Terminal 9

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Mac grinned, glad to leave the psychological baggage behind. “Knock it off. We had dinner. Nothing ever came of it.”

  “Twice, Mac. You’ve had dinner with her twice.”

  He might have argued with her if they weren’t pulling into the back lot of the medical examiner’s office. Mac took a couple of deep breaths to get a handle on things. Sometimes having women in your life could knock the wind right out of you. Especially women like Dana and Kristen.

  Mac and Dana entered through the business entrance to find Henry pushing a steel gurney across the hall to the examination room.

  “Hey Henry, thanks for setting this guy back up for us.” Dana slid the strap of her briefcase off her shoulder, letting it drop onto a chair.

  “No problem. I asked the doc, and she said to bring him in. She’s just now finishing up on table one, so I imagine she’ll want him on two.” Henry nodded toward the autopsy room as he pushed the gurney with both hands. His gait was slow and Mac wondered just how old Henry was now. Not that it mattered. He was one of the best assistants in the M.E.’s office and would hopefully be around for a long time to come.

  “C’mon down,” Kristen called. “You’re the next contestants on The Price Is Right.”

  “She’s so weird,” Dana whispered, leaning into Mac as she did.

  “Not as much as you’d think,” he whispered back. “Most of it is an act. She’s just trying to cope.”

  “Defending her, are we? For a minute there, I forgot she was your girlfriend.” Dana got in one last shot before walking into the room so Mac wouldn’t have a chance to reply.

  Girlfriend? Hardly. Mac’s attention turned toward Kristen and to the body on the autopsy table. The girl couldn’t have been much more than fifteen or sixteen. “What’s her story, Doc?” Mac asked.

  “Sophomore at Madison High, track star, former member of student council.” Kristen blew out a long breath, the burden of her job evident on her face. “Now she’s another statistic. Drug overdose. See these blisters around her lips?”

  Mac had seen it all too often when he’d been on the narcotics beat, but Dana stepped forward for a closer look. “Yeah, what’s that all about?”

  “Free-basing cocaine, and smoking crack too, I’ll bet. The burns on her lips are from the glass pipe. The kid was so high she couldn’t feel her own flesh burning.”

  Dana bit her lower lip. “That’s so sad. Does she have family?”

  “Uh-huh. They’re on their way now to recover the body. I’m just about done; going to take a few close-ups for the deputy medical examiner training.”

  “Which is?” Dana’s gaze followed Kristen’s movements.

  “I put on a show for the county medical examiners.” Kristen nodded at Henry, giving him the go-ahead to sew up the victim.

  Mac’s heart caught as his gaze captured the victim’s pretty face.

  “This was a tough one,” Kristen said. “Poor baby will never see graduation, never marry or bear a child. When will these kids learn that death doesn’t play favorites? That they aren’t immune?”

  She pulled off her gloves and turned toward Mac and Dana. “So, detectives, what’s going on? Henry tells me you need more samples for the crime lab.”

  Mac nodded, pulling his thoughts back to the present. “Right.

  Looks like we got us another murder.” He went on to tell her about Allison’s findings. “Ricin in his insulin vial. Can you believe it?”

  “Actually I can.” Kristen’s eyes lit up. “That was one of the possibilities I considered when I found the necrosis around the injection site. I just didn’t dream I’d be right.”

  “It’s ironic, you know.” Mac pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box on the wall. “If that kid hadn’t burglarized Clay’s house and taken the kit, we’d never have found it, and it would have been lost in the fire. The kid should be doing time, but I’m ready to give him a medal.”

  Dana gloved up as well. “Kevin would probably say it was a God thing. The Almighty didn’t want whoever killed Clay to get away with it.”

  “Personally, I think God has a hand in everything, but still, I’d like to think we’d have found ricin when we did the final analysis.” Kristen walked over to Clay’s body, which was still on the gurney. She studied the closed body bag for a moment.

  “Did you want him on the exam table, Doc?” Henry asked.

