Deadfall

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “And the ‘you deserve so much better’ comment.” Kevin grimaced as he straightened. “I’ll get an evidence bag. I don’t see much else of interest, except for those phone bills.” He pointed to some singed documents. “Let’s seize those. The phone numbers might be important.”

  “See anything else you want me to bag, Mac?” Kevin asked.

  “This is tough for you, isn’t it?” Mac chuckled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Kev. You’re having a hard time remembering to let me take the lead.”

  “Maybe a little, but I’m trying. Just remind me if I start stepping on your toes, okay? I want you to feel comfortable with this.

  Now answer my question—do you want me to bag anything else?”

  Mac suppressed a grin. “I think that’s it for the outside.

  Nothing else of evidentiary value that I can see.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Kevin slipped the paperwork into clear plastic evidence bags, sealed the envelope, and then placed the items in the trunk of the Crown Victoria.

  “You think we ought to have the lab run some ninhydrin testing on the note? Maybe this Jeremy has some prints on file.”

  Ninhydrin was a chemical mist to lift latent fingerprints.

  “Either that or iodine fuming,” Kevin said. “We’ll have to see what Allison thinks.” Kevin dumped his gloves in the waste receptacle.

  “Iodine fuming?” Mac chuckled. “Do they still perform that test? I thought that went out with Dick Tracy.”

  “Newer isn’t always better, Mac. Sometimes the old mousetrap can’t be improved upon.” Kevin pursed his mouth. “Fuming doesn’t ruin the document like ninhydrin; the only color change is the actual fingerprint when it meets the fumes from the iodine crystals, reacting to the oil on the print. Ninhydrin works pretty well on most documents, but it’s messier. You can always run ninhydrin after fuming, but not the other way around.”

  “Once again, partner, I’m impressed by your never-ending storehouse of knowledge.” Mac peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the waste bin on top of Kevin’s.

  “Yes, I can tell you are very sincere.” Kevin threw the evidence tape at Mac. “Besides, I’ve been using iodine fuming for twenty-plus years and I don’t quite know how that ninhydrin junk works.”

  “Aha!” Mac threw the tape back at Kevin, who caught the bulky roll and set it in the trunk then closed the lid. They were still laughing as they made their way up the walk and into the house.

  “All clear to come inside?” Kevin yelled from the front deck.

  “Yeah, come on in,” a male voice came from a back room. As the detectives entered the small home, Mac said, “When the Gayneses said Jessica cleaned it out, I wasn’t expecting this. Looks like she even took the furniture.”

  “It’s pretty sparse all right.”

  The residence had a small kitchen and a dining area, located next to a family room. There were a few scattered dishes on top of a card table in the dining area and a futon in the family room area. The carpet indentation indicated that other items of furniture had once been in the family room—probably another chair, a coffee table, and a television, by the look of the prints.

  “Nothing remarkable yet, fellas.” Allison stood in the entrance to the bedroom, holding a bright white light and examining the wall. “As you can see, there’s not much to look through. My partner is in the bedroom taking a look around with the lights, though I didn’t see anything unusual on our cursory search.”

  Mac peeked in the bedroom, noting only two mattresses on the floor and a makeshift bedside table. The CSI tech was going over the walls and carpet with a blue light, looking for blood spatter evidence. “You guys can start the physical search of the kitchen area. It’s the only room ready right now,” Allison said.

  Mac and Kevin searched the kitchen, eventually moving into the front room and the single bedroom and bathroom. Their search proved fruitless, though the techs did pick up some trace items from the carpet and paint in the event they needed some samples for future comparison. Allison finished packing up, then she collected the evidence Mac and Kevin had stored in the trunk. “See if you can get prints off the letter from Jeremy,” Kevin said.

  “Right. I’ll make copies and fume it before spraying the destructive chemicals on it.”

  Kevin sent Mac a wink as the lab people left. “Was I right or wasn’t I?” Kevin looked entirely too smug, but Mac’s comments were cut off when a familiar car turned into the driveway.

