“Sounds good, Mac.” Kevin picked up the phone and dialed the sergeant’s extension.
“Been slacking off this afternoon, boss?” Kevin said when the sergeant picked up. Mac could hear Frank’s hearty laugh. “Hey, if you’re up for it, Mac and I thought we’d bring you up to speed.”
Sarge must have answered in the affirmative as Kevin got to his feet and signaled Mac to follow as he hoofed it to Frank’s office.
“Hey, partner,” Mac said. “Are you really thinking about retirement?”
Kevin stopped midstride. “Where did you hear that?”
“Philly said . . .” Mac stopped, unsure of how to continue.
“Mac, I know you’ve been concerned about me. I haven’t been easy to work with and . . .”
The door to Frank’s office opened. “Come on in, fellas.” Frank settled his gaze on Kevin as if trying to read him. “You doing okay?”
Kevin cleared his throat. “Fine, Frank. Just peachy.”Turning to Mac, he said, “Tell the sergeant what we have on the sawmill case, partner.”
8
MAC MET DANA THE FOLLOWING MORNING at a coffee shop not far from the freeway on the Vancouver side of the river on 164th Street. Since they both lived in Vancouver, it was a handy place to meet. Mac had been glancing over the headline stories of the Oregonian, Portland’s primary newspaper, when Dana came in. The sawmill murder had been relegated to the second page.
Setting her bag on the chair next to Mac, Dana greeted him with a touch to the shoulder and then stepped to the back of the line to order her coffee. The line was still short this early in the morning, and Mac opted to watch Dana instead of perusing the headlines. She was in her uniform, a blue shirt with the appropriate patches, navy blue slacks with a blue lateral stripe, and highly polished black leather boots. Her traditional gun belt and holster held her Glock .40 caliber, with two extra fifteen-round magazines. She wore her long blonde hair braided and wrapped in a tidy knot at the back of her head.
Mac had worn the same type of uniform day in and day out while he’d been on patrol. He didn’t miss it a bit, though he had to admit it looked mighty fine on Dana’s trim figure. Now that he’d made detective, Mac’s uniform was slacks, a dressy shirt and tie, and a sports jacket to cover his shoulder holster and weapon, also a Glock .40 caliber.
Dana paid for and retrieved her coffee, then she took the cushioned chair across from Mac. “Anything new about the missing hiker?”
“No. I was hoping you might have some news.”
She sighed. “Wish I did. Brad is still missing, and the search resumed at daylight this morning. I went up to the site yesterday afternoon since I was patrolling the area anyway.” She took a sip from the covered cup. “Found out some interesting stuff about Brad, though.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mac’s eyebrow shot up. “Like what?”
“Deputy Wyatt did some checking in the criminal history files.
It seems Brad ran into a little trouble a few years ago, with an arrest for possession of a controlled substance—marijuana. I asked his mother about it. She didn’t want to talk about it at first, since she doubted it had anything to do with Brad’s being missing now.
I told her, maybe it did.”
“So she talked?”
“Yep. It happened while he was on a ski trip to Bend. Mom says Brad had always been athletic, good looking, and popular.
He grew up on the slopes and won an athletic scholarship to the University of Montana for downhill skiing. They never suspected he was into drugs until he was arrested. By that time, Brad was in his senior year and using marijuana pretty heavily.
He admitted that he got rid of the prerace jitters by smoking a bowl before the competitions. He was arrested before a qualifying competition at Mount Hood when an anonymous informant called the local police and told them about the bag of marijuana in Brad’s hotel room. He had little more than an ounce inside a sandwich bag.”
“Not a lot, but enough to make it a felony in Oregon,” Mac commented. “Interesting. Kind of makes you wonder if he started using again and just skipped town.”
“I wondered the same thing. His mom says absolutely not, but his history indicates that he might do something like that.”
“He’s run off before?” Mac leaned back, resting an ankle on his knee and adjusting the cuff on his gray slacks.
