Secrets, Lies & Alibis

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Did you force yourself on her?” Kevin asked.

  “Like rape? No way. I’m not that hard up. I was mad, sure. Here I spend fifty bucks and she blows me off after she’s halfnaked. But hey, a woman’s got a right to say no and I respect that.”

  “Did you ever see Megan after that night?”

  “Yeah. I saw her at the club and we talked. She acted like the whole thing never happened. I didn’t ask her out again, but she still wanted to be friends. A week or so before she disappeared she called me and asked if I’d make the earrings for her. She offered to pay me three hundred bucks and supply the materials and the design. That was more than I would have charged her, but I figured, what the heck. She can afford it. She brought in the stones and I put it all together. Like I told the person I talked to at the police station—I tried to get hold of her sister, but I guess she moved out of their apartment. I was thinking I might go to the funeral tomorrow and give the earrings to Cindy. I don’t care about the money. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t seem right getting money for them now.” He laced his fingers together. “Anyway, I’m sorry I wasn’t totally clean with you, but you can understand my dilemma.”

  “Sure, we understand.” Kevin jotted something down in his notebook. “Mac, do you have anything more to add?”

  “Just a few things. Can you tell us where you were the night of Tuesday, August thirteenth?”

  Joe rubbed his temples. “The thirteenth . . . that’s been a while. I can’t remember for sure, but Mitch was here then. Like I told you, we mostly hung out at the apartment, so we were probably watching a movie or something.”

  Mac winced at the thought of Mitch and Joe watching what was surely a pornographic video. He quickly turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Have you ever taken a polygraph examination, Joe?”

  “No, and I don’t plan on taking one either. I’ve heard about how unreliable they are.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll reconsider. We’d like to offer you the examination. You may or may not be aware that in Oregon, the polygraph can’t be offered as proof of guilt in a criminal trial. It’s only a tool we use during the investigation. We’ve already administered several tests during this investigation. And you might be interested to know you’re not the only man to have dated Megan. I’d really like you to consider it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Joe checked his watch. “Um . . . could we hurry this along? I have a couple of job interviews today. Maybe I could get back to you on the polygraph thing.”

  “Sure, that would be great. Here’s my card and my pager number.” Mac wrote the number on the back of the card. “Give me a call when you make up your mind.”

  “I’ll do that.” Joe walked the detectives to the door.

  “It was nice to meet you.” Mac reached out to shake Joe’s hand when they reached the door. “Thanks again for your cooperation.”

  On the way to Mac’s car, Kevin scribbled down the license plate number of the white Ford Escort parked at the curb.

  “What do you make of Mr. Higgins?” Mac asked as he started his car.

  “He just claimed the prize as my number one suspect, partner. I’ve got a feeling about this one. Don’t let his friendly attitude fool you; he’s not as slick as he thinks.”

  “He didn’t seem very interested in the polygraph either,” Mac said.

  “I’d be surprised if he came in to take the examination. I’m going to give Eric a quick call. I want to verify that Joe’s buddy, Mitch Wallace, is really in the State Pen. If so, I’d like us to start recording his phone calls.”

  “Good idea. Are we going to talk to Wallace as well?”

  “You bet. If he’s as dense as his friend claims, he may be the weak link here—providing Joe is guilty. I’d like to hear old Mitch’s take on Megan.”

  “Me too. I’m not sure what to think about Joe. I almost hate to say it, but I’m not with you as far as him being the killer. I don’t trust him, but I don’t think I’d go with him over Gordon. It’s funny how similar his experience with Megan was to Gordon’s. Megan led both of them on and then rejected them when they tried to go too far. I guess I’m not ready to give Joe higher billing than Gordon at this point, at least not until we talk to the guy from the retirement inn. He’s got a record too.”

  “Yes, he does, Mac. Thanks for the reminder. We’re nowhere near ready to single out anyone. But we do need to put the guys we have under the microscope and see what turns up.”

  ERIC'S PAGER VIBRATED on his hip as he pulled out of the parking lot of the state police office after having dropped off several evidence items with the property custodian. “Hello there, Kevin,” he said out loud as he looked at the number on the pager then hit a speed dial button on his cell phone.