  “Look who’s here.” Kevin nodded toward the Ford SUV.

  Todd and Vicki stepped out of their car, and Mac walked out front to greet them. “Anything new to report, detectives?” Vicki asked.

  “I’m afraid we didn’t find much to aid us in the home,” Mac answered. “It looks pretty well cleaned out.”

  “I know. Jessica and her friends did a number on the place.”

  Vicki looked past Mac to Kevin, who’d gone back to lock the front doorevin greeted the parents and handed the keys back to Todd.

  “Mrs. Gaynes was just telling me about Jessica and her friends cleaning out the house,” Mac said.

  “Friends? What friends? You told us about the items Jessica removed from the residence—Brad’s guitar, clothes, and ski equipment. I don’t remember you saying anything about furniture items or that she had friends helping her.”

  “We don’t really know any names, just that Jessica had people over at the house after Brad went missing.” Vicki ran a hand through her hair. “They may have been mutual friends, but they were all very disrespectful, if you ask me.”

  “How so?” Mac asked.

  “Well, take a look around. They must have partied hard and trashed the place. You can see the stains all over the carpet and the beer bottles and cans out back. None of that was here when Brad lived in the house. He kept the place fairly clean.”

  “Yeah, we saw the trash.” Kevin placed his hands on his hips.

  “Can you give us any names?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know.” Vicki deferred to her husband.

  “Me neither.” Todd shrugged. “When he wasn’t working at Timberline Lodge, he was skiing. I know Brad had friends, but he never brought them around us. I guess he knew we probably wouldn’t approve of them.”

  “Does the name Jeremy ring a bell?” Kevin asked.

  Interested in their response, Mac’s gaze shifted from one to the other. There was no look of recognition.

  “Sorry, it doesn’t,” Vicki said. “Should it?”

  “Maybe. It’s just a name that came up in some paperwork we found in the residence,” Mac offered. “Probably nothing.”

  “The crime lab went through the home also,” Kevin said. “We didn’t find any obvious signs of a struggle or crime evidence. Since Brad lived here, there is no real value to taking prints or initiating additional testing at the house unless we have specific information that would require it.”

  “So what’s next?” Todd asked.

  Mac looked over at Kevin then back to Todd. “Our next step is to talk to coworkers up at Timberline.”

  “What about Jessica?” Vicki asked.

  “In the works.”

  “I hope you talk to her soon, detectives.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because as soon as she hears that Brad’s body was found, she’s going to run. I’m afraid if you don’t act fast, that young woman is going to get away with murder.”

  23

  STATION TWENTY from eleven-fifty-one,” Kevin called in over the car radio as Mac drove east on Highway 26 toward Mount Hood.

  “Eleven-fifty-one,” the dispatcher answered.

  “Fifty-one, please advise if nineteen-eleven is on,” Kevin said, trying to reach the Government Camp patrol sergeant. The village of Government Camp was located at the base of Mount Hood at over four thousand feet. The accident-plagued snowy pass was patrolled by a rugged group of state troopers, led by the outpost sergeant. Before the di
spatcher could answer, the sergeant came on the radio.

  “Nineteen-eleven, Warm Springs.” The sergeant gave his location as being farther east, on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation.

  Kevin gave the sergeant his cell phone number and asked him to call.

  “Copy, eleven-fifty-one. It’ll be a few minutes.”

  “These mountain pass troopers have a rough job,” Kevin said while he waited for the call. “There’s snow on Mount Hood year-round, and they never get a break from the traffic crashes.”

  “Which is why they call this section of Highway 26 Blood Alley.” Mac slowed down at a curve. “Beautiful and treacherous.”

  “These troops handle more death investigations than we do.”

  “I hope the sergeant has a contact for us up at Timberline Lodge so we can get some work history on our guy. And maybe he knows this Jeremy guy.”

  “Ask him about Timberline road too, Kev. We may have to chain up east of Rhododendron.” Mac eyed the snow-covered peak in the distance.

