Terminal 9 (20 page)

“I'll get that workup on both father and son by tomorrow.” Kevin glanced at Mac then turned around to look at Dana. “With Jan helping, we should have it whipped in no time. You guys think of anything else, just let me know.”

“Guess that fire pretty much messes up our finding anything that tells us why Mullins left his house the night he was killed,”Russ mused.

“Actually, Russ, we do have one item.” Mac thought about the small black bag. “We have a medical bag we're certain belonged to Mullins. It had his insulin and syringes in it. We recovered it from Mr. Cohen. The kid thought he was ripping off the old man's stash of drugs and hoped there'd be something saleable in it or something that would get him high. We have it in temporary evidence right now and we haven't had time to go over it thoroughly.”

“I'll have the evidence technician run it to the lab in the morning to test the vials and dust for prints.” Frank added, “Anything else?”

No one responded. Probably because they all had assignments and weren't looking to get more.

“Okay, one more thing. Nobody works past eight tonight. We can pick this up in the morning unless something significant turns up. You've all had a long day already. You won't do anyone any good if you're too tired to think or you stack up a car.”

“I second that.” Mac punctuated the comment with a yawn. “Hey, partner.” Mac eyed Dana. “Let's go get Mason. It'll do me good to see that scumbag behind bars.”

“You got it. I knew there was something amiss with that guy the minute I saw him.”

SEVENTEEN

D
O YOU WANT TO CALL OUT THERE FIRST or try to catch Mason at work?” Mac thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited at the take-out window of the espresso cart. He'd been working more than twelve hours, and he needed a caffeine jolt badly.

“I vote we surprise him,” Dana said. “A call will just alert him and he'll take off again.”

“Assuming he went back to work. With his record, he might have decided to split for good. Especially if he had anything to do with Clay's death.”

“Hmm. True. I guess we'll soon find out.” Dana reached for the iced latte Mac handed her: a twenty-ounce almond soy latte with four shots.

Mac had ordered a four-shot latte as well—going for the raspberry concoction. He handed the gal a ten-dollar bill and told her to keep the change, which wasn't much.

The drink, with whipped cream on top, wasn't going to do his waistline any good and he grumbled about it.

Dana laughed. “Try going without the cream.”

He grinned. “That's the best part.”

“Are you serious about losing weight, Mac?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I have an idea. Why don't we put a photo of Philly on the dash? He's a great reminder of why you don't want to let yourself go.”

Mac grimaced. “Thanks, but the last thing I want to do is look at Philly's mug all day. Besides, he'd just tease you about having a thing for him.”

“Yikes.” She took a sip of her coffee and set it in the holder. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Don't worry about it. I'm revamping my workouts and my eating habits as soon as we put this case to bed. Maybe I'll go on that low-carb diet. I figure I only need to lose ten—maybe fifteen pounds.”

“Diets don't work. You need to go for the lifestyle change. I have a great plan if you want to see it.”

“Thanks, but I'll handle it.”

“Okay.” She said it as though she fully expected him to fail.

Humph—he'd show her. Within a month he'd be back in top physical form.

Forty-five minutes later they pulled into the Terminal 9 parking lot and headed for the office.

They introduced themselves and showed their badges to the receptionist and asked to talk to Mason.

“Dan Mason.” The clerk checked the duty roster. “He was scheduled to work today but called in sick.”

“Sick, huh?” Dana tossed Mac a disbelieving look. “We need to talk with him about Clay Mullins's death.”

The clerk wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Wasn't that awful? Dan has been taking it pretty hard. We all have. Poor old Clay.” She frowned. “Then to have his house burn down. You guys are OSP detectives?”

“That's right,” Mac answered.

“But it was an accident, wasn't it?”

“We don't know whether the death was accidental or not at this point. That's what we're trying to determine.”

“Oh, wow.”

Mac leaned against the counter, making eye contact. “You could help us out by giving us Mason's home address. Like my partner said, we need to talk to . . .”

