Secrets, Lies & Alibis

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Philly and Russ offered to secure Joe’s car, have it towed back to the office, and write out a warrant while Mac took Kevin to a medical facility. After securing a Polaroid photo of Joe Higgins sitting in the back of the patrol car in handcuffs, Kevin and Mac left.

  Kevin rejected Mac’s offer to take him to the hospital, choosing instead to stop at a gas station, where he washed off the blood and cleaned up the best he could. Back in the car Kevin pulled down the visor and checked his face. “Jean’s going to freak when she sees this.”

  “Want me to take you home?” Mac eyed the bloodstained dress shirt. “You might want to change.”

  “Not yet. We need to head down to Salem to talk with Wallace now—before he hears about Higgins. What we’ve got so far on Joe Higgins is Kidnap One and Assaulting a Public Safety Officer— namely, me. Those are both felony charges and will hold him for a couple of weeks. We need more, Mac. I want to nail this thug six ways to Sunday. I want to see Joe Higgins in prison for life, and it’s our job to make sure nothing—absolutely nothing—goes wrong.”

  “Can’t argue with you there, partner. Salem it is.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Mitch Wallace was being held in a small segregation cell at the Oregon State Penitentiary in Salem. The eight-by-four-foot cell barely allowed him the room to bounce his small blue handball against the wall. The cell could be accessed only by a single steel door with a small slot used to transfer food and shelter the guards during handcuffing.

  Figuring the guy would never talk where other prisoners might see him cooperating with the police, Kevin had asked the prison officials to bring Wallace out of solitary and transport him to the Salem Patrol Office, where they’d conduct the interview.

  “Don’t go far. I got nothing to say to these guys,” Wallace told the guard as he was brought into the interview room.

  “We’ll see about that,” Kevin muttered as he took a sip of coffee.

  “Come on in, Mr. Wallace. We’ve been expecting you.” Kevin pulled out a chair for their visitor.

  “Yeah, I bet.” Wallace’s gaze darted from Kevin to Mac as he sat down. He had mousy brown hair that reached the small of his back, a full beard, and small piercing blue eyes.

  “Just give me a holler when you’re done with him,” the corrections officer said. As he closed the door, he added, “Let me know if he gives you any problems.”

  “How are you, Mr. Wallace?” Kevin stepped around to his side.

  “You tell me.”

  “My name is Detective Bledsoe, and this is my partner, Detective McAllister. Mr. Wallace, we’d like to talk to you about a very important matter, but first, let me make you a little more comfortable.”

  Kevin eyed the handcuffs. “Let’s put those things in the front.”

  “Um, thanks.” Wallace eyed him warily. “My arms are getting numb.”

  Kevin removed one handcuff and allowed Wallace to bring his hands to the front, then placed the restraints back on his wrist.

  “Is that better?”

  He nodded. “What do you guys want?”

  Kevin and Mac each took a chair in the small interview room, pulling their chairs directly in front of Wallace. Kevin scooted so close he was practically touching Wallace with his knees.

  Wallace pushed back but hit the wall. His gaze dropped from Kevin’s bruised face to the dried blood on Kevin’s shirt. “What happened to you?”

  Kevin glared at him. “This is nothing.” He gave Mitch a wry grin. “You should see the other guy.”

  Wallace pressed back as far as he could go, obviously scared he might get the same treatment.

  “We’re investigating a murder, Mr. Wallace,” Kevin began, “a murder we think you know something about.”

  Wallace stared at the cuffed hands in his lap. “I don’t know nothin’ about no murder.”

  “Before we get started, there are a few things you need to know.” Kevin’s gaze fastened on Mitch Wallace’s face and remained there. “You’re not under arrest, but you’re obviously not free to leave because of your incarceration status. So with that in mind, I’m going to advise you of your Miranda warnings. Mr.

  Wallace, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand your rights?”

  “Yes, and I don’t want to talk to you,” Wallace replied.

