Rules of Crime (13 page)

Ignoring his daughter’s pleading look, Jackson stepped outside. “Any ID on him?”

“Sorry, no. But he has a Westside Kings tattoo on his right shoulder.”

“A gang member?”
What the hell was a banger doing mixed up in a kidnapping?
Jackson wondered.
Had Striker or Talbot paid him?

“Or he used to be.”

“Any trace of the backpack or the cash?”

“No.”

“Where is the body?”

“On its way to the morgue.”

“Thanks. Have Gunderson send me photos.”

Katie stood in the doorway as Jan hurried past her with a brown paper bag. Jackson suspected it held more than a sandwich. A rush of love for the women who made his life bearable filled his chest. Unable to speak, he squeezed Jan’s arm, waved at Katie, and bolted for the car.

Twenty minutes later, he pounded up the stairs from the underground parking lot, his belly full of roast beef on sourdough and his brain whirling with questions and scenarios. A gang member in a kidnapping for ransom was highly unusual. The thugs ran prostitutes, drugs, and burglary operations. If they abducted someone, they took him out to kill or beat him as a payback. Collecting ransom was too complex, too drawn out compared to the way bangers operated.

Jackson hurried toward the conference room, hoping not to run into anyone who wanted to discuss the case. He didn’t have the time or patience. But Lammers stepped out of her office as he passed.

“Hey, Jackson. I could use an update.”

He turned. “We have two suspects in custody for interrogation. Daniel Talbot, the construction company guy we talked
about this morning, is with the feds. And Gus Striker, a lowlife from Renee’s AA meeting, is here in the department.”

“Any idea of Renee’s status?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could offer more resources but the feds have more money.”

“I know.” Jackson nodded and turned away. He was already late.

Schak and Agent Rivers were in the conference room having a quiet conversation when Jackson walked in. Schak gave him a look that said,
Where have you been?

“I’m glad you’re here.” River’s tone was nonjudgmental. “We’re ready to get started. Detective Schakowski will observe the interrogation. If we need to, we’ll switch up after an hour or so.”

“The sheriff called.” Jackson didn’t bother to sit. “They pulled a body out of the water that matches the description of the ransom courier. He’s got no ID, but a crown tattoo indicates he’s a member of the Westside Kings.”

“Let’s hope he’s a hired thug,” River commented. “Which means one of our suspects probably has connections to him. Let’s hit that hard.”

“The medical examiner will send us photos of the corpse. Maybe one of our vice detectives will recognize him.”

“Is it possible your ex-wife was involved with drug running?”

Jackson shook his head. “No.”

“We had a case a few years ago where gang members kidnapped a drug runner they thought had stolen some of their money. They demanded a ransom from his family.”

Jackson fought to suppress his irritation. “It’s a good thought, but Renee had no reason to get involved in that crap. She makes
good money, her fiancé has even more, and she’s never used drugs.”
Except alcohol
, Jackson thought but didn’t say.

“Let’s go get some answers then.”

Striker jumped up when they entered the interrogation room and River was glad he was cuffed. The suspect was six-three and built like a gorilla. On him though, the mass of black curly hair implied
crazy
rather than primitive. The dirty jeans and suspenders said
backwoods
.

“Sit down!” River yelled to get command of the situation.

“That bastard left me here for hours.” Striker jerked his head toward Jackson. “I’ll fucking sue you.” He turned back to River. “I caught him in my backyard. I think he went in my house too. He can’t do that without a warrant.”

“Sit down!” River didn’t know or care what Jackson had done. “You have a photo of a kidnapped woman on your refrigerator and no explanation for it. The FBI is going to crawl up your ass and stay there until this is resolved. Get used to it.”

Resignation deflated his massive chest a size and Striker slumped into the chair. “I don’t know where Renee is. I would never hurt her.”

She glanced at Jackson. “Are we going to document this?” They both knew the camera was on.

“Always.” He took out his pocket recorder.

“Good.” She stated all their names for the protocol, then asked, “Why did you take Renee Jackson’s picture?”

“Because she’s pretty and I like to look at her.” Striker looked up, defiant. “So what?”

“You’re obsessed with her and I’m sure we’ll find evidence of that when we search your house.”

“I’m not obsessed. She’s the only attractive woman at the Saturday meeting and I look at her. So what?”

“She’s been kidnapped. And you’re going to sit here until we find her, so you might as well tell us where she is and we’ll try to cut you a deal.”

“I have no idea.”

“Where were you today?”

He blinked, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. “I drove out to Marcola to see a guy about a job.”

“Who did you talk to?”

A quick pause. “Ted Striker. He’s my brother.”

“That’s convenient.” River rolled her eyes. “Give me his phone number.”

Striker rattled it off. “He probably won’t answer. He screens his calls.”

River noticed the suspect’s voice had tightened and he’d lost a little confidence. “Where were you Saturday afternoon around four?”

“At home.” A pause. “Working.”

“Can anybody verify that?”

“My ex-wife called to bitch about our kid so she knows I was home.”

“It was a landline call?”

“No, my cell phone.”

“Then I guess we don’t really know where you were.” River let a little mockery into her tone. “So far you have no alibi for the time of the kidnapping or for the time of the ransom demand.” She turned to Jackson. “Let’s go pick up a warrant and search his house. We need a little leverage for this conversation.”

