Secrets, Lies & Alibis

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Frank hoped the reporting party was mistaken. “Make sure the troop doesn’t disturb anything until we get there. I’m en route from the Portland office.”

  “You got it, Sarge. The medical examiner has been notified.

  You should get there about the same time. I’ll let Trooper Bennett know. She’s standing by with the reporting party.”

  “How many victims?” Frank wouldn’t ask too many detailed questions. The answers were usually unreliable by the time word sifted down through the ranks. Still, he wanted some idea of what he would find.

  “Only one reported, further details unknown.”

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up and groaned. “Another weekend shot to . . .” He caught himself midsentence. He’d talked to several of his people about cleaning up their language and he should be setting an example.

  Frank slipped on his jacket then strode to the cubicle next to his. “Hey, O’Rourke. You’re up.”

  “Up for what, Boss Hog?” Eric grinned as he dropped his feet to the floor.

  Frank ignored the nickname. He didn’t mind as long as Eric and the other guys didn’t use it in public. The tall gangly redhead reminded Frank of a teenager who hadn’t yet filled out. Unfortunately, Eric was about as well rounded as he was going to get. He was a vegetarian and looked the part. Though Eric didn’t appear to have much in the way of muscle, Frank sure wouldn’t want to get on his hit list.

  “Homicide at Bonneville Park. You’re the lead on this one, pal.”

  “No way.” Eric’s grin widened.

  “I’m leaving with Connie and the kids to go to the Islands for a week, remember? We got nonrefundable tickets.” Frank frowned and muttered, “At least I hope I’ll be going.”

  “Sorry, I’d forgotten. But don’t worry, Sarge.” Eric stood and gave Frank a friendly slap on the back. “You know I’ll take the wheel while you and Mama are gone.”

  Frank nodded. “I know.” Eric knew how badly Frank needed a vacation. Heck, so did the entire department—mostly because they were all in the same boat. Frank and Eric had worked together for years. The guy loved his job. More importantly, Frank trusted him. “Just remember, as acting sergeant, you have to lead the investigation and not get tied up with evidence or interviews. Leave that to the rest of the crew.”

  “Breaks my heart.” Eric faked a despairing sigh. “No reports, no court appearances with defense attorneys.” He chuckled. “I’ll take the lead anytime.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. You go have yourself a great time.” Eric swung his narrow hips from side to side. “Do a little hula, go to a luau. Work on your tan.”

  Frank grinned. “Thanks. I’ll drive out to the site and see what we’re dealing with, then you’re on your own.”

  Eric gathered extra cassette tapes and latex gloves from the stash in his desk.

  “What’s up?” Detective Kevin Bledsoe walked in and tossed his jacket on the chair in the cubicle next to Eric’s. Kevin was a big man, around six-two, who carried what looked like two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Though Kevin and Frank were close in age, Frank envied the man’s ability to stay in shape while, even with regular exercise, his own muscles seemed to droop and sag, especially around his belly.

  “Hey, Kev,” Frank hailed him. “Saddle up, my friend. We’ve got a homicide at Bonneville Park.”

  “Whose lead?” Kevin asked.

  “Mine,” Eric answered with a grin barely visible through his thick red mustache.

  “Figures. I do all the work and you take the credit.” Kevin feigned a pout.

  “Looks like another unsolved case for the taxpayers,” Eric shot back.

  Frank shook his head, wondering how those two ever got anything done. They’d been partners for years, but just recently, Kevin had been shifted to the new guy—a trainee from the child abuse unit by the name of Mac McAllister.

  “Are you two ladies going to exchange recipes all day?” Frank ducked back into his cubicle and snatched his briefcase. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Mellow out, Boss Hog. They don’t get any deader,” Eric replied.

  “Is deader a word?” Kevin pushed his arm through his blue nylon jacket with State Police imprinted on the back in yellow letters.

  “It is now,” Eric replied. “Let’s go, partner.”

  Eric opened the door that led from the detectives’ offices to the hallway. “Age before beauty,” he teased, letting the two senior officers walk ahead of him.

