Chapter Thirty-Three
The detectives gathered their gear and started for the car, locking the door to apartment fourteen behind them.
“You fellas all done in there?” Bernie yelled at them from across the parking lot. He came toward them, mopping his brow with a red rag.
“For now,” Kevin answered. “Say, Bernie, could I ask you to keep the apartment locked up for a day or two?”
“Sure. Did you find something in there?” Bernie glanced at the package in Kevin’s hand.
“We may have. Bernie, I’ll be up-front with you. The guy who used to live here is a person of interest in a homicide case we’re working. It may be nothing, but we took a couple of samples from the apartment that we want tested by our crime lab. I’d appreciate it if you would keep that to yourself, but I want to convey the importance of leaving that apartment undisturbed.”
“Sure. I’ll tell Theresa to hold up on showing it to anyone until I hear from you.” Bernie tucked the disgusting cigar into the corner of his mouth.
Kevin shook Bernie’s hand. “We appreciate your help.”
“Sure, sure. I’m cool with that,” Bernie said. “You want me to ask around or anything? Maybe one of the tenants saw something . . .”
“No, no. I’d just like you to lie low. I’ll call you if we need anything. Like I said, it will be just a day or two.”
Mac handed Bernie a business card. “That’s my pager number on the back. Give me a jingle if you need anything or have any questions.”
“Will do.” Bernie placed the business card in the breast pocket of his coveralls.
Once in the car, Kevin phoned Eric to let him know they were on the way.
“Mother Goose, this is Flapjack,” Kevin joked when Eric answered the phone. “The eggs are in the basket, over.”
Eric chuckled. “When you get done playing espionage, maybe you can get to work and give me a hand with this murder investigation.” “Oh, that. We solved the crime hours ago.” Kevin winked at Mac. “What did you find out on Mr. Wallace?”
“Plenty. I was just going to call you,” Eric replied. “You want the scoop or are you ladies coming in?”
“Hold off on the info; we’re en route. By the way, could you twelve-four the crime lab and have them send out a lab tech to recover some possible trace evidence we collected?”
“Anything good?” Eric asked.
“Might be. Keep your fingers crossed,” Kevin replied. “Tell Allison we want to put a rush on it, run it up through a serology workup. She may want to come get it herself; I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’ll call down to the lab. See you in a bit. Philly and Russ are here, so we can brief.”
“Have they turned anything up?” Kevin asked.
“Unfortunately, nothing on the campsite search. Brandon took them to the bonfire site, but it’s been so long that the ashes have been well scattered by now. And nothing has been turned in at the main office either. Another camper must have spotted the necklace in the ashes and, unlike Brandon, realized that it wasn’t just a cheap fake. I hate to have to break the news to Cindy.”
“That’s a shame,” Kevin agreed. “What about the tip line?”
“They’ve followed up on almost fifty calls. I think they’ve found Elvis, Bigfoot, and D. B. Cooper, but nothing that would help our case. You know how those tip calls go.”
“Speaking of tips,” Kevin said, “we just talked to the jeweler who called in.”
“When did you manage to work that in?”
“That jeweler was none other than Joe Higgins.”
“No kidding.”
“Small world, huh?”
“Very.”
“See you in a bit.” Kevin snapped the cell phone shut.
“Everything going okay?” Mac asked.
“Right as rain,” Kevin replied. “The rest of the gang will be there by the time we get to the P.D. Eric found some information on Mitch Wallace, so that should be interesting.”
Kevin tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
“Getting a little shuteye?” Mac asked.
“Praying,” Kevin answered.
Mac didn’t respond. What could he say?
He pulled into the parking lot at the Troutdale Police Department, easing into a parking spot near the back entrance.
Mac turned off the engine and stared over the steering wheel.
“Kevin—before we go in, I just wanted to thank you.”
“For praying? You’re welcome. I asked God to bring you closer to Him—and I prayed for you and Linda too.”
