church’s parking lot, mostly empty on a Monday morning, and spotted Agent River’s car immediately: a dark-gray sedan in the corner, far from the entrance to the three buildings. He parked next to her and climbed out. Another cold gray day that threatened snow. River got out too and they met behind the vehicles. She was tall for a woman, five-ten he guessed, and broad shouldered. Her eyes caught his attention: one was pool-water blue and the other a greenish brown. The difference was a little odd, but it didn’t detract from her face, which was otherwise pleasant. Jackson couldn’t guess her age.

  “Good to meet you,” he said, after introducing himself. “I hear you’re new to Eugene.”

  “I transferred from the Portland bureau when Jensen retired.”

  “I look forward to working with you.” Agent Jensen had been great to work with so Jackson was optimistic. On the other hand, Agent Fouts, who’d been with the Eugene bureau for decades, was a little crusty.

  “Likewise.” River offered her hand and Jackson was pleased by her strong grip. Big hands too. River continued, “Sergeant Lammers says you’re her best detective, so I’m glad to have you on the task force. The fact that it’s your ex-wife in captivity makes me a little nervous though.”

  “I left Renee two years ago and stopped being in love with her long before that. I can be objective and professional.”

  “Good. Do you have children together?”

  “A daughter. She’s fifteen.”

  “This must be hard for her.”

  “Yes.”

  Another gray sedan pulled in. Jackson was glad for the clump of trees that protected them from view of the street. Anyone noticing the group of dark sedans and people in matching dark suits would know law enforcement was up to something. He hoped the kidnapper wasn’t patrolling the area. Anderson’s home was a half mile away on the other side of the memorial park.

  River introduced Agent Fouts, a slim silver-haired man with a moon-shaped scar on his left cheek.

  “We’ve met.” They shook hands anyway.

  Jackson had worked with Fouts twice: once when a fanatic had bombed the Planned Parenthood clinic, and more recently when a group of Mexican drug runners had killed a man whose brother had stolen their meth.

  Fouts’ scar was new and Jackson was curious. It was easy to assume the agent had been hurt in the line of duty. But the scar in Jackson’s own eyebrow was the result of a long-ago dog bite, a pathetic incident with no guts and no glory. Still, it had left him with a deep distrust of dogs.

  “Our first cash-ransom hostage and it’s your ex-wife.” Fouts laughed. “I wish someone would take my ex-wives. Both of ’em.”

  Jackson wanted to respond with his own joke but words failed him. Renee was Katie’s mother. Losing her would devastate his daughter. “I’m not the target. Her fiancé is.”

  “I heard. Is he going to pay?”

  “He’s getting the money together now.”

  Another blue Impala like Jackson’s pulled in and they all watched Rob Schakowski climb from the car. Barrel shaped with a buzz cut, Schak looked more like an aging marine than a homicide detective, but he was sharp and had a bulldog-like tenacity. This time Jackson made the introductions.

  “Where’s Anderson?” Agent River looked around. “I need to get a pen register on his phone immediately.”

  “He’s coming.”

  River looked at her watch. “It’s eleven fifteen, so we have less than four hours until their cutoff. Fouts and I need to stay in the house with Anderson so we can be there for every communication. Agent Torres will be out here before the money-exchange deadline. We need to stall this for as long as we can. Once the tech van is here, they’ll be able to triangulate any calls or texts off nearby towers.”

  “What’s our part?” Jackson asked.

  “Get Renee’s cell info and have the company ping her phone. It may not be on her person but the kidnapper may still have it.” River snapped her fingers. “We need to locate Renee’s car too if we can. Both pieces of information will help us know where he abducted her from and where she might be now.”

  “I have an ATL on her car already,” Jackson offered. “I told them to call you when they located it.”

  River gave him a quick look of appreciation. He understood that she was heading this investigation.

  Anderson drove up just as someone came out of the church and walked over. Before the churchwoman could ask what they were doing, River showed her badge. “FBI. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

  The woman spun around without a word.

  Anderson hurried over. “I don’t have the money yet but it’s coming. What’s the plan?” His voice was wound a little tight.

  River made more introductions. “We’ll head up to your house to wait for his next communication. I’ll ride in the back of your car with my head down in case he’s watching the house. Fouts will park behind the house and come in the back. After that, one of us needs to be with you at all times.”

  “I have to return to the bank later to pick up the cash.”

  Agent River reached over and touched Anderson’s arm. “I can’t advise you whether to pay or not but we’ll talk about some options later. Do you have other family members at home?”

  “No. My daughter Dakota spends some weekends with me but she has her own place.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Where is she now? I’m a little concerned about her safety.”

  “She’s at work and I haven’t told her about Renee yet. She’s a television reporter.”

  “If we don’t grab the kidnapper at the money drop today, I’ll assign someone to watch her.”

  “She’ll hate that. She’s so independent.” Anderson rubbed his face. “I’m sure she’s safe at work but once she leaves the station…” His voice trailed off.

