Rules of Crime (27 page)

“Which officer?”

Jackson hated to point fingers but there was no way to protect him. “Chad Rogen.”

“Did you know the suspect was an epileptic?”

“Not at the time. I learned it this morning when I called the hospital. Renaldi is doing fine, an officer is watching his room, and Quince is on his way to question him again.”

“I want him released immediately after questioning. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue us. And if he does, it’s on you.” Lammers jabbed a finger at him. “This is your case and you are responsible for him while he’s in your custody.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t really. What would that mean for his job? “I asked the hospital to hold Renaldi as long as they can. We haven’t searched his home yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“A signed subpoena. The DA’s office is working on it and I haven’t heard from them.” Jackson felt overwhelmed. He’d stayed up late to update his case notes and prioritize their tasks, then realized they hadn’t even begun to look at phone and bank records. “I could use another detective or two. We still need to comb through the files and question Westside gang members.”

“I can pull Evans off her assault case for a few days. What are you and your people doing this morning?”

“I’m headed to Dakota’s autopsy, Quince is questioning Renaldi again, and Schak is trying to locate Bartolo Diaz.”

“Who the hell is Diaz?”

“He’s a known associate of Noah Tremel, the gang member who died in the river with the first ransom. We learned that Diaz bought a dog from Renaldi, so we think he might be involved and may even have been the courier for the second money drop.”

“I know we’re understaffed but every lawsuit takes even more money out of the budget. No more screw-ups.” Lammers’ voice softened. “Send me your notes. I may have some time to work this case with you.”

Surprised, Jackson mumbled “thank you” and stood to leave.

The county performed autopsies in a small bright room in the basement of the old North McKenzie Hospital next to the University of Oregon. Giant stainless steel drawers lined the wall to the right and a built-in counter ran along the back, cluttered with microscopes and various cutting and measuring tools. Jackson closed the door, nodded at the three men in the room, and started to suit up. He didn’t recognize the short man with a thin gray mustache who looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in a long time.

Rudolph Konrad, the pathologist, who clearly ate well, introduced the stranger. “This is Sam Larson. He’s with county animal control.”

“Detective Wade Jackson.” They both wore gloves and didn’t shake hands. “Thanks for being here.”

“It’s an unusual situation.” Larson looked over at the body on the small raised table. Dakota was still covered with a white plastic sheet.

“Let’s get started.” Rich Gunderson, the medical examiner, stepped up to the table and pulled the sheet back. Jackson
remembered what he’d said at Dakota’s crime scene about getting laid off. Would the county really cut out the ME’s office? The pathologist, who performed the actual autopsies, would be overwhelmed if he also had to attend death scenes, process the bodies, and send out all blood and tissue samples.

“The first thing to note is her tattoos,” Gunderson said. “She has one on each upper arm. The right arm says
Kerry
in a cursive script and has a small heart under it, and the left arm says
Nadine
in a similar script and has a small shamrock under it.” He looked at Jackson. “Any thoughts?”

Jackson stayed at the end of the table near the corpse’s feet. “They’re most likely the names of her mother and stepmother, who both died.”

“Poor girl.” Gunderson pointed to her ankle. “She also has a small pink and silver tiara.”

Jackson glanced down at the pretty, but unusual, tattoo. “Symbolic of Daddy’s little princess?”

“Good possibility.”

From there the pathologist took over, starting at her toes and examining her skin closely. He used a magnifier at times and made small comments, his voice deep and deadpan. His seriousness contrasted with his round face and boyish looks.

Jackson avoided looking at Dakota’s body. She was ten years older than his daughter but still a young woman, and his mind kept imagining Katie on the table and how it would feel for him. The anguish Anderson must be experiencing. Jackson knew he had to go see him as soon as he had the chance.

Konrad worked his way up to Dakota’s genitals, probed her gently, and took fluid samples. “She likely had sex within hours of her death.”

Jackson knew that and hoped someday, when it was his time to go, a pathologist would say that about him. He tuned out
for a moment, wondering if the assistant DA had a warrant for Renaldi’s place yet. He was eager to search it, yet he dreaded dealing with the dogs.

He became aware that Konrad was talking to him. “She has scars on the inside of her wrists,” he repeated. “Most likely a suicide attempt. They’re quite faint now, possibly incurred as long as ten years ago.”

After her biological mother died? Jackson hadn’t known Dakota had been that troubled. According to Anderson, she’d been an exceptional college student and was a successful TV journalist with a bright future. His next thought was for his own daughter. How would she cope if Renee died? Pain surged through his body and he didn’t know if it was physical or emotional. He forced himself to focus on the autopsy.

Larson, the animal specialist, leaned over Dakota’s head and studied her wounds. “Definitely a dog,” he said. “Her tissue has been crushed and torn by dull teeth, rather than punctured or lacerated like a cougar mauling.” He looked shaken.

“Can you take measurements for comparison to particular dog teeth?” Jackson asked.

Larson looked at him with raised eyebrows. “This is not a single bite. She’s been chewed to death. We’ll have more luck finding her tissue in the dog’s teeth.”

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.