Secrets, Lies & Alibis

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Cindy stared at the card for a moment then placed it in her jacket pocket with the soggy tissues. Tears came again as she turned to go. Kristen escorted her down the hall to the front entrance. “I’m very sorry. Please don’t hesitate to call if I can be of any assistance.”

  “Thank you. I will. I . . . you’ve all been so nice to me. God bless you.”

  Kristen looked up at Mac and Kevin, who were trailing behind.

  “These gentlemen will see you home now, Cindy.”

  Kevin opened the heavy door while Mac hurried to unlock the car.

  Cindy settled into the backseat, her face turned toward the window. She stayed that way for a long time as they drove down Grand Avenue, past houses that had been a part of Portland’s initial growth in the late 1800s.

  When they reached the freeway, Mac heard Cindy whimper, “What did you get yourself into, Megan? What happened to you?”

  She pulled her knees to her chest and cried.

  Chapter Twelve

  The detectives dropped off Cindy at her house, with a promise that they would be calling in the next day or two to make an appointment. She nodded, but Mac wasn’t at all sure she heard or understood.

  They waited until she was safe inside before heading toward the Troutdale P.D. for their briefing. They arrived at a quarter of three.

  Kevin pounded on the gray metal door to the Troutdale P.D. Mac glanced at the department ring on Kevin’s right hand as he cupped his hands around his face to peer into the small window on the door. The gold-colored ring was engraved with the five-pointstar badge, with a dull red stone in the center. The words Honor and Fidelity had been etched into the metal.

  “I know they’re in there. Eric’s and Philly’s cars are in the lot.” Kevin knocked harder.

  Philly Johnson stuck his head out of the second-story window. “Your papers,” he shouted in a thick German accent. “Show me your papers or you vill be shot.”

  Mac shook his head. “You guys and your crazy accents.”

  Eric opened the door for Mac and Kevin and glanced up at Philly. “You look like Sergeant Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment on my acting ability.”

  “Ha! I said you look like him, not sound like him.”

  Philly lifted his nose in the air, attempting to look insulted. He laughed and yelled back. “What do you know, you red-headed geek?” He chomped down on the massive hamburger he was holding. A glob of sauce dropped to the ground, and Mac ducked out of the way just in time.

  “That’s Phil Johnson.” Eric directed his comment to Mac. “I think he and Russ were gone by the time you got there last night. Mac saluted Phil, who was still leaning out the window.

  Kevin leaned toward Mac and said in a voice Phil couldn’t hear, “Don’t let the appearance fool you, kid. He’s sharp as a tack.”

  “You guys made good time.” Eric motioned them inside then led them up the stairs. Turning back to Kevin and Mac he said, “Troutdale P.D. has two guys here already. They’ve done some pretty good legwork on the missing person case. They want us to run with the homicide. I brought in the rest of the gang from Salem to run down follow-up with us. I’ll make the assignments after our briefing.”

  When they walked into the conference room, Phil’s hamburger was gone. Philly wiped his hand on a napkin, tossed it, then pulled a black plastic comb from his back pocket, shaping his thinning hair over his scalp. He placed his thumbs in his belt to tuck in his sagging shirt, sucking in his hefty stomach.

  Eric leaned his narrow hips against a table. “Mac, I’ll have to apologize again for making you work with Kevin. I hope he doesn’t depress you too much. He’s hard of hearing, you know.” A slight grin told Mac that Eric was teasing. “You need to speak up when you talk to him. And he falls asleep a lot.”

  “Just keep talking, pal.” Kevin patted Eric on the back.

  “Don’t worry, I will.” Eric indicated for the men to take a seat.

  There were already nine plain-clothes officers and one uniform from the Troutdale Police in the room. “Gang, you all know Kevin.

  This is Mac McAllister, from the Portland office child abuse unit.

  He’ll be working with us on this one until further notice. Mac, this is the gang.”