“Not exactly. After he was arrested, the racing circuit rumors had it that a competitor turned Brad in to avoid competing against him in the finals. The competitor was also a druggie. That’s according to Vicki. Apparently he didn’t make the team and dropped out. Brad was suspended from the professional downhill circuit, forfeiting his goal to try out for the U.S. Olympic downhill skiing team.”
Mac whistled. “What a shame. I thought his name sounded familiar. Such a waste. He loses his entire career over an ounce of pot.”
“Well, that’s been a few years ago. His mom says he went through some pretty hard times after that. Stayed away from the family and church. My guess is that he’s one of those spoiled rich jocks who think the rules don’t apply to him. He’d had it his way for so long it was a shock to him to get caught and actually be arrested and kicked off the team.”
“My, my,” Mac teased. “Aren’t we cynical this morning?”
Dana’s cheeks flushed and her dimples deepened in a guilty-as-charged grin. “Sorry. Way too many high-profile professional sports figures are ending up bad boys. They’re being charged with everything from possession to rape. I don’t have much respect for guys like that.
“Anyway,” Dana went on, “Brad became estranged from his family for a couple of years after his arrest and was blackballed from the racing community. You’d have thought getting arrested would have straightened him up, but he went the opposite direction and hung out with what Vicki said were the wrong kind of friends.
Friends who had a bad influence on him.”
“Hmm.” Mac sipped at his coffee. “Got to blame somebody, right? She accused Jessica of leading him down the wrong path.”
“Yeah. Apparently these kids were high on parties and low on responsibilities. His parents had to make house payments for Brad on more than one occasion when he was between jobs.”
Mac shook his head. “Lucky guy. I wouldn’t mind having parents who paid my bills.” That wasn’t entirely true. Mac had a grandfather who was only too eager to share his wealth, but Mac wanted nothing to do with his grandfather or his money, which came from extortion and fraud and the spilling of a lot of blood.
Mac had refused his grandfather’s offer and made it through college on his own. He caught his drifting thoughts and reined them in.
“Well, you can’t really blame the parents.” Dana took a sip of her coffee. “There was a house at stake—they made the mortgage payments so Brad wouldn’t lose the place. Vicki made a point of telling me that Brad had been getting back on track. He was skiing competitively and going to church again, at least until he disappeared. According to his mom, he’d been doing pretty well until he met Jessica.”
“Have you talked to Jessica? It would be interesting to get her take on all of this away from Brad’s family.”
“She stayed home yesterday. Of course, that really impressed Brad’s folks. The sister wasn’t there either—Brad’s mom said she’s checking in with friends and places he likes to go.”
“Maybe you should talk to Jessica—unofficially, of course.”
Mac lowered his leg, finished off his drink, and set the cup on the table. “You could write up all this stuff in case Brad turns up dead or is never found. That kind of information could come in handy.”
“I’m way ahead of you there, Mac.” Dana caught his gaze and held it briefly; then she began to examine her cup. “I’ve been making notes.”
Don’t go there, Mac, Dana’s demeanor told him. At the moment, he didn’t want to listen. He remembered how much fun she was when they dated years ago. He wanted to ask her out again—maybe take her to a fancy restaurant. H
e wanted to unbraid her golden hair and watch it cascade around her shoulders. He leaned back in his chair again and studied her profile, thinking of all the reasons he couldn’t.
She’s dating a guy, Mac reminded himself. And you are still engaged to Linda. He needed to call Linda. He hadn’t seen her since the counseling session. Avoiding the matter wasn’t doing his stomach or his brain a bit of good.
“How’s the sawmill murder case shaping up?” Dana shifted her gaze to the window, looking as though she wanted to leave.
“We have an ID. Escaped convict out of Nevada.” Mac shook his head. “Whoever killed him was careful not to leave much in the way of evidence. There’s really nothing we can use. We couldn’t come up with a match on his prints. Kevin and I are talking to the guy who found the body today.”
He glanced at his watch. It was eight-thirty. “I’m supposed to pick him up at nine.”
“Then you’d better hustle. Traffic’s a bear out there.”
“Always is.”