  Kevin’s cell phone rang moments later. The sergeant provided them with the name and location of the lodge personnel manager. He also warned of a snow-packed road but said the mountain ODOT crews had dumped a fresh load of gravel on the highway. “We should make the lodge okay if we stay on the highway, but the parking lot may be a little rough.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.” Kevin snapped his phone shut. “Our contact at the lodge is Drake Kessler.”

  Mac maneuvered the Crown Victoria over the winding, snow-packed road to Government Camp. Luckily, the line of cars moved along at a good forty miles an hour. A half-hour later, they turned onto Highway 173, better known as Timberline Road. The steep grade through a winter wonderland led up to the base of Mount Hood and to the historic Timberline Lodge.

  The landmark building was heaped with snow, the roof seeming to touch the ground at some points with its pristine white covering. Mac drove along the lines of cars and SUVs, finally finding a place to park. The parking lot was crowded with sightseers, skiers, sledders, mountain climbers, and snowmobilers. Mac and Kevin wound their way through the throng of people.

  “I wish I would have worn boots,” Mac said, high-stepping through the knee-deep snow. He also wished he could be up here skiing and promised to make it happen soon. He thought again about Linda. She didn’t like winter sports. Did Dana? Mac squelched the idea. He didn’t need to bring a date.

  Kevin and Mac entered the giant stone-faced building, going from the dark tunnel to a great room with one of the biggest fireplaces he’d ever seen. Mac made his way through the crowd to the information counter.

  “May I help you?” the friendly attendant asked.

  “Sure. We’d like to speak with Drake Kessler,” Mac answered.

  “We don’t have an appointment.”

  “Let me check.” The teenager gave Mac a wide smile. “Can I tell him who you are?”

  “Oregon State Police.” Mac displayed his badge.

  “Oh.” Her smile disappeared. She hit a speed-dial on the phone. While waiting for someone to pick up, she asked, “Are you guys here about the stolen ski equipment?”

  “Not exactly,” Kevin answered, “but we might be able to take care of that too. Is Mr. Kessler in? It’s rather important.”

  After a brief phone conversation, she pointed up a set of stairs at the end of the rustic entry. “Right up to the top, third door on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  The men climbed the wide wooden stairs and were greeted at the top by a man wearing casual yet expensive-looking clothes. He eyed the detectives suspiciously. “You’re with the Oregon State Police?”

  “That’s right,” Mac answered. “Detectives McAllister and Bledsoe.” They both displayed their badges and photo identification.

  “You’re not here about the ski equipment, are you?” Kessler shook hands with each of them.

  “No. Actually we’re working on a murder investigation.”

  “Really. By all means, come on in.” Kessler lead them into his tidy office. “Please sit down. Can I get you some coffee—a soda?”

  They both declined the drinks and settled into the comfortable chairs at a large round table that sat in the corner of the office, just to the right of a mahogany desk. “We talked with Sergeant Jon Walker a short time ago and he gave us your name. Said you might be able to help us.”

  Kessler smiled. “Right. Jon and his family come up to the lodge often.” He sat in the third chair at the table.

  Mac and Kevin spent the next few minutes telling Drake about Brad Gaynes’s death and their subsequent investigation.

  Drake shook his head. “I read about his death in the paper. A number of us went out to help with the search when we could take the time off. I remember at the time thinking he’d probably be found dead somewhere.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Drake shrugged. “You come to expect it. We live in some pretty rugged country. So when a guy goes missing, especially someone like Brad, who had wilderness survival training . . . Well, he wasn’t the type to just up and leave.”

  “That’s pretty much what the family thought,” Mac said. “Turns out they were right.”

  “Brad had a lot of friends here, and he was a good worker. He worked hard, and I imagine, like a lot of these guys, he partied hard.”

  “Tell us something about his work habits.”

  Drake pursed his lips. “Like I said, he was a good worker. Always came in when he was scheduled. Never missed a lesson. That’s saying something. His students liked him—we never had any complaints.”

