Rules of Crime (25 page)

“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 sold 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.”

Jasmine 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.

Her phone rang and she was surprised to see Detective Evans had called back. “Hey. Thanks for returning my call. What can you tell me about Lyla Murray’s assault?”

“I think she was the victim of a hazing.” Evans hesitated for a long moment. “I’m telling you because Lyla is not the first. I hope by going public with the story, someone who’s no longer connected to the sorority will come forward.”

“Which sorority?”

“It’s a private house and no one will admit they’re a club, let alone tell me the name. I think I know who one of the assailants is, but without Lyla’s testimony we may not be able to convict her.”

“You don’t think she’ll live?”

“She’s coded twice and had two surgeries. Even if she survives, she might not tell me anything. No one in the house will talk about the initiation.”