“There’s no need to search my place,” Striker pleaded. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Jackson spoke up. “What are you hiding in there—if not Renee?”

“Nothin’, man. I want a lawyer.”

“Fine.” River stood. “Let’s go call yours.”

Striker looked surprised. “I mean, a court-appointed one.”

“That doesn’t happen until you’re charged with something.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

River heard him think
yet
. She didn’t actually hear the sound, because Striker didn’t say it out loud, but he thought it so strongly the word popped into her mind. The phenomenon had happened enough times before that she trusted the communication to be real. “What are you
planning
to do?”

Striker flinched. “Nothin’!”

She smiled knowingly and shook her head. “You’re a terrible liar. What are we going to find in your house?”

“I didn’t kidnap Renee. I’ve never seen her outside of an AA meeting. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

River wanted to confer with Jackson, who was being awfully quiet. “Excuse us for a moment.”

They left Striker, cuffed and sweating, and stepped into the hall. “What do you think? You looked in his window. Should we take the time to search his place?”

“Renee isn’t there.” Jackson’s eyes begged her not to ask questions. “But we should send someone out. Striker may have drugs or they might find his gang connections.”

“We need to search his cell phone too. Does he have it in his possession?”

“No. I emptied his pockets when I left him in the interrogation room. His phone is in a bag at the front desk.”

“I’m going to take a look at it before we let him go.” River expected Jackson to object and he did.

“We have to wait for a warrant.”

“You searched his house without permission, so don’t get all self-righteous about this.” She touched his arm. “Keep questioning him, while I go see who he’s been chatting with on the phone.”

Jackson headed back in, relieved that Agent River was taking the initiative. Morally, he felt no guilt. Police officers had been searching suspects’ cell phones without warrants for years…until the courts recently ruled against it. But if a judge didn’t eventually give them permission, nothing from the search would hold up in court. He slid back into his chair and mentally shut out the walls that were close enough to reach over and touch.

“When did you get involved with the Kings?”

Striker flinched. “What are you talking about?”

“We know you’re cooking meth for them to sell on the streets.”

“You son of—” Striker cut himself off.

He couldn’t accuse Jackson of going into his house without indirectly admitting to having a meth lab.

“Who’s your contact in the gang?”

“I don’t know any gang members.” Striker began to pop his knuckles.

“How does Renee fit into all this?”

“You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Jackson decided to give him an out. “You know what I think happened? You grabbed Renee for your own purposes, planning to let her go unharmed. But the Kings got wind of it and pressured you to ask for a ransom. Did they take her from you or just threaten to turn you in?”

“I didn’t touch Renee.” Striker looked him right in the eye.

Jackson thought the gesture was overdone and he wasn’t convinced. “Tell me where Renee is and I’ll get you the best deal I can.”

A funny smile crept over the suspect’s face. “I just realized you and Renee have the same last name. Is she your wife?”

“No. Do you own any other property beside the house on Bethel Drive?”

“I don’t own anything but some woodworking tools. And I’m not smart enough to plan a ransom.”

Jackson was inclined to believe that.

He bought a Diet Pepsi from the vending machine and headed back to the conference room. A tug in his gut reminded him that he hadn’t taken any naproxen since noon. But the prednisone he took every morning seemed to be working, and overall his pain level was decreasing. He had a CAT scan scheduled for later this week, and he hoped to see that the fibrosis had shrunk. Wishful thinking, he knew. Remission was rare for retroperitoneal fibrosis. The cloudy white growth usually came back and he knew he faced more surgeries down the road.
And an early death
, the voice of gloom always added.

Jackson shook it off and stepped into the room. Schak and River stood in front of the monitor, watching the last part of his session with Striker.

River turned. “I liked your empathy scenario, but he’s not ready to trade information. We need more leverage.”

“I’ll call the assistant DA and see how the warrant is coming.” Jackson dialed Trang, waited through seven rings, and almost hung up.

“Hey, Jackson. Glad you called.” The ADA sounded a little breathless. “Judge Volcansek turned me down. She said having someone’s picture is not illegal, and since Striker has no recent
criminal history she won’t authorize a search of his home or his car or his phone records.”

“Crap. Can you take it to Judge Cranston?”

“I can’t reach him. Sorry.”

“Thanks. Send me the paperwork in case we come up with something else.” Jackson clicked off and swore again.

“I take it that wasn’t good news.” River seemed quite calm. In fact, she’d been damn near serene throughout the whole afternoon, including the perp’s dump into the river.

“What’s the plan?” Schak turned off the monitor.

“You should head home,” River said. “We’ll let Striker go and one of our guys will follow him. If he has Renee locked up somewhere, he has to check on her eventually.”

“You sure?” Schak scowled.

“Yes. I’ll go over and check in with the Talbot interrogation, then head back out to Anderson’s. The fact that we haven’t heard from the kidnapper again means one of these guys is probably our ringleader.”

Jackson desperately wanted that to be true, but either one might be willing to let Renee die rather than be followed and get caught releasing her. “I’ll stay and update my notes.” Jackson took a seat, unwilling to call it a day.

Schak clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a working fool and we love you for it.”