While he wouldn’t interview anyone personally without Kevin, he could maybe make a few phone contacts.
The three men stampeded down the stairs, sounding like a herd of cattle on the old wooden steps.
Mac eased into his oven-hot car, turned on the air, and started for home. On the police radio, voices went on nonstop as metro area troopers made traffic stops and responded to fender benders. As he drove, Mac thought about Philly’s comment about Kevin converting him. Since when did not drinking mean he’d converted to Christianity? Something about Philly’s assumption annoyed him.
On the other hand, he didn’t mind being compared to Kevin.
The senior detective had a sense of normalcy about him. While he joked around with the others, he seemed more mature, sensible, steady. Traits Mac wouldn’t mine having. He thought about Kevin’s reaction to the teenager who’d stolen Megan’s purse. The anger had surprised Mac, but Kevin’s response surprised him more. He’d openly asked for forgiveness and talked about his reasoning. The answers are in the Bible, he’d said. Kevin really believed that. Maybe that was it. Kevin seemed to live out his faith.
Mac had seen a lot of hypocrites, professing to believe in God and living immoral lives. His father had been a Catholic— insisting they go to mass at designated times throughout the week when he’d go to confession then go home and get drunk. Instead of coming home to his family, like Kevin and Eric were doing, he’d stop off at a tavern; and by the time he got home, he’d be staggering drunk and mean. At some time or other he’d crossed over the line from enforcing the law to taking bribes and looking the other way.
His maternal grandfather had been much the same, outwardly a pillar of the church. Instead of drinking, he used his wealth and position to get anything he wanted. Now he was serving a life sentence for his connection to the murder of a federal agent who’d infiltrated the ranks of his organization. His grandfather’s illgotten wealth had allowed Mac to go to the best schools.
“Be a lawyer,” his grandfather had said.
A lawyer. Humph. Someone who could keep DiAngelis and his family out of jail. It didn’t happen. By the time Mac reached college he’d decided to walk away from the family money and corruption. He went to college, paying his own way, and earned a degree in criminal justice. Ironically, he did end up in law enforcement, not as a lawyer, but as a cop—a clean one. He’d insisted people call him Mac instead of Tony. He lived modestly, and everything he owned had been paid for with his own moderate salary.
Mac’s heart leapt to his throat as he thought about Eric and how much he might have revealed to his coworkers. Calm down, Mac told himself. So far they haven’t held it against you. Whatever Eric said can’t have been that bad.
Mac liked to think he’d put his past behind him. But there were always reminders. Once a week, usually on Sundays, Mac would head over to the Mountain View Retirement Inn about three miles west of where he lived to visit to his maternal grandmother, Dottie DiAngelis. His paternal grandmother, Kathryn McAllister, suffered a major stroke last year doing what she loved best—baking pies. She died three days later without ever regaining consciousness.
Since it was Sunday and he was already ruminating about his history, Mac headed for the retirement inn. Even though she brought to mind painful memories, Mac loved his grandmother. Dottie and Kathryn had raised him after his mother died and his father walked out. Though he had lived with Kathryn, he saw Dottie several times a week. He realized now that Dottie had wanted him to live with her, but she didn’t want him growing up too close to her husband and his people. Mac had been brought up in the church and for a short time considered going into the priesthood. Private school had been a good experience for him and he’d excelled in all of his subjects. Mac smiled as he thought about those years. Even with the negative influence of the men in his life, he’d emerged with a strong sense of justice, of right and wrong. Perhaps that had come from the positive influence of his grandmothers or perhaps from the training he’d received as a kid, or maybe he wanted, in his own way, to undo the damage his relatives had done. All he knew was that he’d decided early on to be a cop, and nothing could turn him away from his goal. He had gotten a position with the Oregon State Police right out of college as a trooper and had worked his way up to detective. Now he was working his first murder investigation.
Traffic slowed ahead, bringing his attention back to the honking cars and the scores of people heading home from their weekend of fun. I-205 northbound slowed to about five miles an hour as he crossed the Glen Jackson Bridge into Vancouver. He admired the view of the mountain and the colorful sails dotting the river as sailboaters and windsurfers took advantage of the sun and the wind and the vast Columbia River.
The traffic slowdown had been caused by a traffic stop on the Washington side of the bridge. Watching a sheriff ’s deputy step out of his car sent his mind skittering in another direction. If a deputy or one of our troopers could have stopped Megan and Gordon that night when she’d been driving drunk, maybe she’d be alive today.
Then again, maybe not. It did little good to speculate.
The traffic moved freely as he exited I-205 and headed east on Highway 14. Ten minutes later he pulled into the upscale retirement community and parked.
You should have stopped for flowers. You should visit more often.
Guilt broadsided him as it often did when he came to visit. Dottie never complained about his infrequent visits, but he could tell in her dark eyes and her wistful smile that she wished he’d come more often. Maybe he would—soon.