  “Ed’s Road Kill Café.” Kevin answered his cell phone on the first ring.

  “Sounds like someplace you would eat,” Eric replied.

  “Look who’s talking. Hey, Eric, I got a name I need you to work on.”

  “Shoot.” Eric attempted the awkward task of driving, talking on the phone, and writing at the same time.

  “Mitch Wallace.” Kevin spelled it out. “Should be a white male adult about forty years old. I need you to check to see if he’s a new arrival at the State Penitentiary in Salem. If he’s not there, check the Snake River Facility and Pendleton.”

  “You got it, pal. Had a good interview with this Higgins guy, I take it?”

  “I don’t want to get too excited, but he’s a good one to start learning more about. If you locate this Wallace character, can you run us up a background on him with a complete criminal history? According to Higgins, he was arrested in Gladstone after a traffic stop. I need you to see if it was by one of our troops or one of the other agencies.”

  “Ten-four. Any thing else I could do for you, like wash your car or chew your food?” Eric tossed the pad and pen on the seat.

  “Just page me when you get the info.” Kevin ignored the smart remark. “I’d suggest placing a tap on Wallace’s inmate identification number and recording his calls if you find him in the system.”

  “Got it, Kevin. Are you and Mac heading back to Troutdale P.D.?”

  “No, we’re going back over to Joe’s old apartment in Troutdale. I want to get into that place and take a look around. Hopefully the landlord can let us in. Now that Joe has moved out, we don’t need his permission to search.”

  “Sounds good, Kev.” Eric checked his rearview mirror and switched into the far left lane on the freeway. “We’ve got that subpoena for DeLong’s records.”

  “I’m not sure we’ll need it, but it’s good to have access just in case. Mac was able to get an address, so we’ll head over there after we visit Joe’s old apartment and try to make contact today.”

  “Do you ever get tied in knots with all these loose ends?” Mac asked when Kevin finished his call.

  “All the time. That’s why I write everything down. Then, whenever I can get to them, I write up the reports. I also keep a journal of notes just for myself. I look through them in the morning and pray for guidance.” Kevin ran a hand down his face. “This is a tough one, Mac. There were a lot of guys in Megan’s life, and any one of them could have killed her. It may have started as a rape and ended up a murder. None of the characters we’ve talked to admit to actually having sex with Megan—except for her fiancé.”

  Kevin sighed. “Did you hear what I told Eric about Joe’s old apartment?”

  “Yeah. I’m heading there now.”

  “Good,” Kevin said. “We’ll get written consent to examine the place. I want to see why Joe moved so close to the time Megan disappeared. I’m not falling for the ‘needing extra space’ line.”

  Less than twenty minutes later, Mac and Kevin pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex that Joe Higgins had called home. They swung around back, parking near the manager’s apartment.

  Theresa came out of the apartment, holding a toddler on her hip. “Hi. I was just going to call y
ou. Bernie’s home now; he’s over at unit number twelve fixing a problem with the stove. You can go right over.”

  “Thanks.” Mac slid back into the car.

  “I’ll walk over.” Kevin placed his hands on his lower back and stretched. “I can use the exercise.”

  Mac pulled the car back over to the carport directly across from apartment number fourteen. As he set the brake and put the car in park, he noticed a heavyset man in blue coveralls approaching him from the rear. The man was smoking a cigar and carrying a yellow portable radio.

  Mac climbed out and walked back to greet him, reaching him at the same time Kevin did.

  “You the cops?” He spoke around the cigar.

  “Yes, sir.” Mac shook his hand. “Detective Mac McAllister, and this is my partner, Detective Bledsoe. You must be Bernie.”

  “In the flesh.” A wide smile lit up his bearded face. “Theresa called me on the walkie-talkie and said you were here.”

  “Appreciate you taking the time to talk to us,” Kevin said.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions about the former tenant in apartment fourteen.”

