“Huh?” Mac glanced around.
“Jesus Christ. You have His attention. Go ahead with whatever profound statement or request you were planning to make.” Kevin rubbed his temple and leaned back in the seat.
“I . . . it . . .” Mac stammered. “I was just . . . the gate.” He felt like swearing again. Mac didn’t like being put on the defensive like that. No one had ever come down on him for swearing—except his grandmothers.
“Uh-huh. If you have nothing to say to Him, then let’s go to lunch.”
The gate opened without Mac moving his car over the sensor again. He eased his foot onto the gas pedal to go out the gate and the car lurched backward.
Kevin’s lips parted in a teasing grin. “Shift her into drive, partner. That works better for going forward.”
Saying a few choice words under his breath, Mac shoved the automatic into drive and drove out of the lot. Great impression you’re making, McAllister. First you lie to him, then you offend him, and you top it all off by nearly wrecking your car. The guy’s going to think you’re a real wacko.
“WHAT'S GOOD HERE?” Kevin slid into the booth, placing his briefcase beside him.
“I’m having the pork noodles.” Mac scanned the menu. “That’s grilled pork on top of noodles and lettuce, served with some kind of sauce.” Mac’s pager vibrated on his hip. He checked the number and sighed. Linda.
Kevin scooted out of the seat. “You can order me what you’re having. I need to wash up. By the way, my cell is in my briefcase, so help yourself if you need to make a call.”
Mac had left his cell phone in the car, so he decided to use Kevin’s phone to call Linda. He poured two cups of tea from the white china pot, then moved over to Kevin’s side of the table, where he spotted the scarred, black leather briefcase. This thing’s been around the block a few times.
He opened the case, moving aside the various notebooks and legal pads. His gaze fell on a worn black book. The pages were bent and the leather cover was frayed and creased. Most of the gold lettering had worn off, but Mac could still read the title. The guy carried a Bible in his briefcase? No wonder he made that comment about Mac’s swearing.
Great. He’d been partnered with a Bible-toting religious freak.
Mac moved aside the book and found the cell phone.
“Isn’t she a beaut?” Kevin nodded toward his case. “My wife gave that to me as a wedding gift.”
Mac frowned and scooted out of Kevin’s seat. “The cell phone?”
Kevin shook his head. “The Bible.”
If you say so. Mac licked his lips, not sure how to respond. “I got one once—a long time ago. My grandmother thought it would make a good graduation present.”
“So you’re a believer.”
“Um . . . no, not exactly.” Mac eased back into his own seat, preparing himself for the sermon. This was probably where Kevin would make a pitch for the threeor fouror six-point plan of salvation. He’d been getting some pressure from Linda about going to church—he sure didn’t need it at work too.
“Hey, did you make your call?” Kevin asked.
“Not yet.” Relieved that the sermon he dreaded wasn’t forthcoming, Mac punched Linda’s number into the cell. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, honey,” Mac said.
“Where are you?” Linda demanded.
“Working. Why?”
“Mac, we were going boating with my parents.”
Mac groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d completely forgotten.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call,” she went on before he could answer. “I tried to get you at home and on your cell, and when I couldn’t, I got worried and called the state police and had the dispatch operator page you.”
Mac glanced at Kevin then at the table. “I’m sorry, honey. I got tied up with that case I went out on last night.”
“And you couldn’t find two minutes to let me know? Don’t I mean anything to you?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Well, that’s not good enough.” Her voice broke.
“Look, this really isn’t a good time.” By the time he got the last word out, he was talking to a dial tone.
He clicked off the phone and gave Kevin an embarrassed smile. “My girlfriend,” he explained. “I was supposed to go boating with her and her parents today.”
Kevin gave him a sympathetic nod. “And you forgot to call her.”
He shrugged. “Something like that.” He handed the phone across the table. “Thanks.”
“Too bad.” Rather than return the phone to the briefcase, Kevin slipped it into his pocket.
