Terminal 9 (5 page)

“We'll need a warrant to get into the house.” Mac snapped the cuff of his jacket around his rubber glove.

“A warrant?” The police chief frowned. “Is that really necessary? One of my guys did a cursory search of the house to make sure there was no one else home. He didn't see anything suspicious.”

“Yes, it's necessary.” Mac was losing patience with the guy. As police chief, Spalding should know the procedure better than anyone. “I don't want to get into the house and start rooting around without one. If we happened to find evidence of a crime and didn't have a warrant, it would be suppressed in a heartbeat because we didn't take the time to pump out an affidavit for a warrant. It'll be a no-brainer for a death investigation,” Mac added. “I can have it done by tomorrow. Only thing is, I'll need your officers to keep a perimeter on the house through the night. We'll go through it with the crime lab guys in the morning.”

“I'm shorthanded as it is, but I suppose I can get a guy out here if you think we need to.” The chief obviously didn't see the need.

“I'd appreciate it. Thanks.” Turning to his partner, Mac said, “I agree with Kristen, Dana. Let's take the path from the house that leads down to that rail bridge before we start picking up pieces.”

“Sure.” Dana scanned the tracks with her flashlight.

Mac followed the beam of her flashlight and added his own. Although it was dark in the shadows of the massive boxcars and engines, the floodlights and exhaust from the engines gave the ghostly appearance of a foggy October night rather than springtime. Mac, Dana, and Kristen exited the crime-scene tape and made their way down to Mullins's house.

“Let's walk well away from the main path,” Mac suggested. “Once we get on the north side, by the house, we should be able to contrast the tracks of his motorized chair a little easier. This way we won't grind any potential evidence into the hard-packed gravel.”

“I'm staying here,” the chief told them. “I've got a management representative from the terminal on the way to meet us. He should be here any time.”

“Anyone notified the next of kin yet?” Kristen asked.

Mac bit into his lower lip. He should have been the one to ask.

The chief nodded. “I sent an officer to the daughter's house in Tualatin. He checked out about an hour ago, so I assume he made contact. I'll get an update for you on that as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. I'll need her information so I can get a disposition on the remains once I complete the post. I'll need for her to provide funeral arrangement information.”

“You got it,” the chief answered.

The trio walked alongside the raised gravel path to Clay's whitewashed house.

“What a cute house.” Dana jotted something on her pad. “He kept the place up really well.”

“Probably hired someone to help him.” Mac noted how neat and tidy the house looked from the outside with a white detached garage and black shutters. “In his condition and being in a wheelchair, I doubt he could have kept the place up by himself.”

The single-story home looked to be around fifteen hundred square feet at the most and sported an exceptional view of the Columbia River and of Ridgefield,Washington, on the other side. Once at the house, they began tracing Clay's path to the terminal yard and the eventual site of his death.

Mac, armed with a digital camera, and Dana, with her notepad at the ready, scanned the packed gravel and earth path with their rechargeable flashlights while Kristen walked behind. The medical examiner's primary interest lay at the end of the path, where Clay's remains were spread along the track. Mac wondered how many collection bags she would need to transfer the remains.

Mac could easily trace Clay's route, noting that at times the tracks from his scooter veered away from the well-traveled tracks, getting dangerously close to going off the five-foot-wide path. As they approached the raised rail bridge over the deadhead line, Mac held a hand out to stop the women.

“Hold your light up here please, Dana, so I can get a few shots at this displaced gravel before people walk all over it.” Dana stepped back a few yards and widened her flashlight beam so Mac could take the pictures.

“Thanks.” He swung the camera lens to the mangled chair that lay clear of the tracks. Dana followed with her flashlight beam before he had a chance to ask. As the light illuminated the motorized vehicle, the shiny metal basket and handlebars reflected the light. The gray rubber tires and flat black frame had been mauled by the impact, evidencing the horrific collision with the train engine. Mac took several photographs of the twisted wreckage. “It's a mess, but I'm surprised at how much of the machine is still intact. It must have been thrown off the track with the first hit.”