  Frank admired and respected both men. Kevin, at age fiftyfour, was the senior detective in his work group. He had been involved in hundreds of death investigations statewide during his twenty-six years of service with the Oregon State Police. He had trained all the other detectives in his unit, including Eric. Eric was ten years younger than Kevin, but there was no generation gap between them—at least none that Frank could see. They understood each other all too well. They’d been through a lot together, both on and off the job. They had worked well together—maybe because they went to the same church and shared the same faith.

  “Hey, Kev, how’s the new partner working out?” Eric asked.

  “You mean Mac? He’s been in orientation, so I haven’t done more than say hello when he toured the place. Looking through his files, though, I think he’ll make a fine addition to our team.

  Maybe I’ll even be able to teach him a thing or two.” Kevin paused. “Why don’t I give him a call and have him meet us out there? He could use the experience.”

  “Sounds good,” Frank agreed. The men separated at the door and Frank headed for his Chevrolet Caprice. “I’ll be on the radio and my cell phone is on,” he shouted to the two men as they walked toward Eric’s car. “See you there.”

  Frank pulled out of the lot in the car everyone referred to as the “hammer wagon.” He wasn’t certain why the old beater got that particular nickname—probably because it looked like it had been beat up with a jackhammer. Or maybe it was because of the knocking noise its engine made, regardless of the work he’d had done on it. It was one of the old squareback Caprices with peeling paint and a leaky trunk.

  Frank could have gotten a new car anytime but always gave the new cars to his detectives. He couldn’t really say why. Maybe he was resistant to change or just preferred the companionship of his old car. The moaning siren and the clunking knock of the hammer wagon accompanied Frank as he headed east up the gorge toward Bonneville State Park.

  Chapter Four

  What are we doing tonight?” Linda asked.

  Mac’s gaze roamed over his fiancée’s face. Linda Stewart had the classic beauty of a model—dark shoulder-length hair and deep chocolate brown eyes. She was Italian. So was he, but she didn’t know that. His gaze settled on Linda’s full mouth as he pulled her into his arms. “How about this?” Mac kissed her.

  After a few breathless moments, she pushed him away then ran her forefinger across his lower lip. “Maybe later. I was thinking about a movie. There’s one with Meg Ryan I’d like to see.”

  “Why don’t we rent a movie?” Mac grinned. “That way we can both have what we want.”

  “You’re impossible.” She straightened the collar on his cotton golf shirt.

  Mac shrugged. “But lovable, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “After the movie we can—”

  “Make out?”

  “Honestly, Mac, don’t you ever think of anything else?”

  “Sure. Lots of things—like food and . . .”

  “Work.” She frowned. “Which reminds me . . . You don’t have to work this weekend, do you? I was thinking maybe tomorrow we could go out on the boat with my parents.”

  “Sure, unless I get called in.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Linda didn’t much care for his line of work. She was especially upset when he’d told her about his recent move into the homicide division. “We’ll have to pray that doesn’t happen.”

  Mac almost wished he would get a call. Linda was starting to ann
oy him with all her talk about prayer and God’s will.

  “About tonight.” She hooked an arm through his. “I’d really like us to talk.”

  Mac groaned. Talk meant she was getting more serious. She probably wanted to talk about commitment.

  “Honey, please,” she prodded gently. “We’ve been going out for six months and I don’t know anything about your family. I’d like to meet your parents.”

  Mac folded his arms. He did not want to talk about his family—or lack of one. He felt like walking out the door and slamming it behind him. “Why?” His voice was strained, and the veins in his neck tightened.

  “Because I love you. Mac . . . and that’s another thing. I don’t even know your real name.”

  “Tony.” His tone was so sharp she backed away as though he’d hit her. Well, she’d asked. “Antonio James McAllister. There, are you satisfied? You know it. Let’s go.”

  Linda took another step back. “I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with you now. I mean, what’s so bad about your past that you can’t tell me?”

  “Leave it, okay? Maybe someday I’ll tell you, but for right now, leave it alone.”

