Terminal 9

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Any idea how much?” Dana asked.

  “Not really. I just know that antiquities are a big business. I was planning to hire someone to catalog Dad’s things and put a price on them. I guess that’s not necessary now.”

  “Actually, some of his stuff survived,” Mac told her. “He had a lot of items in the garage and our arson detective said that some of the things in the basement might be salvageable.”

  She nodded. “Then I suppose I should go ahead with the assessment.” She stared at the carpet. “Maybe you can tell me when you are finished with the house.”

  “We’ll do that,” Dana assured her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Kelly glanced over at her, then at Mac. “I feel badly that I didn’t give you consent to search. Maybe if I had . . .”

  “Please don’t blame yourself,” Dana said. “Your approval wouldn’t have gotten us in there any sooner.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “If you think of anything your brother might have said . . .”

  “I’ll call. I have your cards from before.” She frowned. “Have you talked to Addison Shaw yet? I’ve left a dozen messages for him to call me, but he hasn’t.”

  “We’re hoping to hook up with him today.”

  “Good, if you do, tell him I’d like to talk with him. I have a hunch my father paid dearly for his services.”

  “What do you mean?” Mac stopped in the doorway.

  “Shaw had Dad’s bill forwarded to me. Can you believe it? My father has been dead three days and I get a bill? The man has no scruples whatsoever.”

  “Could we see the bill?”

  “Sure. It’s at my office, but I’ll fax you a copy.”

  “That will be great,” Dana said as the door closed.

  “Did you get the feeling she wanted to get rid of us?” Dana glanced back at the house.

  “Maybe she was just anxious to get to work.”

  “Maybe,” Dana said.

  “Your intuition kicking up again?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Mine too. I guess Kelly came by the morgue yesterday. Kristen said she was pretty cool and collected for someone who’s just lost a father.”

  “Kristen said that?”

  “Yeah, when I talked to her last night. Remember, I said I’d called.”

  A Cheshire grin spread across her face. “You went over to see her after you dropped me off, didn’t you?”

  Mac could feel the heat climbing up his neck and into his cheeks.

  “You did! Why, Antonio McAllister.”

  Darn flush always gave him away. His grandmothers could always tell when he was lying. “I called to see if she’d made a positive ID and she asked me if I’d eaten.”

  “Ah. So it’s true. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “Cut it out.” He really didn’t want Dana to tease him about Kristen. He’d much rather she be upset.

  “Was it good?”

  “What, dinner?”

  “Of course, dinner. What did you think I meant . . .” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, Mac, you didn’t.”

  “What I do or don’t do off duty is none of your business.” He slid into the passenger side seat and pulled up the seat belt, snapping it in place.

  Still grinning, she closed her mouth and started the car. “You are absolutely correct. It’s none of my business.” She tucked a few wayward strands of hair back into her chignon. “So Kristen was suspicious of Kelly?”

  “Not suspicious, really. She just told us to be careful.”

  “Hmm.” Dana flipped down the visor to make sure her hair was tidy and professional.

  “And just so you know. Dinner was exceptional.”

  NINETEEN

  MAC AND DANA drove to St. Helens and Terminal 9. Hopefully, they’d catch Dan Mason at work. They arrived shortly before 9:30 a.m., making contact at the dispatch center, rather than in the administrative offices. The same terminal clerk, or mud hop, they’d talked to after Clay Mullins’s death was standing at a small microwave in the office heating up a breakfast burrito.

  “Roger Perrault, isn’t it?” Dana asked. Mac was surprised she remembered.

  “You guys back again?” The man squinted at them, probably more from poor vision than from suspicion. “After I read the paper last night, I figured you would be. You here to see Mason?”

  “Actually, we are.” Dana answered in a friendly tone. “Could you tell us where he is right now?”

  “Would if I could, folks, but Mason called in sick.” He clicked his tongue. “Second day in a row. I talked to him around four this morning; he said the faucet was running from both ends, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do.” Dana put on a sympathetic smile and took a step closer. “Say, Roger, could you tell us where he lives or where he hangs?”

  Mac stood back, enjoying the view. She was deliberately invading the guy’s personal space and getting close enough for him to smell the light, sophisticated scent she wore.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess I could. I mean it’s no secret around here. Mason’s got himself a little gambling problem. Likes the bottle too. Most of the time when he ain’t working or sleeping, you’ll find him down in Scappoose at Gussie’s Tavern.” Roger looked down at his shoes. “Don’t suppose you’ll find him there today though—not with him being as sick as he is.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about that. Where does he live?”

  “Same place I do. In those apartments north of town—Shady Oaks. They’re about thirty years old. A little run-down, but the price is right. I don’t need nothin’ fancy.”

  “Thanks,” Dana told him. “You just saved my partner and me a lot of legwork. I owe you one.”

  “What do you say I buy you a drink when you get off work?”

  Dana smiled. “Ah, Roger. You know a professional woman never mixes business with pleasure. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” She shook his hand. “But thanks for the offer.”

  “Anytime.” He grinned back, charmed right out of his steel-toed boots.