  “What?” Kristen looked up to catch his curious gaze. “Oh, sorry, Henry. No, just leave him here on the rollaway.” Kristen unzipped the body bag. Mac pulled his Vicks inhaler out of his pocket and took a few whiffs. He reminded himself to breathe through his mouth.

  “So, Kristen, you know about ricin then?” Dana used her inhaler as well, blinking back the tears from the onslaught of strong scents.

  “Sure, since this whole terrorist focus I’ve had to bone up on my poisons and toxins. Especially those that can be made into an ionized powder and that present a danger of widespread inhalation.”

  “You said you might have been able to tell it was ricin without the vial?” Mac steeled himself as he peered at Clay’s remains, an all-too-clear reminder of what Clay Mullins had suffered.

  “I think so.” Kristen gestured toward one of Clay’s arms. “Remember when I told you I noted some unusual bruising and advanced decay on the flesh around the injection sites?”

  “Yeah.” Mac nodded. “Those are the sites we need to get samples from for Allison.”

  Kristen stepped to the side so they could better examine the sites as she pointed them out. “Here we go, this area right here above the elbow. If ricin is injected, it will kill the flesh around the injection site as well as the lymph nodes.”

  “Mac and I were talking on the way over about when Clay might have been poisoned. Looks like someone tampered with his insulin. How hard will it be to figure out when he got the first injection?”

  Kristen placed the arm back in the bag. “We’ll look at the number of injections like this one and then at his schedule. As I recall, he took his insulin twice a day. I should be able to tell you when he started using it, but that’s not going to tell us when the bottle was tampered with. He could have had a month’s supply of insulin or more on hand.”

  Kristen examined the second arm. “You may be looking at a day or day and a half of taking the ricin before Clay died. One thing for sure is that he would have been in a great deal of pain before his death. I’d expect liver and kidney failure, then additional complications like trouble breathing and severe intestinal bleeding and stomach pain. He would eventually suffocate or succumb to some type of organ failure or cardiac arrest.”

  “Allison said pretty much the same thing at the lab.” Dana pulled her camera from her bag to snap some additional photos of the injection site.

  “I’ll get those samples for you.” Kristen turned to Henry, who was already reaching for a scalpel and some small glass jars. He set the items on a tray and went back to his sewing. Kristen cut a deep sample around the injection site on the arm, taking great care to produce a sample of the epidermis and the underlying tissue for a comprehensive examination. “Allison still has enough blood, correct?”

  “Yeah, she’s good with what you sent over,” Dana answered. “She just wanted a concentrated sample of the injection sites.”

  Kristen dropped the flesh sample in one of the glass jars, handing it over to Mac to tighten the lid and label it. “This may be overkill, but let’s get a sample from each of the necrotic areas. We may be able to determine when he injected each site by the amount of damage done. Either way, we’ll have more than one sample.”

  Kristen found four necrotic sites in all, which according to Clay’s records would have had him starting the injections in the morning on the day prior to his death.

  Mac labeled each of the samples: one from each arm and from each thigh.

  “There is one thing, and this is a guesstimate at best. There may have been more sites, but I really doubt it. He gave himself two injections of insulin
for two days. We’ll have to check with Allison on the concentration. I’m thinking your killer expected him to die right away. They didn’t realize just how dearly Clay would hang on to life. Clay was a big man too, so that would make a difference.”

  “What I can’t get over,” Dana said, “is that none of us would likely be investigating his death if he hadn’t gone for help.”

  “True enough.” Kristen zipped up the bag. “If Clay had died in his house—at his age and with his medical problems, the body would probably never have come to me.”

  “Maybe God did want to make sure the murder didn’t go undetected.” Dana gave Mac a tight smile.

  “You’ve been around Kevin too long.” Mac placed the jars in a sack. He wouldn’t admit it, but he missed those asides with Kevin and the mini-Bible studies. Maybe he’d have to take Kevin up on his offer to go to church with him. He wondered how Kristen felt about church. Hopefully she wasn’t a fanatic like his ex-fiancé Linda turned out to be. Not that he had time to think about all that now.