“You can follow me over the bridge if you want.” Amusement lit Dana’s eyes. “It’s amazing how people slow down and get out of the way when they see me coming.”
“A cop car tames traffic like nothing else,” Mac chuckled. “Lead the way.”
Mac and Kevin spent the day following up on leads and going over reports from various agencies regarding the murdered convict. Norton had apparently been hiding out at the abandoned mill since soon after his escape. So far no one had been able to come up with a link between him and someone from Oregon.
Nevada authorities had only one known relative on file: Norton’s mother, who was an inmate at the state mental hospital in Iowa.
According to the staff there, his last visit had been ten years ago.
“Not that it matters. Olivia doesn’t even know she has a son,” the woman from the institution had told Mac. “She has no other known living relatives.”
By the end of the day, they were convinced the murder was a professional hit. Unless they got a break, the case would end up being shelved with the unsolved murders that plagued every department.
Mac wondered how many hits like this his grandfather had set up and executed without being caught. True, Norton was a loser, but so was his killer. Mac didn’t want the murderer to get away even if, as Philly had said, “Good riddance. The guy got what he deserved. One scumbag snuffs out another scumbag. We ought to be happy—look at all the time and money the killer saved us.”
Most of the guys agreed with Philly—even Kevin commented on shelving the case.
“Sounds like you want to give the killer a medal,” Mac had shot back at Philly. He hadn’t appreciated their comments and still didn’t.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Philly said.
“All right, guys.” Eric, Mac’s redheaded Irish cousin, stepped into the foray. Tossing Mac a look of understanding, he said, “Maybe old Norton deserved the death penalty, but his killer deserves to be caught. Let’s not forget that. Mac just wants to see justice done.”
“Ah, the optimism of youth.” Philly shook his head.
Later,Mac caught up with Eric and thanked him.
“No problem, Mac, but you might want to loosen up a little.
You’re not going to be able to avenge them all.” Eric sighed. “I get the feeling you’re dealing with more than this Norton guy. Look, Mac, I know you have some skeletons in that closet of yours. You’d do well to practice a little thing called forgiveness and let God deal with the injustices.”
Mac shook his head. “Forgive my father? Eric, the guy was dirty.”
“I know, Mac, but you’re not. You can’t change what he did.”
Mac hung his head. “Of course not, but . . .”
“But nothing.” Eric slapped him on the shoulder. “Quit trying to make up for your father’s shortcomings. It’ll make you crazy.”
His cousin was right—at least in theory. “Say, Eric, before you go . . . um . . . do you know what’s going on with Kevin? I mean, he doesn’t know about my dad and grandfather, does he? He’s been acting strange lately.”
“Mac.” Eric paused in the doorway. “You’re thinking I told him about Jamie or Antonio? I didn’t. There’s no need. You’re a good cop and a decent guy. You’re family, remember? Don’t forget, your father was my uncle. We have some of the same skeletons in our closets. Besides, even if Kevin knew, it wouldn’t make a difference. You should know that by now.”
Mac shifted uncomfortably. “But have you noticed Kevin’s behavior lately?”
“He’s a little off. Maybe he’s not feeling well. He took off yesterday afternoon to see his doctor. That’s about all I know.”
“Oh.” Doctor? That’s more than I knew. Why didn’t he tell me? Mac kept the question to himself. “Okay then. I won’t keep you.”
“You and Nana coming over to the house for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Really?” Mac raised his eyebrows. For the past few weeks he had taken his grandmother, Dottie, who they called Nana, to Eric’s for Sunday dinner—with the exception of this past week, when he had to go to counseling with Linda. Mac enjoyed the visits with Eric’s family, and so did Nana. He hadn’t really thought about Thanksgiving. Linda hadn’t mentioned it, so he wasn’t locked into anything. “I’d like that.”
“Great. You’re in for a treat. I found a turkey deep fryer last month at a garage sale.”
“Deep-fried turkey?”
“Yep. It’s the latest craze.”
“Craze as in crazy. Maybe there’s a reason it was at the garage sale.”
