“No one will. But I can’t talk about it now. Give me some time with the body.”
Jackson watched as the ME pulled down Dakota’s skirt and plunged a temperature probe into the white flesh of her hip. “It dipped below freezing last night,” Gunderson said, not looking up, while he waited for a reading.
Jackson resisted the urge to ask questions.
“She’s at 82.6 and in full rigor mortis.” The ME looked at his watch. “Considering how it frigid it still is, I’d say she’s been cooling for eight or nine hours, so she likely died around one o’clock this morning. Give or take thirty minutes on either side.”
Dakota had left the TV studio at 10:30 p.m. What had she done in between? Hopefully, her cell phone would tell him.
Schak walked up with Parker, carrying a large tripod light. Jackson noticed Schak moved less comfortably and had gained back some of the weight he’d lost after his heart attack.
“What do we know?” Schak asked, as he set up the light.
“She was killed by a dog at one this morning. No witnesses, so far.”
“Jesus.” Schak clasped his hands over his head.
“Don’t assume it was a dog just because we’re in a dog-run park,” Gunderson corrected. “It could have been a cougar or coyote.”
“Those wounds don’t look like claw marks,” Jackson said.
“No they don’t, but I’m not an animal expert and neither are you. We’ll have to call someone in to assist with the autopsy.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Do you two have other areas to investigate?” Gunderson was always a little grumpy, but his pending layoff was making him downright testy.
Jackson handed Dakota’s keys to Schak. “These are the victim’s. I need you to find out if she has a car in the parking lot.”
“Will do.”
Jackson looked around to see if he could determine Dakota’s route to get here. She had probably followed the same dirt trail he had to reach the fork in the path. Had the charging dog—or animal—driven her off the path and toward the creek? Or had she headed for the tree?
Jackson walked slowly toward the tree, scanning the ground for anything. Halfway there, he spotted a glint of silver. Squatting to reach for it, both knees popped and he was again reminded that his life was getting shorter by the minute. His fingers looped through a necklace and he lifted it out of the grass. The silver chain held a pendant made of turquoise and opal, matching the ring on Dakota’s finger. Not seeing any blood, he bagged the necklace and kept scanning and walking toward the tree.
The grass here was shorter and thinner. A section near the base of the tree was slightly matted down, as if someone had lain there recently. How long did grass stay bent over? The area was six feet long and several feet wide, as if more than one person had stretched out. Jackson snapped several photos, then knelt and took several more. He did a quick visual search and didn’t see anything unusual. Parker and her crew would search it inch by inch, staying all day if they needed to. Eager to hear what Gunderson had to say, Jackson pushed up, his knees popping again. He was glad his coworkers hadn’t heard. Schak would have given him shit about it.
When Jackson reached the body, Gunderson looked up. “There’s no livor mortis on her front side.”
“So she died right here?”
“Most likely. Unless she was transported immediately and left on her back the whole time.”
“What else?”
“I scraped under her nails but I don’t think we’ll find any tissue.”
Dread and guilt filled Jackson’s gut. This case file could easily join the boxes of others that were never solved.
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday, January 10, 8:42 a.m.
At the streetlight, River glanced at her watch. She hoped to still make it to Anderson’s by nine, despite stopping to examine Renee Jackson’s vehicle, which would soon be on its way to the Eugene crime lab to be dusted for prints. She wasn’t optimistic about finding any that were useful. The perps had likely grabbed Renee while she walked to the treatment center. For now, the white glove was in an evidence bag in her briefcase. She needed to ask Anderson about it. Instinct and experience told her it wasn’t just a stray piece of clothing. Who wore white gloves in January?
As she accelerated, her phone rang. Eugene Police Department. “This is River.”
“It’s Sergeant Lammers. We have a development with the kidnapping case.”
Her heart skipped a little. “What’s happening?”
“Dakota Anderson was found dead this morning in the dog run area at Wayne Morse Park. I sent Jackson and Schakowski to investigate.”
