Terminal 9 (7 page)

“They're ready now?” Mac asked.

“Ready and waiting.” Darren grabbed a pad from his desk. “If it's okay with you, I'll hold off on testimony subpoenas for Dan Mason and the others. Let's see what kind of reception they give you at the rail yard today.”

In Oregon, grand juries were mainly used as a primary charging forum for issuing felony indictments. Citizen jurors would listen to police testimony and decide to pursue formal felony charges against suspects, some in custody or others considered for warrant status.

The grand jury also had an investigative function, issuing subpoenas to compel testimony or obtain protected records that may assist in investigations into serious crimes or suspicious deaths. These protected records included financial information, medical files, and phone records. After his testimony, Mac requested subpoenas for all these records from the jury, which were granted without hesitation.

Seven citizens from the county of venue were summonsed to serve on jury duty, as opposed to twelve in a criminal trial. In the larger Oregon counties, the jurors could expect to serve on a grand jury for up to four weeks, hearing dozens of cases. In rural Columbia County however, these jurors would only sit for a week at the longest, rarely hearing cases more severe than felony driving cases or an occasional assault. Evidence presented on a death would surely be the talk of the town once these citizens returned to their homes and jobs.

Mac thanked the jurors and went back to the work station, where he faxed the subpoena to Kristen at the medical examiner's office so she could request the medical records from Clay's primary caregiver before beginning the post. While he did that, Dana requested a crime analyst from their department headquarters in Salem, who would conduct a credit search for Clay to determine where he maintained his bank accounts or other holdings.

“I think that's all we can do here, Dana,” Mac said when they'd finished their calls. “Can you think of anything else before we head over to Terminal 9?”

Dana sighed. “Not right now. I think we should interview some of the day shifters to see what they have to say about our victim.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You think Mason will give us a statement?” Dana asked as they headed for Mac's car.

“Only one way to find out.”

SEVEN

W
HEN MAC AND DANA PLLLED IN TO TERMINAL 9, through the east entrance, Mac was amazed at how many buildings and train cars were on the sprawling property. Hundreds of boxcars, many stacked two high, lined the miles of tracks within the terminal.

“I didn't realize this place was so big.” Dana peered out the passenger side window.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Mac leaned forward to get a better look. “Looks like they still have a sentry on the house. There's an officer posted in that marked car.”

“Look, Mac.” Dana pointed to the deadhead line that had occupied most of their time the previous evening. “The train that hit our guy is gone. Wonder what they did with it? Didn't we ask them to leave the scene intact?”

“We sure did.” Mac pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the main terminal office, setting the emergency brake with a little more force than necessary. “I didn't give the release for the train engine. Did you?”

“No way.”

Mac frowned. “It may not be that big of a deal, but I wasn't planning to release that train until the medical examiner got back to us with the autopsy reports. You know, in case we missed something. Besides that, I was thinking it would be a good idea to examine the scene again in daylight.”

“I wonder what they did with the engine,” Dana mused. “We may be able to get it back.”

“This guy might know.” Mac gestured to a tall, thin man in coveralls, who'd just exited the building and was talking into a handheld radio.

Mac rolled down the window and waved. “Hey.”

The man hesitated, then walked toward the car, all the while barking orders into the handheld radio. “Yeah, what can I do ya for?” The guy didn't seem any too pleased at being sidetracked.

“Can you tell me where to find the terminal manager?” Mac yelled over the noise at the depot.

“Probably at the golf course until this afternoon. You with corporate?”

“Not exactly.” Mac opened the car door and stepped out. “How about Dan Mason? Do you know if he's working today?”

“Who's asking?” The man's eyes narrowed.

“Detectives McAllister and Bennett with State Police.” Mac showed him his badge. “We're working on a death that occurred at the terminal last night. We're looking to make a few contacts this morning.”

The man turned his back on Mac and held the radio up to his mouth, yelling over the background noise, “Charlie, get that line of reefers over to the westbound on deck and stretch the cars before I get over there. We've got a highball in twenty minutes, you got me?”

Mac couldn't hear what the voice said on the other end of the radio, but the man let out a string of profanity before turning back to Mac.

“Sorry.” He said the word, but Mac doubted he meant it. “I've got to move some of these cars that were backed up from last night's logjam. You guys are gonna cost me a lot of overtime. Don't appreciate your shutting down the terminal for hours on end with no good reason.”

Unbelievable.
Mac straightened to his full height and set his hands on his hips. “You don't think the death of a human being is a good reason to slow down some trains?”

The man took a step back as he peered at Mac.

Dana slipped out of the car and took a position of advantage behind Mac.

The man glanced at her, then at Mac, his gaze slipping to the silver badge attached to Mac's belt. “It, well, it just created a lot of work for me.” The man's demeanor softened. “I've got no problem holding the line while you investigate the accident, take your pictures and stuff. I just don't know why you held us up all night, then released the cars this morning. Might as well have let them go last night.”

“We
didn't
release the scene. But I sure as heck would like to know who did. I'd like to talk to the guy in charge. Either the terminal manager or the day shift foreman. Guy by the name of Dan Mason.”

“You won't find the brass around this morning. They're back in Portland with the corporate lawyers discussing their liability on the death last night. I'm Dan Mason. Don't know as I can help you, though. We all got clear instructions not to talk to the media or anyone else poking around. I'm supposed to call corporate if anyone shows up at the terminal.”

“I'm sure that wouldn't include us.”

“We're not supposed to talk to the cops, either.”

“Look, Mr. Mason.” Mac decided it was time for a little diplomacy. “We're not looking to cause trouble. We're just doing our job—the same as you. Nothing would make me happier than to wrap this up and get back to my other duties.”