  Dana handed Roger her business card. “By the way, if you happen to see Mason before we do, give me a call.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Once out of earshot, Mac said, “Why do I get the feeling I wouldn’t have had the same effect on that guy?”

  She chuckled. “Because you wouldn’t have.”

  “I don’t ever want to hear you complain about how men have the edge in this business.”

  Dana raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I should have used my womanly charms on the man?”

  “Hey, who am I to argue with success?” Mac climbed into the car. “Let’s go see if Mr. Mason is home. Though I doubt he will be.

  I’ll bet you anything your friend back there gave him a call the minute we left.”

  “Are you skeptical or what? You must be one of those glass-half-empty guys.”

  “Nope. Just being realistic.”

  MAC WAS RIGHT. Mason wasn’t home. The manager hadn’t seen him around, but that didn’t mean much. When they asked to see his apartment renter’s file, they were hit with harsh resistance. “You know I can’t do that without a warrant,” the older woman had said.

  Mac tried to appeal to her sympathies. “Mr. Mason reported in sick. Aren’t you concerned about him? I think you should at least have a look.”

  “The man’s car is gone. Sick or not, there’s no way you’re getting into his file, and I’m not telling you his unit number.”

  “Can you give us a call if he shows up? We really need to talk with him.”

  She took the cards but made no promises.

  They struck out at Gussie’s as well. No one had seen Mason for the last couple of days.

  Back in the car, Mac called Frank. “I could be wrong, but it looks like Dan Mason has skipped town. No one has seen him. He’s called in sick two days in a row.”

  “All right. You alerted our patrol guys, right?�
��

  “Right. And the sheriff ’s office. Maybe someone will spot him.

  In the meantime, since we’re in town, I’d like to pay a visit to the legal eagle handling Clay’s estate.”

  “Good thinking. Let me know what you turn up.”

  “What do you think?” Dana asked when Mac pocketed his phone. “Shall we give Addison Shaw a call or pay him a visit?”

  “Let’s cold-tap him and see how he responds.”

  Dana drove into St. Helens old town and parked near the bookstore and the shops. “If we have a few minutes after we talk to Shaw, I’d like to do a little shopping. That gift shop over there looks interesting, and I need to get a birthday card for a friend.”

  “I’m okay with that. I’ll get coffee while you shop.”

  They checked the address and walked into the law offices of Addison Shaw & Associates. Being in the downtown area, he was within walking distance of the courthouse and not far from the river. A bell hanging from the doorknob jangled as Mac and Dana walked in.

  “Lilly, is that you?” a man’s voice called from the back room.

  “Nope,” Mac answered.

  A tall, thin man in his late fifties stepped into the reception area, his sleeves rolled up on his neatly pressed dress shirt. “Sorry, I thought you were my office assistant. We had a toilet back up this morning and she went to the hardware store to buy a plunger.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Mac said.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking though. We share a line with the restaurant next door. When their grease trap backs up, we get sludge that starts coming up from the sink. Usually a few good pumps on the plunger frees it up, but I took it home for another project and forgot to bring it back.”

  “I see.” Mac was not the least bit interested in the man’s plumbing problems. “I’m Detective McAllister and this is Detective Bennett with the State Police. We’re investigating Clay Mullins’s death.”

  “Yes, of course. I expected you sooner, actually. But then you’ve been tied up with all the goings-on at the house, haven’t you?”

  “Right.” Mac nodded. “The case seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

  He extended a hand. “I’m Addison Shaw. But then you already know that.”

  Mac shook the proffered hand, as did Dana.

  “Come on into my office, such as it is. I’m in the process of moving into a new place, so excuse the boxes.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “Mmm. Been in practice for twenty years at this location.

  There’s a new office opening up next to the courthouse. The price was right, so I decided to move.”

  “Congratulations. Your practice must be pretty lucrative.”

  “I make a living. In a small town like this folks aren’t exactly breaking down the doors. But we manage.”

  I’ll bet. Mac caught himself assessing the guy based on Kelly Cassidy’s opinion, which wasn’t at all fair. He needed to have an open mind. “We would have been over sooner,Mr. Shaw, but as you said, we’ve been busy. You’ve heard the news about Jacob Mullins?”

  “Jacob? What news would that be?”

  Mac had hoped to trip the guy up. There’s no way Shaw would know that Jacob had been in that fire unless he’d been there. Apparently he hadn’t been, or he was a good actor. Frank would only just now be releasing the information to the media. All the press had at this point was that an unidentified body was found at the house. “The body found in the fire was Jacob Mullins.”

  “No!” He rubbed his chin. “That’s terrible.”

  “Did you know Jacob?” Mac asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” Shaw pulled his shirt-sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs. “Watched those kids grow up, actually. Clay and I went back a long ways. I haven’t seen Jacob for years, though.” He eased into the executive chair behind his desk, indicating that Dana and Mac take the cushioned chairs across from him. “Any idea why Jacob happened to be at the house or how the fire started?”

  “We aren’t at liberty to discuss that right now, primarily because the matter is still under investigation.” Mac sat down and waited for Dana. “Do you have time to answer a few questions, Mr. Shaw?”

  “Sure. Be happy to if I can.” Shaw set some papers aside. “What can I do to help you folks out?”

