“What’s the weight on our victim, Mac?” Kevin was focused on the falls again.
Mac jogged to the car, pulled out the report, and thumbed through the preliminary pages. “About one-hundred-and-eighty pounds.” He put the report back and hurried to where the two men waited. “He was listed as being muscular and in good shape.”
“You think this creek would carry a man that size to the Columbia, Chris?”
“Hard to say.” Chris squinted at the flowing water. “My guess is no, unless there were some heavy rains.”
“It was raining pretty heavily during the search,” Mac said.
Chris wagged his head from side to side. “Yeah, but it would take a lot for this thing to rise much. I spent a few nights here in November when the coho were in, and I don’t remember much of a difference. We can check with ODFW and get the info on the water flow from the stream checkers if we need.”
Mac nodded. The Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife was the biology arm of wildlife management while OSP was the enforcement arm.
“Would you get that?” Kevin asked. “For all the days in November?”
“No problem. I’ll stop in at Bonneville Hatchery today.”
Mac followed Kevin’s gaze. “You’re thinking our victim didn’t go over the falls?”
“I’m having a hard time picturing it. We need to prove or disprove that someone the size of our victim could go over the falls and make his way to the river by way of this creek.”
“You volunteering to go over?” Mac grinned at Kevin. “You’re about his same weight, aren’t you?”
“Very funny.”
Chris lifted a hand. “Don’t look at me.”
On a more serious note, Mac asked, “Want me to scare up a piece of wood?”
“I’m afraid we’ll need something a little more lifelike,” Kevin told them. “I’ve done this before with ballistic testing, but never with a waterfall. We need to round up a one-hundred-eighty-pound sheep, shave it down, and launch it over the falls to see what happens. My guess is it will end up with a few broken bones. Our guy didn’t have any fractures—at least none that turned up on x-ray. And I’ll bet there isn’t enough current to float it out of the waterfall pool. We may want to try putting it into the creek first to see if it will float to the river.”
“Where are we going to get a sheep?” Mac asked.
“I think I can help you out,” Chris offered. “I do game meat inspections for a butcher up in Corbett. I’ll bet he could hook us up.”
“Perfect.” Kevin rubbed his chin. “We need one that’s close to the same weight; and it has to be sheared, so it doesn’t get hung up on tree snags or rocks.”
“Does it have to be alive?” Chris asked. “I really don’t think we want the animal rights folks breathing down our necks. We have a hard enough time with them as it is.”
“It should be humanely dispatched prior to our little test.” Kevin started back to the parking lot. “I know this is a lot of work, but we have to put this possibility to rest before we look much further. We want to rule out suicide or an accidental fall.”
“Understood. When do you want it?” Chris asked.
As if remembering he’d given the lead to Mac, Kevin nodded in Mac’s direction. “Ask Mac.”
“Why don’t you check those water records at the hatchery and give us a call?” Mac asked. “If the water is close to what it was then, we can set a time for the test.”
“Good enough. I’ll head down there right now.” Chris opened the door to his truck and climbed in. “Anything else you want me to check on?”
Mac glanced at Kevin, who shook his head. He elbowed Kevin and turned back to Chris. “There is one thing. Could you verify the size of those sturgeon Kevin claims are up at the hatchery? His story sounds pretty fishy to me.”
“Oh, you mean the sturgeon general?” Chris chuckled. “I can vouch for him; they’re still up there. One is eleven feet long; and the big one—the one they call Uncle Wally—is just shy of thirteen feet.”
“I can’t believe you ever doubted me.” Kevin feigned despair.
“You fishermen always exaggerate the size of fish. I needed an objective account of these monsters from the deep.”
“Hey, speaking of sturgeon, did you know that white sturgeon are a source of caviar? When the fish is mature . . .” Chris stopped.
“More than you want to know, huh?”
Mac and Kevin both nodded.
“Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll head down to the hatchery and get that information and page you.”
“Thanks.” Mac waved at him. “Kevin and I are heading down to the crime lab to get a workup on that bullet. Catch you later.”