“Um . . . okay.” Mac cleared his throat. All this talk about praying was making him nervous. “But I was talking about showing me the ropes and all in this investigation. I mean, I’ve never been exposed to a case of this magnitude. I appreciate you involving me as a partner and not a lackey doing menial follow-up work.”
“Don’t thank me, Mac. You earned your detective badge and now you’re earning your slot in major crime work. Everyone has to start somewhere.” Kevin gave him a wistful smile. “I was still wondering what I wanted to do with my life when I was your age.”
Mac grinned. “I’ll bet.” He slid out of the car seat, throwing his jacket in the backseat and loosening his tie. He grabbed his briefcase and the evidence bags and the two of them headed inside.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Philly said when Mac and Kevin entered the briefing room. “It’s Boy Wonder and Rat Man.”
“Hey, nice polyester suit, Philly,” Kevin retorted. “I had one just like it about thirty years ago.” He walked by Philly and set his briefcase in the chair. “The thick white stitching around the collar is really sharp. I’m glad to see you’re spending your clothing allowance wisely and not just pocketing the money the department gives you.”
“And you’re just a regular Brad Pruitt, or whatever his name is.” Philly held a hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelids.
Mac laughed. “I think you mean Brad Pitt. But hey, what’s in a name?”
Russ chuckled then feigned a cough when Philly shot a glaring look in his direction. “Don’t start with me, junior, or you either, Russ. Unless you would like me to tell the guys how you left your gun in the restroom at Denny’s this morning.”
Russ looked over at Philly with a look of disgust, making a zipit motion across his lips.
“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Philly scooted around the table away from Russ.
“What happened?” Eric asked.
“Mr. SWAT team, sharpshooter nerd, went in to use the john at Denny’s this morning after breakfast.” Philly howled with laughter and could hardly talk. “The doofus leaves his gun hanging by the trigger guard on the coathook in one of the stalls. We’re about ten blocks from the restaurant before ace here figures out his .40 caliber is still swinging on the bathroom door.”
“Was it there when you got back?” Kevin asked, his hands on his head.
“Yes, it was there,” Russ growled, his face red with embarrassment. He pulled open his jacket to display said handgun. “And it wasn’t ten blocks away, we were just leaving the parking lot.”
“Sorry, partner, you forced my wrath.”
“Have you forgotten the old adage, ‘What happens in the field, stays in the field?’ ” Russ thumped Philly’s shoulder.
“That doesn’t apply in a situation like this.” Philly wiped his eyes with a beefy hand. “Sorry, Russ, it had to be told.”
“Okay, okay,” Eric interrupted the free-for-all. “Let’s get back to work, shall we, gentlemen?” He sat down at the briefing table with a stack of paperwork. “Kevin, why don’t you bring us all up to speed on recent developments.”
The mood in the room turned serious as the detectives flipped to clean pages in their notebooks, preparing to jot down relevant information. Kevin read his own notes, bringing the others up to date on the investigation so far. “I think you all know that Mac and I worked on a lead supplied by one of Megan’s
coworkers at Fitness First. An ex-con by the name of Joe Higgins worked out at the club and dated Megan at least once. Mac and I interviewed him earlier today at his duplex on Macadam Court. He was polite enough, but the guy failed the honesty test. Joe initially denied he had dated Megan, only giving it up when pressed. He said he figured his rap sheet wouldn’t do much in his favor if he told us he had dated the victim.”
“What was his definition of ‘date’?” Philly asked.
“Dinner, back to her place for a back rub.” Kevin gave him an abbreviated version of the date. “We asked if he would take a poly.
At first he flat-out said no, then when we explained it to him, he said he would think about it.” Kevin told them about the rest of the interview and the connection with Mitch Wallace.
When he mentioned the video games, Philly leaned forward.
“Any idea what they were playing?
“Um, no,” Mac said. “I didn’t think to ask.”
