Terminal 9 (12 page)

“Maybe we'll have something from the medical examiner's office by then.”

A search warrant affidavit generally took about as much time as typing a couple of chapters in a book. Every fact had to be accurate or the warrant would be worthless even when signed. The affidavit must include the type of incident being investigated, a full description of the house—down to the color, numbers on the door and legal owners, what the searchers expect to find in the house, and the medical examiner's cause of death. In most death investigations, this process takes ten hours to a full day while the scene is held.

Mac spent the next few minutes grumbling about their complex legal system. Seemed like detectives and uniforms alike were always having to jump through legal hoops and wait for the proper paperwork before they could do anything. Unfortunately, if they didn't have all their ducks in a row, the case could get thrown out of court.

“Got it.” Dana broke through Mac's reverie.

“What?” It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. “Oh, you mean Jacob's info.”

“He's working at an insurance brokerage firm over in the Lloyd Center area. Lives in an apartment off southeast 182nd in Gresham. Want to head over there?”

“He's in the opposite direction, and we still need to go back out to St. Helens.” He glanced at his watch: two-thirty. He really wanted to eat, but they needed to get out to St. Helens if they expected to meet up with Mason by three o'clock.

“Give Jacob a call and set up a meet time. Say tomorrow morning unless you think he's going to go sideways on us. I want to leave plenty of time to talk to Mason and take a look at Clay's house.”

“Tomorrow it is.”

Mac tossed her a forgiving grin. Somewhere between the Copper Mountain housing development and the bridge, he'd softened a bit and was actually looking forward to getting to know the quirky medical examiner better.

“Yes, I'm calling for Jacob Mullins.” Dana cupped the phone. “He's there,” she whispered.

“Hello, Jacob?” She poised her pen and flipped to a fresh page on her notepad. “Mr. Mullins, this is Detective Dana Bennett with the State Police. My partner and I are assigned to investigate your father's death.”

Mac could hear the male voice on the other end of the line but couldn't make out what he was saying.

“Yes, sir, I understand that. But we just learned how to get hold of you. To be honest, Mr. Mullins, we are not quite ready to release the death certificate. The case is still under investigation.”

Dana rolled her eyes at Mac. “Yes, sir. We're working on that right now, but we can't let you into the house or release the death certificate until we have completed the investigation. We plan to search your father's home later today and conduct some interviews. We'd like to include you in the interview process.”

The other voice went on for some time, and from the loudness of it, Mac figured Jacob Mullins wasn't thrilled with the request.

“I understand.” Dana's soothing voice seemed to have no effect on the man. “And to answer your question, we need to ensure that your father's death was accidental. When someone dies under unusual circumstances, an autopsy must be performed.” She hesitated again. “I'm sorry you feel that way, but you're not really in a position to keep us out of your father's home. And the medical examiner calls the shots on the autopsy. We're in the process of getting a search warrant . . . Hello? Mr. Mullins, are you there?”

Dana snapped her phone shut and frowned. “That creep hung up on me. Can you believe it?”

“Maybe we should have made a cold call to his home. I'd like to have studied him.”

“Yeah, but I didn't think he'd be so uncooperative.”

“So, what did he have to say?” Mac thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“He was mad about the autopsy. He wanted to know why we had to search the house. He asked if his sister had been in the house and said he wanted to go through it before we did. He threatened to sic his lawyer on us and hung up.”

“Interesting. Wonder if there's something in the place he doesn't want us to see.”

She nodded. “Could be. He might just be a control freak—you know, the kind who wants a say in everything.”

“Why don't you phone his horsepower into dispatch and see what they can turn up on his criminal history?”

“I did that when I called in to get his address and phone number. He had a few traffic tickets and that DUII his sister told us about, but nothing that ever landed him in handcuffs. Not according to the FBI data, anyway. Sounds like he's pretty clean.”

“I wonder what his story is.”

“Who knows? Maybe he's just upset about his dad. It's tough to lose a parent—even if you didn't get along with him.”

