Rules of Crime (2013)

by Sellers, L. J

  CHAPTER 30

  Tuesday, January 10, 5:36 p.m.

  After the meeting, River opened her laptop and stared at Noah Tremel’s mug shot. Pale and gaunt with a crooked nose, he looked thirty-five, but his file said twenty-seven. She was surprised it had taken this long to get his name. First the medical examiner had failed to send photos of his corpse, then the vice detectives in the Eugene Police Department hadn’t prioritized identifying him until she’d called several times. Let it go. It had only been twenty-four hours since they’d found his drowned body. Everything happened when it happened and now was the right time. She had his name and data and would soon be on her way to visit his live-in girlfriend. Tremel’s file listed a string of drug busts, burglaries, and one assault. He’d never had a gun at any of his arrests though.

  Later, while she was buying a burrito from a street vendor, her personal phone rang in her briefcase and she struggled to answer it in time. She received so few personal calls she didn’t bother to keep the phone handy the way she did her work phone.

  “This is River.”

  “This is Jared Koberman. I’m calling about your ad for a remodeler.”

  “Oh, good. What kind of experience do you have?” He was only the second person to call, and the first guy had sounded old and confused.

  “I’ve built houses from the foundation up. I’m also a good cabinetmaker and I’ve put down plenty of floors.”

  River liked the sound of this man. Friendly, confident. Maybe even sexy. “Can you replace windows?”

  “Of course.”

  “This project could take months. Are you available for steady, long-term work?”

  “I crave steady, long-term work.”

  His tone made her laugh. “I’d like you to come out and take a look at the place.”

  “Tell me when and where.”

  She gave him her e-mail instead and said, “Send me your résumé and I’ll get back to you with a time. I’m in the middle of something important.” She also needed time to run a background check.

  “I look forward to meeting you.”

  “Likewise.” She hung up, relieved to be moving forward on her remodel. It would be nice to have someone in the house occasionally too. She hoped Jared was as pleasant as he sounded.

  River arrived at the apartment complex early and parked on the street. The building had three levels, and in the dark, much of its grime was out of sight. But the location on Fourth and Adams told her all she needed to know. Low-rent, drugs, gangs, and single mothers. She pitied the children growing up here. But people had pitied her as a child and she’d turned out fine. She checked her work phone in case she’d missed a call. She kept hoping Agent Torres, who was staying with Anderson now, would notify her that Renee had been released and that part was over. Then she could focus her energy on finding the bastard who’d taken Renee and put her and her family through hell. This case could still be in the early stages, but she’d learned to be patient.

  Two cars went by in rapid succession, but both were too small and fast to be a law enforcement vehicle. After another minute, a dark sedan parked behind her and Detective Quince got out. River joined him on the sidewalk, where rain was starting to splatter.

  “Another Kings member lives in this complex,” Quince said, pointing to a unit on the bottom left, where a light was on. “Or used to. We’ll stop there next.”

  They trotted up the steps to the second floor and stopped at apartment 6. The exterior light was burned out and a TV blared inside. River knocked on the door, and Quince put his hand on his hip near his gun. Footsteps padded toward them and a young woman’s voice called out, “Who is it?”

  “Open up, Trina. I’ve got information about Noah.”

  “Who is it?” An edge of panic.

  “FBI.” She grabbed the door handle and turned before the woman could lock it. “This is important.”

  The door yanked open and the woman yelled, “Where the hell is Noah?” She looked barely old enough to vote, six months pregnant, and mad as hell. When she saw the two of them standing there in long dark coats, Quince with his badge showing on his belt, she clamped her mouth closed.

  River stepped toward her and Trina backed up. A toddler with a bottle waddled up and laid her face on Trina’s lower legs. Oh christ. The poor kid’s dad was dead and his mother’s life was about to get harder than it already was.

  “I’m Agent River and this is Detective Quince. Let’s go sit down.”

  Trina didn’t move but her chest began to heave. “Where’s Noah?”

  “I’m sorry but we have bad news.”

  “Oh fuck!” Trina looked like she wanted to throw something at them. “What happened? He promised me he was out of the gang life.”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  Trina scooped up the little girl, hugged her tightly, and sank into a dirty green couch.

  River grabbed a dining chair from the kitchen and sat in front of her. She wanted to face Trina and didn’t trust the couch or the padded chairs. Detective Quince stayed standing near the door.

  “I’m sorry to tell you but Noah is dead. He drowned.”

  “What the fuck?” Confusion filled Trina’s face before tears filled her eyes. “Drowned where?”

  River hated this part of the job and she’d had to do it twice in the last twenty-four hours. “In the Willamette. He was using the river for a getaway. He picked up ransom money for a kidnapped woman.”

  “A kidnapping?” She started rocking and crying and the little girl struggled to get away. Trina let her go and she crawled to the other end of the couch.

  “Yes. We believe he helped kidnap a woman named Renee Jackson. Do you know her?”

  “No. This is too fucked up. He hasn’t been involved with the Kings in a year or so.”

  “Did he talk about making a big score recently?”

  “Just that he was going to get us out of this ghetto soon.” She glanced around at the battered walls and stained beige carpet.

