Rules of Crime (28 page)

Anna Compton was bone thin and dressed in baggy purple scrubs. Her short hair radiated a similar color. Across from her at the table
sat the reporter with bright-red hair, a red handbag, and a pale-pink shirt. They were quite the rainbow, and Evans felt a little drab in her sage blazer. She slid into the booth next to Sophie.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to meet with my boss right after you called.” She looked at Anna. “I’m Detective Lara Evans. Thanks for coming forward.”

A group of male college students came into the small restaurant, and the young woman tensed like a deer ready to run. “I don’t have much time. I have to be at the nursing home soon.”

“You work as a CNA?” Evans wanted her witness to relax a little.

“Yes. After four years in college and forty thousand in debt, this is my future.” She seemed more sad than bitter.

“What did you major in?”

“History.”

No wonder
, Evans thought. She had no words of support or advice.

A waitress came to the table and Evans said, “Just black coffee, please.” The other two women already had mugs and Sophie was picking at a bagel.

It was time to get some answers. “Did you live in the house at 1985 Potter?”

“Yes, for my last two years at the university. I moved out two years ago.”

“I need to document this interview.” Evans pulled out her recorder, heard no objections, and pressed the button. “What’s the name of the sorority?”

“They don’t think of it as a sorority, but it’s called the Kappa Non Gratas. They take pride in their non-approved status, but the name is a secret, so no one ever uses it.”

“Were you initiated when you moved in?”

“Yes.” Anna looked down.

“Please describe that for me.”

“I promised myself and my house sisters that I would never tell a soul.” She twisted her napkin into a tight roll. “But it’s gone too far. I can’t believe that girl is in the hospital.”

“Do you know what happened to Lyla Murray?”

“No. I’m sorry. But I can imagine.”

“What did they do to you in your initiation?” Evans wanted names but it seemed wise to work up to it.

“There were two phases. First they made me sit naked while everyone in the house critiqued my body. It was bizarre and humiliating.” Anna didn’t make eye contact while she talked. “For the next part, only the house leader and her second in command participated.” She paused and sipped her coffee. “They took turns beating my ass with a paddle.”

“This took place in the house?”

“Yes.”

“How long did it last?”

“I don’t remember. It seemed like forever at the time.”

“Did you have bruises or welts?”

“Both. I carried an extra sweater around for two days to sit on in my classes.”

“I’d need to know the names of the women who assaulted you.”

“Ashley Harris and Jennifer Warzinsky.”

Taylor’s older sister.
Evans made a note of the names. She’d question them as soon as she had a chance. “Did Taylor Harris live in the house at the time?”

“Yes. She was a freshman.”

“Do you know if she participated in any beatings?”

“Not that I know of. She wasn’t house leader until this year.”

“Did you participate in any hazings?”

Anna bit her lip and glanced away. When she looked back, tears rolled down her face. “I never hit anyone physically, but I helped humiliate other girls who joined the house.”

“Will you testify to this in court?”

“Yes, but there’s no point. I let them beat me. I signed a consent form.”

That startled Evans and she wondered if Lyla had signed anything. Would such a document hold up in court? Would a prosecutor even take the case if Lyla wouldn’t or couldn’t testify?

“Can you help me understand why you would let them do that? What was so special about joining that club?”

“I wanted to have friends I could count on and to hang out with pretty, popular girls. Most of all, I needed a stable place to live while I finished college. My first couple years were awful. I moved three times, worked too many hours, and almost flunked out.” Anna pulled on her jacket. “I have to go.”

“How did you get in? I mean, how does the house choose members?”

“By invitation. You have to know someone to get accepted.” She slid out of the booth. “I don’t know who hazed Lyla or why they hurt her so bad. I’m not in touch with anyone there. Maybe it just got out of control, but it’s time to make it stop.”

Sophie, who’d been quietly making notes, reached for Anna’s arm. “Can I call you with some follow-up questions?”

“There’s not much else to say.” The young woman rushed from the restaurant. Through the window, they watched her unlock her bike and ride away.

Fifteen minutes later, feeling charged, Evans jogged upstairs to the second floor of the crime lab. She’d left Joe a message and hoped to find him here. He wasn’t in his office but Jasmine Parker said to look in the big bay, so she headed back down.

The row of large processing rooms had overhead, garage-style doors accessible from the parking lot, but they could also be accessed from a hallway along the back. She stopped at the second door, knocked briefly, and entered the room. Except for the high ceiling, it looked much like a garage, only with unusual tools. Joe was taking fingerprints from the door of a new silver Honda.

“Hey, Joe. How’s it going? Working on a stolen vehicle?”

He laughed. “Not a chance. We don’t have time for that.” He glanced over. “Sorry, but I don’t have good news on your case. I wasn’t able to match the victim’s bruises to any of the weapons you brought in.”

“Crap.”

“But I think I know what they used.” He cocked his head. “I wish I could show you but the images are on my computer. I think it might be a golf club. In close-up, the bruises have an inner edge that looks curved but I haven’t had a chance to do an actual comparison.”

She hadn’t seen clubs in Taylor’s room. Had the other hazer supplied the weapons? Evans tried to let Joe off the hook. “You must be swamped.”

“We all are. I was going to call you, then I got orders to help process everything from the kidnapping/murder case ASAP.”

“Is that Renee Jackson’s car?”

“No. That one is next door and already processed. This is Dakota Anderson’s. She was killed the next day and is somehow connected.”

“She’s the daughter of Renee’s fiancé, Ivan Anderson. He’s the one who got the ransom demand.” Evans felt a tug of adrenaline that she’d been assigned such a bizarre, high-priority case. “They think Dakota was killed by a dog.”

“I heard the Westside Kings might be involved.”