“If you say so.” Mac ignored the gnawing in his own gut— passing it off as hunger pangs. His father didn't deserve a second thought or even a first. Jamie McAllister had been a poor excuse for a cop and an even poorer excuse for a father.

Mac shoved the annoying thoughts away. “It's after two-thirty.

Why don't you try Mason again?”

“Good idea.” Dana tried Mason's cell phone again, getting the same voice mail she got earlier. She left Mason another message, this time leaving her pager number and the phone number to her dispatch center.

They drove the rest of the way to St. Helens in relative silence. Dana's cell rang as they approached the small town.

“What can I do for you, Kevin?” she answered. “Do you need our expert assistance, or are you just checking up on us?”

Kevin laughed. “Neither. I just wanted to know how the investigation was going.”

Dana filled him in on what they had so far. “We're concerned about Clay's son—the guy has an attitude and could cause some trouble for us.”

“Want me to have one of the troops bring him in for a little questioning?”

“Not yet. We don't have anything on him except bad manners— last I heard, that wasn't a crime.”

“Too true.”

“Did you want to talk to Mac?”

“Yeah. Put him on.” Dana handed off the phone.

“Hey, partner,” Mac greeted. “What's up?”

“How's Dana doing, Mac? Are you two getting along okay?”

“Sure. She's doing great, in fact.”

“I feel bad that I can't spend more time with her. Not that I don't trust you to do a great job, but . . .”

“I know. I'm the new kid on the block too. Don't worry—if we hit any snags, we'll give you a call.”

“I know. Wanted to remind you that I'm here for you. For both of you. So are Philly and Frank.”

“I appreciate the reassurance. We'll keep you and Sarge posted.”

Mac folded the phone and handed it back to Dana.

Dana caught his gaze. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“You were obviously discussing me.”

Mac tossed her a crooked grin. “Kevin just told me I'd better treat you right or he'd break my arm.”

“Right.” Dana's dimples deepened. “I'm serious.”

“You're doing fine, Dana. Kevin would be the first one to tell you if you weren't. For that matter, so would I.”

Once at the terminal, they waited until three-thirty before giving up on Mason. While they waited, Dana tried two more times to call, but Mason didn't answer.

“He's not going to show,” Mac finally said.

“Want to go looking for him?”

“Not right now. We need to get cracking on the warrant affidavit.” Mac whipped the car around and headed for the courthouse.

“YOU COMINGIN?” Mac asked as he pulled into a parking space near the door.

“Go ahead,” Dana said. “I'll stay here and sort through my notes.”

Mac jogged up the steps and made his way to the D.A.'s office on the third floor.

“Hey, Mac,” Darren greeted. “I was just going to call you. I'm almost ready to apply for the warrant so you can search the house.

Judge Saunders should be clear in another hour. He's okay with our affidavit; we just need the description of the house for the actual warrant. Once we get that, we'll present it to the judge.” “Sounds good.” An hour would give them plenty of time to gather the information they needed and grab a bite to eat. “Any heat from the terminal or the community?”

“No more than I'd expect. So far they haven't threatened to blackball me.”

“We appreciate your cooperation. We'll head over and get a description and grab a bite. Be back in less than an hour.”

Mac jogged down the stairs and to the car. He eased into the driver's seat, adjusting his Glock and holster before snapping on his seatbelt. “This thing is killing me.” Mac arched his back and rubbed a sore spot, rocking his holster forward.

“Try wearing it with hips,” Dana teased. “Do we have the warrant?”

“Not quite.” He explained their final mission.

“Good. I was afraid something would go wrong. Between Clay's kids and the railroad and the police chief, we could be looking at a lot of roadblocks.”

“Well, let's not celebrate until we get it signed. Don't get me wrong,” Mac mused. “Darren is a good guy and I doubt he'd compromise an investigation. Unfortunately, D.A.s are still elected officials. He has to be feeling the pressure from the biggest businesses in the community. We know the railroad officials have already gotten to the police chief.”