As they moved onto the track itself,Dana hunkered down. “Take a look at this, guys. Looks like he might have high-centered here on the gravel and caught his wheel on the rail.” Dana shined her light for Mac and Kristen. “See how the gravel is churned up here?”

“Good find, Dana,” Mac said. “Looks like he got stuck and was trying to power out, but his wheels couldn't get traction in the loose stuff.” Mac examined the indentation, snapping two pictures from different angles. He set a small ruler in the gravel trough, then measured the width of the chair's back rubber wheel.

“Looks like the same width. The poor old guy must have gotten stuck, like the chief said.”

Dana nodded. “We'll have to get that chair into the crime lab, make sure there isn't something on the machine we aren't able to see. Right?”

“Right,” Mac agreed. “It's not going to fit into our vehicles, though. Maybe we can recruit a truck from one of our fish and wildlife troopers. Those guys all drive pickups.”

“Maybe Chris is free,” Dana grinned.

Mac felt a moment's jealousy. Chris Ferroli had worked with them on a recent case involving a poaching operation. Did he and Dana have something going? Mac pushed aside the feeling. “I don't see anything else of evidentiary value on the path.” He pulled out his phone and requested a wildlife trooper with an available truck, giving the pertinent information to the dispatcher and not mentioning anyone specific. “You two ready for the fun part?” Mac motioned toward the train engine.

“Born ready.” Kristen blew out a long breath.

“I'm not.” Dana caught Mac's gaze. “But we don't have much choice in the matter, do we?”

FIVE

M
AC SCANNED THE LENGTH OF THE RAILLINE before stepping over the tracks and took a couple of deep breaths to prepare himself for the gruesome task of collecting body parts. He'd asked Dana to go to the management office to speak with the terminal manager. Now he was wishing he'd gone instead. The chief, who'd been hanging around near the crime scene perimeter, was now inside the terminal with Dana and the management.

Kristen had gone back to her vehicle for some large black plastic bags, leaving him alone. Mac thought about Kevin, wondering what his experienced ex-partner would do if he were running the investigation. Maybe he'd ask him tomorrow. Kevin would probably offer some sage advice. Mac was pretty good at obtaining information while acting as though he didn't need it. Probably because the guys loved to give advice whether or not anyone wanted it.

What he did know was that he needed to gather all the evidence he could and make certain the crime scene, if it turned out to be that, remained as pristine as possible. From all appearances, the old man's death was an accident. But Mac couldn't shake the feeling that they were only looking at the surface.

“I'm all set,” Kristen announced as she approached. “You want to hold the bags for me while I collect?”

“Sure, glad to.” Mac extended his gloved hands to take the proffered bags.

“I'll shoot some digitals on scene, but most of them will be at the post,” Kristen said. “Most of the remains are dirty. Lots of grease and debris.” All of which Kristen and Henry, her assistant, would clean up at autopsy.

Mac and Kristen began walking east on the tracks from the first impact, the area of the chair, and the rail crossing on the trail. Less than twenty feet from the motorized chair Mac and Kristen located most of the victim's upper torso and left arm. The clothing had been torn from the body, which was lying facedown in the gravel beside the shiny rail.

“Looks like we have a clean cut above the pelvic girdle.” Kristen snapped several digital photographs then slipped on a heavy set of rubber gloves. She rolled the torso over and Mac held his breath. Both the victim's eyes were partly open in the deadpan stare only seen on a corpse. Mac shuddered in revulsion and momentarily looked away when the large intestine stubbornly stuck to the gravel and lengthened as Kristen continued to turn the torso.

Apparently unaffected, Kristen said, “I'd say his legs fell under the train on the first pass, Mac. The train probably discarded his scooter and sliced through his midsection in the initial collision. That will make my job a lot easier. Most of the remains under the engine and along the rail will be right arm, lower torso, and legs. Let's recover this big piece last. We'll place the smaller collection samples in the body bag with this one.”