“Dead how?”
“Possibly mauled by a dog. The dispatcher could hardly understand the woman who called it in.”
“Good glory.” River couldn’t make the new development fit the kidnapping for ransom, yet it couldn’t be a coincidence. “Poor Ivan Anderson. This will devastate him. Does Jackson want me to tell Anderson about his daughter?”
“You might as well. Find out what you can about Dakota too.”
“Of course.”
“Any word from the kidnapper?”
“Not this morning.”
“Let’s all meet this afternoon at four and see if these incidents are even connected,” Lammers said.
“Let’s use our conference room. It’s bigger.”
“Okay. Keep me posted in the meantime.” The sergeant clicked off.
River smiled at the abruptness. She respected Lammers, but the woman didn’t have an ounce of charm in her entire Shrek-size body. Working your way up through a male-dominated, gun-toting organization could do that to you.
River kept driving south toward Anderson’s.
A landscaping truck sat in the wide driveway and a crew member stepped out of the passenger’s side. River tensed and shut off her car. As she reached for the weapon under her jacket, the short dark man turned and stared. Who the hell was he? Most people didn’t have landscaping work done in January. Was it the kidnapper’s crew? More gang members?
She stepped out of her car, fingers still on the holstered weapon. “Put your hands in the air. Now!”
The man went wide-eyed and froze. Slowly his hands went up. River walked toward him. “Who are you?”
“Manuel Gutierrez. I’m legal.”
As River processed the information, the driver’s-side door flew open and the other man bolted across the side lawn. Ignoring the impulse to give chase, she touched her headset radio and spoke to the tech guys in the van down the street. “CR here. A Hispanic man is running your way. Grab him if you can.”
Ivan Anderson charged through the front double doors. “What’s going on?”
“Do you know this guy?” River hollered across the wide lawn.
“He’s my landscaper. I forgot to call and cancel their monthly service.” Anderson was in the same clothes from the night before, with disheveled hair and puffy eyes.
She holstered her Glock and gestured to Manuel. “Get in the truck and leave please.”
Without a word, he ran for the driver’s side and backed out.
River spoke to the tech van again. “Forget the runner. He’s a landscaper.” The guy was probably an illegal immigrant but she didn’t care. People were all strangers in a strange land.
She moved toward Anderson. “Have you heard from the kidnapper this morning?”
“No. And I haven’t heard from Dakota either. I think they took her too.” Anderson shook with silent sobs.
River squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go inside.”
Once they were in the house, Anderson got control and offered her coffee. She declined but followed him to the kitchen. Caffeine made her jumpy and light-headed, a bad combination for someone with a gun. “Just water, please. Where’s Agent Fouts?”
“Taking a shower.”
“Sit down with me. We have to talk about something.” She didn’t have much experience breaking this kind of news and she braced herself for his emotions.
He spun around from the counter. “What have you heard?”
“We have some news about Dakota. It’s not good.”
“Did he threaten her? Does he want more money?”
“Please sit.”
“No, dammit. Just tell me.”
“She was found dead in a park this morning. Possibly killed by a dog.”
“What?” Anderson blinked rapidly.
“I’m so sorry. I know this is horrible for you. But that’s all I know right now.”
Anderson lurched for the kitchen sink and threw up. A scotch-and-sour vomit smell permeated the kitchen.
River waited while he splashed water on his face and cleaned up, sobbing intermittently. She recited peaceful mantras in her head to keep his emotions at bay.
“I don’t understand,” he cried, finally collapsing in a chair. “Why would a dog attack her? Does this have anything to do with Renee’s kidnapping?”
“We don’t know yet but we’ll find out. Detectives Jackson and Schakowski are at the scene now looking into it.”
“I can’t believe Renee and Dakota are both gone.” Anderson shook his head, his face sagging with grief. “I’ve had two wives die on me already. How much is a man supposed to take?”