“Might be important to know. Russ and I ran into a weirdo scene about five years ago with a kid down in Molalla who killed his girlfriend—remember, Russ?”
“You mean Jason Fulton?”
“Right. The kid and his buddy played that fantasy game— Dungeons and Dragons. It has all these make-believe elf characters. Fulton said they talked to demons and crazy stuff like that through their characters. We didn’t think too much of it. You know how kids are with these video games. It turns out this Fulton kid goes from playing basketball to playing murderer in less than six months. He gets a local girl pregnant and then decides it would be better to introduce her to a shallow grave rather than own up to his responsibility. During the trial, old Jason claims that his elf character had actually been the one who killed his girlfriend. He was totally psycho. Ended up hanging himself in his cell before the jury could return a verdict.”
“Yeah, I remember that one,” Kevin said. “I didn’t connect the video games with the D&D case. We’ll have to check that out, Mac.”
Mac nodded. He hadn’t thought about the video connection either and he should have. Having been in the child abuse unit, he’d seen several cases where kids acted out their fantasies. But Joe Higgins and Mitch Wallace were grown men.
“Anyway, Higgins and Wallace became friends. Joe was paroled and moved to Oregon. He was working construction and makes jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” Philly raised an eyebrow.
“He told us Megan commissioned him to make a pair of earrings for her,” Mac said. “I’m thinking we need a search warrant on the guy’s duplex. Could be he’s got Megan’s ring and her cross.”
“Could be he sold the stones,” Kevin said. “Maybe that’s where he got the money for the move. Certainly worth checking into. We have a lot to work with here. Eric, did you get the info on Wallace?”
“Sure did.” Eric pulled a sheet off his pile of papers. “Mitch Wallace, born in Bremerton, Washington, to a military family. Father was career navy. Mitch is your basic career criminal, robbing and stealing his whole life. By the looks of his criminal history, he’s not much of a mastermind. His last arrest was for bank robbery in California—he actually tried robbing a bank and then running away on foot. He was caught in about ten seconds and ended up serving a sixteen-year stretch in the federal lockup in Texas.”
“That’s where he met Joe,” Philly said.
“Right.” Eric glanced down at the form. “He was released on parole earlier in the summer, although restricted to a halfway house by a federal parole officer in Seattle. He’d apparently told federal authorities his mother was ill and they transferred Wallace’s parole supervision to Washington. That lasted about six weeks until he skipped town and came to Oregon to meet with his old cellmate.”
“What does this guy look like?” Russ asked.
“Here’s his release mug.” Eric went to the second page and handed it to Russ to pass around. “It’s a faxed copy, so it’s not very good. He’s a white guy, five-eight, one hundred and seventy pounds.”
Kevin examined the mug shot. “Were you able to confirm the arrest in Gladstone?”
“Yeah. I actually talked to the officer from Gladstone Police Department over the phone—Officer Sid Vaughan. Apparently Vaughan stopped Higgins for a taillight out at around 2:00 A.M. on the morning of August fifteenth.” Eric’s story of the stop and subsequent arrest was consistent with the report Joe Higgins had given them.
“What did the officer do with Joe?” Philly asked.
“I’m getting there.” Eric tossed him a be-patient look. “This is where it gets interesting. Vaughan conducted a consent search on the vehicle and found a duffle bag in the trunk. Inside the bag he found an old stun gun, some black duct tape, a black sock, one of those ski masks that covers the face, and a box of condoms. He said there was an assortment of tools and a hokey-looking plastic handgun.”
Mac straightened in his chair. “Who took credit for the bag?”
“No one.” Eric sighed. “Joe said it was Wallace’s and Wallace denied knowing anything about it. The officer said he had no reason to detain Joe or seize the property so he cut Higgins loose with the bag. Vaughan thought it seemed shady, but he had no crime to connect it to—we hadn’t found Megan’s body yet and he wasn’t aware of the missing person status. Not that any of that information would have alerted him. Nothing in the bag really connects them to the crime.”