  “You mean Joe Higgins.” Bernie took the cigar out of his mouth and dropped his hand to his side. “To tell the truth, I had to look up the rental agreement to see who the guy was. I couldn’t remember much about him. He kept to himself. Theresa said she gave him his deposit back. He left the place spotless when he moved out.”

  “We’d like to take a look in the apartment if it’s okay with you—unless you have it rented to someone else,” Kevin said.

  “Fine with me. No one is in it right now. I was fixing to change the locks. What are you expecting to find, dope or something?” “We’re not sure,” Kevin replied. “Let’s just say it’s a hunch.”

  “Suit yourself.” Bernie placed the cigar back in his mouth. Mac hadn’t noticed until now that the cigar wasn’t even lit, just a salivasoaked pacifier. Maybe the guy was trying to quit.

  Mac went back to the car and pulled a consent form out of his briefcase, along with a clipboard. “Bernie,” Mac said, moving alongside him, “we’ll need to have you sign this search-by-consent form if you don’t mind. Since you are the agent of the property owner, your signature will do fine.”

  “Sure, but I don’t have my glasses.”

  “I could read it to you. It basically saves us from having to obtain a warrant and says we will seize any evidence for the case we are working on.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I trust you guys.” Bernie signed on the line Mac pointed to. “My cousin is a cop down in the bay area. Name’s Todd Anderson—ever run into him?”

  Neither Mac nor Kevin had. Mac slipped the consent form back into his briefcase then opened his trunk to grab his tool kit, a fishing tackle–type box used for collecting evidence.

  “Good guy. I think he’s in charge of the SWAT team.” Bernie dug a large ring of keys out of his pocket as they walked up to the door. Taking the key he wanted, he let the detectives inside. “It’s all yours, gents.” Bernie stepped aside, peering inside the apartment as if he expected something to emerge from the shadows.

  “Bernie, you there?” Mac recognized Theresa’s voice coming out of Bernie’s coveralls.

  He pulled out his walkie-talkie and answered, “Yeah, what is it?”

  “Twenty-two has a problem with the toilet again.”

  “Tell her to jiggle the handle. I just replaced the float bulb.”

  “She said she already did that. You better get over there before it floods again.”

  Bernie rolled his eyes. “It never ends. You guys help yourselves.

  I’ll be over at apartment twenty-two; it appears the sky is falling.

  Just lock up if you leave before I get back.”

  After Bernie brushed by them, Mac and Kevin stepped through the doorway. To their immediate left was the small family room with the kitchen directly ahead. Kevin stepped into the family room and pulled open the curtains to allow light to enter the room. A moldy smell permeated the apartment. It had beigeshag carpet and cream-colored linoleum in the kitchen that matched the countertops. A small hallway separated the kitchen and the family room. The single bedroom was to the right of the hall and the bathroom at the end. The same shag carpet covered the bedroom floor.

  “He had a king-size bed by the looks of those memory lines on the carpet.” Kevin turned on the light in the bedroom. “Maybe even a waterbed.” Kevin stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring motionless at the closet area. “Have you got any clues for me?” Kevin asked of the place as he walked from the bedroom into the bathroom.

  Kevin looked over the small cramped bathroom. It came equipped with a bathtub-shower combination. He noted the shower curtain was missing, probably an item owned by the tenant due to hygiene issues. Mac followed along behind him. Kevin seemed to be concentrating intensely, so Mac kept quiet and tried to read the place himself.

  While Kevin examined the bathroom, Mac went back to the kitchen area and unlocked the sliding glass door that led to a small concrete patio and a shared courtyard. Several cigarette butts littered the bark dust next to the patio. Mac conducted a cursory search of the patio then stepped back into the apartment. He opened what appeared to be a pantry in the kitchen and was surprised to see it opened up into a large closet approximately six feet deep and three feet wide. Mac pulled the string on the single hanging light bulb. No light. “Must be burned out,” he muttered to himself. Even without the light Mac could see the bare studs and insulation. He pulled his small flashlight from his jacket pocket to illuminate the room. The wood studs and insulation were covered with a thin layer of dust. Putting on his latex gloves, he knelt on the floor and ran a finger over the smooth concrete as Kevin leaned in.