Chris cranked the key and notified dispatch he was back in service before pulling his door closed.
“You ready to head back to the lab?” Mac asked his partner.
Kevin nodded. “I’m ready—for my second cup of coffee too.”
“Get in, then. Guess I’m buying, what with being lead detective and all.” Mac glanced at Kevin. “Though with all the questions you were asking, I got to wondering if you really meant it.”
“Sorry, partner. Some habits die hard.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you were there. I don’t think I’d ever have thought of dropping a sheep over the falls.”
Kevin’s seatbelt clicked. “My pleasure. Now you’ll owe me a month’s worth of coffee.”
Mac put the car in reverse. “I don’t know if I can afford this lead detective thing.”
19
IT WAS JUST AFTER TEN when Kevin and Mac made their way to the twelfth floor of the Justice Center. Mac asked to see the OSP crime lab supervisor, Allison Sprague.
Sarah buzzed them in.
Mac and Kevin had just entered the hallway as Allison rounded the corner. Her white lab coat flapped open to reveal an expensive-looking gray pinstriped pantsuit. “All dressed up today, Allison?” Kevin gave her an appreciative smile.
“Just hoping I can stay clean. I have court this afternoon on some DNA testimony.” She greeted them in turn. “Come on back. I assume you’re here for your bullet.”
“Yep.” Mac nodded. “Did you find a firearms scientist to run it for us stat?”
“No, but he made time. I’ve got Criminalist Wain Carver on the assignment; he just got started on it a few minutes ago. Why don’t you two go on back and introduce yourselves?”
“I know Wain,” Kevin said. “Thanks, Allison.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to excuse myself, gents, so I can get ready for court.”
“Not many of these scientists hold the criminalist rank,” Kevin said as they meandered through the lab office.
“Why’s that?” Mac gave a quick nod to Pete in prints.
“Has something to do with recruitment. When the brass decided the scientists should go through the academy with the rest of us, a lot of them quit. There aren’t many applicants with a master’s degree in molecular biology who want to march around in cadence for four months in the basic academy. So anyone with the criminalist rank—the ones who pack guns, anyway—have at least twelve years in the department. Far as I know, the new-hire scientists don’t have police authority. They just run analytical tests.”
“Can’t say I blame them. I bet these guys don’t want to go out to the range and qualify with their guns every three months either.”
“Most of them.” Kevin pointed through an office window to a stocky man with gray hair and a mustache who was firing a rifle into a metal tank filled with water. “But not him. That’s Wain. A gun nut if there ever was one.”
The scientist held up a hand, signaling Mac and Kevin to wait.
Then he put on his ear protection and safety glasses before firing into the tank. After he took off his hearing protection, he waved the detectives into the room.
“Did you get a good bullet,Wain?” Kevin shook hands with the scientist.
“Hard to say. These .223 rounds are har
d to get a good bullet from. Even in the water tank, these bullets are so fast they often break up.”
“Wain, this is my partner, Detective McAllister. He goes by Mac.”
“Nice meeting you, Mac.”Wain set the weapon aside. “Did you wear out your old partner, Kevin? Where’s Eric?”
“He’s working on that bizarre murder-for-hire case.”
“Where the woman hired the Hollywood stuntmen?” Wain drained the water tank to look for his bullet.
“That’s the one. Things were going sour, so he and Sarge are trying to get all their ducks in order.” Kevin peered into the water tank.
“Is that an M-16?” Mac asked, trying to get a look at the selector switch on the trigger guard, to see if the full auto option was available.
Wain let out a string of cuss words. “Another bad bullet.” The scientist looked up at Mac and Kevin. “Sorry, this is my fifth try. And to answer your question, Mac, that’s an AR-15. It’s the civilian version of the military M-16; it’s not fully automatic.”
Mac was well aware of the difference in the firearms but opted not to comment.
“But some have been known to convert these Colt ARs to full auto.”Wain wiped his hands on a towel.
“You don’t know anyone who would do that kind of thing, do you,Wain?” Kevin raised an eyebrow.
