Rules of Crime (2013) Page 3

  “I’m happy to report that she’s showing signs of waking this morning. We’re optimistic.”

  “Tell me about her injuries.”

  “She has extensive bruising on her back, chest, and abdomen, as well as three cracked ribs and a head contusion. She also had internal bleeding in her peritoneal cavity, which Dr. Gau repaired. We think she was beaten with a stick or a bat. As long as the bleeding subsides, she should make a full recovery in time.”

  Evans made notes as quickly as she could, then looked up. “What time did she come into the ER?”

  The nurse clicked a few computer keys. “She was admitted at eight thirty-six Saturday night. I’ll take you to her room.”

  Evans followed the nurse past two open-door rooms with sleeping patients, both older women, tubes coming out of everywhere. She’d visited the hospital just weeks ago to question the homeless man who’d been stabbed and it wasn’t any easier this time.

  The nurse pushed open the next door, making no effort to be quiet. At first glance, the victim looked like a high-school girl, with smooth flawless cheeks and long black hair that stuck to her forehead with sweat. Thin clear oxygen tubes came out of her nostrils and her breath was shallow. As Evans stepped closer to take a picture, she realized the victim was probably closer to twenty.

  The nurse flipped through the patient’s chart, then said, “She was admitted wearing nothing but a pair of pink socks. She’d been left on the sidewalk in front of the ER entry.”

  “Did anyone see her being dumped?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to the ER staff.”

  “Was she sexually assaulted?”

  “There was no sign of it.”

  “Did you do a rape kit?”

  “Not without the patient’s permission.”

  Evans wondered if she needed a subpoena to get a rape exam done on an unconscious woman. If there was semen in the victim’s body, she needed the DNA to build a case. But first, she had to figure out who this woman was. Would someone be able to identify her from a photo with the ventilator mask on? She turned to the nurse. “Have you had calls from anyone looking for her?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I need to take photos of her injuries, especially if she has bruising.”

  “She’s bruised all right.” The nurse closed the door, then came back to the bed and raised the victim’s nightgown.

  Ugly brownish-purple splotches dotted her breasts and stomach. What had he used to hit her? Evans had never seen anything like it. She quickly counted eight strikes, then moved in for close-up photos. If the victim didn’t regain consciousness soon, Evans would get a lab technician in here with a high-powered camera to document the bruises. If she ever found the weapon, they might be able to match the patterns and use them in court.

  “Does she have bruises on her back too?”

  “Yes, but we can’t roll her without a doctor’s permission.”

  A small moan seeped out of the patient. They both snapped their heads to stare at the young woman. She opened her eyes and focused on Evans.

  “What’s your name?” Evans asked.

  “Lyla.”

  “Last name?”

  She looked blank, then her eyes rolled back in her head. As the beeping heart-rate monitor slowed, the nurse pushed Evans aside. An alarm filled the room and the nurse yelled, “She’s coding.”

  The noise and adrenaline made Evans want to jump in and help with the rescue. She’d worked as a paramedic before joining the force, but this wasn’t her territory now. She moved back as another nurse rushed into the room and began compressions. Soon after, a man with a crash cart rushed in. The three worked together as if they’d practiced, while Evans watched, thinking the scene played like a low-production movie.

  After two shouts of “Clear,” followed by shocks to Lyla’s heart, the monitor began to beep steadily.

  “She’s probably bleeding internally again,” the desk nurse said. “I’ll page Dr. Gau, then let’s take her to surgery.”

  Evans stayed against the wall as they wheeled the bed with the unconscious woman into the hall. Would Lyla survive? Evans worried that the next time she saw the victim would be at her autopsy. Who had beat her so viciously? Rage flooded her system. No matter what happened with Lyla, she would find the bastard who had done this and put him away. Evans left the now-empty room and headed downstairs to the emergency department.

  The petite woman behind the desk looked too young to be a medical professional. Or maybe it was the diamond stud in her nose. Evans tried to keep her face impassive as she introduced herself. “What’s your name and title?”

  “Suri Gupta. I’m an intern.”

  “I need to know who was on duty Saturday night when the unidentified assault victim came in. And I’d like to see the records for her admittance.”

  “I was at the desk, covering a shift for someone.” Suri’s eyes lit up at the memory. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I need to ask some questions. Can you get someone to cover you for a few minutes?”

  Suri looked over at the adjacent room, where only three patient-family clusters waited. The furnishings were so plush it could have been a vacation lodge foyer. Maybe not the best use of patients’ money, Evans thought.

  “It’s not very busy,” Suri said. “And Carson will be back from his break soon. What do you want to know?”

  “Did you see who dropped off the victim?”

  “No, but a woman in the waiting room did. Or at least she saw something.”

  “What’s her name?”

  The intern clicked her keyboard and scanned her monitor. “Claire Ferguson. Do you want her phone number? I made a point to ask for it.”

  Evans decided the intern was smarter than she looked. “Thank you.” She dug her recorder out of her bag. “Take me through what happened Saturday night. Step by step, with as much detail as possible.”

