Deadfall (25 page)

“Right.” Mac nodded. “Good play. She confessed, didn't she?”

“Yep. Told the detectives she pushed her boyfriend over the cliff during an argument.”

“You're right; this is very similar.” Mac turned toward Kevin.

“You think we ought to try the same thing with Jessica? Pretend the Gayneses are flying her home for the funeral, then interview her?”

Kevin shook his head. “I'm not a big fan of that approach. For one thing, our guys caught a lot of flak during the trial. People don't like the police being dishonest during investigations, no matter how legal it is.”

“How are we going to do any undercover work then?” Mac said sarcastically. “Do they think we should send our narcotics guys into a sting wearing uniforms?”

“Humph. Very funny. I'm just stating a fact. Juries don't like police lying to suspects. I think we'll make a call tomorrow morning and get a detective to Jessica's home in Crescent City. Hopefully the address Vicki has is still good. We need to let her know Brad is dead, no matter what the family thinks. If she won't consent to an interview with us, we'll fall back on the locals. If we're lucky, she'll come back to Oregon on her own accord and we can do a face to face. That's the way I'd rather conduct business, but then again, you are the lead on this. Your call, Mac.”

Darn. I was looking forward to a trip to a slightly warmer climate.
But Kevin was right. It would be more efficient to have a local cop talk to her. Besides, Mac didn't feel secure enough to take a different approach. “Sounds like a plan, Kev. Let's hit the house tomorrow, and I'll get the California cops to inform Jessica.”

“Good. Sounds like a plan.” Kevin parroted one of his youthful partner's favorite lines.

“Smart-mouth.”

22

Y
OU GUYS MAKING ANY HEADWAY on that Salem caper, Sarge?” Mac asked as he walked past Sergeant Evans's office. His question was partly curiosity about the murder-for-hire case and partly wanting to make sure his boss noticed he was at work at 6:30 A.M.

Frank looked up from a stack of police reports and peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Oh, hey, Mac. This thing grew wings, but I think we have the old gal nailed. Eric got the request for the hit on a body wire tape.”

I bet a jury won't have a problem with that bit of “dishonest” undercover
work,
Mac thought. “So Eric was able to pull it off? You guys make an arrest yet?”

“Yep. We got the husband in the loop. Had him holed up in a Motel 8 down in Marion County. The wife fronted us ten grand for the hit, with ten more when she got the proof.”

“Proof?” Mac asked. “How did you pull that one off?”

“By consulting with the master,” Philly said, as he maneuvered his large frame into the cramped office.

“Something like that.” Frank rolled his eyes. “Now get lost. I gotta get these reports proofed and signed off. I'm sure Philly will share the details, Mac.”

“Sure. Let's get some coffee first.” Mac followed Philly out of the office and into the break room, where they filled up their coffee mugs and Philly hooked a couple of donuts.

“What happened to your low-carb diet?” Mac asked, raising his eyebrows at Philly's donuts.

“Too restrictive,” Philly mumbled around the powdered donut he'd stuffed in his mouth as they entered his office.

“Okay.” Mac settled into a chair. “Tell me what went down.”

Philly dumped creamer into his cup. The air swooshed out of his oversized executive chair as he sank into it. “Russ and I dolled up the husband like a dead guy—the dude actually let us put makeup on him and everything. A little dirt on the face and some ketchup in his hair, and there you go.” Philly opened a file and showed Mac a few photographs.

“These are good. He really looks dead.” Mac grimaced. “Did she fall for it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker. Eric showed her the pics, and she handed over the money. End of story.”

“I'm impressed.”

“As well you should be.” Philly bit into another powdered donut, spraying sugar all over his suit and dark tie.

“How's your case coming along, Mac?” Frank stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee.

“So far, so good.” Mac got to his feet. “We have an ID on the victim and are starting interviews with the family. The main person of interest right now is the victim's girlfriend. She's already moved out of state.”

“You know the governor's restriction on out-of-state travel, so don't even ask,” Frank warned. “Our budget's in pretty bad shape. No out-of-state travel unless it's an emergency.”

“Not to worry, Sarge, I called the S.O. down south last night and asked them to make contact with her. I asked if they would send an experienced investigator to note her reaction to the death notification and interview her if she permits. I also asked him to have her call me, but I don't know if that will happen or not.”

“Good. You and Kevin getting all the help you need?”

“Right now, yes. We have Chris Ferroli, a game officer, helping on some of the follow-up, but we are just getting started on the interviews.”

Philly scowled. “What help can a stump jumper be to a murder investigation?”

Mac took exception. “For your information, wise guy, Trooper Ferroli has been a great help. He recovered the body and has given us some invaluable information on the falls area, where the victim was last reported missing.”

“He knows, Mac.” Frank laughed. “Philly just likes making derogatory remarks.”