  Mac stood at the sidelines while the others sized him up. There were detectives from drug enforcement units, pawn details, and auto theft. Most of these guys would do the dirty work—rattling informants, addicts, and dope dealers for leads. Mac could pretty much tell their respective assignments by their dress and issued equipment.

  He also knew that the only people cops trusted less than cops they didn’t know were the criminals they arrested. Mac hadn’t been a detective long enough to gain a reputation, so he needed to make a good first impression. He hadn’t done all that well so far— at least not with Detective Bledsoe.

  “Welcome, Detective McAllister.” Phil stood and reached across the table. “Phil Johnson at your disposal.”

  “Good to meet you.” Mac shook Detective Johnson’s hand. His own came away a tad greasy.

  “Tell me, Mac. Do you have any naked pictures of your mother?”

  “No,” Mac said slowly, taken aback by the question and not quite certain he heard correctly.

  “Want to buy some?” The room erupted in laughter.

  They all looked at Mac as if waiting for his reaction.

  “That depends.” Mac replied with a straight face as he pulled out his wallet. “Do you have change for a twenty, or did you spend all your money at the antique store on those polyester pants?”

  They laughed again and Philly pulled out the chair next to him, offering Mac a seat.

  “He’s quick on his feet,” Eric whispered to Kevin in a tone loud enough for Mac to hear. “If he can stand up to Philly, he should do okay in an interview.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Kevin replied as the other detectives in the room introduced themselves to Mac. Mac felt like he’d passed the first initiation and wondered how many more there were to go.

  Eric held up the clipboard with the respective assignments, then addressed the rowdy group. “Okay, you clowns, settle down.

  We’ve got work to do.”

  Eric stepped to the front of the room while the others adjusted their chairs and opened their notepads. He turned over the large top sheet of the drawing pad on a metal easel. “I’m Detective Eric O’Rourke. I’ll be the lead on this while Sergeant Evans is out of state. I’ll be making the assignments during this investigation, so here are my pager and cell phone numbers,” he said while pointing to the prewritten numbers on the chart.

  “This is the Oregon State Police case number; below it is the missing person case number for the Troutdale Police Department.

  Please use these numbers on all subsequent reports as connecting reference numbers so I can keep the case jacket together.”

  Eric flipped to the next page, containing the victim’s biographical information. “Here is our victim. Her name is Megan Ann Tyson, thirty-four years of age. Her sister, Cynthia Tyson, last saw Megan on Tuesday, August thirteenth. Cindy filed a missing person report the following day to Troutdale P.D.” He glanced at the uniformed Troutdale officer, who nodded in agreement.

  “Troutdale Police want us to take the lead on the homicide since they’re strapped right now for detective resources due to other cases. They will continue to offer any support we need. Since the victim lived here in Troutdale, we can use their office for our briefings. Right now, we have every reason to believe the crime scene at Bonneville State Park was a body dumpsite only.

  Therefore, gentlemen, we have a primary crime scene somewhere else. It may be in her home, a car, a parking lot, or whatever. That’s what we need to find out.

  “Detectives Bledsoe and McAllister are the lead interview team. That means these two will interview all persons of interest.”

  Eric checked the notes on his clipboard. “Philly and Russ, you two hav
e the background gig. I want to know everyone Megan ever knew or was associated with. You can start with her apartment in Troutdale. The sister has given consent to search the place, and since they roomed together we don’t need a warrant. Make sure that consent goes into writing, though; we don’t know if she’s dirty at this point.”

  Mac tapped his pen on his notepad. He found it hard to imagine that Cindy Tyson could have had anything to do with her sister’s murder, but he knew better than to jump to conclusions.

  Glancing at his clipboard again, Eric continued. “The primary information we have from the missing person report was that the victim was due to be married next Saturday. From what her sister said when she filed the missing person report, Megan didn’t have a lot of close friends, although she seemed to know a lot of people. Megan worked as a trainer at Fitness First here in Troutdale. I’m told she was in good shape—her DMV printout puts her at five feet, two inches and one hundred thirteen pounds.