  Mac made a few notes on his pad. “Can you supply us with a roster of employees who knew Brad?”

  “Sure. How about I get the info together and fax it to you tomorrow?”

  “That would be great. Are any of his friends working today?”

  “I couldn’t say right off, but I can check for you.” Drake checked his watch. “Why don’t you guys go on down to the restaurant? Lunch is on us. By the time you’re finished, I should have some answers for you.”

  “Sounds good.” Mac nodded. “I’m afraid we can’t accept gratuities, but we’d be happy to pay for our own meal.”

  Drake shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

  Mac cleared his throat. “Um, before we go, could you tell us anything about Jessica Turner, Brad’s girlfriend?”

  Drake’s face lit up in a smile. “Jessica worked in the bar. They made a real nice couple. She and Brad hit it off right away. I wasn’t surprised—Jessica was a special gal.”

  “Really.” Mac didn’t tell him that not everyone thought so.

  “Upbeat, good personality. Good worker, someone you could count on. In fact, she came to me just before Brad went missing and asked if she could get a job in the administrative offices. Said she and Brad were getting married, and she wanted a full-time job.

  She had good timing, since my assistant was moving. And I was pleased to get her. Jessica was thrilled.” He frowned. “After Brad disappeared, Jessica changed—got pretty depressed. She quit her job and moved back to California with her family.”

  Mac glanced over at Kevin, who was busy writing. “Did you notice any problems between Jessica and Brad before he disappeared?”

  “Not that I recall. I don’t see my employees every day, though.

  Some of the others might be able to tell you something.”

  Mac tapped his pen against his hand. “Do you know anyone named Jeremy?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Jeremy . . . I know several. Popular name.

  You mean someone who works here?”

  “Right.”

  He smiled. “Jon Walker’s son and a Jeremy. Um, Larson, I think. His name should be on that roster.”

  “Okay.” Mac turned to Kevin. “You have anything?”

  “Not right now.” Kevin pressed his palms against the arms of the chair and pushed to his feet. “Mr. Kessler, I think we’ll take that lunch break now.”

  “All right.�
� He went to his desk, took out a pad, and scribbled something on it. Handing it to Kevin, he said, “Just give this to the waiter. At least allow me to seat you at my personal table. It has the best view of the slopes.”

  “We really appreciate your cooperation,Mr. Kessler.”

  “Hey, anything I can do to help. I’ll get that information for you and bring it down to the restaurant.” He walked them to the door. “I’ll arrange to have any of my people who knew Brad come in and talk to you if you want.”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  AFTER LUNCH and three unproductive interviews, Mac and Kevin plodded back out to the parking lot. It had snowed heavily while they’d been inside, and the going was even tougher than before. “I think we’re going to need sled dogs to get back to our car.” Mac made a wry face.

  The car was barely visible in the snow, with at least six inches of fresh powder on the ground. Mac opened the driver side door carefully. A huge chunk of snow thumped onto his seat.

  “Oh, great. Just what I need.” Mac brushed out the snow, his hands freezing in the process.

  Kevin chuckled. “You may want to dust the snow off the car before you open the door, Daniel Boone.” He caught the edge of his coat sleeve in his hand and brushed the snow from the top of the passenger side door and the windshield. “You do have tire chains, don’t you?”

  “Chains? Didn’t you put them in the trunk?” Mac cast Kevin a concerned look as he finished clearing his seat. “If you didn’t, we may have to spend the night.”

  “Are you serious? You came up here without chains?”

  It was Mac’s turn to laugh. He clipped his pager to the visor so it wouldn’t fall and get lost in the deep snow before brushing the white stuff off his side of the windshield. “Of course I have chains.

  I’m just not sure I know how to put them on.”

  “Marvelous.” Kevin popped the trunk with the dash button then went back to retrieve them.

  Mac pulled the box of tire chains from the trunk and dropped it on the ground. Kevin pulled his yellow slicker from the trunk, snapping it on over his clothes. “Never put on chains, huh? You didn’t grow up in the country, did you?”