“You know me too well, Boss Hog.” Philly sighed. “I'll let you and Gramps bumble around for a day or two, Mac, and then give you some tips to wrap up this gig, just as soon as Russ and I are done with this murder-for-hire case.”

“Thanks a bunch.” Mac picked up his lukewarm coffee. “I need a refill.”

“Don't mention it,” Philly called after him.

“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Kevin appeared in the doorway, blocking Mac's exit. Mac jumped at the sound of his voice, sloshing coffee on his jacket.

“And what's this Gramps stuff? I'm only a few years older than you.”

“You just look a lot older,” Philly laughed. “And quit sneaking up on me.”

“If you'd ever stop bragging about yourself, you might actually hear the door to the office open.”

Kevin grinned at Mac. “Hey, partner, you ready? We need to be in Brightwood in about an hour.”

Mac finished dabbing the coffee off his jacket, staining his white hanky. “You bet. Just let me grab my briefcase and get rid of this.” He tossed the stained hanky in a side drawer and left his half-empty cup on his desk. Briefcase in hand, he joined Kevin at the main door.

The detectives started east on SE Powell Boulevard, which was US Highway 26 in Portland city limits. After stopping for real coffee, they drove through Gresham and Sandy on their way to the small community located twenty miles from Mount Hood.

“Everything go okay with the sheriff 's office in California?” Kevin asked.

“They were glad to help. I expect to hear back in the next couple of hours.”

“Good.” Kevin sighed, taking a sip of coffee. “Morning came early today.”

“Hey, I meant to ask, what type of guns did Todd Gaynes have?”

“Just a couple of rifles, like he said, and a .22 pistol in his nightstand. His rifles were a 7 mm magnum and a 300 Winchester, nothing close to what we're looking for.”

“I ran a check through the firearms verification unit in Salem last night. None of the other family members have firearms registered to them. Jessica doesn't either.”

Kevin raised his brows. “That would be helpful if it were accurate. That database is only about seven years old and only captures guns purchased by law-abiding citizens. You're not going to find most of the guns bought at gun shows or on the street or in garage sales.” He shook his head. “It's just too easy for crooks to get guns.”

“Yeah, I was just hoping for a lucky strike.” Mac felt a bit defensive. Maybe the two of them were spending a little too much time together. Maybe Kevin was having second thoughts about giving him the lead.

The detectives didn't talk much during the drive east on Highway 26. Mac exited on Brightwood Loop Road, near the Oregon Department of Transportation truck weigh station. Using the directions Brad's parents had given them, they easily found the small house Jessica and Brad had lived in. The one-story chalet was nestled amongst ferns and moss-covered fir and cedar trees.

Because it was located so close to Mount Hood, the community along the Hoodland corridor was popular with skiers and others who enjoyed alpine living. On a clear day you could see the snow-covered twelve-thousand-foot peak.

“This must be the place.” Mac eased into the gravel driveway.

“Looks like Allison's already here.” Mac pulled alongside the crime lab Ford F-250 pickup and parked.

“Morning, guys.” Allison stepped down from the passenger seat of the truck. A male crime lab technician climbed out of the driver's seat. After greeting each other, Kevin opened the front door with the key Vicki had provided. “We'll run video on the outside if you can get started on the inside,” Mac told Allison.

“Sounds good. We'll go over the inside with the lights, both white and blue. I don't see much need to spray chemicals unless we find something suspicious.”

“Agreed.” Mac popped the trunk.

Allison and her assistant disappeared inside the small house while Mac and Kevin examined the outside grounds.

“Not much of a housekeeper.” Mac scanned the hundreds of beer bottles and cans that littered the back of the house, next to a fifty-gallon burn barrel.

“You said it. I wonder why they didn't return these for the deposit?” Kevin peered inside the barrel. After rummaging around in the barrel with a stick, he tipped it over to take a look at its contents. Then he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them on, preparing to look through the debris.

Mac continued to walk around the cabin, taking videos and photographs and looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“No outbuildings; nothing much to look at,” Mac said as he returned to the small garbage dump Kevin was kneeling over.

“Good. Help me dig through this burn barrel stuff. There's a lot of paperwork here that someone tried to burn, but you can make out some of it.” Mac slipped on gloves and began to search through the papers, mainly bills and late notices from collectors.

“Hello. Take a look at this.” Kevin held up a singed piece of white paper and handed it to Mac. “I wonder who Jeremy is?”

Mac read the handwritten note.

Dear Jess,

I know our situation is a little weird right now, but I
wanted you to know I'm thinking about you. I'm here for you
if you need me. I'm willing to be your friend for now, but you
know I would like to be more. You deserve so much better.

Love always,
Jeremy

“Romeo's got my interest,” Mac said. “I hope someone knows who this guy is so we can find out what this letter is all about. I'm wondering what that ‘situation' is.”

“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.”