  “We’d like to ask you about your relationship with Clay Mullins, as well as anything you might know about his son. We found your business card in Jacob’s wallet during the autopsy.”

  “Really? You’re sure Jacob had my card in his pocket?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Hmm. I have no idea why—unless he got it from the house. I suppose that’s possible. Clay probably had a few of my cards lying around since I usually put one in with my correspondence.” Shaw placed his folded hands on the large oak desk. The desk was an antique—aged, but still beautiful.

  “Let’s start with Clay.” Mac pulled a pad and pen out of his briefcase. Dana had already started taking notes.

  “Not much to tell. I’ve represented his estate for the past two years. Of course, we were friends long before that. He came to me, wanting to establish his will and testament when his health began to fail. I drafted the document, which was signed and notarized shortly after he employed my services. I can’t show you the will, but I can tell you that he left nearly everything to his grown children. They were his only living family.”

  “Nearly everything?”

  “Well, he left a small amount to his housekeeper and some to a charitable organization.”

  “The housekeeper. Are we talking a substantial amount?”

  “I really can’t say, but if you’re suggesting she might want to do away with him, that’s ludicrous. Rita Gonzales is a saintly woman.”

  “What about her family? I hear she has a son who isn’t entirely spotless.”

  He sighed. “So true, but murder? I don’t think so. At any rate, Clay’s death was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  “We’re checking into that,” Mac said, watching the attorney’s eyes and face. So far the man seemed competent and aboveboard. Mac could see no indication that he was lying.

  “Hmm.” Shaw rubbed his chin. “Do you think there’s a connection between Clay’s death and the fire?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Then, money wouldn’t have been the motive.”

  “I don’t follow you, Mr. Shaw.”

  He smiled. “Well, I was just thinking. If Clay was killed so someone could inherit his money, why burn down the house? The fire diminished his estate significantly, you know. His house was full of antiques and railroad memorabilia—things that could never be replaced by the insurance company. I just can’t imagine anyone getting rid of those assets.”

  “How much money are we talking about?” Mac asked.

  “Oh, hundreds of thousands, maybe half a million.”

  Mac jotted the figure down. Shaw had a point. Anyone likely to inherit would have wanted the house intact. So exactly what were they looking at here? “Had you talked with Kelly or Jacob prior to Clay’s death?”

  “Not prior to. But I did talk with Kelly the day after the accident to let her know about the will. As for Jacob. . .” Addison pursed his lips. “I was in the process of trying to locate him. Actually, I’m surprised he turned up at all. And so quickly—it’s almost as if . . .”He paused, as if realizing the implications of what he was about to say.

  “As if . . .” Mac repeated.

  “Well, you do the math. Jacob hasn’t been around for years and then turns up shortly after Clay dies. Seems pretty strange to me. But maybe not. He may have read about his father’s death in the papers.”

  “How about the daughter?” Mac interrupted. He didn’t much like Shaw’s attempts to play detective. “Did she keep in contact with Clay?”

  “Oh, yes. She came out once or twice a month. Kelly made sure he was cared for. She was in contact, but they weren’t all that close, if you know what I mean. It was Ke
lly’s idea to hire Rita. Clay balked at first, but after a while he came to depend on her.”

  “Do you have any idea what Rita did for him?”

  He shrugged. “Cleaned the house mostly. Made sure he took his medications and got to his doctor appointments and checked his blood pressure. I think she probably went shopping for him as well.”

  “You said you talked to Kelly after Clay’s death.”

  “Yes. I called her to let her know I was executor of the estate and told her I wanted to arrange a meeting with her and Jacob. She’s an attorney too, you know. She wasn’t too happy to hear about my involvement, but Clay wanted an impartial attorney handling his affairs.”

  “Was that Clay’s decision?”

  “Of course. A man should never place his finances in the hands of a family member if he wishes for the estate to be divided according to his will. Getting an independent attorney is the prudent thing to do. Besides, she’s an environmental attorney with little or no experience in these matters.”

  “So Clay left everything to his children?”

  “Essentially, yes. Like I said, a portion went to Rita and some to charity.”

  “Can you give me an idea of how much money we’re talking about here?”

  “A fair amount, actually. Some cash and antiquities. Most of Clay’s assets were tied up in real estate. The house was on the list of prospective historical sites for the state, and you are aware of what riverfront property goes for these days—even if it is near a noisy rail yard.”

  “You mentioned insurance. Were you aware of what kind of insurance Clay might have had and who might be the beneficiary?”

  Shaw shook his head. “I know he had insurance, but to be honest, I haven’t had a chance to look into it. Even if I had, I couldn’t tell you. Confidentiality, you know.”

  “How about your fees?” Mac ventured. “How much were you paid for your services?”

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, Detective McAllister. I don’t work for free, but I can assure you, my fees are fair and in line with what other attorneys are making.”

  “I understand. I’m just inquiring. Any chance we can get a look at that will?”

  “I’m afraid not. Only Clay’s daughter can show it to you at this point. I’ll be forwarding a revised copy of the will to her this afternoon, once I add the addendum regarding Jacob’s death.”