Terminal 9 (10 page)

“Yeah, doing great.” Mac glanced back at his former partner's office. He wasn't ready to talk about his feelings, and judging from the look on Russ's face, Russ wasn't either.

“You girls going to dance out in the hall all day, or can we get going now?” Philly's wisecrack dissolved the awkward moment.

“Let's go, baldy. I'm ready,” Russ told his partner. “You're the one who's been in the bathroom primping all morning.” Russ poked Mac with his elbow and winked. Russell Meyers was only about five years older than Mac, but he'd been a detective for four years. He had been Philly's partner since he made detective, after proving himself in the patrol division and department SWAT team.

Sergeant Evans stepped out of his office and handed Philly a yellow Post-it with a name and number written on it. “Your contact at the prison will be Captain Warner. Give me an update when you get down there. I need to know if this is going to tie you up all week. I may have to put a detective team from Salem on standby if all four of you are working active deaths.”

“Salem?” Philly shook his head. “Those guys from the puzzle palace couldn't investigate their way out of a paper bag.”

Sergeant Frank Evans folded his arms and looked as if he were about to embark on a stern lecture. Instead he lifted his hands in the air, probably realizing that no amount of talk could change Philly. Frank shook his head and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him.

“Poor guy,” Philly said.

“What do you mean, ‘poor guy'?” Russ frowned. “You're the one who's driving him nuts.”

“Naw.” Philly pursed his lips. “He isn't mad at me. He's frustrated at the staffing situation in the detective office. That's why he's been so gruff lately.”

That was probably true. Less than two years ago Sergeant Evans had supervised four separate teams of experienced homicide investigators. Now, thanks to budget cuts that left retirement and transfers unfilled, he was down to two. The “back room,” as detectives called their office, was located in the primarily uniformed office and was down nearly a dozen positions in person crimes and dope investigators.

“To make things worse,” Philly went on, “old Sarge is doing two jobs. Brass gave him a second detective section, so he's having to supervise the sex abuse detectives as well as the five of us.”

Mac hadn't heard about that. “No wonder his feathers are ruffled. ‘Poor guy' is right.” Mac glanced at the door. “Good thing Sarge has Kevin around to pick up some of the slack.”

“You guys having a party and didn't invite me?” Dana walked up to them, a cup of coffee in her hand.

“No time to party now.” Russ raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. “But you'll be the first to know if and when we do.”

“Be still my heart,” Dana teased. “Mac, we need to talk.”

“Oooh . . .” Russ glanced back at them. “Sounds serious.”

Dana ignored the innuendo, her gaze shooting to Philly's bald head.

“Don't ask. It was a moment of weakness,” Philly mumbled.

“Looks good, Phil. Some girls dig bald guys.” Dana took a sip of her coffee.

“Sorry, Dana, but I'm a married man. I'll have to ask you to keep our relationship purely professional.” Philly made a note on the grease board indicating that he and Russ were checking out.

Russ let loose with a gut-splitting guffaw.

“I said
some
girls like bald guys, Philly. Not this girl.” Dana's cheeks flushed as she laughed along with Russ.

Not to be outdone, especially by a rookie, Philly patted her shoulder. “You're only human, Dana. Now just hush. You'll only make it worse.” He and Russ left before she could get in another dig.

“Arrgh.” Dana tipped her head back. “How do you put up with him?”

“He may be a clown, but he's one of the best detectives around.”

“So I hear.” She headed toward Mac's cubicle. “Like I was saying—we need to talk.”

“I noticed you in with Sarge earlier.”

“Yeah. He says we need to hustle on this, Mac. He's not too excited to have us working on the Mullins case any longer than we have to.”

“You told him about our findings?”

“Yep. He wants us to follow up, but he says not to let it keep dragging on just because we don't feel right about it.”

“In other words, he wants hard evidence yesterday.”

“That's about it. I got the old budget-cut lecture and had to hear about his caseload and how he's doing the work of three men.”

