Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (30 page)

Russell had dreamed up this plan to force Rockman to deal with both issues. But he hadn’t counted on these two women being in here. He had wanted to keep it simple, and if Rockman had refused his demands, Russell had been prepared to trip the
detonator and blow them both up. He was ready to die for his cause, rather than live an angry pointless life of shame. But now he had these two other hostages. He hoped it put pressure on Rockman as well.

Russell strode to the desk and searched for some paper. “I want you to write out a full confession,” he called over his shoulder as he lifted yellow folders and stacks of spreadsheets. “Where is your paper?”

“In the top drawer on the right.” Rockman’s voice changed volume halfway through his statement.

Russell spun and saw that the pedophile had stood and so had Fiona. “Sit down!” He held out the knife. “Don’t make me hurt you or your secretary.”

“I’m sorry, but I have bad knees. I had to stand.”

Russell laughed. The man had bad knees? It wasn’t nearly enough karmic justice. “Stay on the floor.” Russell had a roll of duct tape in his pocket and he would use it on Rockman as soon as the pervert wrote out his confession. He would have to tape the women now too because he needed time to get out of the state. He already had new ID and would head for Colorado. They had an active environmental group there and some progressive ideas about livability.

“I can’t confess to something I didn’t do,” Rockman whined.

Russell glared at the liar. “You have to! I need closure.”

He hadn’t counted on having three hostages, but since he did, Russell was glad he’d decided on the bomb instead of a gun. He’d worried that Rockman wouldn’t take a gun seriously, that the pedophile would dare him to shoot him before he commanded his foreman to burn down the factory. But everybody took a bomb seriously.

Next to Rockman, Fiona studied him intently. Russell was still mystified by her presence. Especially the way she’d shoved
herself in the door. At first, he’d thought she might be some kind of federal agent. But he’d glanced in her wallet, and her ID said Fiona Ingram. She even had a library card and a business card for a grant writer. Still, he was keeping an eye on her. But with a bomb taped to his chest and a knife in his hand, Russell didn’t expect anyone to come at him.

He moved around the desk and reached for a drawer. Something caught his attention. Was that someone tapping a cell phone? He stepped back and stared down at the leg-space cavity under the desk. A petite redheaded woman was tucked in there.
Shit!
Where the hell had she come from? Another hostage to deal with.

“Come out of there!” Russell glanced over at the others. No one had moved this time.

The woman scooted sideways until she cleared the desktop, then stood. She was pretty and dressed nicely, and Russell thought he’d seen her somewhere. “Who are you?”

“Sophie Speranza.”

“Why do I know that name?”

“I write for the Willamette News.”

“You’re a reporter?” Russell’s stomach churned. This was not going as planned.

“Yes, and it’s a good thing for you.” Her eyes looked scared, but her tone was cheerful and confident.

Russell glanced at his hostages, then motioned for the reporter to move to the other side of the desk. “Why is it good?”

“Because you want Ted Rockman to make a public confession. I can help you.”

“You mean you’ll print it in the newspaper?” The idea gave him renewed hope that this mission could be salvaged.

“I can do better than that.” Sophie’s eyes glinted with energy. “I can record his confession on my cell phone and send it to the
media. We can make him go on TV and tell the world what he did.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Rockman cried out.

Russell ignored him. His brain scrambled to work through the consequences. “But I don’t want the police to come here. I need to get away.”

“You still can. Recording his confession will take less time than writing it out. And the TV people can hold the story until you’re safely gone.”

Russell liked the idea. It was much better than his plan to mail Rockman’s written confession to all the news organizations once he’d left town. “Let’s do it.”

Sophie pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “You can make a public statement too, Russell. This is your chance to get your message about plastic water bottles out there to the whole state.” The reporter locked eyes with him. “I think you should do that first. You want people to know this is really about your cause.”

Excitement and confusion overwhelmed him. Russell desperately wanted to bring his message to a wide audience. But he didn’t want his face to be publicly known. It could hurt his chances of starting a new life in Colorado—unless he radically changed his appearance too. But he could do that by growing a beard and letting his hair get long. “Okay. Give me a minute to think about what I want to say.”

Russell spun back to Rockman. “You get ready too. You’re going to confess to sexually molesting me on that camping trip. And if you’ve molested others, I’m sure they’ll come forward after this.” He heard the reporter tapping her cell phone. “What are you doing?”

“Just letting Trina Waterman at KRSL know I’ll be sending video.” She looked up and smiled at him. “Professional courtesy.”

CHAPTER 30

River checked her cell phone to see if Dallas had made contact. Instead she had a text from Sophie Speranza:
Terrorist at R&L with bomb. Hostages!

“What the hell?”

“What is it?” Fouts asked.

She showed him the text. They were still behind the patrol cars, waiting for the SWAT unit.

“Who sent it?”

“Sophie Speranza. She’s a reporter for the Willamette News. She’s covering the incident at Rock Spring and called me three times this week. But I never returned her calls, and I have no idea how she knows what’s going on here.”

Fouts scowled. “She must be inside.”

River tried to process everything at once. “Why would Crowder let her send a text? And why haven’t I heard from Dallas?” A sense of dread washed over River. Was Dallas dead?
River texted back:
Is young woman named Fiona or Dallas there? Is she OK?

“Where is the SWAT unit?” Fouts lamented. The EPD special operations team typically gathered at the training center where the big vehicles were kept, then went out as a unit from there. It took time.

River sent another text:
What kind of bomb?
Damn, she wished she were communicating with Dallas.

Detective Quince trotted up. “What have we got?”

“A hostage situation.” River kept her voice calm. “Crowder has a bomb.”

“Shit! Is the EPD bomb unit on the way?”