The residents were just finishing their dinner when Mac came in. Dottie, who must have been watching for him, waved. “Antonio, Antonio, come give your nana a kiss.” She was the only one who used his given name. He’d tried to get her to change it, but she never would. His grandmother may have been old in years, but she had the booming voice of a high school cheerleader. Mac wove around the tables until he reached hers, which sat in front of a window overlooking the courtyard. Linen tablecloths covered the tables and flowers from the garden had been placed in small vases. The place smelled of roast beef and mashed potatoes, reminding Mac of his own hunger. He’d stop on the way home and pick up something. In the courtyard, late summer flowers, roses and dahlias, bloomed profusely in the gardens, made even more brilliant by the emerald lawn.
Mac leaned down and planted a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of her floral perfume. Dottie had been a beautiful woman in her time. In a way she still was. Her dark eyes shone as bright as ever and her hair, though peppered with gray, showed no signs of thinning. She had the figure of a model, and though she had never worked outside the home, still dressed as though she were heading for the office. Mac had never seen her without makeup or perfectly manicured nails. The facility had a beauty shop, and Mac suspected Dottie visited at least three times a week.
Kathryn, on the other hand, had never worn makeup. She was beautiful in her own way. Grandmother McAllister cleaned other people’s houses as well as her own. Her perfume was often freshly baked breads and cookies. She’d had a sturdy shape and a soft bosom, perfect for holding and comforting a child.
Dottie gripped his hand and Mac raised it to his lips. “Sorry I’m so late, Nana. I’m working on an important case.”
“On the Sabbath?” She clucked her tongue. “What could be so important you have to work on Sunday?”
“It’s a murder case.”
“Oh.” Her eyes clouded. “You’re trying to find out who killed Megan?” She glanced over at her tablemate. “Did you hear that, Estelle? My Antonio’s going to find out who killed our Megan.”
Estelle, a woman in her mid-eighties with Alzheimer’s, stared at the wall.
Several residents murmured their support. One elderly man at the next table nodded. “It’s about time.”
“Your Megan?” Mac sat down in the empty chair. “What do you mean? Did you know her?”
“Of course I did. She used to come her
e once a week and teach our tai chi class.” Dottie pursed her lips. “Lovely girl. We prayed for her every day when we heard she was missing.” She squeezed his hand even harder. “I’m glad you are working on this. It feels good to know you’ll have that horrible man behind bars soon.”
“I hope so. There are a lot of suspects.”
“Maybe, but as far as I’m concerned Matthew did it.”
Mac frowned. “Matthew?”
“You’re a detective and you don’t know about Matthew?”
“I-I don’t think so.” Mac couldn’t remember Eric saying anything about a Matthew, nor could he remember seeing the name on the tip list.
She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture.
“Matthew is an aide who works here. None of us likes him very much. He doesn’t like us either. God only knows why these places hire people who don’t like being around old people.” She shrugged and leaned closer. “But he liked Megan. He watched her all during the classes while he was supposed to be working.”
Mac pulled out his notebook and jotted down this new information. “What’s Matthew’s last name?”
“Um . . . DeLong. Yes, that’s it. Matthew DeLong.”
“What makes you think he had something to do with her death?”
“He was lusting after her and she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.”
Mac looked skeptically at his grandmother. “Nana, did Megan actually tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. A woman can sense these things. At any rate, the last time she was here, he followed her out to her car and talked to her. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, of course, but it looked like an argument to me.”
“Where’s Matthew now?” Mac glanced around, spotting a balding man pouring coffee into one of the resident’s cups. A mix of adrenaline and fear surged through him as he realized Megan’s killer could be here in this facility—in this room.
“Don’t you see?” Dottie released his hand. “That’s why I think he did it. I haven’t seen him since Megan disappeared.”
The high alert settled into high interest. Mac could hardly wait to call Kevin.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mac went back to Dottie’s one-bedroom apartment with her. The unit was attractive and full of antiques, books, and treasures she couldn’t quite part with when she moved out of her home and to the retirement community three years ago. As far as Mac was concerned, she didn’t need to be in a place like this, but Dottie herself had made the decision. The house was too big—too full of bad memories. Here she had a social life, meals served three times a day, and elegant surroundings. The community not only had the retirement inn, but an assisted care facility and a nursing home. She seemed to be thriving.
While Dottie used the bathroom, Mac paged Kevin and got a call back seconds later.
“Hey Mac—what’s going on? You miss me?”
Mac chuckled. “No way.” Mac relayed the conversation he’d had with his grandmother.
“Hey, I’m impressed.”
“Anyway, since I’m here, I thought I’d check with the supervisor and see if I can get his personnel records.”
“You can try, bud. With your looks you might be able to charm your way around, but I doubt they’ll release anything. Tomorrow we can get a grand jury subpoena for the employee records and start tracking the guy down.”
“Sounds good. I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.”
Dottie came back out to the sitting room just as Mac hung up. They visited for about half an hour before Mac told her he had to go see what he could find out about Matthew. She seemed pleased about that and for the first time in a long while didn’t urge him to stay.
He tracked down the evening shift supervisor, Annie Jenkins, and talked to her about Megan. Annie, a redhead in her forties, claimed she didn’t know Megan personally but said the residents thought highly of her. “I’m sorry we had to lose her.”
