about Dawn Gustafson, but didn’t mention that she was dead.
Sinclair and Braddock spent the next two hours driving the whore strolls from the San Pablo area in West Oakland to MacArthur Boulevard in East Oakland. The rain fell steadily, punctuated by several five-minute-long pounding torrents that emptied the streets. When it finally transitioned to lighter rain, they saw a few hookers and showed them Dawn’s driver’s license photo. None admitted to knowing her. Sinclair couldn’t tell if they were lying or not. Not many johns cruised for prostitutes on normal Sunday afternoons, and with the cold and rain, only the desperate girls or those with demanding pimps were out looking for business.
They returned to the office, and Sinclair drafted a press release—a requirement on every homicide call-out.
NEWS FROM THE OAKLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT
On December 4, at 0548 hours (5:48 AM), Oakland police officers and emergency medical personnel were dispatched to a report of an unresponsive person in Burckhalter Park on Edwards Avenue near the 580 Freeway. Upon arrival, they discovered an adult female with a single gunshot wound. Paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene. The victim, whose name is being withheld pending notification of next of kin, has been identified as a twenty-seven-year-old woman whose last known address was in Hayward. Anyone with any information is urged to call Sergeants Sinclair or Braddock of the Oakland Homicide Unit at (510) 238-3821.
Sinclair e-mailed the release to the twenty people on the distribution list and put a hardcopy on the lieutenant’s desk and another on the desk of Connie, the unit admin. He returned to his computer and started typing his investigative log while Braddock began combing the Internet and other public systems the department subscribed to in an attempt to learn more about Dawn.
A half hour later, the door to the office clicked, and John Johnson walked in. He’d worked the crime beat for the Oakland Tribune for forty years and was the only reporter who had free access to the PAB. Johnson poured a half cup of coffee into a Styrofoam cup and pulled a desk chair alongside Sinclair. He studied his BlackBerry for a few seconds and then said, “You kept the press release pretty vague.”
“We don’t know much yet.”
Johnson showed Sinclair a photo from his phone of Dawn hanging from the tree. “The editor wants to put this on the front page of tomorrow’s paper.”
“She’s no one famous, John. All that picture’s going to do is invite a lot more attention to this case than it probably deserves.”
“Won’t that help? Maybe get people to come forward?”
“It’ll cause the mayor and the chief to get involved in one of my cases again.”
“Not if I mention that she was a prostitute. Then the pressure will be off because everyone assumes her chosen occupation led to her demise.”
“Who said she was a prostitute?”
Johnson smiled.
“I sure wish other cops would stop blabbing about my cases,” Sinclair said.
“I’d find it out tomorrow anyway when I check court records and see the prostitution conviction.”
Sinclair grinned. “Nice bluff, but your sources are wrong. It was a juvenile arrest, so it’s sealed and you couldn’t get it. Besides, your editor knows better than to print a juvenile arrest record.”
Johnson pulled his spiral reporter notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, and studied a page. “I’ll bet if I scoured the jail logs, I’d find another arrest and get someone to confirm she was working the streets.”
“When the media says my victim’s involved in criminal activity, it infers she got what she deserved and that her life is less important than someone else’s. I need cooperation from friends and family to solve this, but when they read your paper, all they see is the cops badmouthing her.”
“It won’t be you saying it. Besides, if I run it by the PIO, you know he’ll say that it’s important for the public to think average citizens are safe so long as they’re not running the streets.”
The department public information officer’s purpose was to portray the department and crime in the best light possible. It looked better to City Hall when murder victims weren’t righteous citizens. “It probably won’t make much difference,” Sinclair conceded.
“The hanging’s obvious from the photo,” Johnson said. “What should we say about the burning?”
“I’d like to withhold that.”
“Okay. Do you mind if I talk to Dawn’s parents?”
“You’re going to print her name?”
“The coroner’s office already notified the parents, Eugene and Cynthia Gustafson of Mankato, Minnesota. Eugene manages a John Deere dealership there.”
“Go ahead.”
“What about an occupation