“Of course.” But in this situation, there wasn’t much the explosive experts could do until it was over. They typically dealt with small devices that perps had left and walked away from. Or devices that people found in their deceased loved one’s back closet. None of them had ever dealt with a situation like this—a bomb used to terrorize hostages into meeting demands. Panic flooded River’s chest and she recited her calming mantra to keep her heart rate steady.

“What is he demanding?” Quince asked.

“We don’t know yet. We believe Ted Rockman is in there, and that Crowder likely wants something from Rockman, probably having to do with his bottled water factory.”

“Rockman is the only hostage?”

River shook her head. “No. I think our UC followed Crowder inside and a reporter, Sophie Speranza, is in there too. Believe it or not, she’s sending texts.” River glanced down at the phone in her hand, willing the text icon to light up.

“That is odd.” Quince glanced at the tall windows. “Does Crowder even know we’re out here?”

“We don’t know. We’re hoping he’ll contact us.” River’s bullhorn was on the trunk of the patrol unit, but she hadn’t used it. Why alert him before snipers arrived?

River glanced at her phone again. She had a text! From Sophie:
Fiona is here and OK. Rockman, receptionist, and me. I’m under desk. Russell doesn’t know I’m here/sending.

River turned to Fouts and Quince. “He has four hostages, Ted Rockman, our agent, a receptionist, and Sophie Speranza. The reporter is under a desk and Crowder doesn’t know she’s texting.”

“At least we’ve got some intel,” Fouts said. “Ask her what he wants.”

River texted again, then glanced across the parking lot at the two officers watching the back door. She had an obligation to let them know what they were dealing with. She waited for Sophie’s response to the bomb question.

It came a moment later:
Taped to his chest. Maybe dynamite? Only saw it for a sec.
River relayed the information, then called her boss and gave him a brief report. He offered to get federal marshals on the scene and to fly a hostage negotiator down from Portland.

“I don’t think we need either,” River said. “EPD is sending out a SWAT unit that includes a hostage negotiator and snipers, and their bomb unit is responding as well. It’ll be a madhouse here soon.”

“Keep me posted.”

As they waited for Sophie’s next text, the wind picked up and the sky grew dark and threatened rain. River was glad for the cool air. It would keep the team from seeing her sweat. Two more patrol units arrived, and out of her peripheral vision, she saw men and women in blue uniforms knocking on doors.

A loud rumbling caught her attention, and River turned to see a large armored vehicle stop at the perimeter of the scene.
Uniformed men with rifles and Kevlar vests poured out of the truck and gathered around a patrol car, waiting for instructions. A tall man with a crew cut jogged their way.

River glanced at her phone. Another text from Sophie:
Russell wants Rockman to burn his factory. And confess to sex crimes. Knows I’m here now. Sending out video soon.

“Good glory.” River showed the text to Fouts.

“Sex crimes? Then it’s personal for him. That makes him more dangerous.”

River agreed. The profiler had nailed it. She grabbed her tablet and checked her e-mail. The court had finally sent Crowder’s juvenile record. As she opened the file, the SWAT commander reached them.

“Sergeant Bruckner. Glad to have you here.” They’d met at the Rock Spring firebombing.

“What have we got?” His massive chest and shoulders seemed too big for his Kevlar vest.

River pointed at the tall windows. “We believe the terrorist is in that front room. He has four hostages, including an FBI agent. His main target is Ted Rockman, and I’m hoping we can get him to release the others.”

“Any contact with him yet?”

“We were waiting for your team to get in place.”

“Excellent. Are the houses evacuated?”

“Yes.”

Bruckner’s jaw tightened. “We’ll get snipers in place. If we get a shot, we have to take it.”

River understood his position but wanted a better outcome. “We hope to talk him out. Who’s your crisis negotiator? Ours is out of town.”

“I am.” A sandy-haired woman in her late forties walked up. She was the only SWAT member not in a uniform. “Libby Miller.”

After a round of introductions, River said, “One of the hostages is communicating with us.” She remembered the court file she’d received. “And I may have new information about the perp that we can use. Give me a minute.”

“I’ll get snipers and the hasty team in place.” Bruckner trotted back to his men. No women were on the crew because the physical requirements were too rigorous.

River scanned the lengthy file. Russell was only nineteen, yet he had pages and pages of court appearances, charges, and evaluations from social workers and psychiatrists. Russell Crowder’s troubles had started at twelve when a friend of his mother’s had molested him. Crowder had been caught with alcohol at thirteen and had vandalized his middle school at fourteen. He’d been incarcerated at the Serbu campus for sixth months and diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. At seventeen, he’d been arrested for trespassing at an LTE protest in front of Rock Spring. Somewhere in there, the lost and volatile young man had found a cause and a family with Love the Earth. River sighed and closed the file.

She summarized the information for the group, directing most of her attention to Libby Miller, who might be doing some of the negotiation. River said, “I understand this young man. I’d like to communicate with him first.”

“I’m trained for this,” Miller said.

“So am I.” River needed every resource available to her, but she wasn’t turning over command of this scene. “I have an agent in there too, and I’m responsible for her. Let’s work together.”

“I’ll get the hailer,” Miller said. “We’ll send in a phone with it.”

“Okay, I’ll contact my insider again and see where we’re at.”

River keyed in a new text to Sophie:
Has Rockman met demands? What is Crowder’s plan?

Scrolling back through previous communications, River saw the phrase,
sending out video soon.
Was Crowder recording a public statement? Did he crave attention? While she waited to hear from Sophie, River watched a SWAT sniper enter the house to the left. The upstairs window would make a good vantage point. River asked the universe to keep Russell Crowder alive. He wasn’t a psychopath, just a mentally ill teenager who’d had some tough breaks and fallen in with some misguided activists.