Terminal 9

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Dana smiled at the statement and then looked again at the picture of Kristen’s grinning son. “Is Andrew’s dad a doctor too?”

  She paused. “I mean, if it’s okay for me to ask.”

  Mac focused on the floor. On one hand he wished his partner hadn’t brought up the subject; on the other, Kristen’s marital status interested him.

  “It’s okay, Dana. I’m cool with it.” Kristen glanced at Mac then back to Dana. “Brian—my ex—is long gone. Wasn’t ready for fatherhood, I guess. He lives in England now, still trying to find himself. It’s just Andrew and me.” She chuckled. “I’m free and interviewing for a mate. Know any cute guys?” Kristen tossed a wadded up piece of paper at Mac.

  “Dr. Thorpe?” A young intern interrupted the awkward moment, saving Mac from having to answer. The guy’s gaze touched on Dana as he leaned over to hand Kristen a note.

  “Thank you, Paul.” Kristen gave the paper a cursory look, then sat back in her chair and grinned at the two detectives.

  “What?” Mac straightened.

  “Your job just got a little more interesting. A lawyer named Addison Shaw just called, representing our victim’s estate. He needs a copy of the death certificate so he can transfer the deed on Clay’s property. Humph. You’d think he could at least wait until the dust settled.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mac stood up. “I can’t say for sure there’s no foul play involved here.”

  “Same here,” Kristen said. “I’ll hold up on the certificate for now and give you a call when I get my test results back.”

  “Do you mind if Dana and I grab a few photos and take some samples for our evidence kit?”

  “Knock yourself out; he’s back in the cooler. I’m going for coffee.”

  Mac followed the two women out of the office. It really wasn’t that uncommon for lawyers or insurance agents to come calling; even the same day as a death, but Mac felt an odd excitement churning in his stomach. As soon as they were finished here, he’d make a call to Shaw. If nothing else, it would be interesting to get Shaw’s take on things.

  NINE

  MAC FOLLOWED DANA DOWN THE HALL to the large walk-in freezer where they would gather their evidence. The old man’s remains, which had been cleaned by Henry and Kristen during the autopsy, lay in a rubber-coated body bag with only the head exposed.

  Today Clay Mullins’s expression was placid, eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. Peaceful, that is, until Mac unzipped the bag down below the neckline. Then he was reminded all too clearly of the carnage resulting from the collision with the train.

  Dana photographed the remains while Mac placed hair samples in small manila envelopes. He then swabbed the inside of Clay’s mouth with a cotton evidence swab to collect a saliva cell sample from the gums, which, coupled with the hair, would serve as their DNA standard for the victim after the body was disposed of.

  Although there seemed to be no present need for DNA comparison, Mac preferred to err on the side of caution. His former partner tended to collect all possible evidence while they had the chance. You don’t want to find out that you need DNA after the body has beenburied or cremated, Kevin would say.

  “That should do it,” Mac said. “Anything else we should get samples of before we cut him loose?”

  “Should we get some nail clippings?” Dana asked. “Like Kevin had you do on that sawmill victim out in Estacada?”

  “Good call. Kevin would skin me if I released this guy to the funeral home without taking some fingernails.” Mac tried to hide his embarrassment as he clipped the old man’s nails, placing the trimmings in a small envelope.

  Evidence found under fingernails often proved to be the nail in the coffin for suspects. Victims of violent attacks often fought back, scratching their attackers. The cells left under the nails provided the DNA and the evidence needed to put the bad guys away. And Mac had forgotten to do it, proving he wasn’t anywhere near qualified to be working with a new detective.

  “That should do it.” Dana sighed and stepped away from the gurney. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “All right.” Mac pulled off his gloves and tossed them in a nearby trash can. “Let’s head back to the office and check in with Sergeant Evans. Kevin is supposed to be back in the office this afternoon, and I’d like to see him.”

  “Great.” Dana grabbed the jacket she’d hung on a hook near the door. “Maybe he’ll be able to offer some advice.”