She shook her head before Mac could finish the sentence. “I can't give out that kind of information. Company policy.”

“Can I help you with something?” The guy they had talked with the morning after the wreck came up behind the secretary. He'd apparently overheard their conversation.

Mac explained the situation. “We need to talk with Mr. Mason, and it would be a big help if you could give us his address.”

His lips turned up in a half smile. “I'll be happy to give you Mason's address and personnel file, detectives. Just as soon as you show me a subpoena.”

Mac straightened. “We were hoping to catch him here. He was supposed to meet us yesterday afternoon.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons. I can't help you with that.”

Mac clenched his jaw but managed to keep his uncomplimentary comments to himself. It ticked him off royally when people refused to cooperate. But then he wasn't exactly expecting an open door.

“We might be able to set you up with our attorneys,” the man offered.

“Forget it.” Mac stalked out of the office with Dana close behind.

“What now?” Dana folded herself into the passenger seat.

“Call information—see if they can give you an address and phone number. I'll call Kevin. He should be able to locate an address through the power bill records.”

Mason wasn't listed in the book, and the address Kevin had on him at this point was an old one putting him in Eugene. “I'll keep looking,” Kevin had told them. About the only thing they had come up with was the vehicle description and license number of the car registered with the Department of Motor Vehicles, listing only a post office box for the address.

At seven-thirty, Mac and Dana gave up. The interview with Mason would have to wait until the following day—if they were able to secure an interview at all. Mac had a feeling the guy was long gone. On the way out of town, he put a call in to the Patrol division, asking them to keep an eye out for Mason's vehicle. “If you find him, bring him in for questioning and give me a heads-up.”

“Wonder how Philly and Russ are doing with Tyler.” Dana sighed. “I hope they had better luck with him than we did with Mason.”

“One way to find out,” Mac said. “Let's give them a call. See if they need help.”

Dana grinned. “Like they'd admit it. I can't believe Russ would make a big deal out of my taking that kid down.”

“I think Russ is threatened by you. I'll bet if you'd been with him out there, you'd have outrun him by even more than you did me and he knows it.”

“You think?” Dana laughed.

Mac put in a call to dispatch asking to be connected with Philly.

“Yo,” Philly answered right away.

“How's Operation Tyler Cohen coming? Dana and I are about to head back to Portland and wondered if you needed some help.”

“In your dreams, glamour boy.”

“So you found him?”

“Not yet, but we will.” Philly grumbled. “How'd you guys do?”

“Nothing yet.” Mac told him about their snag with Terminal 9.

“All we got so far is a list of places Tyler likes to hang out. Video arcade, the pool hall, and the state park—so far we got nothing. No one's seen him—or if they have, they aren't telling us about it. Word is the kid and his druggie friends like to hang out along the rail line. They spend the day shooting up and breaking their empty beer bottles. We're heading in too. Figure we'll be able to track him down easier in the daylight.”

“Good idea. We could all use some rest.”

He hung up and turned to Dana. “I hate giving up on Mason. The longer we wait to catch this guy, the more miles he can put between us.”

“Do you really think Mason skipped town?”

Mac shrugged. “Maybe the lawyers got to him and told him to steer clear of us.”

“We'll find him in the morning.” Dana yawned. “Right now I'm too tired to care.”

Once Mac dropped Dana off, he called Kristen. He wasn't sure why. His call could have waited until morning. And probably should have.

“Hey, Mac.” She sounded tired.

“I'm sorry for the late call. I was just on my way home and . . .”

“And you wanted to swing by and see me, right?”

He smiled at the hopeful tone in her voice. “What I wanted,” he said, “was to know if you made a positive ID on the guy we pulled out of the fire.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No.”

“Come over and have dinner with me, and I'll fill you in.” The invitation sounded appealing. He had nothing edible in his refrigerator and would have to pick something up. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to pursue a relationship with Kristen.