“So where’s Wallace now?” Kevin asked.
“Still at the State Pen in Salem. He went to County lockup then was transferred to Salem on a roll-up. I guess the state agreed to house him in Oregon for the rest of his sentence.” Eric consulted his notes. “Looks like two more years. I’ve got a tap on his inmate ID number so anytime he uses the phone, we’ll catch the recording.”
“Good work, Eric.” Kevin tucked his papers back in his briefcase. Eric jumped as the phone rang behind him. Picking it up, he answered, “Detective O’Rourke. Oh great; send her up.” He hung up and announced to the group that Allison Sprague from the crime lab had arrived.
Moments later, Allison walked in the briefing room. “Pretty tight security you have down there. I guess they didn’t recognize me without my lab gear on.”
“Hey, Allison.” Eric rose to greet her. “Thanks for coming down so late in the day.”
“No problem,” Allison replied, setting a small plastic tote on the table. “I’m working swing shift today, trading times with a coworker. What do you have for me?”
Kevin nodded at Mac. “You want to brief everyone on what we found at the apartment?”
“Sure.” Mac pulled the two evidence sacks from his briefcase and set them on the table. “We got a consent to search Joe Higgins’s old apartment in Troutdale from the landlord. The place was pretty clean—a little too clean if you ask me—so we didn’t find much. We collected a few cigarette butts off the back patio in case they are needed for DNA workups in the future, and we found a small stain on the carpet.”
“That’s it?” Philly rolled his eyes.
“The stain looks like blood,” Mac said in a defensive tone.
“And you think this might be Megan’s blood?” Allison smiled.
“It’s a long shot,” Kevin said, “but it’s worth checking out. I have a bad feeling about this guy.”
“I’ll take a look and tell you right now.” She opened her container, slipped on a pair of gloves, and pulled out the bottle of clear liquid marked phenolphthalein. “Open her up, Mac, and let’s take a look.”
Mac tore open the bag to reveal the half-dozen strands of carpet. “See what I mean? It looks like dried blood.”
Allison used a pair of tweezers to hold one of the carpet strands and rubbed a sterile cotton swab over the stain until some of the substance was transferred to the swab.
“This will tell us if we need to do further testing.” Using a dropper she dripped a small amount of solution onto the swab.
The white swab instantly turned neon pink, confirming that the substance was blood.
Mac released the breath he’d been holding. Kevin leaned back and clapped his hands together.
“Don’t get too excited, boys.” Allison packaged the test fiber into a glass vial. “I’m only going to call it a presumptive positive right now. I’ll get the remaining samples back to the lab and see what we have.” Allison packaged the remaining carpet samples in a new evidence bag and collected the second bag containing the cigarette butts. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have some results.” She pulled off her gloves and discarded them in the garbage can near the door.
“Thanks again for coming down,” Kevin said.
“You are more than welcome. I’ll get back to you as soon as the results come in. I should have some preliminary results late tonight or early tomorrow. I can’t tell you if it’s Megan’s until I run a DNA, but I can tell you for certain if it is blood and what the blood type is.”
“Let’s get a uniform on that apartment,” Kevin said after Allison left. “I’ll call the landlord and make sure he continues to restrict any access to the apartment. We don’t have enough for a court order yet, although I’m sure Bernie will cooperate with us. I want an officer to keep an eye on that place until Allison gives us some conclusive analytical findings.”
“I’ll call the patrol sergeant now.” Eric reached for the phone. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now.” Kevin leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Philly, are you and Russ still going to video the funeral tomorrow?”
“You betcha. I hope they have a good buffet after the service.”
Kevin ignored Philly’s food comment. “Good. We don’t want to put all our eggs in one basket with this Joe character. I’d feel better if he were locked up, but we don’t have anything except the fact that he irritates me.” He studied Mitch Wallace’s mug shot. “At least we know this guy isn’t going anywhere soon.”
Secrets, Lies & Alibis Page 25