  “He’ll be glad to see you. And I can guarantee he’ll have all kinds of questions for you. I’m sorry you got stuck with me for a trainer; you really got shortchanged by not having Kevin as a mentor. He’s the best.”

  The dimples in Dana’s cheeks deepened in a wide smile. She pushed against Mac’s shoulder as they walked out of the freezer. “Don’t sell yourself short, Detective McAllister. I think I’m making out okay.”

  They walked back to Mac’s car and tossed the camera and Mac’s evidence briefcase back in the trunk. Kristen sped into the parking lot in her personal car—a two-door silver Volvo—and whipped into her assigned parking spot. In a fluid movement she exited the truck and locked it with her remote. She lifted her right hand in a wave before jogging into the office, all without spilling a drop of her steaming coffee.

  Dana watched her until the door closed. “Kristen surprises me sometimes.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “She impressed me as being a really good mom.”

  Mac shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You can tell. Didn’t you notice that look in her eyes when she talked about Andrew?”

  “Um—sure.” Mac hadn’t. Maybe because he’d had a hard time making eye contact.

  Returning to their office in southeast Portland, Mac punched the gate code into the keypad to enter the back lot, then pulled through the gate when it finally opened enough for him to slip the car through. “Is it my imagination or is this gate getting slower?”

  “Same as it’s always been,” Dana said. “I think you’re just getting more impatient.”

  Mac grunted in response, not especially wanting to hear about his shortcomings. He parked, and the two of them went in through the office’s south entry.

  Mac veered toward the men’s room. “I have to use the john. See you in the office.”

  While washing his hands, Mac noticed a large man with a wide girth standing at the mirror and rubbing a hand over his bald head. A thick finger on his right hand sported a familiar horseshoe-shaped silver ring. Mac’s jaw dropped as he realized who it was.

  “You got a problem?” He turned to face Mac.

  “Philly?”

  “Do you think this hairstyle—or lack of it—makes me look fat?” Philly eyed himself in the mirror again, his lines and wrinkles more pronounced than ever.

  “What? Why? Your hair. I didn’t even recognize you from behind.”

  “What were you doing looking at my rear?” Philly’s face split in a wide smile. He turned back to look in the mirror once again. “Look how white my scalp is. It hasn’t seen the light of day since I was in basic training. Think I should use some of that tanning stuff?”

  Mac stifled a laugh. “How should I know? I’ve never been bald.” Mac examined Philly’s bleached-white scalp, which sported a couple of scars and number of tiny red dots, the latter undoubtedly caused by the electric shaver’s close trim. Still unable to believe Philly’s new ’do, Mac reached out to touch the top of the detective’s shiny scalp.

  Philly ducked. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t touch the merchandise, pal. You can look, but don’t touch.”

  “What’s this all about, Phil? Did you do that Crop a Cop fundraiser for the children’s hospital?”

  “Nah. It’s a charity case all right, but not as good a cause as the one for those kids. I shaved off my locks for that rotten old partner of yours.”

  “You shaved your head for Kevin?” Mac pulled a paper towel from the dispenser. Then understanding finally sank in. “Oh, I get it. Th
e chemo. I’m impressed, Philly. That was a nice thing to do.”

  “You think? I did it this afternoon. Now I wonder if I should have. Russ and I have to go down to Coffee Creek Correctional in Wilsonville. They got a stiff down there we need to take a look at.”

  “So?”

  “I look like a Q-ball. Those female cons aren’t going to say a word to me now that I’ve lost my hair. That’s what gave me my charm.”

  “I think you’ll fare okay. Some women find bald men sexy.” Mac tossed the paper towel in the garbage can.

  “You got a point, kid.”

  “Is Kevin here?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah, he’s in his office.” Philly eyed himself in the mirror again.

  “Has he seen it yet?”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” He sighed. “I picked him up from the clinic today.”

  “Right. I remember. I’m going in to talk to Kev. See ya.” Mac hurried out of the bathroom and into the detective’s office.

  Dana was in with Sergeant Evans, probably briefing him on their case. Kevin’s door was open so Mac stepped inside, giving the doorframe a couple of knocks. “Hey, Kev. Got a minute?”

