Rules of Crime (24 page)

“I’m fine.” Katie gave him a brave smile. “It’s almost over, right?”

“I think so.”

They talked about picking up Katie’s assignments from school, then Jackson said, “We found your mom’s car in front of Serenity Lane. She must have driven there to check in. She was going to get sober again.”

“Good to know.” Katie gave him a tight smile. “I know she’s not the most responsible mother but we’ve had a lot of fun together and I love her. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“You don’t have to.”

The waiter brought plates of spring rolls, pot stickers, and a stir-fry to share—an indulgent dinner for both of them. But that was why they came here.

“I’m starving.” Jackson grabbed a spring roll.

“Me too.” Katie laughed a little. “I can hear Mom nagging us for eating these.” She mocked her mother’s voice: “
Those rolls are nothing but deep-fried grease and starch
.”

They joked about Renee’s other little quirks while they ate and it felt therapeutic, almost like warding off danger. They wouldn’t be able to laugh about her if she wasn’t coming back, would they?

When the meal was over, Katie glanced at her silent phone. “Will the kidnapper call and say where to pick her up? Or will Mom call us?”

“I wish I knew.” Jackson reached over and held Katie’s hand. “We’re putting her picture on the late news tonight and the task force is out there talking to their informants. One way or another, we’ll find her.”

“I trust you.”

A stab of worry penetrated his full belly. What if he failed Katie? What if she lost her mother and her faith in him at the same time?

“I’d better get back to work.” Jackson dug out his wallet, left cash on the table, and stood to leave. “Derrick is home for a few days if you want to come home to our house.”

“I think Aunt Jan needs me. Uncle Steve is on a business trip and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Then I’ll take you back there.” He started to apologize for having to work late, then stopped. She’d heard it a hundred times.

On the drive to Dakota’s condo, Jackson called Kera and left a message, updating her about Renee’s situation. If he hadn’t just come back from a vacation with her, he would feel guilty about not seeing enough of his girlfriend either. Sometimes he considered going over to the DA’s office to become an investigator with regular hours so he could have more time with his family. But that wasn’t who he was. He loved his job and was proud of the work he did. So many victims and their families had closure because he never gave up.

He pulled into the tree-lined parking lot and stared at the bright new condos. When he’d been here the night before looking for Dakota, he hadn’t noticed the expensive touches, such as the stone patios and multiple skylights in every unit. He dug
Dakota’s purse out of his carryall and found her keys. Had she come here at all after leaving the TV station?

Moving slowly up the stairs to unit 10, he searched for anything unusual, a drop of blood, a cigarette butt, a fresh scuff mark. Nothing but icy dew drops on the stone steps. Jackson glanced through her key set, looking for a house key. He held the clicker out of the way, assuming it was for Dakota’s car, then noticed what looked like a second large car key. Did Dakota own a second vehicle? He’d have to ask Schak which key had worked on her car. Jackson selected a small silver key with a perforated wide end and stuck it into the lock. It turned and the door swung open.

Out of habit, he reached for his weapon, then stepped in. Stillness penetrated the space, the scent of new fabric filled the room, emanating from the cushions covering the couch and the overstuffed chairs. Artwork hung from every freshly painted wall and each corner and nook held an ornamental vase or metal statue. The spacious living room had been turned into a home decor showroom.

Nothing was out of place, so no struggle had occurred here. Jackson moved toward the dining room, where a laptop was open on the table. Eager as he was to access it, he turned into the hall and checked both bedrooms with a quick glance to ensure there were no intruders or obvious signs of a crime.

He paused in the smaller room, pulled on gloves, and looked around. A Precor elliptical workout machine took up much of the space and had a forty-inch flat-panel TV mounted on the wall in front it. A floor-to-ceiling cabinet held sports equipment, including skis, tennis rackets, and a lacrosse stick. Its cherry-wood twin held full-length coats, ski jackets, several pairs of fashion boots, and designer scarves. Renaldi had not exaggerated when he’d said Dakota was a shopaholic. Her father must
have given her a credit card because she sure hadn’t paid for all this on a TV reporter’s salary in Eugene, Oregon.

In the main bedroom he found a closet stuffed with clothes and sacks of new, unworn clothes on the floor, but nothing else worth noting. The bathroom also contained little of interest, except a prescription bottle of Celexa, which he thought was an antidepressant.

He hurried back to the dining room and sat down at the computer. It was a Mac, and Dakota used Entourage for her e-mail. Jackson clicked open the purple icon and the screen filled with subject lines. He noted the number in the bottom left corner: 582 e-mails in her in-box. Almost all had been opened and the dates went back three years. Dakota apparently didn’t delete e-mails and the volume seemed low. He suspected her load at the news station was much higher. He opened the latest two, which still had bold subject heads and had come in that day.

The first was from a friend named Serena who lamented they hadn’t seen each other lately and wanted to get together for lunch. The second was from a credit card company, warning that she’d overspent her limit and they’d suspended her card. The e-mail didn’t include balance information, so Jackson called the phone number listed and gave his name and badge number. “I’m in Dakota Anderson’s apartment now, investigating her death. I’d like to have access to her account statements.”

“I’ll have a supervisor call you back.”

“You can verify my credentials with the Eugene Police Department.” He gave the department’s number and his cell phone number, then returned to scanning e-mails.

Many were from political groups asking for money. Others were from Travelocity, offering great deals on trips to a variety of island destinations, and some were from social media sites, asking her to join. Jackson was surprised that so few were personal,
then remembered the younger generation preferred to text each other, consolidating phone calls and e-mails into a single instant communication form. He thought he would eventually spend more time reading Dakota’s e-mails, but for now he had to move on.

Scanning the folders on her computer desktop, he clicked open Photos and found a collection of more folders. They had names such as College Friends, Coworkers, Trips, Family, Vacations, and News Features. Because Dakota had e-mails from Travelocity, he clicked open Trips and found another list of folders, each marked with a date. The newest was from October, only a few months ago.

Most of the photos were of the same group of attractive people, all in their late twenties or early thirties, enjoying a variety of leisure activities such as jet skiing, scuba diving, and sunset beach parties. Many of the photos were taken on a large boat and Jackson noticed the same seven people appeared in most of the pictures. Four men and three women, including Dakota, who was in a few group shots. While he sent one of the group files to his e-mail at work, his cell phone rang.

“This is Amanda Peterson, customer service manager at Pacific Ridge Bank. I’ve verified your ID, so how can I help you?”

“Two main things. Tell me how much she owed on her account and send me PDFs of her last four credit card statements.”

“I’m not sure about sending her statements but her current balance is $28,562.”

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.”