  Jackson was more worried Dakota would be tempted to break the story on live TV, but it didn’t seem like the right time to share his distrust of newspeople.

  River turned to him. “You can retrace Renee’s steps just the way you would a missing person. If we find out where she disappeared from, it might give us information. Any questions?”

  Schak suddenly spoke up. “Have you handled a kidnapping before?”

  River gave him a crooked smile. “I’ve worked several child abductions but never a ransom demand. They’re not very common.” She held up a small spiral brochure and grinned. “But I have my handy guidance.”

  Jackson tried not to groan. The point person on Renee’s kidnapping was reading off cue cards.

  “Will we have more people in place for the money drop?” Schak shifted on his feet and glanced at Jackson.

  “Yes. Agent Torres and Agent Gilson will join us soon. And we have the tech and surveillance teams coming down from Portland. Let’s make sure we all have each other’s phone numbers.” River displayed hers for them to key into their devices. “And of course we’ll use our radios when we’re in proximity.”

  After a moment
of quiet while they keyed in phone numbers, River said, “Let’s go.”

  Jackson had mixed feelings about his role in the case. He wanted to stay with Anderson and be on the spot when the kidnapper’s next demand came in. Yet sitting around waiting was not his strong suit and he was glad to have leads to track down.

  As the FBI agents drove away, Jackson turned to Schak. “Renee’s cell phone is with T-Mobile. Will you follow up on that while I try to retrace her steps on Saturday?”

  “Will do.”

  Jackson sat in his car for a moment, trying to map a plan of action, and realized he needed more information. He called Anderson. “You said Renee went out shopping Saturday. Where did she go?”

  “I think she mentioned Macy’s, but I’m not sure. I don’t really pay attention to those things.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “Why?”

  “It could be important.” Renee had certain clothes and shoes she always wore for high-end shopping. Dressy but comfortable, she’d explained.

  “Jeans and a red sweater, I think.”

  “Thanks.” Jackson hung up, knowing Renee had not gone out shopping Saturday afternoon. What had she been up to?

  He started his car and headed for the liquor store at Twenty-Ninth and Willamette. If Renee had lied to her fiancé about where she was going, then alcohol was involved. Unless she’d taken up cheating too, but he didn’t believe that. Renee was a good person…with a devastating disease.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jackson drove down Donald Street, worried about Eugene, where he’d lived his whole life. Once a small, peaceful, college town, it had grown rapidly since he’d joined the department two decades ago. Now unemployment, meth, and gang rivalries threatened citizens’ safety, while jail beds lay empty for lack of funding. Still, there was nowhere else he wanted to live. An hour from the ocean and forty minutes from the mountains, it was ideal. He loved Eugene, with its lush, green-canopy streets, beautiful university, and lack of skyline. Except for the goofy retirement home at the base of the butte, Eugene didn’t have any tall buildings. But it was big on trees and even the gas stations planted shrubs and flowers.

  The state-run liquor store was tucked into a shopping center and took up less space than a two-car garage. The rows upon rows of colorful bottles made him uneasy. So much poison in such a small space. No one else was in the store, except the man behind the counter, who set down his reading device and looked up at Jackson. Gray haired with concave cheeks, the clerk looked headed for an early death.

  “Detective Jackson, Eugene Police. I’d like to know if you’ve seen this woman.” Jackson set a paper copy of Renee’s photo out on the counter.

  The clerk nodded. “Sure. She started coming in regularly about a month ago.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  “Last week. Maybe Thursday. She always came in around noon. I figured she was on her lunch break.” Concern pinched the man’s face even further. “Is she okay?”

  “I can’t say.” Jackson picked up the photo. Renee had been drinking again. That’s all he needed to know here. Still, he asked, “Do you work Saturdays?”

  “No. Melissa is here on the weekends.”

  “Will you give me her contact information?” Jackson wrote it down but realized the case would probably be resolved before he connected with the weekend clerk. He tapped the photo. “How often did she come in and how much did she buy?”

  The clerk hesitated, but only for a second. “I saw her once or twice a week and she bought a fifth of Reyka vodka each time.”

  “Thanks.” Jackson slid the photo back and left the store. Renee was still in the phase of moderating her consumption, telling herself it would be different this time.

  Now what? During their marriage, Renee had done most of her drinking at home, with occasional nights out with friends. But if she was hiding the booze from her fiancé, Jackson didn’t know how to predict her behavior. He started his car but sat for a minute, trying to get into his ex-wife’s head. Saturday afternoon she’d told her fiancé and daughter she was going shopping, but she’d dressed in jeans, so she wasn’t headed to Macy’s. And she had been buying fifths from the liquor store, so she likely wouldn’t have gone to a bar. What was on her mind?

  Guilt and fear.