“That’s the theory. I’d better run. I’ve been assigned to the case now too. Let me know about your golf club theory when you have time.”

Jackson called on the drive to the department. “Evans, I need your help on Dakota Anderson’s death. Have you got some time today?”

“Sure. Lammers told me you’d call. What do you need me to do?”

“Dig through Dakota’s computer and credit card records. Her laptop is in an evidence bag in my desk drawer and the paperwork is in a box under my desk. I haven’t had time to go through it all yet.”

“Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

“I want to know how much debt she had, but more important, I’m curious about a group of photos. The same people, including Dakota, are in several vacation pictures. See if you can identify her friends on Facebook or other social sites.”

“I’m on it.”

“And bring it all to the task force meeting at the FBI office this afternoon at two thirty.”

“See you then.”

CHAPTER 35

Wednesday, January 11, 1:43 a.m.

The sound of beeping worked its way into an already weird dream. River sat up in bed, realizing it was her work phone. She grabbed it from the nightstand and answered without looking at the screen. “I’m awake. What is it?”

“It’s Torres. Anderson is trying to drink himself to death. I poured out what was left of the alcohol but he tried to get in his car and drive to buy more. So I took his keys. Then he started on his wine collection. I’m worried he’ll drink himself into a coma.”

Just what they needed.
“Tell him he’s a suspect in his fiancée’s kidnapping, slap some cuffs on him, and question him until he passes out.”

“Copy that. I considered cuffing him but I wanted to run it by you first.”

“Sorry you have to deal with this. If we don’t hear from the kidnapper today, we’ll stop babysitting Anderson. But we won’t quit looking for his fiancée until we find her.”

“I feel sorry for the guy. He’s taking his daughter’s death really hard and he’s given up hope of getting Renee back.”

“When he’s sober, try to talk him into getting help. A rehab center or grief counselor, something.” River had seen her share of counselors over the years. Some were a waste of time, but her last counselor had helped her let go of a lot of guilt.

River woke several hours later and couldn’t go back to sleep. After her morning yoga, she had leftover lasagna for breakfast, made a cup of chai tea, and opened her laptop to review her case notes. There was something about this case they hadn’t seen yet. Some reason Renee was still a hostage after the kidnapper received the money. The
courier
had the cash, River corrected. Maybe he had never delivered it to the ringleader. Or maybe the leader had killed Renee to keep her from identifying him. She could be buried in the woods and never surface.

River read through everything, ruminating over the details. The disparity in the amount of the two ransom demands bothered her. Had one of the couriers taken over the scheme? A gang member with lower expectations of what constituted a windfall? Or had Diaz tried to kidnap Dakota and for some reason ended up unleashing his dog on her instead? River realized she didn’t know enough about Dakota’s death. She started to call Jackson to set up a task force meeting when her phone rang.
Agent Fouts
.

“Hey, partner. I could use some good news.”

“I located Bartolo Diaz. An informant called back this morning and said the guy lives in an apartment off Centennial.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s the corridor that runs by Autzen Stadium and connects Eugene and Springfield.”

“I thought that was Martin Luther King.” River was confused now.

“Sorry. It used to be called Centennial and us old-timers will always think of it that way.”

“What’s the address? I’ll meet you there.”

“I don’t have a street number but my CI says it’s the front building in a big complex between Kinsrow and Chevy Chase. Apartment fifty-eight. We’ll find it.”

A half hour later, she spotted Fouts parked on a side street, leaning against his car and smoking a cigarette. She thought he’d quit. River made a left turn, pulled into the complex parking lot, and eased into a reserved space. They wouldn’t be here long. She climbed out of her car, zipped her leather jacket, and embraced the cold. She preferred blue-sky cold, but gray-damp cold was good too. Any day that didn’t induce sweat was fine with her.

As Fouts trotted over, she scanned the building, looking at apartment numbers.

“I hope this is the right complex,” Fouts said. “I’m going on the word of a CI who’s a couple sandwiches short of a picnic.”

River smiled. “Not to worry. We’re not going in with flash bang.”

“Maybe we should.” Fouts scanned the building too. “I see fifty-eight on the second floor near the end.”

“Let’s do it.”

“I hope we don’t have to shoot his dog.”

“You can always use pepper spray and hope for the best.”

Fouts snorted. “I’ll do what I have to.”

At the top of the stairs, they knocked on the brown door and waited. Pounded again. No answer.

“What now?” Fouts sounded annoyed. “Do we have an ATL on this guy?”

“I called it in last night.” River pounded again. “FBI! Open up!”

The door to the apartment on the right opened instead and a thirty-something woman wearing a bathrobe leaned out. Yawning, she said, “You’re wasting your time. And keeping me from sleeping. Some people work nights, you know.”

“We’re looking for Bartolo Diaz. Have you seen him?” River stepped back to get a better look at her.

“Like I said, you’re wasting your time. He packed up and hit the road yesterday afternoon. I saw him stuffing all his crap and that big dog into his little car.”

River pushed off her disappointment and pressed forward. “What time was that?”

“About five, I think. I was getting ready for work.”

Fouts asked, “What’s your name?”

“Chrissy Stuck.”

“Did you talk to him? Ask him where he was going?” Fouts’ voice was low but his tone had a surprising menace.

“I told the prick I wanted the two hundred bucks he owed me.” Chrissy lit the cigarette she was holding. “To my surprise, he paid me. Then Tolo said he was leaving town. Going somewhere for a fresh start.”

River took back the questioning. “Did he say where he was going?”

“No. Why are you looking for him? Did he rob a bank?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Cuz he paid me. He owed me that money for months. And I know he doesn’t have a job, so he must have made a score.” Chrissy shivered. “Shit, it’s cold out here. I’m going back in.”