  “Suit yourself, Mr. Wallace.” In a move meant to intimidate, Kevin moved his chair closer to Wallace. “But I’ll be blunt with you. Things don’t look very good for you right now. I’d like to tell you what I know, if you have the time.”

  “Time’s all I got,” Wallace mumbled.

  “How much time have you served so far in the bank robbery conviction?”

  “Around nine years, when you add the escape charge to my jacket,” Wallace sighed.

  Kevin’s tone gentled as he asked, “Do you need anything right now, a cup of water or coffee?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks, though,” Wallace glanced around, and Mac thought he saw the beginnings of tears in the guy’s eyes.

  “All right then, let’s lay it on the line,” Kevin continued in a gentle tone. “Detective McAllister and I are investigating the death of a young woman by the name of Megan Tyson.” Kevin paused, sitting back in his chair.

  Mac noticed that Kevin didn’t seem to be pushing Wallace as hard as they had pushed Higgins. Probably because Wallace already looked like he was going to crack.

  “Never heard of her,” Wallace brought his shackled hands up and brushed back his hair.

  “Maybe you ought to just listen, Mr. Wallace.” Kevin’s jaw tightened. “Now, I know Megan Tyson was a bit of a flirt, and I know she flirted some with your pal, Joe Higgins.”

  Wallace swallowed hard, and his head bobbed up and down once.

  “We know you were staying with Higgins when you went AWOL from your parole,” Kevin continued. “Now, Mr. Wallace, this is important. Detective McAllister and I have been to that apartment several times and we’ve had forensic scientists all over the place looking for trace evidence.”

  “So?” Wallace blurted the word out in what Mac felt certain was an instinctive defense mechanism from years of dealing with and denying police questions. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I’m about to get to that.” Kevin leaned closer to him. “We found blood in that bedroom, Mr. Wallace—a great deal of blood.

  That blood belonged to our victim, Megan Tyson.”

  “Maybe you ought to talk to Joe. I told you I didn’t know no Megan Tyson.”

  “Hmm.” Kevin stroked his chin and in a quiet voice said, “That’s why we’re here. We talked to Higgins—he told us we should be talking to you. He’s probably making a deal with the district attorney as we speak.”

  “What kind of deal?” Wallace stiffened.

  “I suspect he’ll be turning state’s witness to testify under oath about how you escaped from your parole restrictions in Washington and came to Oregon. And how, on August thirteenth, Megan Tyson came by to visit him while he was out.”

  Kevin leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart.

  “Then, I imagine Higgins is going to testify that he came home late and discovered that you had murdered Megan Tyson after a rape attempt gone bad.”

  Mac’s heart pounded in his chest. He took in a shallow breath.

  Wallace gripped his handcuffed hands together in a fist and began rocking back and forth. He sprang to his feet. “That’s a bunch of lies. Higgins killed that girl, not me! No way is he going to pin that girl’s death on me!”

  “If you didn’t kill her, then you had better play ball now, or you, my friend, are going down for the count.”

  “He’s lying,” Wallace gasped, tears dripping down his cheeks.

  He sat back down and buried his face in his hands. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Kevin ask
ed Mac for the mini cassette recorder, and once it was in place, informed Mitch that the session was being recorded. “Mr.

  Wallace, it’s extremely important that you be completely honest with us from this point on. If I get the impression you are being less than forthright . . .” Kevin paused. “If I get that feeling, I’m turning the tape off and you’re going back to your cell and we’ll work with Higgins.”

  “I got it man, I got it,” Wallace sobbed. “Just tell me where to start.”

  “First, try to relax. Take a few deep breaths and we’ll go on tape,” Kevin said.

  After a couple of minutes, Wallace looked up at Kevin and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay.” Kevin activated the tape and went through the introductions. “Mr. Wallace, are you aware I’m recording your conversation?”

  “Yes, I am,” Wallace answered with surprising calm.

  “Detective McAllister?” Kevin asked, without looking at Mac.

