Terminal 9

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “How was his health that day?”

  “Good. He went over to the rail yard after I got there. He often did because he didn’t like the noisy vacuum.”

  “Mr. Mullins was a diabetic,” Mac said. “Did he have any problems with taking his insulin?”

  “No problems. He took care of himself very well. Always, like clockwork, he check his blood sugar and take his medicine.”

  “Did you know you were mentioned in Clay’s will?”

  She nodded. “He told me one time he was going to leave me some money, but I said no. I have enough. My husband and I both work. We do okay. See, we have this nice house.”

  Mac nodded, affirming that it was indeed a lovely home. “Did your son know about the possibility of your getting an inheritance?”

  “No.” She pinched her lips together. “I never told anyone. My son would not have hurt Mr. Mullins. He’s a good boy. He just goes around with the wrong people sometimes.”

  After a few more questions, Mac was pretty well in agreement with Philly and Russ that Rita had nothing to do with Clay’s death or the burglary or fire. Still, he asked her to take a polygraph, to which she readily agreed. Mac didn’t have the same assurance about her son, however, and planned to keep him on the list.

  After the interview, they headed over to the D.A.’s office, where Darren Volk and Sergeant Evans were still discussing the warrant.

  “I don’t know that there are grounds for a search warrant,” Darren said. “I can’t believe that Addison Shaw would be involved in anything underhanded. Addison was once a senior prosecutor in this office. I met him when I first started working here. Addison was my mentor.”

  “I’m sorry, Darren,” Frank pressed, “but according to Shaw, Clay’s kids are the primary beneficiaries of the estate. What Mac and Dana found in the safe-deposit box indicates that Clay wanted the bulk of his estate to be used in creating a railroad museum.”

  “The housekeeper verified that,” Mac said. “Told us it was Clay’s dream to see his place turned into a museum and a park.”

  “Shaw may be out of the loop on that,” Frank said to Volk, “but you have to admit things are looking fishy. We also have opportunity and intent for a murder. Maybe one of Mullins’s kids decided to murder their father before the new will could be implemented. We need to know if Shaw had any information at all about Clay’s plans. And we need to know if Clay had another will. If he did, Shaw is likely to have a copy or at least some notes on it.”

  “All right, I’ll agree. Though I have to tell you, I have a lot of respect for Addison. I just can’t believe he’d be involved in any of this.”

  Reluctantly, Darren assisted the detectives with drafting the search warrant affidavit for Addison Shaw’s office, adding the disparity between the will and the papers found in Clay’s safe-deposit box.

  The Circuit Court judge for Columbia County reviewed the affidavit and finally authorized the search of Shaw’s legal office for files associated with Clay and or members of his family.

  The judge warned the detectives not to review or seize any documents associated with any other clients, as this was highly protected information. He also declined to allow a search of Shaw’s personal residence, although he allowed a search of his person and the seizure of computers at the law office if required.

  Philly and Russ met up with Mac, Dana, and Sergeant Evans at the district attorney’s law library for a quick warrant briefing. They had just talked with one of the real-estate agents who had hoped to talk Mullins into selling. “Reagan McCloud. She’s a real piece of work,” Russ said.

  “Yeah, real sweet. Russ here was drooling all over her.”

  “I was not drooling. I was being polite—something you could take a few lessons in. She’s a nice lady—assertive. Knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”

  “Pushy,” Philly corrected.

  Russ gave him a sidelong look. “She’s a top agent in her company and got there by digging up sweet deals like Clay’s. She claims to have investment offers in the seven figures. There’s a large investment group from Portland wanting to buy, and there’s an offer from Terminal 9 wanting the property for commercial use.”

  “With land worth that much, there’s a potential for more than wheeling and dealing,” Mac said.

  “She admitted to going over the line talking to Clay’s daughter like she did,” Russ indicated.

