“Okay, you direct. I’ll drive.”
“According to the briefing packet, she’s at the Chinook Run apartments on Bellevue Court, number 315.”
“I know where that is.”
Less than five minutes later, Mac pulled the car into a visitor parking space. He turned off the engine and reached for the door handle.
“Hang on a sec, partner.” Kevin unlatched his seatbelt. “This will be our first interview together, so I want to set some ground rules. I’m sure you know your business, but I’d like to brief you on how I operate. When I’m talking to a potential witness or suspect, you don’t interrupt. That goes for me too. It kills a rapport with the person you’re interviewing when he is shotgunned with questions. If he’s a suspect, it gives him time to think, to come up with an excuse. I may be working an angle, and my point may or may not become clear to you during the interview. Just sit back and relax so you don’t jump my line of thinking. We never ask the big questions first; we lead up to them. That way the perp is less likely to ax the interview.”
Mac nodded his head. “Got it.”
Kevin buttoned his top shirt button and straightened his tie. “These are the rules Eric and I worked under. You’ll know when I’m releasing the interview to you for any questions I missed, so be thinking of follow-up questions. It’s not critical at this point, but if we get a big fish on the line we don’t want to give him any slack. Remember, a provable lie is as good as a confession. So let’s be thorough.”
“Gotcha, partner. I’m ready.”
Kevin removed a mini cassette recorder from his pocket. “I’m going to take some quick notes in the daylight, in case we need them for a warrant affidavit later.” He held the microphone to his lips, activating the pause button when he wasn’t speaking. “Megan Tyson’s apartment—interview with her sister, Cindy Tyson. I’m looking at a two-story wood frame apartment building, constructed for single-family dwelling, standard lap siding. It has a shake shingle roof, brown with tan trim. The single and primary entrance is located on the second-floor residence, with the numbers 315 displayed boldly to the left of the door in white letters. The entrance door is at the top of twelve painted metal stairs, black in color, facing to the south.” He pocketed the recorder. “Okay, Mac, that’s good. Let’s go on up.”
“Wow, it’s really hot out here.” Mac wiped perspiration off his brow with a white handkerchief he kept in his jacket pocket. He started to take off his jacket when Kevin stopped him.
“Sorry, Mac. It’s important you interview witnesses with your jacket on.”
“Why’s that?”
“We don’t need to get jammed up on the witness stand when a suspect or witness claims he was coerced to give a statement because your gun is visible. I know it sounds silly, but I speak from experience. The defense lawyer will claim the witness or suspect was intimidated because he could see your gun or handcuffs or whatever, so we don’t give him the chance to give an excuse to confuse a jury.”
Mac grabbed his briefcase and slipped his coat back on.
“Makes sense. Guess I never really thought about it.”
Mac and Kevin climbed the stairs. Kevin was reaching for the doorbell when the door opened. Cindy Tyson was standing in the entryway, holding her cell phone to her ear. She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Just a sec.” To whomever was on the phone, she said, “Right. I’ll see you at PDX tomorrow.”
Mac could hear a male voice but couldn’t make out what he said.
“I know you did. ’Bye, Tim.” Cindy set the phone on a box in the entryway and greeted the detectives. “Hi. Thanks for calling ahead. I appreciate that.”
She ran a hand through her blonde hair. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Come on in; you’ll have to excuse the mess.”
The entire apartment was scattered with personal belongings in various stages of packing for the move. There were sealed cardboard boxes and dismantled decorative items stacked in the family room. A number of paintings and prints were stacked in the corner of the room by the fireplace.
“Can I get you two something, some coffee? If I can remember where I put the pot.” Cindy rubbed her temple.
“No thanks,” Mac answered.
“Um . . . you can sit on the couch.” She moved a stack of photo albums and some newspapers she’d apparently been using as packing material to the coffee table.
Mac and Kevin seated themselves. The love seat, Mac noticed, was covered with chintz fabric with rose designs. Mac pulled out his notepad, as did Kevin. He hoped the routine action hadn’t made Cindy nervous. She didn’t seem to notice as she pulled a chair from the kitchen table and settled into it.
“Again, we are very sorry for your loss,” Kevin said gently. “We’ll be investigating your sister’s death. To do that we’ll need to ask you a lot of questions. Some of them will be difficult for you. But we’d like you to answer to the best of your ability. Remember, you don’t have to talk to us if you don’t want to. If at any time during the interview you wish to terminate the questions, just say the word and we’ll leave.”
“I understand. Believe me, I want to cooperate one hundred percent. I want to catch the monster who killed my sister.”
“Then we have the same objective. Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Kevin said. “I mean the very beginning. Tell us about Megan, everything you can think of. I want to know her past, her friends, her hangouts, what she liked to do—everything.”
“Oh.” She clasped her hands and settled them in her lap. “I don’t know where to start. You mean, like when we were kids and stuff?”
Kevin nodded. “Yes, a brief synopsis of her family background would be fine.”
“Well, we were born and raised in Troutdale. Megan is—um . . . was, four years older than me. Our mother died a few days after giving birth to me. Internal bleeding that they couldn’t get stopped in time. Our father was the priest at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church on the south side. He passed away about a year ago. It was just the two of us.” She bit her lip as tears filled her eyes. She caught them with her fingers and sniffed. “Now it’s just me, huh?” Cindy forced a weak smile.