  “Fine.” Linda strode to her bedroom and returned with her purse.

  Mac watched her walk back to him, feeling like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  She turned around and hugged him. “You’re forgiven. But if you expect me to marry you, I want to know what I’m in for.”

  “Right.”

  He’d fallen in love with Linda Stewart the minute he’d met her.

  Mac had gone to the hospital to check on a woman who’d been badly beaten by her husband. Linda was the nurse assigned to her.

  She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wanted to tell her everything, but how could he? He’d be opening old wounds, and who knew what it would cost him? If Linda knew too much about his past, she might change her mind.

  He’d just opened the door when his cell phone rang. “Hey, partner. This is Detective Kevin Bledsoe. Ready to tackle your first case?”

  “Sure,” Mac responded without hesitation. He glanced over at Linda. She would not be happy.

  “Good. We got a farmer out by Bonneville State Park who says he found a body out on his property.”

  “Okay.” Mac tried to suppress his excitement but couldn’t. This was what he’d been waiting for since he met Detective Bledsoe during his orientation. Still, he didn’t want to seem too eager.

  “Where do you want me to meet you?”

  Kevin gave him the information. “Oh, and Detective McAllister, welcome aboard.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.” Mac turned off the phone and slipped it into his pants pocket. He turned to Linda. “I have to go.”

  “I know. You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

  Mac didn’t know what to say. “I’ll be back. Maybe even tonight.”

  “No, you won’t.” She gave him a wistful smile and kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

  Mac had a feeling he was losing her—that he’d moved too fast in asking her to marry him. But now was not the time to think about Linda or what they meant to each other. He had a death to investigate with the best detective in the state of Oregon.

  Chapter Five

  A short time later, Sgt. Frank Evans eased his old Chevy onto the shoulder of the frontage road on the southeast end of Bonneville State Park. He made note of the time on his dashmounted clock and on his yellow legal pad wrote, Arrived on scene, 1723 hrs.

  A black-and-white patrol car was parked on the right shoulder of the roadway, with its rear amber emergency lights flashing. The red and blue overhead lights were on as well, though not as piercing to the eye as the amber strobes. The red light on the left side of the light bar wasn’t rotating.

  Frank popped the trunk of the Caprice with the dash-mounted button then activated his own four-way emergency flashers. He climbed out of his car and watched the trooper as she walked toward him. Nodding at the light on her vehicle, he said, “Needs a new rotor housing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dana answered. “I’ll take care of it.” She reached out her hand. “Trooper Dana Bennett.” Her blue patrol uniform was neatly pressed and her leather shoes polished to a high shine.

  Frank glanced at his black leather dress shoes. They looked like he’d polished them with a chocolate bar. Taking her proffered hand, he introduced himself. “Sergeant Frank Evans.” He raised an eyebrow in recognition. “I remember you from my crime scene class at the academy. You sat in the front row, didn’t you?”

  She smiled, revealing a pair of dimples. “Good memory. I guess that’s why you’re a detective.”

  Frank smiled back, not mentioning the fact that she would be a hard woman to forget. Not that he had any ideas along those lines. He was a happily married man, but he wasn’t dead. She struck him as competent as well as attractive. Trooper Bennett met him eye to eye, making her about five-eight. She wore her long blonde hair back in a thick braid, twisted into a bun at the back of her head to comply with regulations. The bulletproof vest gave her a boxy torso, but he remembered from class that she had a nice figure—not superthin, but nice just the same. The most attractive part of her was her smile.

  Frank opened his trunk and began to assemble his gear, forcing his attention back to why he was there. “Is that the reporting party?” The passenger door was open on the trooper’s vehicle, and Frank saw a scruffy-looking man sitting in the right front seat with his hands folded. The man glanced back at Frank and Dana, then he faced forward again. He seemed nervous and scared, but who could blame him?

  “Yes.” Dana adjusted her straw campaign hat. “His name is Preston Collins.” She opened her police notebook and flipped to the most recent page. “Um . . . dispatch gave me a twelve-fortynine call when I was out near Troutdale. They had me meet Mr. Collins at the ranger station at the main entrance of the park. He said he found the body while looking for a lost calf. He thinks the victim is a woman. Or was.”