“Why, Detective, that would be illegal.” Wain grinned and then muscled his way past Kevin. “Bet you two would like to know a little about your bullet.”
“We would.” Kevin backed up so Wain could get to his worktable.
The criminalist pulled a chair in front of a microscope, then he turned on a large computer monitor on the shelf above the microscope. He picked up the bullet fragment collected by Mac and Kevin the previous day and slipped it under the lens. The enlarged image popped up on the computer monitor. Wain moved the bullet around with his ballpoint pen and then zoomed in on the side of the projectile.
“First of all, this little beauty is a hollow core .357 round. The bullet is over ninety percent complete, telling us it primarily had contact only with soft tissue on the victim. In other words, it didn’t hit anything hard enough to peel any weight off of her. Do you guys have a barrel for me to compare this to?”
“I’m afraid we don’t at this point,” Kevin replied. “If we find one, do you have much to compare it to?”
“Oh yeah, this little dandy has several good forensic details. See these here?”Wain pointed at the striations below the bullet mushroom that looked like the curved ridges on a piece of licorice.
Mac nodded, studying the monitor.
“These are called lands and grooves. The soft lead bullet received the print from the rifling on the barrel of the firearm. Each land and groove is unique to the firearm that projected the bullet, as detailed as a human fingerprint under the microscope. We are looking for a .357, probably a revolver, with a counterclockwise twist inside the rifled barrel. You bring me the gun or another bullet shot from the suspect’s gun, and I’ll be able to match them up for you.”
“That’s great,” Kevin said. “Hopefully we’ll be bringing you some business.”
“I ran the bullet schematic through the IBIS computer database, but nothing came back, which means it was never tested or logged into our computers. And that, gentlemen, means your shooter probably still has it.”
Kevin and Mac left the bullet fragment in the custody of the ballistics expert and headed back through the maze of offices toward the lobby.
“I need to answer some pages,” Mac said, examining the numbers. “One is Dana’s cell phone; the other is a 541 area code, probably Chris.”
“Why don’t you make the calls while I make a pit stop?”
Mac ducked into the first empty office while Kevin aimed for the nearest restroom. Five minutes later, the two met in the lobby and started down the elevator.
Mac pressed the button for the first floor. “That 541 was Chris calling from Bonneville. He said the creek is running about the same today as it was two months ago, a little harder due to the ice melt. He checked with the butcher in Corbett. The guy is willing to sell us a sheep, but the biggest he has is around 150 pounds.”
“Hmm. I wish it were more, but I guess it will have to do. If it makes its way all the way to the Columbia by way of the creek, we’ll probably have to float a heavier animal. Will the butcher bill us?”
“I didn’t ask. I can put it on my credit card if he won’t,” Mac volunteered. “Then I can put it on my expense account. I wonder what a sheep costs?”
“I guess we’ll find out. You want to call him back and give him the go-ahead?”
“I told him I’d call him over the radio. He was leaving the hatchery when we got off the phone.”
“Sounds good, Mac.”
The two detectives left the building and got into the Crown Victoria.
“What about Dana’s call? I presume she called about the victim’s family.” Kevin drew up his seat belt. “On the other hand, maybe she called to ask you out. Now that you’re a free man . . .”
Mac rolled his eyes. “She called to tell me that Vicki Gaynes would like to speak to us this afternoon. I thought we could be there around four. She’ll tell Mrs. Gaynes and page me if there’s a problem.”
Mac started the car and headed east toward the Columbia River Gorge and Wah-kella Falls. He picked up the radio mic and called for Trooper Ferolli. “Eleven-seventy-one from eleven-fifty-four.”
Chris answered immediately. “Eleven-seventy-one, west at Rooster Rock.”
“Go ahead with the purchase, Chris. We’ll twelve-six you at the falls. Just leaving city center now. Page me if there’s a problem on the payment of the package.”
“Eleven-seventy-one, copy. The butcher has the sheep ready for carving, sheared and hanging, so we’re in business. ETA about one hour.” Chris signed out.