  “Yes, with my permission,” Mac answered, glad to finally say something.

  “Mr. Wallace, prior to going on tape, were you advised of your Miranda rights?”

  “Yes, I was.” Mitch fixed his gaze on the tape recorder.

  “And do you understand those rights? Do you wish to have them read to you again?” Kevin looked up from the tape recorder.

  “No, I fully understand my rights.”

  “Do you have any questions before we get started?” Kevin again asked.

  “No, I’m ready. That creep is going to fry.”

  “Okay, Mr. Wallace. Did Detective McAllister or I make any threats or promises to you in order to get you to provide us with this much appreciated cooperation?” Kevin asked, covering every possible defense angle on the tape.

  “No, you have been very nice. Thank you,” Wallace answered.

  “Why don’t you tell us about how you met Higgins and about your relationship?”

  “Well, I was already in FCI Houston when Higgins came in on a military charge. He bragged about cutting a dude’s throat when he was in Taiwan or Japan or something. I think he was playing the tough guy, you know, to keep the goons away.”

  “You and Higgins shared a cell?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah, for quite a while.”

  “How did you spend your time?”

  Wallace shrugged. “Reading porn magazines.” He stopped short. “Um . . . I know it’s against the rules to have stuff like that, but—they weren’t mine. Higgins got them from—”

  “I’m not concerned about that right now,” Kevin interrupted.

  “What else did you do?”

  “Made up stories. Higgins bragged that he was going to produce movies when he got out. He’d make up these stories where this stud would rape and kill women. He had some weird hang-up over women.”

  “What kind of hang-up?” Kevin asked.

  “Like I said, his scenarios always ended up with women being killed and stuff. I always assumed it was just jailhouse talk, nothing serious. He never talked about dating girls or anything like that. It was just use them—get what you could out of them and kill them.”

  Wallace grimaced. “I figured it was just for show. I didn’t think the wacko meant it.”

  “So Higgins would make up these scenarios and you would play along?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah.” He pinched his lips together. “I wasn’t about to argue with the man. The stuff he came up with got worse and worse. He started talking about torture chambers where demon guys would conduct human experiments and feed on human flesh and make sacrifices to the devil. He had some pretty freaky ideas.”

  Mac’s stomach rolled. He was glad he hadn’t eaten, because if he had, he’d have been running out of the room about now.

  “And how long did this go on?” Kevin asked.

  “Till he got paroled.”

  “So Higgins was paroled and you got out later?” Kevin continued.

  “Right. He wrote me a few times saying he’d moved to Oregon and was making jewelry. Gave me his address and said I could move in with him if I wanted. I was paroled and the feds stuck me in this rotten halfway house that wasn’t fit for a pig.”

  “So you skipped out,” Kevin said.

  “Yeah, I skipped out.” Wallace shook his head. “I called Higgins and had him pick me up at the bus station. I didn’t think I would make it all the way up here. I don’t seem to do too good on the outside; my shrink in the joint told me I’d become institutionalized. Said I secretly liked being in prison. Can you believe that smack?”

  “Did Joe know you skipped?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah, he knew. I told him I did. We partied pretty hard when I got into town, drank a lot of beer, and met a lot of girls at these strip joints he liked to go to.”

  “Tell me about Megan Tyson,” Kevin prompted.

  “I don’t know if I can.” Wallace began to weep again.

  Kevin gave Mac a look of concern. “You’ve got to, Mr. Wallace. I know it’s rough.” Kevin sounded like he really cared about the guy. Maybe he did.

  “Higgins said he had this babe on the hook. He took me to the health club where he worked out so I could get a look at her.”

  “Was it Megan Tyson?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah, it was Megan,” Wallace murmured. “You should have seen her, man; she was one friendly gal. Higgins bragged about how he took her out once and almost got her in the sack, but she shut him down. That really made him mad, and he said he’d get back at her for using him.”

  “Using him?” Kevin asked.