Wanting to change the subject, Mac took another sip of tea. “I heard you were a boxer at one time.”
Kevin raised his eyebrows. “What did you do, look up my rap sheet?”
Mac laughed. “Not exactly. I just asked around, and apparently you have quite a reputation. I thought since we were going to work together, I should know something about you.”
“I can’t fault you there.” The senior detective’s beefy hand dwarfed the teacup as he curled his fingers around it and took a drink. “Yeah, I was a boxer. In my day I could hold my own in the middleweights.
I was the Junior Golden Gloves champ in Chicago. That’s where I’m from. I boxed in the military and was division champ for two years.”
“Wow! Did you ever box as a pro?”
“Naw. I thought I had a chance to go professional and make some real money, but after my discharge from the army, things sort of fell apart with the boxing career. All I got were a lot of bumps on my noggin and an empty stomach.”
Mac’s gaze settled on the champ’s crooked nose. “Guess that explains the bump.”
“This?” He shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. I got this dandy during my early days as a trooper. I’d been searching a barn for a fugitive with a warrant for a parole violation, just outside of Klamath Falls. A deputy and I had entered a horse stall looking for the bad guy, when whap! This guy laces me across the face with the tire iron. I was out for the count. Good thing the deputy was there to take him into custody.”
Even the thought made Mac’s face hurt. “Man, that must have smarted.”
“You bet it did; it rearranged my face too. Jean hardly recognized me when she picked me up at the hospital. She was pregnant with our third kid at that time. It scared her so bad she slapped me right across the face when she saw me.”
“She hit you?”
“Yeah, but then she followed it up with a hug and told me never to scare her like that again. She told me that when the lieutenant came to the door that day, she thought he was going to tell her I had been killed.”
“I still don’t understand why you gave up boxing.”
“My wife, who at the time was my girlfriend, told me to get a real job or go it alone.”
“She gave you an ultimatum? But boxing was your dream. How fair is that?”
“Maybe not fair, Mac, but wise. Very wise. She had a better idea of what God wanted for me than I did. Besides, she didn’t want to see me get hurt. I finally gave in, and after we moved to Oregon, thanks to a little pressure from Jean’s father, I applied for a job with the state police. The rest is history.”
“Somehow I don’t think being an officer is safer than boxing.”
“It isn’t, but at the time we needed the money. Later I realized this is right where I belong.”
The waitress brought their steaming bowls of noodles and they leaned back while she placed them on the table. “Anything else?” she asked.
“That will do it. Thanks.” Kevin peeled the paper off his chopsticks. As the waitress set the check on the table, Kevin slid it over to his side. “No arguments; it’s on me.”
“You don’t have to do that. I have money.”
“I’m sure you do. So buy your girl some flowers. From what you told me, you’re going to need all the ammunition you can get your hands on to gain her forgiveness.”
�
��All right. But I’ve got the next one.”
“More tea?” Kevin picked up the porcelain pot and poured out the rest of the tea. Mac thought he’d crack up watching the big exboxer delicately raise his pinky finger as he took a sip.
THEY WERE JUST LEAVING THE RESTAURANT when Kevin’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah. Bledsoe here.”
“Hey, we got a slight problem.” Eric got right to the point. “Philly and Russ had to cover a situation down in Salem. They couldn’t make contact with the victim’s sister and wondered if you and Mac could take care of it.”
“Sure. Has she been contacted at all?”
“By phone . . .”
“By phone? What’s the deal? Someone should have talked to her in person.”
“Don’t go getting all hot and bothered about it. She called us.
She reads the papers. At any rate, you need to take her down to the morgue to make a positive ID.”
Kevin frowned. “Come on, Eric, we can’t take her down there.
The remains are completely unidentifiable, except maybe that rose tattoo.”
“Just following the lady’s request. She wants to view the body.”