The two dead wives were news to River. A dark suspicion wormed into her brain, and she knew she had to ask some probing questions soon. “I believe Renee is still alive. Don’t give up hope. I need your help to get her back.”
“What am I supposed to do?” His anguish was so raw, it made River’s skin hurt.
“Stay strong, tell me what you can about your daughter, and do what the kidnapper says when he calls.” And stay sober, she mentally added. But she didn’t have the heart to say it out loud. If she were facing his situation, she might stay medicated too.
“Tell you what about Dakota?” Wariness overcame his grief for a moment.
“Everything. Who her friends are. The name of her boyfriend. Who she might have met in the dog park.”
“What’s the point?” Anderson gestured with both hands. “Daniel Talbot is behind all this. He wants to hurt me.”
“Dakota’s death may not be related. Or if it is, it could lead us to Renee. What’s her boyfriend’s name?”
“Jacob Renaldi. But they just started dating.”
River opened her laptop and started taking notes. “Does he have a dog?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did she meet him?”
“I don’t know that either.” He stood, but his shoulders were hunched over in pain. “Oh wait. I think she said they met at a friend’s birthday party.”
“What friend?”
“Maybe Jacob’s boss.”
“What does Jacob do for a living?”
“Construction, I think.”
“Who else might want to hurt Dakota? Was she having problems with anyone?”
A new wave of tears rolled down Anderson’s face. “She was well respected, but Dakota did suffer from depression and could be difficult.”
River noted he’d said well respected but not well liked. It was time to ask. “You said you lost two wives? How did they die? Was that the reason for your daughter’s depression?”
“Yes. Adrian died of liver cancer when Dakota was ten and it was devastating to both of us. Dakota stopped communicating for a while.” He paused to steady himself.
River’s suspicion faded as she thought of her own mother’s suicide and the aftermath for her. Like being kicked out of a boat, in the dark ocean, without a life jacket. She had fully expected to drown, had even wanted to for a while, but somehow she’d drifted ashore.
Anderson picked up his backstory. “Then I married Sable when Dakota was thirteen. After a rough couple of years, Dakota bonded to her stepmother and they became very close. Then Dakota’s first year at the university, Sable died in a freak skiing accident. My daughter dropped out of school and started drinking and spending money to numb her pain. But she rebounded, made it through college, and got a great job at the TV station. She seemed happy lately.”
“Was there someone new in her life?”
“Just Jacob.”
“Has she ever received any threats? From viewers or maybe a stalker?” River remembered the letter from prison. How long before she faced her own threat?
“Not that I know of.”
River was starting to think his daughter’s death from a dog attack might be just another freak accident…with very bad timing. “Why would Dakota go to Wayne Morse Park late at night?”
He shook his head. “I know it’s not far from here, but I’ve never been there and Dakota never mentioned it.”
“How long have you lived in Eugene?”
“Only a few years. Dakota came here to attend the University of Oregon and I eventually moved to be closer to her.”
Anderson’s phone jingled while he was talking. He fumbled through his pockets to find it, then stared at the screen. “It’s a text from an unknown number.”
“Why don’t I read it?”
Anderson took a deep breath and touched the screen. After a moment, a bitter smile. “It’s the kidnapper. Renee’s life has been discounted today.”
River reached for the phone and read the message: Put 20 Gs in backpack. Cash. Get on #36 bus at noon and wait for instrux. No cops or Renee dies.
She noted the missing a in front of backpack and the abbreviated instrux. Was this text by the same person? Out loud, she said, “With Dakota dead, for whatever reason, we need proof of life.”
Anderson didn’t answer, so River keyed in: Have Renee call or I’m not paying again. I need to know she’s alive.
They sat in silence, the minutes ticking by on the kitchen clock. After a six-minute eternity, Anderson’s phone rang, a different sound from the text alert. It was the same number. River handed the phone to Anderson, who said a timid hello.
