Rules of Crime (19 page)

“He may not have to.” She called Torres for an update, then told Anderson, “The TV station has collected over twelve thousand since Dakota made her plea last night. An agent has the money and will be here soon. One donor gave five thousand, all in hundred-dollar bills.”

Anderson let out a strangled cry. “I haven’t taken money from anyone since I was twenty.”

“After we find Renee, we’ll arrest the perp and you can give the money to charity.”

He nodded. “I’ll get the other eight grand now.”

CHAPTER 23

Tuesday, January 10, 8:42 a.m.

Evans pulled into the crime lab and waited at the automatic gate. The brick building with no windows on the first floor and no signs at all looked like a secret drug-testing facility. She flashed her badge at the camera and the gate opened. Moments like this still gave her a thrill that she’d been allowed into the department and trusted with important business. As a teenager in Alaska, she’d been a troublemaker, mostly out of boredom, and her life could have turned out very differently. When she’d boarded the ferry for Seattle, she had only hoped to escape her fate of early motherhood, poverty, and alcoholism. Ending up a police detective was beyond anything she’d imagined.

Inside the building she logged the evidence into the computer, then put Lyla’s clothes into a locker that opened on the other side into the crime lab. She remembered the canine search she wanted to do and grabbed the T-shirt back out before
heading upstairs. Jasmine Parker wasn’t in her office, so she trotted down to Joe Berloni’s workspace.

Joe glanced over, his crooked nose and massive upper body making him look like a boxer. “Hey, Lara.”

“I have a strange request.”

“Good. I like strange.”

“I need you to go out to North McKenzie with your high-powered camera and take pictures of bruises.”

“That’s not all that strange.”

“The victim is in a coma. I need scrapings from under her fingernails and DNA samples taken too.”

“Give me an hour.” He clicked something on his computer, then turned back. “The new hospital, I assume?”

“Yep. By the way, where’s Parker?”

“She got called out to a crime scene. A woman was found dead at Wayne Morse Park.”

“A homicide?”

“Mauled by a dog or some wild animal.”

“Gruesome.” Evans wondered who’d been assigned the case. “Do they have an ID?”

“I’m not sure. Ask Jackson. Parker said he was the lead.”

The information surprised her. Jackson was working his ex-wife’s kidnapping with the FBI. Why would Lammers assign him an accidental death? Something big had to be going on and she wanted to be on the task force.

“You’d better get going or I won’t finish this in an hour.” Joe waved her away.

“Lyla Murray is in the ICU. Room seven.”

“Got it. Go.”

On her drive to the courthouse, Evans flashed back to her interrogation of Taylor Harris and the young woman’s
you-can’t-touch-me attitude. Where did that come from? Either her parents were rich or they had spoiled her or both. After questioning, Evans had booked Taylor into the county jail for obstruction of justice and asked that she be held overnight if possible. With only 130 beds open, the deputies had to let almost everyone but killers and pedophiles go, then crossed their fingers and hoped the guilty showed up in court. It infuriated Eugene cops, but the county ran the jail and the county was broke. If Taylor’s parents or friends posted bail—a likely scenario—she had probably been released. Evans had to work quickly to get a warrant signed and conduct a search.

She pulled out her phone and called Lammers. “Evans here. Did you find a canine unit to work the cemetery with me?”

“I just got the call-back. Officer Drummond and his dog can meet you this afternoon. Give him a call.”

“Thanks. So who’s the victim at Wayne Morse Park?”

“Dakota Anderson, the daughter of Ivan Anderson, the target of the ransom kidnapping.”

“She was mauled by an animal?”

“So it seems.”

“That’s bizarre. Is Jackson on both cases?”

“Yes. And they need more boots on the ground. How close are you to nailing a suspect in the assault case?”

“I have one. Taylor Harris, a potential roommate. I think it was a hazing gone too far and other sorority sisters may have participated in the attack.”

“A hazing? For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with people? Why would an intelligent person let someone else beat them?”

The outburst surprised Evans. Lammers rarely commented on people’s behavior because she always expected the worst.

“I think Lyla was away from home for the first time and wanted a local family.” Evans was winging it, trying to understand
the behavior. It wasn’t something she would have ever subjected herself to. When someone hit her, she fought back. It was in her DNA. She’d once taken down a sergeant after he’d assaulted her.

“Can we prosecute her?” Lammers wanted to know.

“I hope to. Joe Berloni will go out to the hospital to take high-res images of Lyla’s injuries, and I’m on my way to get a search warrant for Taylor’s house, phone, and car. If I find the weapon, maybe Joe can match it to her bruises.”

“The victim is still unconscious?”

“She had a second surgery and they put her in a medical coma to help her heal.”

“We need to resolve this with or without her help. I want someone to do time for the assault. I hate that hazing shit.”

“I’m on it.”

Judge Marlee Volcansek looked annoyed to see her. “I have to be in court in five minutes. Can this wait until my break at noon?” She was pretty for an older woman and Evans noticed her face looked tight, as if she’d had some work done.

“No. I need to search now before the suspect hides the weapon or ditches her cell phone.”

“What’s the case?” The judge sat back down at her desk.

Evans remained standing, hoping it would be quick. She summarized the case details, then added, “I want to search Taylor Harris’ room, car, and phone. She lives in a house on campus with a group of other women.” Evans set the paperwork on Volcansek’s desk and the judge skimmed through it.

“Have you questioned Taylor Harris?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Crap.
The judge was going to give her a hard time about this. “She denies meeting with Lyla Murray, the victim. But so far,
Taylor’s alibi doesn’t hold up.” Evans hadn’t been able to reach any of the contacts her suspect had given her, so that was a bit of a stretch.

“Do you have any evidence linking her to the assault?” The judge gestured impatiently with her hands.