“Sheesh. Okay, give me her address and phone number, and we’ll get right on it.”
Kevin didn’t much like having to contact the family—no one did. Still, he was glad he could be there for them. And truth be told, he was glad it could be him this time and not Russ and Philly.
The guys were polite when necessary, but they weren’t the most empathetic duo in the department.
After getting the details from Eric, Kevin closed up his phone and pocketed it. Turning to Mac, he said, “The meeting has been delayed until three o’clock to give us time to take the victim’s sister down to the morgue.”
Mac turned the key in the ignition. “I thought someone else was doing that.”
Kevin climbed in and fastened his seat belt. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Russ and Philly got another call. The sister’s name is Cindy Tyson. She lives over by the Lloyd Center—shares a house there with another gal. She’s been notified and is waiting for us.”
Mac bit down on his toothpick, breaking it in half. “Doesn’t seem right.”
“What’s that?”
“Taking a family member down to the morgue in a case like this. How’s she going to make a positive ID?”
“She probably can’t, but she’ll be able to make out the size and position of the rose.” Kevin sucked in a deep breath. “And no, it doesn’t seem right. But then having your sister murdered and left for buzzard bait isn’t right either.”
Chapter Eleven
Mac dropped his splintered toothpick in a plastic bag he kept by his seat for litter. They didn’t talk much on the way, except for Kevin giving directions while Mac drove. Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of an older house—a two-story boxlike place with a square front porch. The porch steps had been given a coat of medium gray paint that matched the gray shutters. The house itself was slate blue. In the corner of the porch, Mac noticed several cans of paint and a few pieces of molding lying on a drop cloth. The front door was new and had an oval stained-glass window depicting a single red rose.
A young woman with red-rimmed eyes and a red nose opened the door. Her hair was tucked under a baseball cap, with a blonde ponytail sticking out the back. She was wearing a pink nylon sweat suit, the jacket pocket bulging with a wad of white tissues. Holding one of the tissues in her hand, she sniffed and wiped her nose. “Are you with the police?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kevin showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Bledsoe and this is my partner, Detective Mac McAllister.”
“I’m Cindy Tyson.” She gave the badge a cursory look. “The woman who called me said you guys would be picking me up.” She touched the tissue to the corners of her eyes. “I look awful. When I heard you might have found my sister’s body, I kind of fell apart. I still can’t believe it.”
“No need to apologize,” Mac said. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this.”
Cindy reached over to an antique table, grabbing a manila envelope and a small handbag, the latter of which she slung over her shoulder. Stepping outside, she closed the door behind her. “These are Megan’s dental records.” She handed the envelope to Kevin. “I got them from Megan’s dentist when I reported her missing. The police officer who took the report said I should. I thought maybe the medical examiner would need them.”
“Good thinking.” Kevin tucked the envelope under his arm as he opened the back door for Cindy. “This will save us some time.”
Once they were underway, she leaned forward. “Do you really think the woman you found is my sister?”
“The identification is tentative,” Kevin answered. “Maybe you’ll be able to make a positive ID.”
She clasped her hands together and leaned back. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“No problem,” Mac said. A baseball-size knot formed in his stomach as he thought about what lay ahead for her. He wished he could take away some of the pain she must be feeling.
“Wait here,” Kevin ordered when they pulled into the medical examiner’s parking lot. This time the door was locked, so he had to ring the buzzer. He waited a few seconds, pushing back his sports jacket sleeve to look at his watch. “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, feeling unusually restless.
“Yes?” The muffled voice came from the intercom speaker.
“Detective Bledsoe, state police. I’m here with a family member to view the remains of our Jane Doe, possibly Megan Tyson.”
“One moment please. I’ll be right there.”
Kevin gave Mac a wave, telling him to bring Cindy in.
Mac got out of the car and came around the passenger side to open the door for Cindy. “Let’s go on inside. This will only take a minute.” He offered his arm for support as they walked up to the door. “This isn’t going to be easy, Cindy. I just want you to know my partner and I are here if you need us.”