“Come on, Mac. It's not like I'm asking for a commitment. Just a little company while I eat. I have some roast beef and potatoes in the crockpot. Andrew's asleep and I'm sitting here alone in front of the fireplace feeling sorry for myself.”

“All right.” Mac told himself it was the roast beef and potatoes that did it. Not the catch in her voice or the fact that he didn't much like being alone either. Of course he had Lucy, but that was different. “I'm on my way. Should be there in ten.”

“Perfect.”

Kristen opened the door before he had a chance to knock. “Hey.” Her hair looked stranger than usual—like she'd slept on it. She touched her head. “Whoops. I must look wild. I laid down with Andrew and fell asleep.”

Mac smiled. “Actually it looks pretty much like it always does.”

She punched his shoulder. “Gee, thanks.” Kristen stepped back, allowing him entry. The fireplace and living room looked inviting, and the distinct scent of meat and seasonings took him back a few years to when he'd lived with his grandmother McAllister. Her kitchen always smelled like heaven. He slipped off his rain jacket and draped it on the end of the couch. “Smells great.”

“Thanks. I enjoy cooking—when I get the chance.” Kristen gestured toward the table. “Dinner's ready to go. Have a seat.” She'd set it for two, much like she'd done the previous evening when he'd brought takeout.

Mac felt a little like he was walking into a trap, but the bait was too good to pass up. He tossed off the feeling, willing himself to relax and enjoy the moment and the food.

The food was everything he'd hoped for and more. Perfectly seasoned roast—melt-in-your-mouth tender. Kristen had mashed the potatoes with butter and garlic and cream. As sides she'd served baby peas and a tossed salad.

“You were going to eat this kind of meal alone?” Max dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin and took a drink of the sparkling cider she'd poured earlier.

She cocked her head. “Yeah. My mother served every meal with a certain amount of pizzazz. I don't always get the chance with my schedule being what it is, but I try to carry on the tradition. At home I always felt special, you know. Like we were all royalty to her. Company never got better treatment than we did.”

Mac grinned. “This meal was fit for a king, that's for sure.”

Kristen rolled her eyes. “Well, your highness, you are about to turn into a scullery maid. Time to help with the dishes.”

“Another tradition?”

“Yep.” She got up, gathered some dishes, and headed for the kitchen. Mac pitched in, not minding the task at all. His grandmother had expected him to help her as well—not that Kristen was anything at all like his grandmother. When he'd finished clearing the table, he leaned against the counter of the small kitchen and watched Kristen rinse the dishes and place them into the dishwasher. He fought off the urge to go up behind her and wrap his arms around her, drawing her back against him and kissing . . .

Whoa.
Mac folded his arms, effectively closing out the thought. Where had that come from? He moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. This was bad—too domestic. Too tempting.

Kristen was too eccentric for his tastes. Not his type at all.

So what are you doing here?
he asked himself.
Why did you call her,
and why did you accept her invitation?

Mac settled on the sofa and watched the fire, then leaned his head back for just a moment.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Kristen's voice penetrated the thick fog infiltrating his brain. “Wake up, Mac.”

He jerked his head up, eyes flying open. “What . . .?”

“Relax.” She touched his arm. “You fell asleep. I thought about letting you spend the night, but I'd rather not have to explain your presence to Andrew in the morning.”

Mac closed his eyes for a moment to get his bearings. “Right. We wouldn't want that,” he murmured.

“No, we wouldn't.” Kristen's gaze caught his for a long, heart-stopping moment.

Mac couldn't say who'd made the next move, but his arms went around her and her lips were only a heartbeat away. He kissed her then—a sweet, lingering kiss that roped his stomach in a thousand knots. She leaned into him, and he panicked.

“I'm sorry.”

Kristen grinned. “For kissing me or for stopping?”

“Both.” He remembered to breathe. “We shouldn't . . .”

“Why?”

“I . . . uh . . .”

Kristen sat up. “Forget I asked, Mac. It's okay. I thought maybe you felt something too.”