  “I saw the woman from the waiting room, Claire, rush out the door. I was dealing with someone else and didn’t think much of it until she came back in. She shouted that someone had dumped an unconscious naked girl on the sidewalk outside.” Suri paused to put on lip gloss, and Evans willed her to focus.

  The intern continued. “I called back to the central desk for a gurney, then ran outside. The patient was right next to the curb, lying on her back, and naked. I checked her vitals, then let the guys with the gurney load her up and take her in. After that, I had to return to the desk.”

  “What time did this happen?” Evans wanted confirmation.

  The intern checked her log sheet. “Eight thirty-six p.m.”

  “Did she wake up or speak to anyone while she was in the ER?” Evans made notes as she talked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “She had excrement on her back and traces of soil on her chest.”

  It took a second to process the information. “She had shit and dirt on her skin?”

  “Yes.” The intern pressed her lips together, as if holding back a comment.

  Disgust joined the rage that pulsed through Evans’ veins. She’d heard of domestic violence cases that involved humiliation, occasionally torture, but they were rare. Most offenders just went after their partners with their fists. This bastard was especially sick.

  “Did they save samples of the debris?”

  “I doubt it. I’m sure they just wiped it all off. The patient’s pulse was only forty-five and she had blood oozing out of her mouth. They were in lifesaving mode.”

  “Her name is Lyla, and they’re in the same mode again right now.”

  In the car, Evans called the witness and left a message, asking for an immediate return call. What if Lyla died before she could identify her? The department hadn’t had a Jane/John Doe homicide in years and she’d never handled a case like this. From a photo a witness had taken, she’d recently tracked down a perp who’d assaulted a homeless man, but this case was u
nique. At least she had a first name now.

  As she drove to the department, her cell rang. Evans glanced at the phone on the seat beside her and saw that it was her boss. She touched her earpiece and answered. “Evans here. What have you got for me?”

  “A young woman is here to report that her friend, Lyla Murray, is missing. You might want to come in and talk to her.”

  “That’s our victim. I’m on my way.”

  “How is she?”

  “She coded while I was in her room. They’re operating on her again now.”

  “Damn. No statement?”

  “Just a first name.”

  “Maybe the friend has information. She’s waiting here in the lobby.”

  “I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”

  Evans passed through the code-locked door into the small lobby. The black plastic chairs and stained, indoor-outdoor carpet made it look dingy, like a cheap motel. She couldn’t wait for the department to move into the new building. A young woman paced back and forth, oblivious to her presence. The girl was tall and thin, with a protruding brow that gave her a wolfish look, but her bright-pink sweater made her look harmless.

  Evans caught her attention. “Are you here about the missing person?”

  “Yes. My friend, Lyla Murray.” Her voice quivered. “She’s not answering her phone and no one has seen her since Saturday night.”

  “Let’s go back to my desk.” Evans grabbed a missing-person sheet from the holder on the wall. Someday, nothing would be done on paper. Everything would go directly into digital files, and she looked forward to that day. She already took as many interview notes as she could on her iPad, but some conversations were brief and conducted standing up, so her process was still a messy mix.

  Evans led the young woman down the L-shaped corridor to the Violent Crimes area, where the desks were crammed together amid filing cabinets and boxes of paperwork.

  “What’s your name?” Evans grabbed an extra chair and motioned the girl to sit, then clicked on her iPad.

  “Brooke Hammond.”

  “And your relationship to the missing person?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Do you live together?”

  “No. Well, sort of. We share a kitchen in a quad on campus.”

  “You’re both University of Oregon students?”

  “Yes. This is my second year, but Lyla’s a freshman.”

  “Describe her to me.”

  “She’s about five-six, with long black hair. She’s pale and pretty and a little bit overweight.”

  Evans tried to come up with a gentle way to break the news and couldn’t. “Lyla is in the hospital. She was assaulted and is undergoing a second surgery for internal bleeding.”

  Relief washed over Brooke’s face. A moment later she practically shouted, “But I called the hospital yesterday and they didn’t tell me anything.”

  “They have privacy rules.”

  Brooke bit her lip. “What do you mean assaulted? Was she raped?”

  “We don’t know. But she was beaten with something like a bat. Do you know who would do that to her?”

  “No.” The girl’s eyes slid away.

  “Who is Lyla’s boyfriend?”

  “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I think you know something. Why not tell me?” Evans didn’t understand her need to protect the assailant. Unless it was a person in power. Evans had experienced her own degradation at the hands of a police officer when she was a teenager, so she knew what it was like to fear reporting someone. “Is it someone in authority?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did her father beat her?”

  “Her father is dead and her mother doesn’t live here.”

  “What is the mother’s name? I need to contact her. Lyla may not make it.”

  Brooke’s hand flew to her mouth. Evans had meant to startle her, hoping she’d take this seriously enough to report what she knew.

  “You think she might die?”

  “Her heart stopped and they had to shock her back to life. If they can’t find the bleeding in time, yes, she could die.”