  “We won’t want to write the woman off,” Philly added, “but she was over in Lincoln City meeting with a contractor while all the stuff with Mullins was going on. She left a week ago and didn’t come back until last night. The contractor confirms that she was there. We don’t know about the investors, though.”

  “Check them out when you can,” Frank told them. “We’ll want alibis for the night Clay was killed as well as for the night the fire was set and Jacob Mullins was murdered.”

  Frank hadn’t heard back from the crime lab on the contents of the bag containing Clay’s medicines but thought they should be calling anytime. Tyler Cohen was still at large, but Philly and Russ were negotiating something with Tyler’s mother. The polygraph detective, Melissa Thomas, would be coming out to Columbia County the following morning to offer the tests to Rita Gonzales and Dan Mason.

  When they had completed the briefing, the four detectives and their sergeant walked the short distance to Addison Shaw’s office. Dana and Mac went in alone while the other three waited outside for their cue to come in.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

  “Lilly, isn’t it?” Mac asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Lilly, we’re here to see Mr. Shaw.” Mac craned his neck to peer into the office and caught a glimpse of the attorney’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Shaw can’t see you right now. You might call after . . .” The assistant stopped midsentence when Mac held up his hand. “Oh, I think Mr. Shaw will see us. He really has no choice. Have the others come in please, Dana,” Mac said. “We may need their assistance.”

  Dana signaled for the others to join them.

  Mac was starting to walk into the office when Shaw came out.

  The attorney straightened his tie and smiled. “Detective McAllister, I apologize. I’d asked not to be disturbed so I could catch up on some paperwork. I’d have come right out if I’d known it was you. What can I do for Oregon’s finest?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about some papers we found in Clayton Mullins’s safe-deposit box that didn’t match up with the will you told my partner and me about.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I certainly don’t like your accusing tone. Are you suggesting I did something wrong?”

  “I don’t know—you tell us.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. And I don’t have to stand here and be insulted.” His face turned a dark ruddy color as he pointed toward the door. “I’d like you and your little friends to leave now.”

  “He’s calling you ‘little,’ ” Russ said in a stage whisper to Philly.

  “Really?” Philly replied out of the corner of his mouth. “Amazing, isn’t it? I’ve been on that diet for three hours now. The fat must be melting off.” Enjoying the moment a little too much, Philly stepped up next to Mac, moving into position in case Shaw put up a fight.

  Mac stood firm, legs slightly separated. He doubted Shaw would try anything, but you never knew. Sometimes it was the least likely people who tried to pull a stunt out of desperation. “We’d like to ask your cooperation in a search of your person and your law office for evidence of an altered will and any evidence related to the suspicious death of Clay Mullins and the murder of Jacob Mullins.”

  “That’s out of the question, detectives, and unless you have a search warrant I must insist you leave now.”

  Mac pulled the warrant out of his inner jacket pocket. “I do indeed, Mr. Shaw.” Mac held up the warrant, supplying a copy to the bewildered attorney.

  Philly, definitely in his e
lement, wore a wide grin. He seemed to take great satisfaction in serving a warrant on a lawyer. “You are entitled to stay on the premises, though you may not interfere or conduct any business. As you can see, a search of your person is commanded in the warrant.”

  “This is ludicrous. I demand the opportunity to speak to the judge.” Shaw stormed back into his office and attempted to slam the door.

  Philly pressed against the door, pushing it and Shaw out of the way. Shaw ran to his phone, but Philly grabbed it away and set it back in the cradle.

  “I want to speak to your supervisor immediately.”

  “Knock yourself out, partner.” Philly pointed to Sergeant Evans, who was now standing in the doorway. Frank folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’d suggest you cooperate, Mr. Shaw. The warrant is legal, and I’m afraid you have no choice but to comply.”

  “You hear that, Mr. Shaw?” Philly taunted him. “First, you can empty the contents of your pockets and place your wallet on the desk. Don’t make me feel like you’re holding back either, or I’ll be forced to conduct a more intrusive search—if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m reporting you and your hooligans.” Shaw all but spat the words at Frank. Then, looking back at Philly, he backed down.