“Not yet. That’s what I hope to find.”

Volcansek sighed. “I don’t think I can sign this.”

Evans wasn’t giving up. “I believe the beating was a hazing. When I said that to Taylor, she claimed that if a person consented to a hazing, then it wasn’t an assault. Her statement is in the warrant.”

The judge’s face stayed impassive but her eyes sparked with anger. “I’ll let you search her car and her room for the weapon, but not the rest of the house she resides in. And not her phone. That’s too invasive of her personal life, based on how little you have. You don’t want to compromise her trial.”

Evans started to argue, then changed her mind. She could come back for the phone search after she found the weapon…or any other evidence. “Thank you.”

The sun broke through the clouds just as she reached the big house on Potter Street. In the glaring winter light, the home looked less stately than it had before. The paint was old, the siding curved in places, and moss covered the left side of the roof where it was shaded by a tall fir tree. There was still no place to park. Evans circled the block and finally left her car in the driveway, blocking the Subaru that was sitting there. She remembered Taylor saying she drove a Mini Cooper and that it was in the shop.

Evans knocked on the door and a different young woman answered. “What’s up?”

“Detective Lara Evans. I need to see Taylor Harris.”

“I don’t think she’s here.”

“That’s okay, I have a search warrant for her room.” She held out the paperwork.

The girl’s eyes went wide. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Come with me upstairs. I’d like to ask you some questions while I search.”

“Me? Why?” She stepped back and tightened her bathrobe.

“Because I’m trying to solve a vicious assault. Come with me.” Evans strode through the kitchen, catching sight of another young woman slipping out the back door. She had shoulder-length red hair, so she knew it wasn’t Taylor. Eventually, she’d question everyone in this house, but finding a solid piece of evidence would give her the leverage she needed to get one of the members to confess or rat on her sisters.

She jogged up the stairs at the back of the house, glancing over her shoulder to see if bathrobe girl was following. “What’s your name?” she called out.

“Caitlyn Steinbach. Can I get dressed first?”

“No.”

Evans stopped at Taylor’s room and knocked. She announced herself, knocked again, then tried the doorknob. Locked. She looked back at Caitlyn. “Is there a set of master keys?”

“Taylor has them.”

Evans dug through her bag for a set of lock picks and got to work. It was faster than taking the door off the hinges and she didn’t want to call the SWAT unit to bash the door in.

“I’m calling the house’s owner,” Caitlyn announced.

“Good. I need to talk to him too.” The day before, Evans had called the company that managed most of the campus rentals, but they no longer had this house on their roster. But they had in the past, and they’d given her the owner’s contact information. She’d tried and failed to reach him.

The lock gave. Evans pushed open the door and turned back to Caitlyn. “Go get dressed, then come stand in the hall again.” She needed a few minutes to concentrate.

Clothes were piled on the end of the bed and textbooks were stacked next to a cluttered desk. A large mirror filled one wall, making the room seem bigger. Evans headed straight for the eight-foot closet with folding doors. The space was crammed with clothes, shoes, and sports equipment. Evans pulled on latex gloves and began filling a large plastic bag with potential weapons to take to the lab. Two tennis rackets, a softball bat, and a hockey stick. Technically, she was only supposed to search for the weapon, but that gave her license to look at everything. She lifted piles of sweaters on the top shelf and peeked in shoes boxes but didn’t find anything of interest.

Evans dropped to her knees and looked under the bed, pushing things around as she searched. A sleeping bag, a tent, and a suitcase. Nothing that could be used to strike and bruise. Her bet was on the baseball bat. As she stood, Caitlyn called from the hallway, “I’m back.”

Evans glanced over. “Where were you Saturday night?”

“Performing at a dance recital. Why?”

That would be easy enough to check. “What’s the name of this sorority?”

“We’re not a sorority.”

“How long have you lived here?” Evans opened a drawer and dug through T-shirts as she talked.

“Two and a half years.”

“What does it take to get in?”

“An invitation from Taylor or one of the others.”

“What others?” Evans pulled open another drawer.

“House leaders who used to live here.”

“Who invited you?”

“Ashley Harris. Taylor’s older sister.”

“What was your initiation like?” Evans looked over to watch her face.

“I can’t tell you.” Caitlyn looked nervous.

“Why not?”

“It’s against the rules.”

Evans stepped toward her and locked eyes. “Taylor is about to go to prison for assault. I don’t think you should be worried about getting kicked out of the house. If you were there in the cemetery on Saturday night when Lyla was beaten, I suggest you tell me now before Taylor blames you. The first one to talk gets the best deal.”

Caitlyn’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Is Lyla all right?”

“She’s in a coma and she’s lost a lot of blood. Tell me what you know.”

The girl bit her fingernails. “I didn’t know it was like that now. I got paddled but I survived.”

“Why would you let someone do that to you?”

Caitlyn made a scoffing sound. “An hour or so of pain and humiliation in exchange for knowing that I’ll have a steady place to live and popular friends who’ll have my back? It was an easy choice.”

Evans reached for her recorder, preparing to take a statement. Footsteps thudded in the hallway and a thirty-something man stepped between her and Caitlyn.

“I’m Austin Hartwell, owner of this property. Can I ask what you’re doing?” At six-four, he was nearly a foot taller than her, but his blue eyes and sweet smile kept him from being intimidating.

“Detective Lara Evans, Eugene Police. I’m conducting a search.” She pulled out the warrant again and showed him.

Hartwell barely glanced at it. “You should have called me first.”

“I left you a message last night.”

“Sorry. I’m a busy man.”

“What do you do?” Evans jotted down his name.

“I own and manage several businesses. Why?”

“Do you meet and interview the women who rent rooms here?”