“You're the boss.” Mac had seen his share of mangled bodies, but for some reason he felt more affected by this one than he should have. Maybe because he'd come to know a little about the old guy. He admired the man's perseverance in motoring out to the rail yard on a daily basis. He believed in a job well done. Retirement must have been hard on Clay Mullins.

“Would you grab my toolbox, Mac? I need my thermometer and syringe for fluid collection.”

“Sure.” Glad for something to do, Mac walked back to where Kristen had set down her box and brought it to her, placing it on the ground within easy reach. She placed several small pieces of tissue and bone inside the smaller bags after photographing them and supplying a number to each evidence item.

Kristen glanced up at him and smiled. “Thanks. Now could you open it and get my thermometer out? My hands are a little messy.”

Mac complied. Kristen took the thermometer from him and thrust the tip into the torso near the left clavicle.

“The bladder's been ravaged, so we can't get a urine sample. I'll take blood from the heart before it degrades too much.” Mac handed her the long syringe she pointed to and watched as she inserted it between the victim's ribs and into the chest, quickly and efficiently withdrawing a sample. She made note of the temperature of the body, finding the temperature was consistent with the purported time of death and the weather conditions. They then worked their way west on the deadhead line toward the train engine.

Dana arrived just as Kristen and Mac made their way back to the torso.

“Don't step on that side of the tracks,” Mac warned.

Dana switched to the south side of the tracks and gave a salute motion with her hand to her forehead, back at Mac. “You guys doing okay?” Dana asked, covering her near mistake.

“Don't worry, kiddo.” Kristen snapped Dana's picture. “We saved plenty for you.”

“The upper torso was fairly intact,” Mac said, bringing Dana up to speed. “We're looking to collect the remains from here back to the train.” He nodded toward the terminal. “What did you find out from the management?”

“Not much. They have corporate lawyers on the way, so they were a little hesitant to provide any information. The suits are already gathering upstairs in the main hub. The yard goat operator—the guy who was operating the train that killed Mullins—was in there too. He's pretty broken up, but I was able to talk with him for a few minutes before management made him clam up.”

“Humph. They're no doubt more concerned about a lawsuit than about the employee or the victim.”

“For sure.”

“What the heck is a yard goat operator?” Mac asked, thinking back to the term Dana had used.

“That's what they called him. I didn't know what it meant either, so I asked. Apparently, a yard goat is a small train engine like that one.” Dana pointed at the engine that had struck their victim.

“If that's small, I'd hate to see what a normal-sized one would do.”

“They use it in the terminals to transfer cars around,” Dana went on. “Anyway, the yard goat operator said he gave the highball signal on his air horn.”

“Highball?” Mac frowned.

She squinted at the writing in her notebook. “Yep, that's what he said. The highball signal.” Dana shook her head. “Honestly, these guys deal in total slang. They're worse than we are. I guess they have a series of signals they give with their air horns that convey movement and direction. The operator gave the signal and was backing a group of empty cars to the east. He apparently didn't see Mr. Mullins until he backed completely over him and was proceeding to the west to enter the main terminal.”

“Makes sense.” Mac examined the engine and the cars. “He was pushing these cars and wouldn't have seen the victim until he had an unobstructed view.”

“That's right. He saw Clay's scooter on the return trip and, in his words, ‘freaked out.' Poor guy. He was really upset. Gabby knew Clay and swore up and down that it was an accident. The terminal management shut him up after that, said we could speak to him in a couple of days after he'd coped with the loss.”

“After the attorneys get to him, you mean.”

Dana shrugged. “That too. Thing is, Mac, I believe him. He struck me as an honest guy. I've got his name and horsepower for a comprehensive interview if we need it.”

“Was he the guy the chief was talking about? The one who didn't like Clay hanging around?”

“No, you're thinking about Dan Mason. The yard goat operator's name is Gabby Dean. He mainly works nights. I asked about Mason, though. The manager said he'd be in to work tomorrow morning.He didn't think it was necessary to call him down tonight.”