  Smart move, Mac thought. Tangling with Philly would be a little like taking on a grizzly. Mac almost felt sorry for Shaw. Philly was being a little more aggressive than necessary, though his methods were working.

  Shaw finally complied by emptying his pockets on the table. At the same time, he went through a litany of threatening insults, of lost jobs, and lawsuits.

  They found nothing of value on Shaw’s person, and his items were returned to him. “Why don’t you come outside and talk with me now, Mr. Shaw?” Sergeant Evans said in a friendly tone. “I understand your frustrations and would be happy to explain our intentions to you.”

  “Finally, someone with some common decency.” Shaw hurried out of his office, making a wide berth around Philly.

  While Frank soothed Shaw’s ruffled feathers, Dana videotaped the office before the detectives started searching. Philly, Mac, and Dana conducted the actual search, while Russ acted as the evidence officer, collecting the evidence that the other officers found and documenting it on the evidence form after bagging and tagging each piece.

  They seized two office computers, the one in Shaw’s office as well as the one used by his office assistant.

  Mac could hear Frank talking to Shaw in the reception area. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,Mr. Shaw. Your office equipment will be taken to our office and will be examined for evidence by a forensic computer expert, who will supply you a copy of the hard drive by tomorrow morning so you can continue to conduct your business.”

  “Is this really necessary, Detective?” Shaw seemed to have mellowed a bit. “I can assure you, I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Perhaps not, but as you and I both know, you’ll stand a much better chance in court if you don’t argue with us about the validity of a search warrant at the time of service. The time to press your point is in front of a judge.”

  “I agree,” Shaw said. “And make no mistake, I will be protesting and talking to your supervisors about your bullying tactics.”

  “You do that, Mr. Shaw. My lieutenant can be reached at the same number on the business card I gave you.” Frank didn’t seem the least bit worried.

  The detectives examined several files, seizing only those documents associated with Clay Mullins. Mac couldn’t really blame the attorney for being upset—especially if they were wrong and Shaw didn’t know about Clay’s desire to donate his money to creating a railroad museum.

  Mac stepped into the lobby, aiming his stern gaze at Shaw and his office assistant. “Do you have any other documents or records associated with Clay or Jacob Mullins on the premises?”

  “Not unless there’s something in the safe.” The assistant cast a furtive look at her boss.

  Shaw’s warning gesture came too late.

  “What safe?” Philly asked.

  The assistant glanced at Shaw and gripped the back of her swivel chair. She’d probably lose her job, but she apparently balanced her options and made her choice. “It’s behind the green law books. The books are a false front. It’s a combination safe, and only Mr. Shaw has the combination.”

  She turned to Shaw. “I’m sorry, Addison.”

  Shaw glared at her, his jaw working overtime.

  Mac stepped into the office and examined the shelves in question, then pulled the false front of hardbound books from the shelf. “It’s a clever way to disguise it; I’ll give him that.”

  Sergeant Evans turned to the lawyer. “The combination please, Mr. Shaw.”

  Shaw hesitated. Frank added, “You can unlock your safe if you’d like to preserve the integrity of its security, although I must insist you open it.”

  Shaw’s narrow shoulders slumped as he made his way to the safe.

  Mac stepped back to give him room. Standing in front of it to obstruct their view, Shaw punched in a series of numbers then tugged on the handle to release the lock and stepped away.

  Philly moved in first and with a gloved hand swung the door open. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He pulled two large stacks of cash from the safe. “Looks like about ten grand to me.” Philly held the bills to his ear and flipped through a bundle.

  “More like fifteen,” Shaw replied. “I want a receipt for every bill. It’s all reported income.”