  “Who has Noah been hanging out with lately?”

  “No one new. Just a guy from work.”

  “What guy?”

  “James Branson. They work together at Jiffy Lube.” Trina cried as she talked and was hard to understand.

  River took long slow breaths to keep her emotions detached, like she was watching this scene instead of living it. It was cheating, but it was also survival. She’d learned the trick while coming to grips with the details of what her father had done to those women. “Is James a Westside member?”

  “No. Neither was Noah. He was out of the gang and trying to be a good daddy to his baby girl.” Trina abruptly stopped crying and her eyes narrowed. “Who is Renee Jackson?”

  Good question, River thought. “She’s the fiancée of a wealthy man. And her kidnapper demanded a lot of money.”

  “How old is she?”

  Odd question. “I’m not sure. Maybe forty. Why?”

  “Just wondering if Noah was cheating on me.”

  She was jealous? “Renee is still missing and we need to find her. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “You know Noah. Where would he hide someone if he had to?”

  Trina shook her head. “I don’t even believe this.”

  River prepared to accept that they’d learn nothing here but she had to try. “Who else would be involved in this? Who would Noah trust to pull off such a crime?”

  “He used to run drugs to Portland with Bartolo Diaz, but Tolo got out too, and he’s the only Westside King that Noah still respected.”

  River made a note of the two names. “Where can I find Bartolo Diaz?”

  “He used to hang out at Max’s, but now he’s working for some guy who builds fences.”

  “Does the fence builder’s business have a name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  One last long shot. “Do you know Daniel Talbot? Or Jacob Renaldi?”

  “I’ve heard of Jacob. He s
old Bartolo a dog.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Tuesday, January 10, 4:17 p.m.

  Sophie Speranza uploaded her story to the shared server and sent her editor an e-mail, letting him know it was done. She’d spent most of the day working on what she hoped was her last feature about a young woman who’d been falsely charged with killing her newborn child. After a mistrial and an acquittal, she expected the woman to sue the Springfield Police Department. Sophie was glad she would not be assigned that article. The newspaper now had her working the crime/court beat almost exclusively and she loved it. Yet after months on the same story she was ready to let it go.

  Especially now that she’d learned Renee Jackson had been kidnapped. She’d seen Dakota’s broadcast the night before and called immediately, but her friend hadn’t called back yet. She’d met Dakota Anderson in journalism school at the University of Oregon, and since they were both still in Eugene, working for news media, they’d stayed in touch.

  Sophie looked at her cell phone to see if she’d missed a text or call. Damn. No one had gotten back to her. Not Dakota or Detective Jackson or even the police department’s spokesperson. As Sophie checked her contact list for someone else who might know Dakota, her phone rang. Jasmine’s sweet face was on the screen. She’d finally captured a smiling photo of her beautiful but often solemn lover.

  “Hey. So good to hear from you. My phone has been a dead zone all day.” Sophie kept her voice low. Her cubicle had no privacy and she and Jasmine were keeping their relationship private for fear of jeopardizing Jasmine’s job.

  “Do you have time for a quick dinner?” Jasmine asked. “I’m starving but I have to work late so there’s no point in going home.”

  “Would love to. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Lucky Noodle in half an hour?”

  “Sounds good.” Sophie clicked off her computer. “Why are you working late? Did you get called out to a scene?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  Sophie’s pulse quickened. She loved getting inside information. “See you soon.”

  She grabbed her oversize red shoulder bag as her editor, Carl Hoogstad, shuffled up to the open space in the half wall she called her office. Age had not been kind to him and the hair straggling down his neck did not make up for what he’d lost on top.

  “What did you find out about the kidnapping? Should we hold a spot for your story?” He blocked her exit with his round body.

  “I don’t have anything yet.” She started to apologize, then caught herself. Her stories were the most widely read after the sports pages and she could only do so much in an eight-hour day. Especially now that half the staff had been laid off. “I will though. I’m meeting with a source now.”

  “Let the night editor know by seven if you can.”

  “I will.” She stepped toward him and he moved out of her doorway.

  “Good job on the Swartout wrap-up, by the way. I can’t believe she got off.”

  “I can’t believe she spent a year in jail for a crime she didn’t commit. There was never a baby.”

  “She confessed.”

  “She’s mentally ill and the police pressured her.” Sophie had kept her opinion quiet while writing the stories, but now that the case was over there was no reason to hold back. “The second jury deliberated less than two hours. They didn’t have a case.”

  “I’m glad it was Springfield’s money wasted and not Eugene’s.”

  “Me too. See you later.” She headed for the stairs before he could find a reason to keep her late.

  Sophie slid into a booth in a dark corner and ordered a cup of green tea. The short walk from the parking lot across the street had chilled her to the bone. God, she hated winter in Eugene. After growing up in Santa Fe, she’d never gotten used to months of cold gray days. She hadn’t planned to stay after getting her education, but the Willamette News had offered her a job and there was so much else to like about Eugene, Oregon. Great theater and art exhibits in addition to liberal attitudes. She felt accepted here as a bisexual. Still, her job was probably short-lived. The newspaper was no longer losing money after cutting half its staff and benefits, but it wasn’t profitable either. She’d come to believe that a daily newspaper was not a sustainable business model. They printed yesterday’s news on paper and delivered it to people’s houses, often in gas-consuming vehicles. How long could it last? Soon, they would be online only and probably get by with about twenty employees.