“What a skeptic.” Eric laughed. “Just so you know, Philly and Russ will be there.”
Mac frowned, picturing the unruly detective and his partner, Russ. “In that case, maybe I shouldn’t bring Nana.”
“Don’t be silly. They’ll behave.”
Mac chuckled. “I wasn’t worried about them offending Nana; I was worried about what Nana might do to them.”
Eric howled. “Good one, Mac. And you’re right. If anyone can keep those two in line, Nana can.”
Nana wasn’t Eric’s grandmother, but his family called her Nana anyway, mostly because of her age and the fact that, other than her incarcerated husband, she had no family except for Mac. She loved that Eric’s kids considered her their grandmother.
Mac grinned. “In that case, count me in. I’ll have to check with Nana, but I’m sure she’ll want to come.”
Feeling somewhat relieved, Mac went back to his desk. Maybe he’d been paranoid about Kevin’s actions of late. Could be his partner was nervous about having his physical. After all, he was talking about retiring. Mac hoped everything was okay. His partner was too important to the department to retire. Besides, Mac had learned so much from him and hoped to learn much more. It would take years to get to Kevin’s level. Speaking of which, Mac intended to put the skills he’d learned thus far to crack this new case.
They weren’t completely without evidence. They had that partial boot print and a couple of usable latents, along with one odd circumstance that appeared to link the convict to someone in the Portland area: Norton had been slaughtering wildlife. The blood and hides bore that out, along with carcasses buried in shallow graves around the property. He’d probably been poaching, but why? Why would a guy running from the law hunt down and slaughter more meat than he could use for himself?
9
THANKSGIVING AND CHRISTMAS came and went in a blur. The holidays, along with New Year’s, had gone uncelebrated in the Gayneses’ home, largely because they had nothing to celebrate. Brad was still missing.
Vicki peered out the kitchen window of her southwest Portland home as Todd eased out of the driveway, heading for work on the chilly winter morning. One of the area’s infamous ice storms had blanketed the city with a shiny crust of beautiful, shimmering, treacherous ice. Todd was running late, as it had taken twenty minutes to defrost his older BMW. Vicki begged him to take the SUV with its four-wheel drive, but he’d declined, remindin
g her that she had errands and he wanted her to have the safer vehicle.
Vicki and Todd had lived in their modest home on the west side near Portland State University for the better part of ten years. It was the perfect place, except for those rare occasions when snow or ice turned their hills into slippery slopes.
“I can stay home. Nothing’s going on out there anyway.”
“Vicki, the weather is just one more excuse on top of the hundreds you’ve already made. You need to get out. Holing up in here isn’t going to bring Brad home any sooner.”
She knew that. But since Brad had gone missing in early November, she hadn’t felt like going out or doing anything. Today was no different, except that she’d promised Todd she’d at least go back to work. She’d all but abandoned her interior decorating business. Luckily, Rachael had stepped in to fill in the gaps. Maybe she should go on with her day as planned. Todd was right. Waiting around the house wasn’t accomplishing anything. She needed at least to go to the fabric and craft outlet for supplies.
Still this wasn’t a good day to start working—at least not outdoors. The City of Roses had been practically shut down the past two days while the winter storm passed through. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been working—she had. She’d spent endless hours trying to find her son. These past two months had produced nothing. After Brad’s disappearance, the air search had ended after one day, but the ground search had gone on for the three full days. The searchers, explorer scouts, hounds, and law enforcement officers failed to come up with a single clue related to Brad’s disappearance.
The search efforts had turned from search-and-rescue status to missing-person status. Family and friends had printed and handed out thousands of fliers to hikers and sightseers in the Columbia River Gorge area. The fliers, with a picture of Brad, offered a reward for any information leading to his whereabouts. With such inclement weather, they’d had to replace fliers routinely wherever they could along I-84 from Portland to the small town of Cascade Locks. Cascade Locks, about forty miles east of the metro area, was located near Bonneville Dam, the first of three dams on the massive Columbia River. Wah-kella Creek, fed by the falls, flowed into the Columbia a short distance above the dam.
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