  This was his ex-wife’s second relapse after an expensive month in an inpatient facility. With a pending marriage to a wealthy man, who thought she was still sober, Renee had more to lose than ever. In a heartbeat, Jackson knew where she might have gone on Saturday. To an AA meeting, hoping for a miracle that would relieve her of her desire to drink. But which meeting? There were so many possibilities. The Jesco Club, where she first attempted sobriety when Katie was seven, had sentimental value. He would start his search there.

  Before leaving the parking lot, Jackson checked his phone. No voice mail and no texts. When would the kidnapper text with instructions for the money drop? The deadline was only a few hours away. He drove toward downtown, crawling along Willamette in lunch-hour traffic. The Jesco Club was just west of the city center in the Whiteaker neighborhood. Once considered Eugene’s slum, the neighborhood had experienced a revival in the past few years, with restaurants, breweries, and art shops opening and thriving. Still, the area held a hub of apartment buildings known as Heroin Alley, and many of Eugene’s gang members called it home.

  The two-story, boxy Jesco Club sat right off the sidewalk with little parking. Most of its attendees no longer had the privilege to drive, so parking wasn’t an issue for them. Jackson pulled up against the curb and hoped for the best. His dark-blue city-issued sedan was more likely to be vandalized than ticketed.

  Inside the building, Jackson heard a meeting in session somewhere in the back, but stepped over to the little office where the receptionist was on the phone. He knew the club was more than just a place for alcoholics to meet, but he didn’t know what else went on there. While he waited for the receptionist, a thirty-something woman with Raggedy Ann red hair, to end her call, he tried to decide how much he could say. He also worried about how little she would tell him.

  Finally, he had her attention. “I’m Detective Jackson, Eugene Police.” He showed his badge, which he didn’t often do. “A woman disappeared Saturday afternoon and she may be in great danger. Her sister thinks she attended a meeting here, right before she went missing. Was there an AA meeting Saturday afternoon? And were you here at the time?”

  “Yes, at four o’clock.” The receptionist nodded, her eyes lighting up.

  Jackson pulled out Renee’s photo and handed it to her. “Did you see this woman?” He purposely did not use Renee’s name.

  The receptionist pressed her lips together and glanced at a poster on the wall. “The meetings are anonymous. I’m not sure if I can say anything.”

  “Her life is in danger and I’m not asking you to tell me who she is. I just need to know if she was here.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Did she stay for the whole meeting?”

  “I was only here until five, but the meeting went beyond that. You should talk to Dave Lambert. He runs the Saturday group.” She clicked her keyboard a few times, then jotted down contact information on a blue sticky note. “He works at Fred Meyer and you can probably catch him there now.”

  “Thanks.”

  On the sidewalk outside, Jackson stood and looked around, again trying to get inside his ex-wife’s head. Where had she parked? Renee was impatient and would leave her car wherever it was most convenient, even if it meant paying a ticket later. She also tended to be late, which exacerbated the parking issue. He noticed the alley across the street. Had the kidnapper snatched her from this neighborhood? Their suspect, Daniel Talbot, was upper middle class, or he had been before the recession. This neighborhood was not a likely hangout for him unless he’d followed Renee here. Or sent someone to do the dirty legwork.

  Where had Renee gone after the meeting? To Market of Choice to pick up something for dinner? And wh
ere the hell was her car?

  Jackson checked his phone again. No messages. He found the number he’d recently keyed in and called it.

  “Agent River here.”

  “It’s Jackson. I’ve confirmed that Renee was at an AA meeting at the Jesco Club on Blair Street on Saturday afternoon. I hope to have more information soon.”

  “That’s interesting. I don’t know Eugene well yet, but the Whiteaker area has a reputation. Why would she go there?”

  “The Jesco Club is respected in the treatment community and Renee had started drinking again.”

  “So Talbot could have followed her there. Or a desperate drunk could have grabbed her after the meeting, hoping to score a big payoff from her rich boyfriend.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Or maybe Talbot hired someone to abduct her.”

  “Can you find out who else was at the meeting?”

  “Probably not without a subpoena. I’m heading over to talk to the group’s leader now.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  “Any word from the kidnapper?”

  “Not yet, but Anderson is signaling me now.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Monday, January 9, 12:55 p.m.

  Anderson had just walked into the room, carrying two zippered bank bags. Agent Fouts had followed, then stepped outside to the patio. Anderson’s mouth was open in distress. River clicked off her call, assuming he’d heard from the kidnapper.

  Instead, he yelled, “What do you mean ‘a desperate drunk could have grabbed her’? What was Renee doing in the Whiteaker area?”

  “Jackson says she attended an AA meeting. You weren’t aware of her, um, participation?”

  “No.” Anderson’s face tightened and his eyes registered pain. “But I wish she had told me. I would have supported her.”

  “I’m sorry.” River was reminded that no matter how much money people had, it didn’t shield them from bad news or diminish the anguish of being human and caring for other imperfect people. “The good news is that we know where she was before she was abducted. It might help us locate her.”