  Tears rolled down Brooke’s face. “Her family is in Grants Pass, and I think her mother’s name is Karen.”

  “Karen Murray?”

  “Yes. I can probably find her contact information in Lyla’s room if the manager will let me in.”

  “I’ll head over there soon. First I want to know what you can tell me about Lyla. Did she have new friends in her life? Had she started using drugs?”

  Brooke shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ve only been quadmates since late September and she doesn’t talk about herself that much.” She let out a little sob. “I should have asked more questions. I talk too much and Lyla let me. Now I realize I don’t know much about her.”

  Evans wasn’t moved by her guilt. She still thought Brooke knew something she wasn’t telling. “Did she ever mention any men? Someone she might have been dating?”

  “She likes a guy in her biology class but they’re just friends.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Josh Reynolds.”

  Evans remembered the shit and dirt on Lyla’s skin. If a boyfriend hadn’t done it, who had? And why? A startling thought came to mind. But it was the wrong time of year for hazings. “Does Lyla belong to a sorority or some university club?”

  Again, Brooke looked away. “She mentioned a secret sorority once and said she might join. But I didn’t hear anything else after that.”

  “What sorority?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a traditional one. I think they’re in a private house off campus.”

  Evans was intrigued. She’d attended a community college in Seattle and the idea of a sorority was alien to her. A secret sorority sounded like trouble. “What’s its name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know any of the members?”

  “No.” Brooke shifted in her chair. “I have to go. I have a chemistry test I can’t miss.” She stood and picked up her backpack. “I’ll visit Lyla tonight at the hospital.”

  Disappointed, Evans extracted Brooke’s address and cell phone number, then handed her a business card. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Brooke stuffed the card in her back jeans pocket and followed without comment.

  CHAPTER 5

  Monday, January 9, 8:35 a.m.

  After the conference call, Jackson sent a vague but reassuring text to his daughter, then called Ivan Anderson. He’d done a thorough background check on the man before he even let Katie stay over on a weekend with Renee and her new boyfriend, and Anderson had come up squeaky clean. But everyone had a private life and Jackson didn’t really know the man. Didn’t want to. His ex-wife had lost her overnight parent privileges the last time she’d started drinking again, then slowly earned them back after getting out of rehab. Jackson knew Katie was coming to the age where he could no longer control where she spent her time, and it terrified him. Yet it was also strangely liberating.

  Anderson answered on the second ring. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re meeting with FBI agents in half an hour in the parking lot of the Catholic church, near Thirty-Ninth and Willamette. Where are you now?”

  “I’m in my office downtown. I’ve cashed out most of my stocks and the exchange is wiring the money. Normally, it would take longer, but I made some calls.”

  Jackson hated the thought of paying the perp, but he kept quiet. “I need Daniel Talbot’s home and work addresses.”

  “Give me a second. The info is in my files somewhere.”

  Jackson keyed Talbot’s name into the AIRS database while he waited. Two speeding tickets and a menacing complaint came up. Talbot’s neighbors had filed a report, claiming Talbot had threatened them over a tree that straddled their property line. He’d denied the charge but let the neighbors trim the tree. The department hadn’t pursued it, but now Talbot’s threat seemed like part of a
pattern.

  Anderson came back on. “Talbot lives at 3355 Stoney Ridge Road and he owns Evergreen Construction, which has an office on East Amazon.”

  Jackson made Anderson repeat the addresses as he wrote them down. Talbot’s home address matched what was in the database from 2002, so it seemed likely he still lived there. But if Talbot was the kidnapper, where would he keep his victim? As the owner of a construction company, he probably had access to empty and half-built houses around town, so the possibilities were numerous and daunting. Jackson felt a stab of guilt for thinking of Renee as the victim, but he had to stay objective or they’d kick him off the case. He was glad it wasn’t Kera or Katie who’d been taken, and he felt guilty for thinking that too.

  “What do you know about Talbot that can help us?” Jackson asked. “Where is he building houses?”

  “You think Renee might be at a construction site?”

  “Just speculating.”

  “I don’t know. Can you get a list from his office?”

  “We’ll do that.”

  “What else can I do?”

  “Think about who else might have taken her. We don’t want to get locked into one suspect.”

  “I have no idea. I don’t associate with criminals.”

  “Then we have to think about who Renee might have known or come into contact with recently.” Jackson couldn’t imagine his ex-wife crossing paths with thugs either…unless she was drinking. “Have you searched Renee’s things?”

  “For what?”

  “Alcohol.”

  “Why would I? How could that be relevant?”

  “Renee is unpredictable when she drinks. She may have met someone and bragged about your money. I’m just trying to make sense of this.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Anderson didn’t know her yet. “Send me a current picture of Renee. We may need it to show witnesses.”

  The file arrived a minute later and Jackson printed five color copies. He stuffed them in his carryall and grabbed his jacket, but left his coffee on the desk. Adrenaline had been building in his system since the ransom text had come in and he felt a little toxic. This would be a round-the-clock case and he likely wouldn’t sleep much until it was over. He had to pace himself.