  “He looks pretty shaken up.” Frank eyed the man.

  “Yeah, seems like a good old guy. I have to admit I was a little nervous being with him at first, but he seems harmless. He had a hard time explaining where he found the victim, so I drove him down here. His dog and his rig are back at the park ranger’s office. He said the body is about fifty yards off the road, near that gully off to the right.” She pointed out the location. “I haven’t been down there. I didn’t want to disturb anything you guys might need to examine.”

  “Good. Why don’t you back up your car and I’ll drive ahead to the other side of the pullout? We’ll string the tape between our cars.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What time does your shift end?”

  She smiled again. “About two hours ago, Sergeant Evans. I don’t mind extending, though . . . for the experience.”

  “And the time-and-a-half pay?” Frank offered a lopsided grin.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  As Frank positioned his car in the roadway to string the crime scene tape, Kevin and Eric pulled behind the marked patrol car. Frank reached in the trunk of his car and pulled a fresh roll of plastic yellow Crime Scene Do Not Cross tape. He fastened the tape to the left side mirror of his car, walking the line back to the left side mirror of the black and white. He tied off the end, stretching the rubbery tape until it was taut.

  Frank glanced toward the two detectives approaching them. “Like I said back at the office, I don’t want to get too involved in this one. You guys know what to do. The scene is yours. Start with the outer crime scene. The troop said the body is just over the rise, down in the ditch. We can’t remove the body until the medical examiner gets here.” He glanced toward the main road. “Someone from their office should be here anytime.”

  Kevin and Eric walked up to the black and white, introduced themselves to the trooper, and looked in on Preston, who nodded a tentative greeting.

  D
etectives Phil Johnson, a.k.a. Philly, and Russ Meyers drove up in a maroon Ford Thunderbird, blocking in Kevin and Eric.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Philly rolled down his window. “I thought you’d be packing your Bermuda shorts by now, Sarge.”

  “All in good time, Philly, all in good time. My plane doesn’t leave for four hours yet.”

  “Cutting it close, aren’t you? Don’t forget about all that added security since September 11.”

  “I’ll bring my badge. I want to find out what’s going down here. I need you two to talk with the reporting party—Mr. Collins in the black and white. Take him back to the station and get a statement. Trooper Bennett has interviewed him, but I want you two to do it as well. He found the victim and apparently lives nearby. I want details. The scene belongs to Eric and Kevin—and the new guy, McAllister, when he gets here.”

  “You got it, boss. Who’s the lead while you’re working on your sunburn?”

  “O’Rourke. And I’m out of here once we identify the victim.”

  Frank said it more for his benefit than for theirs.

  Philly nodded and opened the car door. “Come on, Russ. I know when we’re not wanted. Let’s grab Mr. Collins and get out of here.”

  It took two tries for Philly to get his nearly three-hundred-pound body out of the car. A shower of breadcrumbs fell from his tight-fitting black polyester pants when he finally got to his feet.

  His silver tie tack, a small pair of miniature handcuffs, smacked his horseshoe-shaped pinky ring as he brushed the crumbs from his lap and protruding belly.

  He glanced at Frank as if to apologize. “I had to stop for a bite on the way, Sarge. I was fadin’ away.”

  “That’ll be the day.” Frank didn’t much feel like getting into a lecture on health and fitness. Philly knew the drill. “I’ll get with you two knuckleheads later.”

  Russ rolled his eyes and ducked into the backseat of their vehicle. He pushed briefcases and notes behind the driver’s seat to clear a hole for their unexpected third passenger. Russ Meyers was a three-year detective out of L.A.—competent and cocky. He had an average build, leaning toward stocky, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He was usually quiet, unless you gave him the opportunity to talk about himself. That didn’t happen often, as Philly tended to dominate the conversations. Russ and Philly were a little unorthodox in their investigative methods, but if the end results were all that mattered, they made a good team.