“Three? I knew he was running homicide and sex abuse . . .”

“Yeah, well, now the powers that be have forced Frank into supervising a three-person arson investigative section in addition to a half-dozen narcotics cops that were assigned all over the city to state and federal task forces. The narcs are only temporary while their sergeant is on vacation for a couple of weeks, but c'mon, how much can one guy do?”

“That's brutal.” Mac's chair squeaked as he eased into it. “No wonder he's been so short-tempered lately.”

“Tell me about it.” She leaned against his desk and examined a nail. “I understand where he's coming from, but bottom line is we need to get moving.”

“Right. First thing I'd like to do is talk to the daughter.”

“I thought you might.” Dana flashed him a sly grin. “Which is why I called her while you were talking to Kevin.”

“When did you get so efficient?” He shouldn't have been annoyed, but he was. “You talked to her?”

“Yep, Kelly Mullins-Cassidy is at home and has consented to an interview. I told her we'd be right over.” She moved away from his desk. “That's okay, isn't it?”

“It's fine. More than fine. Thanks.”

Dana nodded. “Something odd though.”

“What's that?”

“She wanted to know if she should call her lawyer before talking to us.”

Mac shrugged. “Not so odd when you consider that she's an attorney.”

“I suppose, but it almost makes me wonder if she's hiding something. When I asked if she was Clay Mullins's daughter, she thought I was a real-estate agent. With her father's death she stands to inherit his property. I'm thinking we'll need to take a really close look at her.”

Mac shrugged. “I think you're absolutely right. Let's do it.”

TEN

D
O YOU KNOW WHERE YOU' REGOING?” Mac slid into the driver's side of his Crown Victoria.

“Of course.” Dana settled into the passenger seat and pulled a folder out of her briefcase. “I looked up the address online and got directions.”

My, aren't we efficient.
Mac kept the comment to himself. He was being unreasonable, feeling something akin to jealousy and resentment just because she was doing her job.
And maybe doing it better
than you are.
“Good, then you won't mind navigating.” Despite his annoyance, he managed to keep his tone light.

Kevin had always praised Mac for acting on his own. Dana didn't need much direction—she seemed to know when something needed doing and did it. And that was a good thing. Mac merged onto southbound I-205 from Foster Road in southeast Portland while Dana studied the printout.

“Looks like they live in that new Copper Mountain development. We should take I-5 north to Nyberg exit and head up toward Sherwood.”

“Nice area.”

“Are we still going to hit Mullins's house with a warrant today?” Dana asked.

“Hopefully. We need to make it out to Columbia County by the end of business hours. All we need is a call from Kristen to wrap up our warrant. We need to get out there by six at the latest if we want to catch a judge.” He adjusted the visor and slipped on his sunglasses to minimize the glare. The patches of blue were getting larger as the day went on. “I was just thinking,maybe we should call Mason—see if he's surfaced yet.” He glanced at his watch. One-thirty. Time was getting away from them.

Dana nodded and pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her black wool jacket. A colorful scarf that she'd tied around her neck made the black pantsuit and white blouse less severe. Mac wondered if it had been Jan's influence. “That scarf looks good on you. Were you wearing it this morning?”

“Thank you.” She tossed him a smile. “No, I'd brought it with me to work but didn't put it on. I wasn't sure if our dress code allowed it. Jan assured me it did, so I decided to wear it this afternoon.”

Mac nodded.

Before making the call, Dana pulled out a notepad then closed the briefcase and set it on the floor behind her seat. After flipping back several pages, she paused and punched in Mason's number. Moments later she glanced at Mac. “Voice mail.” After the beep, she said, “Mr. Mason, this is Detective Bennett with the Oregon State Police. Just wanted to remind you of our appointment this afternoon at three.”

She sighed and dropped her cell back into her pocket. “Think he'll be there?”