Mason seemed to relax a bit. “I'll tell you what I know, but it's not a whole heck of a lot. You probably know by now, there was no love lost between me and old Clay.”

“Right. That was one of the reasons my partner and I were looking to talk to you.”

Mason's gaze flashed past Mac to Dana, who was now standing at the rear of the car, arms folded.

“This is my partner, Dana Bennett,” Mac said. “She was at the scene with me last night.”

Dana walked around the car and shook hands with Mason. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mason.”

Mason nodded then turned his attention back to Mac. “I can give you some time later in the day, but that's it. I've got to get some of these deadheads out of here so I can clear the rails. We've got boxcars lined up from here to Ainsworth waiting to enter the terminal.”

“I appreciate your willingness to cooperate. Do you have a number we can call to hook up with you later?”

Mason pulled a grimy cell phone from the pocket of his orange safety vest and read the printed number to Mac. “I carry this with me most of the time; you can give it a try. I keep it on vibrate mode so I can get calls out on the yard. I should get a break after three or so; at least, I hope that's the case. I'm due to be off shift about then.”

“Thanks.” Mac jotted down the number Mason gave him and put his pen and pad in the jacket of his sports coat. “Just one thing before we go. Who released the train that hit Mr. Mullins, and where is it now?”

“There's your answer right over there on who cut it loose.” Mason pointed behind Mac at a uniformed officer standing across the terminal by a marked city police car.

Mac glanced over his shoulder. “Chief Spalding?” Spalding raised his silver coffee cup to Mac and they made eye contact. Mac turned back to Mason without acknowledging the chief.

“Yep. He said we could get it to the steam shop and clean it up. That was about four hours ago. The engine was power washed and put back on line.” He glanced at his watch. “She's on her way to Spokane for servicing and repairs at our sister terminal. You can ask the mud hop for an exact location.”

“Mud hop?” Mac asked. “And just who would that be—in plain English, if you don't mind?”

“The terminal clerk, Roger Perrault. He hangs out over there in the building with that big antenna on the roof.”

“Thanks for your help,Mr. Mason. We'll be in touch.”

Dan Mason nodded at Dana as he walked past and immediately started talking into the handheld radio.

“Did you hear that?” Mac asked Dana. “The chief released the scene.”

“I heard. Should we say something?”

“You better believe it.” Mac huffed and slid in behind the wheel.

“I can't believe that guy would go over my head. Hop in, Dana.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Dana offered. “While you cool down.”

Mac shook his head. “No thanks. I'm mad, but I'm not stupid.”

“Didn't say you were . . .” She pulled the door shut.

Mac drove over to where Chief Spalding's car was parked. The wheels slid in the loose gravel when he braked, and he shut the door behind him with more force than necessary.

“Top of the morning.” The chief saluted both Mac and Dana as they approached his car.

Spalding was in far too good a mood. Mac had a feeling the older man knew exactly what they'd come to talk about.

“Morning yourself, Chief. Any changes overnight that we should know about?” Mac crossed his arms, legs slightly apart in a gesture meant to intimidate.

“Not a thing. Still have the boys sitting on the house. I went ahead and released the train back to the company so they could get it cleaned up and back into commission.”

Mac clenched his fists and felt his jaw tighten. “So I see. I really wish you'd called me first. I wanted the scene held until Doc Thorpe was done with the autopsy.”

Chief Spalding took a sip of coffee; his eyes narrowed into dark slits. “I didn't know I needed permission to do things in my own town, Detective. Next thing you know I'll have to call you guys before I use the john.”

Mac took a step forward, measuring his next words.
Diplomacy,
Mac.
He could almost hear Kevin's sage advice. “I appreciate your situation, Chief, but it's standard procedure not to release a crime scene until there is no possibility of additional evidence collection. I'm sensitive to the needs of the terminal management, but it is my position as the lead investigator to release the scene. It wasn't your call.”

“Sorry, but I didn't think this was shaping up to be
Murder on the
Orient Express.
This isn't a crime scene. I'm no homicide cop from the big city, but I don't need to be told how to do my job.” Spalding opened his car door. “I told the D.A. that bringing you guys in would be nothing but trouble. I'm going to see the D.A. now and have a word with the city commissioners. We don't need OSP involvement in an accidental death. These people are big-time employers and taxpayers for the city. They won't like things being held up much longer, I can tell you that right now.”

“I really don't care about that. Right now, I'm working for Clay Mullins.” Mac managed to hold his anger in check, but just barely. “I'm pretty sure he and his family would want things done the right way. You go do what you have to do, Chief, while I salvage what's left of this investigation.”

Spalding muttered a string of obscenities as he put the car in gear and sped out of the terminal lot. The uniformed officer watching Clay's house looked up as the car spewed gravel onto the metal tracks.

“That went well.” Dana slapped Mac on the back in a friendly gesture. “I'd say your political future in this town just went down the drain.”

“Lucky for me, I'm not planning to run for mayor.” Mac pursed his lips. “I better call Sarge and give him a heads-up. While I'm doing that, why don't you make contact with the dispatch clerk and get a handle on where the engine is now.”

“Sure thing.” Dana strode across the gravel parking area to the building Mason had pointed out earlier.

Mac called Sergeant Frank Evans at the Portland office, but not without some degree of anxiety. Detectives have found themselves back in a uniform assignment for less.

“Yeah, Mac,” Frank said when he finally answered.

“Just wanted to let you know we're getting some political flak over here.” Mac told him about the chief releasing the scene and his confrontation with him.

“He was obviously in the wrong. I wouldn't worry too much about Spalding. One of our guys is a good buddy with the actual police chief over there. If need be, he can put in a call to Potter and soothe things over.”

“Good. I appreciate your help, Sarge.”

“You got it. Just follow the investigation through. You got any feelings about it one way or the other?”