  “That so.” Philly handed the cash to Mac. “What do I look like, an IRS agent? We aren’t interested in your money, Shaw.” Philly reached into the safe again, looking through the documents briefly and placing them back in the safe if he deemed them unrelated to the case.

  “What’s this?” Philly asked, pulling two keys from a white envelope.

  Shaw sucked in his cheeks but didn’t comment.

  Mac studied the larger one. “Looks like a house key to me.” In fact, it looked a lot like the key they’d found on Jacob Mullins. Of course it would be impossible to tell unless they put them side by side, which they would eventually do. “The other one looks like a key to a safe-deposit box.”

  Lifting the small round label attached to the smaller key, Mac read, “Mullins.”

  “Do you have keys to all of your client’s houses and safe-deposit boxes?” Mac asked.

  “Of course not. But there’s certainly nothing illegal about it. If you must know, Clay wanted me to have it in the event anything happened to him.”

  “So they are Clay’s keys. And something did happen, didn’t it?” Mac pressed.

  “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but all of this is ludicrous. I’m his estate manager, for crying out loud. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine,Mr. Shaw,” Frank said in an appeasing tone. “But considering the nature of this case, I’m sure you’ll understand that we have to investigate everyone involved.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” Mac asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” His nostrils flared. “Regarding your roughshod takeover of my office, you’ll hear from me in court. With regard to Clay Mullins, I am simply carrying out my client’s instructions, which were carefully laid out in his will.”

  “Which will?”

  “The only one I have.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Mac said.

  The detectives took the two computers, plus all of the documents obviously connected with Clay and Mullins. Before leaving, Russ provided Shaw with a copy of Form 65, the OSP evidence receipt, and a copy of the warrant, as required under Oregon law. Sergeant Evans would transport the potential evidence back to the Portland office to secure the items in temporary evidence. “It’s getting late,” Frank said before taking off. “Why don’t you guys call it a day and pick things up in the morning.”

  “Will do, boss.” Mac fingered the small safe-deposit key he’d kept out for compariso
n. “But I’d like to see if this key we found in Shaw’s safe fits Clay’s safe-deposit box.”

  “All right. Just make sure you tag and bag it when you’re done.”

  Mac and Dana stopped back by the U.S. bank on their way back to Portland and requested access to the now-empty safe-deposit box. Dana tried the key they’d found in Shaw’s safe in the lock. It was a perfect fit. The bank records indicated that they had assigned three keys to Clay Mullins’s box: two independent to the bank’s master key and one additional branch key. Apparently Clay had two keys assigned to outside access points, although there were no names assigned other than his.

  “It seems odd that Clay would entrust his keys to Addison Shaw,” Dana said.

  “Maybe not. Mullins was in his late eighties. Maybe he wanted the attorney to have quick and easy access in the event of his death.”

  “Maybe,” Dana concurred. “I’m confused, though. If Shaw had a key to the box, why didn’t he remove the papers concerning the railroad museum? If we hadn’t found those papers, we might not have gotten a search warrant.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know it was there.” Mac yawned. “At any rate, I’m taking Frank’s advice to head home.”

  After dropping off Dana at her car in the compound where Russ had left it the day before, Mac parked and went into the office to log in the safe-deposit key. From there he headed straight home, collected Lucy, and after eating a Mexican TV dinner, fell into bed.

  TWENTY-

  THREE

  MAC FOUND DANA AT HER DESK when he arrived the next morning and set the extra cup of coffee he’d bought for her next to the empty one.

  “Thanks.” Her acknowledgement told him she wasn’t in the mood for conversation any more than he was. She took a sip from the fresh cup and went back to her computer.

  “You’re welcome.” Mac headed over to his own desk. Barely after seven in the morning and she was already working on her second sixteen-ounce cup of coffee. How long has she been here? Mac wondered.

  “Where’s mine?” Kevin called from his office as Mac walked by.

  “If I’d known you’d be in this early, I’d have picked one up for you.” He lifted the cup. “I could go across the street . . .”