“I wouldn't hold my breath.” Mac rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease an especially tense and painful muscle.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up in front of a three-story home that was built into a treed hillside in an upscale neighborhood. Mac recognized it as one of the homes that had been in the Street of Elegant Homes a few years before. The first and only time he'd gone. The homes had been elegant all right, but extravagant and way over his budget. This and other homes like it went for around three-quarters of a million or more. “If you don't mind, I'll take the lead on the interview,” Mac said.

“Sure.”

Kelly Cassidy greeted them at the door wearing a fashionable version of pale pink sweats. Mac couldn't identify the material, but it looked like she'd paid a chunk of change for it. “Mrs. Cassidy?”

“Kelly.” Her gaze drifted from Mac to Dana. “You must be Detective Bennett.”

“Right.” Dana extended her hand. “This is my partner, Detective McAllister.”

She stepped back allowing them access to the spacious entry. To their right was a large waterfall area. Mac remembered the feature from his tour. Water rushed over the rocks inside, forming a pool, then escaped through a short pipe in the wall and continued its journey outside. “This is amazing.” Dana's eyes sparkled as her gaze followed the course of the water.

Kelly smiled like a parent indulging a wonder-filled child. “Thank you. We enjoy it. The house was built over a waterfall. The water actually runs from a cascade behind the house and . . . well, let me show you.”

She led them on a short tour through the entry and into an open kitchen and great room. “The stream runs along here under this acrylic flooring.” She pointed to a strip of clear floor that connected seamlessly to the natural-looking tile.

“I've never seen anything like it.” Dana seemed to have forgotten their mission. “You even have fish swimming in there.”

“The architect created some artistic curves, but otherwise it's a natural spring.” She spoke in a dull tone—as if she'd repeated it numerous times, which she probably had.

“Wow. It's beautiful.”

Mac cleared his throat. “Um—we should probably get on with our interview, Dana. No sense in taking up too much of Kelly's time.”

“Oh, right. I'm sorry. It's just that you have so many beautiful things.” Dana's gaze flitted to a bronze statue of a mermaid and a porpoise swimming, spiraling down. “That's a Jerry Joslin bronze, isn't it?” Dana sighed. “I would love to have one of his pieces. Someday, maybe.” Her smile faded. “I'm sorry, Kelly. Mac is right. We shouldn't be gouging into your time with my curiosity.”

“I'm used to it.” In a graceful motion she waved her hand toward the sofa, loveseat, and chair to the left away from the kitchen. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water, a soda?”

“Water would be great,” Dana said as she made her way to the sofa.

“Coffee for me.” Mac's stomach was growling. He realized he'd had nothing substantial to eat since lunch.

When she'd served them and they were all seated, Mac began. “First of all, Kelly, we'd like to express our sorrow at the loss of your father.”

She pinched her lips together. “Thank you. I'm still in shock, really. I can't imagine him not being in that old house of his, tooling around in his scooter. It was top of the line. We bought it for him a couple of years ago when his legs got so bad.” She clenched her hands on her lap and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them there were tears. “They told me he was hit by a train. I can't imagine how that could have happened. And being out in the evening? He just didn't do that. He had a routine and never wavered from it. He'd have dinner at six, eating it on a tray in front of the television set watching the news. Then he'd do the dishes and settle in to watch the evening shows. At nine sharp, he'd get ready for bed . . .” Her words drifted off.

“Do you have any idea why he might have gone out?” Mac asked.

“No. The police officer said he might have been sick and trying to go for help, but that doesn't make sense. He had a phone. I guess it was an accident, but . . .” Her gaze met Mac's. “If it was an accident, why are you here? You people don't come in unless there are questions. Do you think someone killed him? I wondered why the medical examiner is withholding the release of the death certificate. It's starting to make a little more sense with your visit.”

“The delay in the release of the death certificate is routine,” Mac said. “I can assure you of that. Without extensive testing, the medical examiner won't be able to certify the cause of death.”

Kelly arched her eyebrows. “Plus, you want to hold off for a while and see who makes requests on the certificate so you can determine who might benefit from his death?”

Mac gave no reply.