Terminal 9

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “You two ready?” Mac asked.

  “No thanks to you.” Kristen covered her harsh tone with a half smile.

  “I’m sorry. I had to go over a few things with the prosecutor and had to get the wheelchair squared away.”

  “I was teasing,Mac,” Kristen said.

  “I knew that.” He shook his head. “We’ll secure the scene tonight and get a fresh start in the morning. Dana, you and I have a meeting with the D.A. at nine. We’ll need to get going on the warrant for the home and gear up for some interviews here at the terminal. We also have to get with Clay’s daughter; I’m sure she’ll have a lot of questions.”

  “I’ll spend a little time with my new friend here.” Kristen patted the bag. “We’ll try to get you some answers before noon. You can come in then.”

  “Great, it’s a date.” Mac stripped off his gloves and tossed them in the waste receptacle in Kristen’s truck.

  Kristen leaned toward him and whispered seductively, “Why, Mac. Are you asking me out?”

  For once Mac didn’t back off. He locked his gaze into hers. “What if I am?”

  This time it was Kristen’s turn to blush.

  SIX

  WEDNESDAY MORNING AT 6:15, Mac balanced his large Starbucks coffee on his leather notebook cover as he fumbled with his keys to open the door to the detectives’ office. Turning the key and pushing the door open with the same hand, Mac was surprised to find someone was already in the office. The lights were on and the coffeepot was simmering on the hot plate.

  “Philly?” Mac called, wondering why the veteran detective hadn’t left the door unlocked.

  “Yello.” Philly popped his head out the door of his private office.

  Lifting his cup in a salute, he said, “Morning, sunshine. Decide to get to work on time for a change?”

  Ignoring the slam, Mac stepped partway into Philly’s office.

  “Sarge here yet?”

  “Nope. He has court in Washington County today. Probably won’t be in all day.”

  “Has Kevin been in yet this morning?” Mac peered around the corner. “I thought he was scheduled back today.” His partner had been gone for the better part of a month after having surgery and beginning chemo.

  Philly shook his head. “He’s not coming in until this afternoon. Another chemo treatment this morning. I told him I’d pick him up and bring him to the office so his missus could get a break.”

  Mac nodded. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Philly shrugged, spilling a few drops from his cup onto the carpet on the way back to his desk. He rubbed his black wingtips over the drop on the carpet, massaging the liquid into the fibers along with the other stains. “Paperwork. What else?”

  “You and Russ are up for the next call.” Mac folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Dana and I got one last night to Columbia County.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s good. I’ve got a date with my barber this morning, just wanted to get some reports dictated before the phones start ringing off the hook.”

  Mac settled his gaze on Philly’s thinning hair. For a guy who seemed to let everything else go, Philly was very conscious of his hair and always had a comb in his pocket. In his early fifties, his heavy frame weighed well over two-fifty. He had a protruding stomach that always seemed to catch crumbs from the mega-portions of food he ate.

  Mac had learned early on that, as far as Philly was concerned, appearances could be deceiving. Philly might be a little uncouth, but he was one of the best detectives in the department—right up there with Kevin Bledsoe. Many an offender had been fooled by Philly’s sloppy outward appearance, and Philly played it to his advantage.

  “What did you and Dana go out on?” Philly asked. His attention seemed more focused on the reports than on his question.

  “A retired railroader got hit by a train out at a Western Pacific terminal near St. Helens. It will probably end up being an accident, but there are a few odd things that need to be looked in to.”

  “Like what?” Philly took a sip from his coffee then leaned back in his squeaky chair, hands behind his head.

  Not feeling entirely sure of himself, Mac was glad for the chance to talk to Philly about the case. “The guy was a worker at the rail yard for years and still enjoyed hanging out at the terminal. From what I’ve heard so far, he had a house and chunk of land next to the terminal that was worth a bundle. I haven’t actually confirmed that yet. There was also a guy at the terminal who didn’t care much for the old man.” Mac shrugged. “Like I said, there are some things I need to look at.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Not at this point. I’ll let you know, though. I’m starting with a search warrant for the house. We’re meeting the district attorney out at the courthouse this morning. I want to get started on the affidavit here on my laptop and finish it up with the prosecutor. I’ll let you know if I run into any roadblocks.”

  “Sounds good.” Philly went back to sipping his coffee and began dictating reports into his mini cassette recorder.

  Hearing his phone ring, Mac headed for his desk, which was situated in one of the small cubicles in the detectives’ office. He caught a glimpse of the empty chair at Kevin’s desk as he walked past his open office door and felt an intense sadness.

  “Detective McAllister,” Mac said as he hit the speaker button on the phone.

  “Oh good, you’re there.”

  “Morning, Dana. What’s up?”

  “Just wondering if it was okay if you picked me up to go to the courthouse in Columbia County instead of meeting you at the office this morning. I told Jan I wouldn’t be able to make lunch. She suggested getting together for coffee in St. John’s, so she just picked me up at the OSP lot. I could make the meet on the way out west if that’s okay with you. I’ll be at The Java House on Vaughn.”

  “Sure,” Mac said. “I’ll just peck away on the warrant for a while and meet you there by 8:30.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to miss out on anything, but I’ve been trying to get some one-on-one time with Jan all week.”

  “It’ll be fine. You should go. Jan has a lot to offer.”

  “Thanks, Mac. I’ll see you out there.”

  AT A FEW MINLTES TO NINE, Mac and Dana entered the stone World War II-era courthouse and jogged up the stairs to the second floor, where the county prosecutor’s offices were housed. Mac pressed the buzzer to the heavy metal door leading into the office. Almost immediately, the receptionist unlocked the electric door.

  “Hi, Mac,” the receptionist greeted the two detectives, smiling at Dana as they entered the office. “You must be Dana Bennett.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Darren said you’d be coming. I’m Lila.” The women shook hands.

  “Is Darren in?” Mac asked.

  “He is. You know where his office is, Mac; go on back.”

  “Thanks.” Mac led the way past her desk and down a long hallway to the third office on the right. “Knock, knock.” Mac pushed on the already open door.

  “C’mon in, Mac. Good morning, Dana.” Darren stood up at his desk and gestured for them to have a seat in the two chairs facing him. “I’ve already briefed the grand jury. I need for you to give a quick testimony before the jury, and we’ll cut some subpoenas for Clay’s medical records and personal finance records so you don’t have to write a warrant affidavit.”

  “Good.” Mac appreciated the D.A.’s efficiency. “Is there a judge on the premises today? I have a warrant affidavit prepared for the house.” Mac set his briefcase on an empty chair, removed a file folder, and placed the packet on Darren’s desk.

  “I’ll need the autopsy information and probably the lab work before the judge signs off on it, but it’s a starting point. I’ll review it this afternoon if I get the chance. I have trial all day.” Darren glanced at his watch. “If you’re ready to give testimony before the grand jury begins hearing other cases, we can get subpoenas for financial companies today and get t
hat medical information over to Dr. Thorpe.” Darren motioned toward the employee break room that doubled as a grand jury hearing room one week a month.

  “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

  WHEN 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.”