  “Her fiancé, Tim Morris, has been informed of the death and will be in town tomorrow. Mac and Kevin, I want you on him ASAP. We all know that she was probably murdered by someone she knew. We’ll start with the fiancé, then spiral out to other family members. If that doesn’t cut it we’ll go to friends, coworkers, and associates. If still no leads, then we have the toughest nut to crack. A stranger-to-stranger murder, where she didn’t know the perpetrator.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I want the rest of you guys to roll every junkie and crack dealer in the county, call in all your markers. We need information, folks, the sooner the better. Any comments, questions?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin spoke up. “Mac and I attended the post. Due to the degraded state of the body the M.E. couldn’t come up with a cause of death by a foreign object. All we know for sure is there was no remarkable trauma from the clavicle on down. However, since animals ravaged the head and neck she thinks we have a probable neck or facial wound that may have caused an opening for predators. In other words, we think her throat was cut. Be on the lookout for blades or sharp instruments. But remember, just because we didn’t recover any bullets doesn’t mean our guy isn’t armed.”

  Eric nodded. “That reminds me. Philly, Russ, find out when the funeral is; we want to be there with a video. I wouldn’t put it past this sicko to show up at the funeral to put the last nail in the coffin. Let’s get permission to have a camera set up discreetly to film the attendance.”

  “You got it, boss.” Philly made a note on his pad. “Your word is my command.”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “I think that’s ‘your wish is my command.’ ”

  “Okay. Hey, you all heard him.” Philly grinned. “I’m now officially the boss.”

  Eric folded his arms. “Keep up the smart-mouth remarks and I just might take you up on it.” Looking back at the others, he said, “Anything else, gentlemen? I’m passing around this sign-up sheet.

  Please fill in your name and horsepower—rank, phone numbers, vehicle, and so on. I’ll get copies to everyone. I also set up a tip line and had a flyer made up for the public with a phone number to call. Grab a few on the way out.

  “There’ll be color copies of the victim’s photograph for each of you. We’ve got a planned press release for information on the death, so hopefully that will generate the tips. I’ll be reviewing them for assignment when they are received. And Dr. Thorpe just called; she has reviewed the victim’s dental records and reaffirmed the sister’s positive identification, so we will proceed with a media blitz.

  “What else am I missing? Oh yeah. Troutdale P.D. conducted a credit check on the victim and served subpoenas on the respective banks and credit card holders for PIN numbers and account information. We should have that information by Monday or Tuesday, so we can start tracking her credit card use. Her checking and savings have been frozen, although we don’t know if there were any transactions after she was reported missing.

  “I’d like to turn the briefing over to Troutdale right now, so they can bring us all up to speed on the investigation prior to the discovery of the body.”

  The uniformed Troutdale police officer walked to the front of the room, looking nervous as he flipped through his leatherbound police notebook. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. Like the detective said earlier, the victim’s name was Megan Ann Tyson . . .” The uniform repeated the stats Eric had given them earlier then added, “The victim lived here in Troutdale with her sister, over in some apartments on Bellevue Court. She was boxing up most of her belongings prior to the wedding, leaving most of the furnishings to her sister. I guess she was going to move to Florida, where her fiancé lives. The sister, Cindy, was in the process of moving in with a girlfriend to a place in Portland. The sister said she stayed overnight at her new place the night of the thirteenth. When she came back the next day to the apartment she shared with her sister, she found the residence had been burglarized.”

  A burglary gone sour? Mac jotted down the new information. Or maybe the killer wanted it to look like a burglary.

  The officer flipped the page in his notebook, placing a paper clip over the last page. “She, the sister, noticed the television set was gone, along with the stereo and some compact discs. The television was a color, nineteen-inch Sony with a remote. The stereo was a Sanyo compact disc player, with four speakers. The bad guy also took some smaller items—compact discs, silver candleholders, stuff like that. I have a complete list I can copy for you. We couldn’t come up with the serial numbers on the audio equipment and TV, but we do have a photograph of some of the items. Apparently, Megan had taken a picture of her sister on the couch that had the TV and stereo in the background. We made a copy of the picture and placed it in these briefing packets with the victim’s photograph.”