  Kevin had been staring at his computer screen, his muscular frame bent over his desk as he sat too close to the monitor. His bald head looked smoother than Philly’s.

  “Mac. Good to see you, buddy. Come on in and sit down.” Except for the hair loss, Kevin didn’t look much different than before he’d started the chemo. He’d lost some weight, and his face seemed thinner and pale.

  “How are you feeling?” Mac sat down in the chair opposite Kevin’s desk.

  “Been better. They got some great medications these days. The chemo’s rough, but the doc gave me some stuff that controls the nausea. I’m weak and some days I can hardly get out of bed, but I’ll lick this thing. You wait and see.”

  “I have no doubt,” Mac said, not feeling nearly as positive as Kevin sounded. He admired his partner’s attitude. Though he was working light duty, primarily case management and evidence disposition for Sergeant Evans, Kevin still wore a jacket and tie whenever he came in—just as he had done for more than two decades.

  Mac smiled. “Don’t tell him I said so, but you still look a darn sight better than Philly does.”

  Kevin chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “That was quite the gesture, wasn’t it? He looks kinda goofy, but I’ll tell you, Mac, he sure pulled on these old heartstrings when he picked me up after my treatment today.”

  Mac nodded and felt his throat tighten. He needed to change the subject. “Philly said he and Russ are heading down to Coffee Creek prison on a death. What’s that all about?”

  “Female inmate at the prison hanged herself. Looks like a suicide, but you know how those things go. She had some things in her cell that she shouldn’t have had access to, like the wire hanger she used to do herself in.”

  “Did she have a cellmate, or was she in solitary?”

  “Don’t know; just heard Russ get the ticket from Sergeant Evans when Philly and I walked in the door. I wasn’t feeling that great, so I didn’t stand in on the details. I’m sure they’ll be happy to share.”

  Mac picked a piece of lint from his slacks, wanting to leave, but not wanting to.

  “How are you and Dana getting along on that Columbia County death?” Kevin asked. “Any red flags?”

  “Several actually, and we really haven’t gotten a lot of answers as yet.”

  “How so?” Kevin sat forward and put on his glasses as if he had to visualize Mac’s explanation to render an opinion. Mac missed that look. He missed being with his partner as they were just getting preliminary details on a new case.

  Kevin listened intently while Mac outlined what he and Dana had learned so far. “Where are you going from here?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure.” Mac already felt like they were being pulled in too many directions.

  “If you don’t mind my making a suggestion, Mac, I’m thinking you need to search the house as soon as possible, and talk to the daughter. That’s how I’d proceed. I agree with you though—it’s too soon to close the book on it.”

  “I’ll call the daughter now and set up an appointment. She lives in Tualatin. The D.A. says she’s a lawyer and her husband is a doctor up at OHSU.”

  “Lawyer, huh?” Kevin raised an eyebrow, his face breaking into that familiar grin.

  “Yeah, but I’ll try not to hold that against her.” Mac smiled back and stood. “Much as I’d like to sit here and shoot the breeze, I gotta get back to work.”

  “Wish I were out there with you guys.” Kevin took his glasses off and set them on the desk. “You’ll be happy to know I’m there in spirit though. Praying for you.”

  I’m praying for you too. Mac couldn’t bring himself to say the words and rolled his eyes instead. “Don’t know why you bother. I’m a hopeless case.”

  “I know, but God isn’t giving up, so I can’t either.”

  Mac swallowed back the lump in his throat. He wanted his partner back. He wanted Kevin working on this case with him. “See ya.” Mac waved and stepped out of the office.

  “Watch it, kingfish.” Russ put out a hand to keep Mac from running him down.

  “Sorry.” Mac mumbled the apology. “I was thinking about something.”

  “You okay?” Russ glanced into Kevin’s office then back to Mac. Russ Meyers had been partnered with Philly since well before Mac joined the team. Russ had known Kevin longer than Mac, and he shared the same respect for the man. Kevin’s illness had hit them all pretty hard.