Mac looked around for a box of tissues and, spotting them on the kitchen counter, went to retrieve the box. He handed one to Cindy and set them on the coffee table within easy reach.
“You’re doing fine, Cindy.” Kevin said. “Go on when you can.”
“Megan went to Troutdale High School. She was really smart.
Graduated with honors. Then . . . let’s see. She went on to the U of O. She got a bachelor’s of science degree. Megan was a real exercise buff and wanted a career in physical fitness training. She took a lot of classes like sports therapy, nutrition, weight training.
Megan wanted to go to work for professional athletic teams, you know, helping athletes who got hurt and setting up training programs. She never got the chance to do that.” Cindy looked down at her hands. “She ended up working odd jobs at fitness clubs.”
Kevin nodded. “Tell me what she did at Fitness First.”
“Mostly she worked at the front counter. They liked having her out front ’cause she was so pretty and bright. She brought in a lot of new people. Megan was a shift manager, which meant she had to open the club at five in the morning and then worked until around one in the afternoon. She also worked as a fitness trainer, giving consultation to new members of the health club, and did personal training when people requested it. She got extra money for that.”
“Any interests outside of work?” Kevin asked.
“Lots. Megan was really involved in the church growing up, probably because of Dad. They were real close. She went on some mission trips to Mexico and South America during her teens.”
“Missions?” The question popped out before Mac could stop it.
The remark got him a stern look from Kevin.
“Yes, missions, with the church. She would go to places where God’s Word was not always readily accessible, in an attempt to spr
ead the gospel. Megan knew the Bible front to back. I’m sad to say it, especially now, but I was always jealous of her for that. Dad was so proud of her. She had real talent; her future was so promising before . . .”
“Before what?” Kevin urged her to go on.
“Before Dad died. He suffered so much. He had cancer. Megan got really mad at God. She quit going to church and for a while would hardly talk to me.”
“Yet you were living together.”
“We made up. About six months ago her roommate left and she asked if I wanted to move in. My lease was up so I did. She wasn’t engaged then—in fact, at that point she hadn’t even met Tim. Once she did, that’s all she talked about: getting married and planning the wedding. It was like a fairy tale. Tim has a lot of money and he told her she could have anything she wanted. She was really excited about marrying him and moving to Florida. She loves warm weather and the ocean.”
“Tell me about Tim,” Kevin said. “It’s Tim Morris, right?”
“Uh-huh. Megan met him at work. Like I said yesterday, he’s into exercise equipment. Tim is more than a salesman. I mean, he designs fitness equipment and markets the stuff. Megan met him at Fitness First, when she was working at the front counter. Tim came in one day to meet with the general manager on some equipment deal, met my sister, and the rest is history.”
“Can you remember when they met?” Kevin asked.
“Only about three months ago.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I guess it was love at first sight.”
Mac caught some sarcasm in her voice. Kevin must have as well. “Sounds like maybe you didn’t approve.”
“I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong. Tim’s a nice guy and all, but she hardly knew him. You don’t meet a guy, talk to him on the phone for a few weeks, and then agree to marry him. But she said time wasn’t a factor. They were in love.”
“Does Tim know you are in contact with the police?” Kevin glanced at Mac then settled his gaze back on Cindy.
“Yeah. He wants to talk to you when he comes in tomorrow. You guys can come with me to the airport if you want.”
“That would be good, if you don’t mind.” Kevin jotted something down on his notepad. “Can you tell me about her friends—other than Tim?”
“Megan didn’t bring friends around much—it was like she really didn’t want me to meet them. I wasn’t sure if she was ashamed of them or me. She didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. Megan was one of those girls who got along better with guys than she did with other women.”
“Did she have any other boyfriends? You know, before she was engaged?”
“No, um . . . not that I know of. She would go out sometimes, but . . .” Cindy leaned down to straighten a stack of magazines that was lying on the carpet beside her chair. “Not really.”
“Cindy, I apologize if I’m wrong, but I get the feeling you are being less than truthful with me. I want you to understand, at this stage you must be totally honest with us. Time is crucial to us if we are to catch your sister’s killer.” Kevin’s voice took on a stern, no-nonsense tone. “We don’t have time for half-truths or intentional omissions.”
“You don’t understand.” She squeezed her eyes closed and grabbed for a tissue. “I need to protect her dignity.”
“And we need to catch this killer before he goes after someone else.”
Wrapping her arms around herself, Cindy stood up and walked over to the sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony.
“Okay, but this goes no further, right? I mean . . . I don’t want her name dragged through the mud.” She turned back toward Kevin. “I mean it; you can’t let these reporter hounds know what I’m going to tell you. They’ve already done enough.”
Kevin leveled a concerned gaze on her. “I can’t make that kind of promise; I’m sorry. What we can do is hold the information for now. Eventually all our reports will be public record. That will be a long time from now, though, and hopefully public interest will have waned by then.”