“Let's hope Darren and the judge don't cave.”

“Let's get something to eat before we head over to the house. I'm starved.” Mac pulled into the drive-thru lane. “Want anything?”

“Yeah. A Diet Coke and some chicken strips, with honey mustard sauce.”

Mac spoke their orders into the microphone on the outdoor menu. “And give me one of those blackberry shakes,” he added as an afterthought.

“That'll be twelve-fifty,” the disinterested voice announced. “Pull up to the window.”

Mac handed the server a twenty. A few seconds later, the server appeared at the window again and Mac took the change as well as the bags she handed him. He looked in the bags and handed them both to Dana before driving on to a small park where he pulled in so they could enjoy the view while they ate.

As if they'd been working together for years instead of months, Dana placed their drinks in the holders, pulled out Mac's hamburger, and wrapped a napkin around it. She settled the fries into a space in the console then fixed her own.

They ate without talking and when they'd finished, Mac wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. He checked the digital clock on the dash and took a long sip of the thick shake. “It's already starting to get dark. We'd better get going.”

They discarded their trash in one of the garbage cans in the park's entrance, then drove the short distance to Terminal 9, stopping to wave at the lone police officer in his black-and-white cruiser who was sitting security on Clay's house. The officer, probably a reserve, looked up from his newspaper and nodded as Dana displayed the five-point badge that hung from a chain around her neck.

The officer nodded. “Hey, if you guys don't mind, I think I'll go into the terminal for a break while you're here.”

“Sure,” Mac said. “But we won't be long.”

“Be back in five.”

“Since when did you start wearing your badge on a chain?” Mac asked when the officer left.

Dana tucked her badge back inside her shirt. “Jan loaned it to me. It takes a little getting used to. Does okay as long as I put the weight of the badge in a pocket and don't let it hang on my neck. I just ran out of room on my belt with the pager, extra magazine, and cuff case.”

Mac smiled. Dana's waist was pretty small. “Well, I wouldn't worry about the space for too long. A few months in detectives and that waistline will be plenty wide for everything.”

“Mac!” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Just telling it like it is. I started out in the back room with a thirty-two-inch waist on my slacks. Now it's up to a thirty-four.”

She groaned. “I have no intention of letting my waistline expand. But I know what you mean. I have never eaten out so often in my life. I need to get on a regular diet again, start brown-bagging it. I was able to go home for lunch on patrol; now I never get over to the Vancouver side unless we have a witness interview or something. Seems like downtown takes all my time nowadays.”

“Tell me about it.” Mac slammed the gearshift into park, and the extra pair of handcuffs slid down the shift knob to the steering column with a clank.

“Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, where'd you get that old set of Smith & Wesson handcuffs with the heavy-duty links? They look ancient.” Dana flipped the swinging cuffs with her left index finger.

“Those are Kevin's bracelets. He hated carrying cuffs.” Mac offered a wan smile. “Kevin said that's why he kept me around, in case there was any handcuffing to be done.”

Dana smiled. “Hmm. I bet if those things could talk, they could tell a story or two.”

“Yeah, I'm sure they've seen their share of action. Can you imagine all the murderers and rapists those have been on over the past two decades?”

Dana tipped her head back. “I heard a story once about Kevin being kidnapped by a suspect once—back in the late '70s . . .”

“I know the one you mean. Kevin wasn't kidnapped; that was Frank.”

“Sarge?”

“He was a corporal back then, when we still had that rank, and Kevin ended up rescuing him. Sarge was working a homicide and this woman was suspected of killing patients in a nursing home. She took a liking to Sarge and starting mailing him love letters during the investigation.”

“Our Frank Evans? Are you kidding me?”

Mac chuckled. “Remember, this was over twenty-five years ago. Sarge was walking out of the office when this gal's husband nabs him at gunpoint and forces him to drive out to the Mt. Hood National Forest in his detective car while he's sitting in the backseat with a gun in Frank's ear. This guy thinks Frank is having an affair with his wife and plans to take him into the woods to shoot him.