  “Yeah, doing great.” Mac glanced back at his former partner’s office. He wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings, and judging from the look on Russ’s face, Russ wasn’t either.

  “You girls going to dance out in the hall all day, or can we get going now?” Philly’s wisecrack dissolved the awkward moment.

  “Let’s go, baldy. I’m ready,” Russ told his partner. “You’re the one who’s been in the bathroom primping all morning.” Russ poked Mac with his elbow and winked. Russell Meyers was only about five years older than Mac, but he’d been a detective for four years. He had been Philly’s partner since he made detective, after proving himself in the patrol division and department SWAT team.

  Sergeant Evans stepped out of his office and handed Philly a yellow Post-it with a name and number written on it. “Your contact at the prison will be Captain Warner. Give me an update when you get down there. I need to know if this is going to tie you up all week. I may have to put a detective team from Salem on standby if all four of you are working active deaths.”

  “Salem?” Philly shook his head. “Those guys from the puzzle palace couldn’t investigate their way out of a paper bag.”

  Sergeant Frank Evans folded his arms and looked as if he were about to embark on a stern lecture. Instead he lifted his hands in the air, probably realizing that no amount of talk could change Philly. Frank shook his head and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him.

  “Poor guy,” Philly said.

  “What do you mean, ‘poor guy’?” Russ frowned. “You’re the one who’s driving him nuts.”

  “Naw.” Philly pursed his lips. “He isn’t mad at me. He’s frustrated at the staffing situation in the detective office. That’s why he’s been so gruff lately.”

  That was probably true. Less than two years ago Sergeant Evans had supervised four separate teams of experienced homicide investigators. Now, thanks to budget cuts that left retirement and transfers unfilled, he was down to two. The “back room,” as detectives called their office, was located in the primarily uniformed office and was down nearly a dozen positions in person crimes and dope investigators.

  “To make things worse,” Philly went on, “old Sarge is doing two jobs. Brass gave him a second detective section, so he’s having to supervise the sex abuse detectives as well as the five of us.”

  Mac hadn’t heard about that. “No wonder his feathers are ruffled. ‘P
oor guy’ is right.” Mac glanced at the door. “Good thing Sarge has Kevin around to pick up some of the slack.”

  “You guys having a party and didn’t invite me?” Dana walked up to them, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “No time to party now.” Russ raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. “But you’ll be the first to know if and when we do.”

  “Be still my heart,” Dana teased. “Mac, we need to talk.”

  “Oooh . . .” Russ glanced back at them. “Sounds serious.”

  Dana ignored the innuendo, her gaze shooting to Philly’s bald head.

  “Don’t ask. It was a moment of weakness,” Philly mumbled.

  “Looks good, Phil. Some girls dig bald guys.” Dana took a sip of her coffee.

  “Sorry, Dana, but I’m a married man. I’ll have to ask you to keep our relationship purely professional.” Philly made a note on the grease board indicating that he and Russ were checking out.

  Russ let loose with a gut-splitting guffaw.

  “I said some girls like bald guys, Philly. Not this girl.” Dana’s cheeks flushed as she laughed along with Russ.

  Not to be outdone, especially by a rookie, Philly patted her shoulder. “You’re only human, Dana. Now just hush. You’ll only make it worse.” He and Russ left before she could get in another dig.

  “Arrgh.” Dana tipped her head back. “How do you put up with him?”

  “He may be a clown, but he’s one of the best detectives around.”

  “So I hear.” She headed toward Mac’s cubicle. “Like I was saying—we need to talk.”

  “I noticed you in with Sarge earlier.”

  “Yeah. He says we need to hustle on this, Mac. He’s not too excited to have us working on the Mullins case any longer than we have to.”

  “You told him about our findings?”

  “Yep. He wants us to follow up, but he says not to let it keep dragging on just because we don’t feel right about it.”

  “In other words, he wants hard evidence yesterday.”

  “That’s about it. I got the old budget-cut lecture and had to hear about his caseload and how he’s doing the work of three men.”