  “Thanks for your help, Kristen,” Mac said. “I appreciate you getting to this so quickly. We’ll get these right over to the lab.”

  “You’re welcome.” Kristen waved. “Besides, I like you owing me.”

  TWENTY-

  FIVE

  MAC AND DANA rushed the flesh samples back to the Portland crime lab so Allison could begin her tests. She promised to work as long as it took, but warned them that the definitive results would not be available until morning. The initial blood work indicated they were indeed looking at toxic levels of ricin in Clay’s blood. The actual flesh around the injection site would provide investigators with conclusive evidence as to how Clay was killed. The only problem now would be to determine who had killed Clay and Jacob Mullins. Were they looking at one bad guy or two—or more?

  While at the lab, Mac received a page from Philly, who was out in Columbia County with Russ. Mac called him back.

  “Sitting on the phone, were you?” Philly didn’t wait for an answer. “We got an arrest warrant for Tyler Cohen since he didn’t show up for his arraignment on that burglary charge. Russ and me got a little caper planned. Do you and Dana want in on it?”

  “What’s going down?”

  “I got a lead from the kid’s mother. Says he hangs out at the pool hall most weekends and in the afternoon after school. Not that the kid goes to school. Principal says he’s skipped most of the school year. At any rate, he showed up at his parents’ place last night to score some clean clothes and cash. Mommy fed him and did his laundry and after thinking things over, decided to call the police. Says she’s hoping to get her son off the street before he lands in any more trouble. She’s afraid his drug abuse is getting out of control, and she’d rather have him incarcerated and getting help with his addiction than out on the street getting bombed.”

  “That’s a tough call for a parent.”

  “Well, at this point she thinks we just want to question him on the original burglary. I didn’t tell her we were also wanting to question him on the arson/murder thing.”

  “Okay. We want in on the bust and the questioning,” Mac told him. “We’ll meet you in the parking lot at the St. Helens P.D. in about forty.”

  On their way to rendezvous with Russ and Philly, Kevin called with news about Mason’s polygraph. “He passed.”

  “So one down,” Mac mused. Even though Mason had passed the polygraph examination, they wouldn’t completely eliminate him as a suspect—at least not at this point. Now that they knew Clay had been killed with the ricin, Mason’s alibi was worthless.

  “The other breaking news is that Jan officially declared the fire an arson.”

  “We knew that already.”

  “Yes, but we needed the test results. The lab tests confirmed the evidence at the scene and the hits by the arson dog. We are looking at gasoline as the accelerant and the origin being at the back door like Jan suspected.”

  “Anything new on the evidence we lifted from Shaw’s office?” Mac asked.

  “There isn’t much of evidentiary value in the paper files. I’m making copies so the originals can be returned.”

  Mac told Kevin about Allison’s findings and said that they were headed out to meet the other detectives in hopes of rounding up Tyler Cohen.

  “Looks like things are breaking up,” Kevin said. “Good luck and be careful. I’m praying for all of you.”

  “Thanks, Kevin. We may need it.”

  Mac and Dana caught the dynamic duo in the middle of lunch. Russ tilted his head back, dropping the contents of a large carton of fries into his mouth.

  “Don’t want to get your hands greasy, Russ?” Mac joked as he pulled alongside their car in the parking lot.

  Russ looked like an opossum caught in the headlights, probably trying to figure out what rule of etiquette he may have broken. “It was the last couple of fries,” he explained. “I was just finishing up.”

  “I can’t do anything with him.” Philly shook his head, taking a handful of fries himself.

  “What happened to your low-carb diet, Philly?” Dana teased.

  “I’m still on it. See? I didn’t super-size the order. Smaller portions cuts way back on my carb intake. Besides, I’m not eating the bun on my hamburger. Just the insides.”

  “Gimme a break.” Russ shook his head. “You must have eaten a dozen donuts this week. If you call that a diet, you’re nuts.”