  Eric passed around a stack of briefing packets while the officer continued. “The victim had a blue Mustang, one of those sporty convertible jobs. It was in the driveway of the victim’s residence— no keys. The sister found the vehicle when she returned home on the fourteenth, the day she called us on the missing person case.

  Like I said, most of their stuff was packed in boxes for the move, and Cindy told us she had already removed most of their valuables from the residence.”

  “Did you process the Mustang for trace evidence?” Kevin asked.

  “Sure did, the next day. Your forensic lab processed the vehicle, with nothing remarkable located. They took plenty of latent prints. She’d had the vehicle for a couple of years, so it had a lot of use. We released it back to the sister.

  “That’s about all I have.” He perused his notes. “Oh, one more thing. Megan, the victim, reported her purse stolen several days prior to turning up missing. She lost her identification, gas cards, and her checkbook—the whole ball of wax. We don’t know if she had a key in the purse or if the theft is related at all. There were no signs of forced entry at the apartment, so we assume the perpetrator had a key. Or, there’s always the chance he was invited in and something went wrong. We just don’t know.”

  “When was the credit check done on her cards?” Eric asked.

  “The day she turned up missing, the fourteenth. The bank’s been a real son of a gun to work with because we don’t have Megan here to give consent like in a normal purse snatching. We had to obtain a grand jury subpoena for the records. I’m told we’ll have them tomorrow so we can see if the cards have been used.”

  The officer thumbed through the notebook. “That’s all. You’ll find her photograph on the last page of the briefing packet. That’s the one you’ve seen on television and the newspaper. Cute gal, what a shame.” He nodded to Eric and then sat down.

  “Okay, thanks in advance to all of you who are working on this assignment,” Eric told everyone. “If there are no more questions, let’s hit the streets. Don’t forget, all assignments and information go through me. I’ll be seated right here, running the tip line, so give me updates every so often.”

  Mac flipped to the last page of the briefing packet, examining th
e color photo of Megan Tyson. It had been taken at the coast. Mac thought he recognized the famed Cannon Beach Rock in the distance.

  A wide grin stretched across her face as she assumed a modellike pose. Mac could almost hear the waves crashing and the gulls squawking. He could almost hear her laughing. The bright rose tattoo was clearly visible as Megan knelt next to a large piece of driftwood in a sleeveless top and cutoffs.

  He thought about the grotesque, decomposed body he’d photographed last night and again this morning. How could this be the same person? Mac looked up from the picture to see Kevin standing at the door, arms crossed and watching him, waiting for him. When he caught Mac’s eye, he said, “Ready to get to work, partner?”

  “Ready.”

  Philly stood up and yawned, looking back at Russ. “Let’s go, partner. I want to grab one of those teriyaki chicken sticks over at the Bento stand on the way out.”

  “What are you, a wolf?” Russ asked. “You need a meat fix every hour on the hour?”

  “If God didn’t want me to eat animals, he wouldn’t have made them out of meat,” Philly joked as he left the conference room with Russ.

  “Hey, you guys be careful,” Eric called after the group as they funneled down the stairs. “Let’s catch this creep.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kevin was punching in Cindy’s home number by the time Mac started the car. “Humph. No answer. I’ll try her cell.” He dialed another number, and Cindy answered.

  “Hi, Cindy. This is Detective Bledsoe, Oregon State Police. We’d like to talk to you as soon as possible. I know no time is a good time, but could you give us a few minutes this afternoon?” After a few moments’ hesitation, he replied, “Thanks, we’ll be right over.”

  Hanging up, he said, “She’s getting the rest of her stuff moved out of their old apartment. Said we could meet her there.”