“My grandmother tells me I should check out a guy named Matthew DeLong.”
Annie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve heard the rumor about Matthew possibly being responsible. I wouldn’t put too much stock in that. Old people don’t have a lot to do, so they make up stories.”
“Just the same, if he showed interest in Megan we should at least talk to him. Could you give me his address and phone number?”
“Not a chance.” Annie slipped her glasses down on her nose and peered over them. “Our personnel records are confidential and I’m really not in a position to give them out.”
Mac didn’t argue. He could get the information from other sources.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monday, August 26
7:20 A.M.
When Mac arrived at the Troutdale Police Department, Kevin and Eric were already in the briefing room, talking to a tall brunette in a suit jacket, soft pink blouse, and slacks. She slipped off her jacket, revealing a weapon in a leather holster on her belt at the small of her back. She had an exotic, multiethnic look about her—maybe Asian, Polynesian, and African American.
“Morning, Mac,” Eric lifted his coffee cup in a salute. “Have you met Detective Thomas?”
“No.” Mac stretched out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
“Melissa.” She tossed him a crooked smile. “I’m a polygraph examiner from the Salem office.”
“Oh, right.”
“Eric and Kevin were just going over the details with me. I think we’re set for the first one anyway.” She glanced at Kevin, who nodded in the affirmative. “I’ll get set up.” Melissa gestured to the empty office adjoining the briefing room. “Is this office okay?”
“Yeah,” Eric replied. “We reserved it for you all day.”
Melissa picked up a large black plastic case and left the room.
“Have a good night’s sleep, Mac?” Kevin asked.
“Not really.”
“I hear you. Five o’clock came early this morning. I was searching for an excuse not to put on the old running shoes today, but . . .”
“You went running?” Mac asked.
“Don’t look so surprised. Been doing six miles, four times a week for nearly thirty years.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.” Mac hadn’t been keeping up with his exercise regimen and felt a stab of guilt.
“You mean, goody two shoes for you.” Eric chuckled at his own joke.
Kevin shook his head. “Use it or lose it.” He turned to Mac. “Why don’t you tell Eric what you uncovered last night?”
Mac cleared his throat, eager to share his information. “I went to visit my grandmother after work and ended up getting some potentially valuable information on our case.”
“What’s that?” Eric asked.”
“You’re not going to believe this.” Mac went on to tell them about Matthew DeLong and how he’d gotten nowhere with the evening supervisor. After talking to Annie, Mac had gone back to get a description from Dottie and had ended up with a photo taken at a resident’s birthday party showing Matthew serving cake to the birthday girl. Mac set his briefcase on the table and, after opening it, took out a new folder he’d labeled DeLong.
Kevin looked pleased.
Eric shook his head and in a sarcastic tone said, “Good work, Mac—all we need is another lead. You sure you can trust the residents?”
Mac bit back a sharp retort. Was Eric implying that Dottie couldn’t be trusted? “Yeah. Even if it’s a rumor, like the supervisor seemed to think, we can’t afford to pass this one up.”
“And you are so right.” Kevin headed for the break room. “I could go for a cup of joe.”
Mac and Eric followed, each filling their disposable cups with coffee.
“Kevin,” Mac said, “when we spoke last night, you mentioned getting a subpoena for DeLong’s employee records . . .”
“I’ll take care of that, Mac,” Eric said. “Nice work. Tell Dottie I said hello next time you see her.”
Mac no
dded. “Is Gordon coming in this morning?”
Kevin shrugged. “He didn’t call to say he wasn’t.”
Moments later, a code enforcement officer from the P.D. stuck his head in the break room. “Any of you guys with the state police?”
“We all are.” Eric took a sip of coffee. “Can I help you with something?”
“There’s a guy named Gordon Reed out front. Says he’s here to see the detectives he talked to yesterday.”
“He showed up. How about that?” Kevin looked at his watch.
“He made the appointment with time to spare.” To the officer he said, “Thanks, we’ll go down and meet him.”
Kevin walked around the corner to the office where Melissa had set up the polygraph machine. “Mr. Reed is here a little early.
Are you ready to proceed with the exam?”
“Ready to go.” She plugged a cord into the back of her laptop computer. “Bring him on in.”
“It might be a few minutes. The last time we talked to him, he was dragging his heels. I think we can convince him, though.”
Kevin gave a thumbs-up sign. Mac jogged down the stairs to the ground floor then opened the door leading to the parking lot.
Gordon Reed was standing by the door, smoking a cigarette. He had cleaned up pretty well and was wearing a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Without the soot, he actually looked pretty normal.
The knife was gone. Mac wondered if the guy had talked to a lawyer and gotten some advice.
“Hello, Mr. Reed.” Mac shook his hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I tried to get in through the front door, but it was locked.” Gordon blew out puffs of smoke as he talked, then took another drag before dropping the butt on the asphalt and grinding it in with his tennis shoe. “Hope you’re not planning to write me a ticket for that.”
“I’ll let it slide this time. Sorry you had to wait. The office here doesn’t open up until eight o’clock. You’re a little early but that’s fine.”
Secrets, Lies & Alibis Page 19