Cindy sat back down in her chair. “If the information I give you isn’t important to the investigation, would you keep it out of the files? Could you at least do that?”
“That I can do, although at this stage it will be difficult to tell what’s important and what’s not.” Kevin glanced down at his watch.
“Okay. Guess I don’t have much choice. Just remember, Megan was a nice girl. She just got mixed up and started hanging out with the wrong people.” She sat there a moment, staring at the floor as though she hoped it would swallow her up.
Kevin rolled his pen through his fingers while he waited.
Cindy blew her nose and bunched up the tissue in her hand. “Awhile back Megan started talking about her biological clock ticking away. She dated a lot of guys and sometimes it seemed like she was almost desperate to find someone to marry. She was going about it all wrong, you know, with the wrong type of guys.”
“Are you saying she was sexually active with these partners?” Kevin asked.
“Um . . . I’m not really sure about that. She knew better. She was over thirty and had never had a serious relationship. She wanted a man to love her and to start a family with. Please don’t get the impression that Megan would just sleep with anybody. I mean . . . these were guys she dated for a while and, you know, liked, I guess.”
“Do you know any of their names?” Kevin started a fresh page in his notebook.
“I only met one guy other than Tim. There were others, but I haven’t lived here that long and like I said, she didn’t always tell me things. His name was Gordon . . . um, I can’t think of his last name. Starts with an R, I think. He works as a roofer. The last I heard he was working at that new strip mall in Gresham. He’s sort of scruffy looking, short.” She wrinkled her nose as though she disapproved. “Kind of short and skinny with dark hair and a mustache.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“A few days before Megan disappeared. They were on a date, if that’s what you call it. He didn’t even have a car—well, he did, but he said it wasn’t working. She had to go and pick him up.” Cindy shook her head. “I told her not to go and reminded her that she was engaged.”
“Do you remember the exact date?”
“It was a weeknight. Maybe the eighth or ninth. They were going out to dinner somewhere. They came back a couple of hours later so she could grab a jacket and headed out again. We argued because they’d both been drinking. I begged her not to go. I didn’t think either of them should be driving, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Do you have any idea where they planned to go?”
“Well, she had the top down on her car, and she liked going up the gorge and into the hills southeast of here. She came home at four in the morning. She was so drunk she could hardly stand up.
Gordon wasn’t with her, so I figured she’d dropped him off.”
She ran a hand through her hair, but the limp strands fell forward again. “There is one more thing. I don’t know if it means anything. Did you guys know about the purse Megan reported stolen from the athletic club?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “It’s in the missing person report.”
“Well, Megan lied about that to the police. Actually, she lost the purse when she was off drinking with Gordon. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gordon stole it. You’ll see what I mean when you meet the guy.”
“Did she say where or how she lost the purse?”
Fighting tears again, Cindy covered her eyes with both hands. “I can’t believe the things my sister got herself into. She just wasn’t that kind of person. Um . . . Gordon was driving her car up some logging road out east of here—up around Oxbow Mountain. Megan said they met up with some teenagers who were drinking and sitting around a fire. She and Gordon got out to talk to the kids and have a few beers. She told me they—she and Gordon—left about half an hour later. They went farther up the logging road to some great view he wanted to show her. Megan said when they reached the top of the hill, she noticed her purs
e was gone. She figured one of the kids must have stolen her purse while they were sitting by the fire.”
“Did she have any valuables in the purse, any cash or the like?”
“The usual—her identification, driver’s license, credit cards, keys. The worst was the diamond necklace that Dad had given Mom as a birthday present the year before she died. Megan was going to wear it on her wedding day and wanted to get matching earrings made. The necklace was mine and she was only borrowing it. Now it’s gone. Megan was just sick over it.”
“That’s a major loss. Why would she lie to the police?”
“I guess she figured it was only money. She didn’t want Tim to find out where she’d been or what she’d been doing. She told me she’d buy something for me to replace it. But how do you replace something that belonged to our mother, you know?”
“Protecting her reputation?”
Cindy ducked her head. “Yeah.”
“You said her keys were in the purse.”
“Um . . . right. Her spare apartment key and the key to the fitness center. I’m not sure what else. I’ve been terrified to sleep here since it was stolen. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone having a key to our apartment. I would have had the locks changed if we were staying here. We told the landlord and he plans to change the locks when I finish moving out.”
“That’s a good idea,” Kevin agreed. He tapped his pen on his clipboard while he quickly scanned his notes. Then he asked, “When was the last time you heard from Megan?”
“On Tuesday, August thirteenth, sometime around two o’ clock. I called her to let her know that I was going to stay overnight at a girlfriend’s house. She said she was going shopping that afternoon and . . .” Cindy’s voice cracked as she stifled a sob. “That’s the last time I heard her voice. When I came home the next day, she was gone.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “So I called the police and reported her missing.”
“I understand you had some items taken from here after Megan disappeared.” Kevin glanced around the room.
“The police said it didn’t look like a break-in so we figured the burglar must have had a key or that Megan knew the person. I was staying at my new place. I came home—here—about noon on the fourteenth, after my morning classes. That’s when I noticed stuff was missing.”
Secrets, Lies & Alibis Page 9