Free Rules of Crime by L. J. Sellers

department to do that now.”
    “Keep me posted.”
    Jackson thought about Evans and her little tablet with its internet access. She’d be sitting here scanning the databases now. He vowed to buy one before the day was over, even if the department wouldn’t reimburse him. They couldn’t afford to put computers in the detective cars either and it was a damn shame. To top itoff, Lane County was losing its federal timber payments, and the sheriff’s department had cut more jail beds and eliminated probation supervision for minor offenses. Gang members were moving to Eugene because it had become so soft on crime. Sometimes the lack of funding made him want to quit. What was the point of rounding up the bad guys if the system was just going to release them?
    Driving across Ferry Street Bridge, Jackson was reminded of the search for the waterlogged courier. He called Sheriff Walters. “It’s Jackson. Any word from the boat patrols or search-and-rescue teams?”
    “Not yet. I’ll call as soon as I hear.”
    “Thanks.”
    As he entered the Violent Crimes area, he ran into Schak. “What did you find out about Renee’s phone?”
    Jackson plopped down at his desk and Schak grabbed a nearby chair. “It hasn’t been used since Saturday at three seventeen p.m. T-Mobile pinged it and got no signal. I think the kidnapper destroyed it when he grabbed her.”
    “We’re dealing with someone smart.” Jackson shook his head. “Except the final escape method. Getting on the river in the winter is always dangerous.”
    “Yep, but if he had made it ashore, he would’ve had a hundred grand and no eyes on him.”
    “Don’t forget the tracker in the backpack.”
    “He could’ve found that in two minutes flat. Then thrown it on a passing car.” Schak grinned, warming to the subject. “He may have been looking through the cash as he floated down the river. That tracker might be at the bottom of the Willamette.”
    “We’ll know soon enough. We have a task force meeting at four thirty at Anderson’s house.”
    “Anything I can do before we head out?”
    “We need a list of Renee’s calls and texts for the last week.”
    “I’ve already made the request, but it could take a day or so.”
    “Find out what you can about Dave Lambert. He’s an AA leader and a manager at the West Eleventh Fred Meyer. Meanwhile, I’ll be tracking down a guy who attended AA meetings with Renee and calls himself Striker.”
    “Sounds like a nickname for someone with insecurities.”
    “Lambert says Striker seemed obsessed with Renee.”
    “Your ex is kinda hot.”
    Jackson ignored the comment. After he’d kicked Renee out and filed for divorce, she’d gotten sober, lost fifteen pounds, and cut her hair. She looked better now than she had at any point during their marriage. But it didn’t change anything for him. “Something about Lambert bothers me. He might be the one who’s obsessed and purposely diverting me toward Striker.”
    “I’ll see what I can dig up.”
    Jackson decided to start online. Sometimes websites had more current information than law enforcement databases. He googled urban chicken coops Eugene Oregon and found two local businesses, but neither was owned by someone named Striker. On a whim, he called Down to Earth, a local home and garden store, and asked to speak to the manager. After a brief conversation, he learned Striker had built a custom coop for the store’s display and his first name was Gus. No wonder the man went by Striker. Jackson tried to get a phone number but the manager wouldn’t say anything more. Eugene citizens were often like that. They tended to err on the side of protecting people until proven guilty. Even then, many people in his liberal hometown wanted to fix criminals rather than punish them. It made his job more difficult, but it also made him—and everyone in the department—better law enforcement officers.
    Jackson clicked open the criminal-history database and keyed in Gus Striker .