  “Find something?”

  “Not really. The floor is so clean you could practically eat off it.” Mac lifted his light so Kevin could see the walls. “But the walls look like they belong in a haunted house. Look at those cobwebs.”

  “The whole place is like that, Mac. Floors are spotless, but not much attention was paid to the walls.”

  Mac got to his feet. “Judging from the appearance of his new place, I’d say he left this apartment too clean.”

  “Maybe. On the other hand, he might have just wanted his deposit back.” Kevin stepped back into the kitchen. “Hey, let me see your flashlight, Mac. I want to go over the closet in the bedroom—there’s a shelf I couldn’t quite see.”

  They walked into the bedroom, with Kevin sliding open the closet door. He stood on his tiptoes to shine the light on the closet shelf. The veins in his neck strained as he peered up on the shelf. “Nothing, clean as a whistle.”

  Kevin twisted the flashlight beam adjuster. “How do you turn this darn light off?”

  Mac took it from him. “There’s a button here on the end of the . . . Wait. Hold on.” Mac shined the light back on something he thought he’d seen in the corner.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “I’m not sure. Something caught my eye while I was waving this thing around.” Mac illuminated the far right corner of the room, focusing in on a spot just inches from the bed’s imprint on the carpet.

  They both hunkered down, examining what looked like a dime-sized rust stain. “I didn’t see that the first time.” Kevin slipped his own gloves out of the pocket of his jacket and put them on. “Good eyes, Mac.”

  The adrenaline rushed in again. “It’s pretty small. I wouldn’t have seen it if the light hadn’t hit it just right. What do you think it is?”

  “Hard to say, but I know who can tell us.” Kevin removed his pen from his shirt pocket and probed the small orange stain.

  “Grab me an evidence bag, Mac, and make sure it’s paper. Those plastic ones would degrade the sample. I’ve got some in my tool kit—and I should have some tweezers and scissors in my first-aid pack that’ll make a nice clean cut.” Mac was already out the door by the time Kevin finished his sentence.

  �
�Bring in your camera,” Kevin yelled after him. “I want to get some pictures of this little beauty.”

  Mac could hardly conceal his excitement. The dark stain on the carpet looked like dried blood to him, and it might be just the break they were looking for. He returned to the bedroom and took several photos. With every shot his excitement grew.

  “Simmer down, Mac. You look like a kid with a straight-A report card. It’s best not to get your hopes up. We might have a crucial piece of evidence. But I’ve been in this business too many years to jump for joy at this stage. There have been too many blood stains that turned out to be juice and too many fingerprints on murder weapons that ended up belonging to the cop who recovered the gun or the knife.

  “Why don’t you cut the fibers, Mac?” With a gloved hand, Kevin held half a dozen carpet strands. “Cut it as far down as you can. We want to be sure we have the entire thing.”

  Mac snipped the sample from the carpet with the razor-sharp scissors then held the bag while Kevin dropped the carpet pieces inside.

  Kevin grunted as he got to his feet. “Let’s finish up here and get this down to Allison Sprague at the crime lab and find out what we have.”

  “Sure. I found some cigarette butts out on the patio. Thought it might be a good idea to collect those too.”

  “Good thinking. If there’s saliva on them, Allison could probably extract some DNA samples. I didn’t notice if Joe smoked, did you?”

  Mac stepped out to collect the cigarette butts on the patio with a pair of tweezers. “I didn’t see any ashtrays, but he might be an outside smoker.”

  The two men scanned the remainder of the apartment for clues relating to Megan’s death, searching under sinks and behind the refrigerator. After spending nearly an hour surveying the small residence, and finally satisfied they had searched every nook and cranny for additional evidence, they decided to head out.

  “Let’s get back over to the Troutdale P.D. and see what Eric found out about this Wallace character.” Kevin removed the latex gloves, pulling them inside out and stuffing them back into the plastic package they’d come in. “I’ll call the lab on the way over and have Allison send a lab rat to collect our sample. I want some answers on this carpet ASAP.”