Lips pressed tightly together, he listened for a moment, the relief obvious on his face. “I love you too, Renee. I’ll see you soon.” He clicked off. “She’s alive.” The sobs he’d been holding back burst out and River walked away, giving him a moment. Anderson had lost his daughter but knowing his fiancée was still alive might help get him through.
She met Fouts in the hall, hair still wet from his shower. “Good morning. Did you have a rough night with Anderson?”
“Not really. He got drunk and passed out early. Then I watched three episodes of Mad Men on his TiVo and slept like a rock in a nice guest bed. It was far better than being at home with the wife and dog both snoring.”
With Fouts, she could never tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. She thought he cultivated misdirection to keep people from getting to know him. Law enforcement people were often like that.
“What’s new?” he asked.
“A lot.” She briefed him on Dakota’s death as they walked back to the kitchen.
“That’s weird. Most dogs won’t attack an adult unless commanded to, even the aggressive breeds.”
“So you think it was murder?”
“Considering the kidnapping. Yes.”
River sat at the kitchen table and Fouts poured himself coffee. Anderson stood, staring at the window. She continued her update. “The kidnapper called a few minutes ago. We have to be ready for a noon exchange. The instructions are for Anderson to get on the number thirty-six bus. You and I will be on it too, sitting near the doors.”
“I’ll be the runner. I may be coming up on fifty but I’m still fast.”
“Can you ride a bike? We need to be prepared for everything.”
“Remember? I bought a bike from the homeless guy during the first money drop.” Fouts patted his skinny quads. “Hell, I used to ride to the coast and back on weekends for fun.”
River rolled her eyes, and Anderson turned to them. “Eugene buses have racks on the front that carry a couple of bikes.”
“Perfect.” River turned to Fouts. “Get down to the bus station and let them know we’ll be
on board and we expect cooperation. We’ll map the route of the bus and have Eugene patrol units in the area.” She turned back to Anderson. “We’ll stay on him this time until he leads us to Renee.”
Anderson nodded, his eyes vacant.
“Are you up for another exchange? Can you do this?”
“What choice do I have?”
“We can have an agent stand in for you. If the kidnapper is sending couriers to pick up the cash, they might not know what you look like.”
“I’ll do it. It’s better than sitting here worrying and thinking about Dakota.”
“Good. Do you want to give him real cash or mostly newspaper?”
“I just lost my daughter. I can’t take any chances with my fiancée.” Anderson closed his eyes for a moment. “My business partner will probably loan me the money.”
“He may not have to.” She called Torres for an update, then told Anderson, “The TV station has collected over twelve thousand since Dakota made her plea last night. An agent has the money and will be here soon. One donor gave five thousand, all in hundred-dollar bills.”
Anderson let out a strangled cry. “I haven’t taken money from anyone since I was twenty.”
“After we find Renee, we’ll arrest the perp and you can give the money to charity.”
He nodded. “I’ll get the other eight grand now.”
CHAPTER 23
Tuesday, January 10, 8:42 a.m.
Evans pulled into the crime lab and waited at the automatic gate. The brick building with no windows on the first floor and no signs at all looked like a secret drug-testing facility. She flashed her badge at the camera and the gate opened. Moments like this still gave her a thrill that she’d been allowed into the department and trusted with important business. As a teenager in Alaska, she’d been a troublemaker, mostly out of boredom, and her life could have turned out very differently. When she’d boarded the ferry for Seattle, she had only hoped to escape her fate of early motherhood, poverty, and alcoholism. Ending up a police detective was beyond anything she’d imagined.
Inside the building she logged the evidence into the computer, then put Lyla’s clothes into a locker that opened on the other side into the crime lab. She remembered the canine search she wanted to do and grabbed the T-shirt back out before heading upstairs. Jasmine Parker wasn’t in her office, so she trotted down to Joe Berloni’s workspace.
Rules of Crime (2013) Page 13