“Thank you. Um . . . what should I do?”
“Just come with us. They’ll let you know.”
Kevin held the door for Mac and Cindy. Kristen stood just inside. “Dr. Thorpe,” Kevin said, “this is Cindy Tyson, Megan’s sister. She’s here to take a look at the body you have in your custody.”
“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Cindy.
Please, come in. Can I get you anything—a glass of water, coffee, tea?”
“No, thank you. I just want to get this over with.”
“Come on back then.” Kristen led the trio down the hall to the examination room. A clean white sheet covered the body.
Mac took a deep breath and prepared himself to view the body again. If he felt this bad, how must the sister feel?
Kristen began to pull down the sheet then stopped. “Cindy, there’s no way I can adequately prepare you for this. If this woman is your sister, she won’t look at all like you remember her.”
That’s an understatement, Mac thought.
Cindy nodded and dug a fresh tissue out of her pocket. Tears trickled down her face. Her shoulders tensed.
Kristen slowly pulled back the sheet, revealing the detached head, the leathery brown shoulder, and the rose tattoo.
“My God. Oh my God.” Cindy dropped to her knees before Mac and Kevin could get to her. “It’s her.”
“Are you sure?” Kevin asked.
Without answering, Cindy pulled off her jacket and stretched her knit top to the side to reveal her shoulder. “The rose. We had them done together. Same time. Same colors. She was my best friend and my sister.” She looked at the detectives and tears filled her eyes again. “That’s Megan. I don’t need to see any more.”
Kristen pulled the sheet over the victim’s head and pushed the cart back into place. Mac hunkered down beside Cindy and helped her to her feet. She leaned into him, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook. He settled an arm across her shoulders, f
eeling awkward but at the same time wanting to do what he could to ease her suffering.
Kevin handed the manila envelope that Cindy had given him to Kristen. “Dental x-rays.”
“That was fast.”
“Wish we could take the credit, but Cindy already had them.”
“I’ll take a look at these later. In the meantime, I’m tentatively ruling this as a positive identification. I’ll compare the dental records and give you folks a call one way or the other.”
“Sounds good, Doc,” Kevin said.
When Kristen stepped toward them, Mac lowered his arm.
Kristen placed a hand on the sobbing girl’s shoulder. “Cindy, I am very sorry for your loss. Do you have any family members around?”
“Just Megan. Nobody now, I guess,” Cindy pressed a mangled tissue to her face. “Our mother died when we were little. Our father passed away last year. Oh God, I’m so glad Daddy wasn’t around for this; it would have broken his heart.” She looked stricken. “Oh no —Tim. I’ve got to call Tim.”
“Tim?” Kevin pulled a notepad out of his inside jacket pocket.
“Tim Morris is Megan’s fiancé. They were supposed to be married August thirty-first, next Saturday.”
Kevin glanced at Mac. “We’ll want to talk with Mr. Morris, Cindy. Can you tell us how to get hold of him?”
“He’s flying in tomorrow. I’m supposed to pick him up at the airport. Um . . . Tim lives in Florida. He’s been worried sick since he got the news. He flew out here as soon as he found out she was missing. He stayed, too, until a few days ago when he had to get back home to take care of some business.”
“What kind of business is he in?” Kevin asked.
“He sells exercise equipment. Actually designs the stuff and markets it to the big health clubs. That’s how he and Megan met.
She works—worked at Fitness First in Troutdale.” She released a shuddering sigh. “Can we talk about this at my house? I’d like to leave now.”
“No problem.” Kevin guided her toward the door. “We’ll set up a time that’s more appropriate.”
“Hold on a minute.” Dr. Thorpe left and came back a moment later with a business card. “You’ll need to make arrangements to recover Megan for a service of your choice. You can give us a call or have a funeral director make the arrangements.”
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