  “I wouldn’t talk. Looks like you could use a little help in the diet department too, partner.” Philly pinched Russ’s left love handle. Russ nearly climbed out the window to get away. “Any other comments from the peanut gallery?” Philly guffawed.

  “Yeah, I want a new partner.” Russ actually looked offended.

  “Nobody else would work with you, Russ. Now pipe down.” Philly gave Mac a “what-can-I-do-with-him?” look.

  “So, what’s the scoop on Cohen?” Dana asked. “Are we going to wait for him inside or sit surveillance on the place?”

  “Neither. The mother has my cell number. She wanted to make sure the kid was okay, talk to him a little. You know—hug, kiss, bedtime story stuff. She’s going to ask him to turn himself in. If he doesn’t agree, she’ll call me and we’ll swoop in.”

  “You don’t want to get in a little closer?”

  “Naw.” Philly picked at a tooth with a fingernail. “Too risky with this joint. The pool hall is more of an arcade and teen hangout. Anyone older than twenty will look out of place, and I don’t want to spook him. Russ and I have been stomping around every railroad transient camp and swimming hole in the county looking for this joker; I don’t want to waste any more time. Once Mama calls we can get a description of Tyler’s duds and the direction he’s taking. He doesn’t have wheels at this point, so he’ll most likely be walking. We should be able to pick him up without too many problems, assuming he doesn’t get any funny ideas and he’s not packing.”

  “I’m confused,” Dana said. “Is Tyler at the arcade or at home? Where’s his mom meeting him?”

  “Tyler was at home, but he left. His mom expects him to come to the arcade. She’s in there waiting for him and will try to get him to turn himself in. She’ll call me if it doesn’t work.”

  “You can trust her?”

  “I think she’s on the up and up. If not we’ll go to plan B.”

  “Does Sergeant Evans know what we’re up to?” Mac imagined Kevin would pass along the news but wanted to verify that Philly had contacted him.

  “Yeah, he’s up to speed. By the way, your guy Mason passed his polygraph.”

  “Right. Kevin paged me on the way out here. Also, Jan ruled the fire at the house was definitely arson. You heard about the ricin, didn’t you?”

  Philly nodded and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “This caper just keeps getting better and better. I have to admit, though, ricin’s a first for me. I’ve worked plenty of poisonings, but never that stuff. Russ and I were talking about it before you pulled up. My money’
s on the lawyer.”

  “Which one?” Mac asked. “The daughter or Addison Shaw?”

  “Shaw.” Philly pressed his lips together. “He’s dirty. I just don’t know how dirty.”

  “You always think the lawyers are dirty,” Russ commented.

  “Have I ever been wrong?” Philly raised an eyebrow.

  Russ chuckled. “You have a point.” Looking in Mac’s direction, he asked, “Any word on the stuff we hauled out of Shaw’s place?”

  “Nothing yet. We’re hoping to hear something back on the computer files today.”

  The detectives sat in the parking lot for nearly an hour making predictions and speculations before Philly’s cell phone rang. All four of them sat up in their seats, suddenly alert and all business. Russ even straightened his tie.

  Philly hit the green button on his hands-free cell phone, so they could all hear the caller.

  “Detective Johnson.”

  “Yes, Detective. This is Tina Cohen,” the woman answered, her voice cautious and shaky. “I met with my son and he . . . he didn’t want to turn himself in. He said he might think about it, but he had some business to take care of first. He’s afraid of having to do jail time. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be long and he needed to straighten up, but . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cohen.” Philly sounded genuinely empathetic. “Can you tell me what your son is wearing?”

  “Um—jeans and a black sweatshirt with a camouflage jacket. He also has on a yellow Pittsburgh Steelers cap.”

  “Did he have any weapons on him or did he mention any?” Philly started the car.

  “I don’t think so. He carries a pocketknife, but no guns or anything. He’s skin and bones right now, so I think I’d see anything in his pockets or on his hip.”

  “Which way was he walking when he left the pool hall?”

  “Toward Highway 30. I can still see him. He’s almost to the tracks.”