Mac and Kevin stopped for lunch then drove back out to Wah-kella. Chris arrived shortly after with the sheep carcass in the back of his truck. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I stopped off at the hatchery and borrowed a handcart. I figured you didn’t want to haul a bloody sheep carcass up to the top of the falls on your backs.”
“You assumed correctly. Thanks.” Kevin removed his coat and tie in trade for his long yellow raincoat.
Mac eyed the yellow slicker and grinned.
“You’re not going to make a big deal again, are you?” Kevin frowned.
“Of course not. I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . Old Yeller.”
Kevin shook his head. “Just wait, kid. Your time is coming.”
“You wanted to try the creek first, right?” Chris took out his hip waders.
“Right.” Mac pulled on his rain gear as well.
Chris pulled on the waders and secured them with suspenders.
Then he and Mac dragged the sheep carcass out of the truck and pushed it over to the trailhead on the handcart.
Chris pushed and Mac guided the cart to the edge of the creek.
“This should be a good place to put him in.” Chris then dragged the dead animal into the center where the water reached his knees.
The carcass drifted a few inches then stopped. Chris stepped over to it, dragged it downstream a bit, and gave it a shove. Again it shifted in the current, but the water just moved around it.
“That’s what I expected,” Kevin said. “Now for the fun part.
We need to take it upstairs.”
“Why not stop now?” Mac asked. “We know Brad’s body couldn’t have made it to the river.”
“True, but let’s make doubly sure.”
“You got it. First I’ll need to change back into my boots.” Chris pulled the sheep carcass to the bank, where Mac helped him load it back on the cart. He quickly shed the waders and pulled on his heavy-duty work boots. “Which one of you is going to help me wrestle that thing up the hill?”
“How about I go with you?” Mac offered. “I could use a little exercise. Besides, Kevin might trip over t
he flaps of his fancy coat.”
Kevin shrugged. “I was going to volunteer before you made the coat crack.”
“Let’s do it.” Chris pulled the laces tight and double-tied the knot. Then he started up the trail with Mac, the cart between them.
In the meantime, Kevin secured the base of the falls to keep any hapless hikers from coming into contact with a falling sheep. It took Mac and Chris the better part of forty-five minutes to lug the carcass to the top of the falls. Chris radioed Kevin on his portable radio, and Kevin gave him the all-clear.
Moments later, the test launch cascaded over the falls and splashed into the pool, sending a huge spray of water in Kevin’s direction.
“Where’d he go?” Mac shouted. After securing his arm around a tree, he leaned closer to the edge but couldn’t see beyond the heavy cascade of water from the top of the falls.
“I don’t see him,” Kevin yelled back. Going to the pool’s edge, he thought he saw the carcass floating in the pool behind the falls. The back current of the waterfall held the carcass in check.
Kevin wondered how well the search-and-rescue team had searched the back of the waterfall. Mac and Chris made their way down in half the time, meeting Kevin at the base of the falls. The carcass was still floating at the back of the pool with one leg sticking up, just above the surface. Chris changed back into his hip waders then returned to the pool’s edge.
“Go ahead and yank it out, Chris,” Kevin said.
Chris waded into the water, making his way along the edge to the back of the falls, where he waded into thigh-deep water. He grabbed the sheep by its protruding leg and dragged it around to the front of the falls and onto a flat rock.
Mac gave him a hand with the animal. Spray from the falls saturated his hair and dripped down his collar. Even without an x-ray, Mac could see compound fractures of the ribs and legs.
“I think this proves beyond a reasonable doubt that our guy never went over the falls, dead or alive. Whoever shot Brad Gaynes probably dumped him straight into the river, most likely below the dam.” Kevin brushed the mist from his hair.
“I’d have to agree.” Chris pressed a hand to his back. “There’s no clean way to go through the dam unless he happened to pass through a lock when a ship or a barge was going through. It’s possible, but not likely because the main current goes straight at the center of the dam and the turbines.”
Deadfall Page 17