  “Using him, that’s what he said. See, Higgins figures if a girl puts out the signals and he buys them dinner, then he’s entitled to whatever he wants. Megan shut him down, so he was going to get back at her.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “He offered to make some earrings for her.” Wallace stared at the floor and cleared his throat. “He called her when he was done and told her to come over to his place to get them.”

  “And did Megan Tyson pick them up?”

  He nodded. “She came over.”

  “Was that the evening of August thirteenth?” Kevin’s jaw twitched.

  “Yes,” Wallace whined. “I didn’t know what he was going to do.

  You gotta believe me.”

  “Tell me what happened, Mr. Wallace,” Kevin said in a hushed tone. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  Wallace went on to describe every horrific detail of Megan’s death. Several times Mac thought he was going to be sick. He had to clamp his lips together to keep from telling Kevin to make Wallace stop.

  “You were there and you didn’t try to stop him?”

  “Higgins kept telling me he would slit my throat. He’d have done it too. He kept hitting her and choking her.”

  Mac couldn’t imagine any human being torturing another the way Joe Higgins had tortured Megan. Hadn’t they heard enough?

  “What then?” Kevin asked in a barely audible voice.

  “Then Higgins grabs the knife and he . . . he cuts her throat. Said he wanted to make sure she was dead. There was blood everywhere.

  It took all night to clean up. I thought he was going to kill me too.

  We rolled up Megan’s body in the bedspread and then in the shower curtain and carried her into a storage room next to the kitchen. It had a concrete floor and Higgins said it would be easy to clean. We cleaned up most of the mess and each took a shower before we left.”

  “Where did you go?” Kevin dragged a hand down his face, wincing as he touched his nose.

  “We loaded up the body in the trunk of his car and drove out east of town. I didn’t know where we were going. We came to this turnout and we dragged the body down into a ditch and took off.”

  The testimony was taking a toll on both detectives, but Kevin kept hammering away. “What happened to the shower curtain and the bedspread, and Megan’s clothes and personal property?”

  “Higgins threw everything in a dumpster somewhere back in town. Sorry I c
an’t say where. I was way drunk and confused by this time.”

  “What about her jewelry?”

  “Joe took the stones out of the ring and sold them. I don’t know what happened to the cross. He’d yanked it off her at the apartment. I never saw it after that. He said something about wanting a souvenir.”

  “What was the camping gear you mentioned in your phone calls to Higgins?” Kevin asked.

  Wallace glanced up at Kevin. “The rocks from her jewelry. He said he was going to send me my share of the proceeds, but I never got it.”

  “How do we know you weren’t the one who did all these things, Mr. Wallace?” Kevin leaned back in his chair.

  Mac didn’t know how Kevin could stay so cool.

  “I don’t know. I’m telling the truth. I’ll take a lie detector test, whatever you want. I know I’m jamming myself up, but I didn’t kill her. I just got in over my head. There’s no hope for Higgins. He lives in that sick fantasy world of his where he dreams up ways of taking out entire groups of people.”

  “How so?” Kevin straightened and shot a look at Mac.

  Wallace dragged his hands down his face. “He talked about hooking up timers in air conditioning ducts that would release gas into an office or school and knock everybody out. Then he said he would come in and kill everyone after taking money from their wallets. Stuff like that. He scared me so bad—I have to tell you, I was almost glad when I got arrested.”

  “Speaking of that night, what were you and Higgins up to when you were stopped?” Kevin asked.

  “I didn’t mean to open that door, but I might as well step through it.” Wallace sighed. “Higgins really got off on this thing with Megan and wanted to do it again right away. He made me go to a strip joint with him the next night. He tried to put the moves on this one blonde stripper, but she told him to get lost. Higgins told me she would be the next one to pay, except this time I knew what he meant. We waited in the parking lot for this gal to get off work and followed her. Higgins had his kit with him; he said we would follow her home then break in to her place. He’d have done it, too, if that cop hadn’t stopped us.”

  “This kit—can you tell me what was in it?”