  The waitress brought her tea and laid down menus. Sophie didn’t even pick one up. She would order the fire-eater’s salad with rare beef like she always did. In each restaurant she frequented, she only ate her favorite thing on the menu.

  While she waited for Jasmine, Sophie checked her home e-mail on her iPad. A brief note from her mother, who was still teaching in China. Her parents had sold their home and trotted off to the other side of the world just a few months after she’d announced she was dating a woman. She didn’t know for sure the two things were connected, but she couldn’t help but think so.

  Jasmine rushed in, a little late as usual, her cheeks pink against her smooth pale skin. Tall and lean, Jasmine was older than her, with dark hair and eyes, making Sophie feel a bit like a kid with her small frame, short red hair, and freckles. But Sophie had never lacked for attention, either from men or women. Some people were naturally drawn to her energy. Jasmine slid in and squeezed her hand. It was the most affection she would show in public.

  “Your hands are as cold as mine and I’ve been outside all day.” Jasmine peeled off her leather coat, weariness evident in her struggle.

  “A crime scene?”

  “Yes. And I’ll tell you about it after we order. I don’t have much time. I need to get back to the crime lab and finish logging in evidence.” Her voice was hushed and heavy.

  Sophie repressed her compulsion to ask questions and let Jasmine study the menu. After the waitress took their orders, Jasmine leaned over and whispered, “Dakota Anderson is dead. She was killed last night, most likely by a dog, in Wayne Morse Park.”

  “Oh my god.” Sophie stared at Jasmine, her mouth open. “I can’t believe she’s dead. I’ve been calling her all day.” Grief and guilt jumbled together, making Sophie afraid to speak.

  “You knew her?”

  She swallowed back her distress. “We met in J-school and saw each other at media functions. I liked her. She was never afraid to say what she thought.” Sophie was surprised at how quickly she thought of Dakota in the past tense. Was she getting jaded?

  “I heard she went on the air last night and asked the public to help pay her stepmother’s ransom.”

  “I watched the broadcast. I’ve never seen her so upset.”

  “If she had been killed any other way, I would assume her death was related to the kidnapping.” Jasmine shook her head. “Today was awful. Taking samples from her wounds was one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe you should treat yourself to a glass of wine.”

  “Not yet. I still have to work.”

  Sophie had to ask. “Whose dog? What are the circumstances?”

  “We don’t know. It happened in the middle of the night and there are no witnesses.”

  “That is so bizarre. Who’s working the case?”

  “Jackson and Schakowski. They’re on the kidnapping too, so Lammers must think the cases are related.”

  They talked about possible scenarios until their food came, then ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jasmine said, “You can’t run this story until the department gives a statement. Except for the woman who found her body, no one but law enforcement knows she’s dead.”

  “Her father must know.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure he’s focused on finding his fiancée, so the story isn’t out there yet. You have to wait.”

  Sophie made a face. “Okay. I’ll start making calls though. I’m sure KRSL will start investigating soon too.”

  Jasmin
e pushed her bowl of pasta and shrimp aside. “I’ll take the rest with me. I’m too upset to eat and I have to get going.”

  “Do you want to come over tonight?”

  “Yes, but I’d better not. I’ll need sleep. I suspect tomorrow will be long and stressful too.”

  “Still overworked because of funding cuts?”

  “Of course.” Jasmine pulled on her coat. “And Joe was at the hospital today photographing an assault victim, so he was no help.”

  “What assault?” Sophie was surprised she’d missed it.

  “A young woman named Lyla Murray. She was attacked Saturday night and dumped at the hospital. She’s still in critical condition. That’s all I know.”

  “Who’s handling the case?”

  “Lara Evans. She sent Joe to photograph the victim’s bruises.”

  “I’ll give her a call. She’s been friendlier to me lately. Maybe she’ll tell me something about Dakota’s death.”

  Jasmine squeezed her hand in a painful warning. “Do not ask her about Dakota. This can’t come back to me.”

  “I know.” Sophie dug out her credit card, now eager to make some calls.

  Jasmine laid cash on the table and patted Sophie’s leg. “I really could use a hug but it’ll have to wait.”

  Sophie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for telling me. Your tips have led to some of the best writing I’ve ever done.”

  Jasmine winked and left without saying anything. Sophie looked forward to the day they could be more open about their deepening affection for each other. But she feared Jasmine might never become that kind of person, even if she didn’t work for the Public Safety Department.

  The table next to her was seated with a noisy group of women, so Sophie moved to the bar counter. The sun had set and she wasn’t ready to embrace the cold, dark walk to her car yet. She dialed Detective Evans, left a message, then called the hospital. All they would tell her was that Lyla Murray was in the ICU.

  Sophie dug out her iPad, looked Lyla up on Facebook, and discovered she was a UO student. Sophie scanned through Lyla’s friends to see if she knew any of them, but she’d been out of college for three years and didn’t expect to get lucky.