Deadfall

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “I’m sorry about that, Mac, but don’t base your decisions on the actions of a few. Not all pastors are equipped to counsel people. Seems to me he should have been neutral and not taken sides.”

  “Yeah, well, that episode of my life is over.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Maybe I am—a little. I really tried to make it work.” But had he? Linda wanted phone calls. He could have given her more of those. He didn’t much like the idea of quitting.

  “It wouldn’t have worked, Mac. Not very many women can deal with the life we lead, the work we do. They might say they understand, but they don’t—not really.”

  “So what do you think about Jessica?” Mac asked, wanting to change the subject. “Was it wise for me to turn her loose?”

  “I would have. I know it’s tough to give up your best lead, but something will shake loose if we keep dogging it. Don’t lose faith, partner.”

  “I just hope I made the right call.” Mac yawned.

  “You made the decision—a very hard decision, which I happen to support. We had nothing to hold her on, and you followed your gut instincts. Without that, you wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel as a major case detective. You have to follow your heart, Mac. And rest assured, I would have said something if I had any problem with the call. This thing is going as well as can be expected, and the family will have to understand that. There isn’t a detective in the back room who doesn’t support Sarge’s decision to give you the lead rope.”

  Mac swallowed hard and managed to say, “Thanks, Kev. I appreciate that.”

  “You been getting much rest?” Kevin glanced over at Mac, pushing at his shoulder.

  “Some, why?”

  “Not that I’m concerned; I’m just tired of driving,” Kevin teased, effectively changing the mood. He pressed his back against the seat, stretching his legs.

  “I’ll bet. It’s been what, almost half a day now?” Mac chuckled.

  “Seriously, I’m doing okay.”

  “I think it’s time you worked a short day, Mac. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for months now.”

  “A short day sounds good. A day off sounds even better.” Mac folded his arms and focused on the car in front of them. “But I can’t. I’m up to my eyeballs in reports. Sarge is going to have me in the blue room like Philly if I don’t have them on his desk soon.

  The late reports were in my last evaluation, remember?”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t we both knock off early? I’ll give you a hand in the morning and we’ll get them wrapped up by noon. What do you say?”

  “Sounds like a plan, partner,” Mac yawned his response. “Say, what was the deal with the captain today?”

  “What, coffee with John?”

  “Yeah. Are you bucking for promotion or something?”

  “Please, I want to work for a living. John and I came on together; we’re both eligible this spring and were comparing retirement plans. We may joke about the brass, but I would have certainly gone for that promotion if I’d thought about retirement twenty years ago. John will pull about a thousand more a month in retirement than me.”

  Mac whistled. “Yeah, but with his job, you’d have to work sixty-hour weeks and live by the pager all day every day.”

  “And that’s different than our job?” Kevin eased the car around the corner. “You better get ready, the pressure is going to come for you to promote someday. The captain already asked if I thought you might be interested. They test next summer, you know.”

  “Sergeant McAllister.” Mac grinned. “Has a nice ring to it. But, I don’t know—we’ll see when the time comes. This place won’t be the same without you around. Depends what kind of partner I get strapped with.”

  “What if it’s Dana? I’ll bet you’d stick around for that.”

  “I might.” Mac laughed out loud. “She’ll be good, Kev. In fact, much as I’d hate to admit it, she’d probably already have this investigation wrapped up.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” Kevin pulled into the back lot of the patrol office and pulled up behind Mac’s car. He sighed. “I’m not even going into the office.”

  Mac sat there a moment. “Kevin, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. What’s troubling you?”

  “You,” Mac ventured. “I know something is going on, and I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

  “You’re right, Mac. Something is going on.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me?”

  “I was going to wait until morning. Planned to tell all of you together.”

  “All of us.” Mac frowned. “As in Russ and Philly and Eric and . . .”

  “And you. My friends, Mac.”

  “So you are retiring?”

  “No, Macot unless I’m forced to.” Kevin paused. “There’s no easy way to say it. I have cancer.”

  29

  MAC SAT IN STUNNED DISBELIEF, his head reverberating with Kevin’s announcement. “That can’t be.” Mac finally found his voice.

  “That was my reaction at first. I’ve suspected it for a while. My wife finally made me go in a couple of weeks ago, and the doc ran a bunch of tests. I have prostate cancer.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

  “Guess I didn’t want to say it out loud. Talking about it made it too real.” Kevin ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be starting chemo next week, so I thought I’d better let you all know so you and Philly wouldn’t start teasing me about losing my hair.” He offered a tense smile.

  SOMEHOW Mac managed to say good-bye to Kevin and get into his car. Robotlike, he turned the key, belted himself in, and headed out, following his partner as they drove toward the freeway. Mac honked and waved as he went north on I-205 and Kevin took the opposite ramp to the south.

  Cancer.

  Mac would never have come up with that scenario. Not in a million years. Even having heard it from Kevin’s own mouth, he still couldn’t believe he’d heard right. Shock followed him all the way home and came inside with him. Mac took off his shoes and turned on his gas fireplace, then settled into his chair. Lucy, Mac’s golden retriever, seemed to sense something was wrong and curled up at Mac’s feet, occasionally putting her head on Mac’s lap.

  “What’s a matter, old girl—you worried about me?” Lucy’s big brown eyes stared lovingly back at him. Mac rubbed the dog’s ears and scratched her head. Lucy placed her right paw on Mac’s left forearm to make sure the cuddling didn’t end anytime soon. Mac rested his hand on the dog’s head, stroking her silky fur.

  “Why Kevin, God?” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the fake log. “It isn’t fair. Kevin is one of the good guys. He even believes in you and in those prayers he says. How could you let this happen to him?”

  Mac remembered what Kevin had told him about the rain falling on the just and the unjust. How the world was in a mess and bad things happened. “The important question isn’t why, but how,” Mac remembered Kevin saying. “How can I be a better person because of what has happened?”

  God will turn your mourning into joy. Mac wasn’t certain where that thought had come from, but he recognized it as a Bible verse he’d memorized as a child. He tipped his head back, wishing he were still at work. Maybe he’d go back over to the office and work through the night.

  He closed his eyes and within seconds felt himself drift off.

  MAC AWOKE AT SEVEN P.M., feeling hungry and at odds. He didn’t want to go out to eat but hadn’t bought any groceries either. He thought about calling Dana, but he didn’t think he could hang out with her for very long before she figured out something was wrong. Dana tended to be very perceptive. He didn’t want to talk about Kevin. Instead, he decided to drive to the retirement inn to visit his grandmother.

  As usual, Nana welcomed him with open arms and listened intently as he brought her up to date on everything that had happened in his personal life during the last two weeks.

  “Yo
u look so sad, Antonio. Because of Linda?”

  “A little, mostly about my partner.” He told Nana about Kevin’s diagnosis and got about fifteen minutes’ worth of people he should talk to. “Half the people here have had cancer. There are so many options. You tell Kevin to come see me. I’ll introduce him to some survivors.” She smiled and patted his arm. “I know it’s a hard word to hear, but your friend will come out of this. You’ll see.”

  “I wish I had your faith.”

  “You do,Antonio. It’s all inside you. All you have to do is admit it.”

  Mac hung around until eight-thirty, when Nana’s eyes began to droop. “I should go.”

  “Don’t wait so long next time.” She kissed his cheek and gave him the usual hug.

  “I won’t.”

  “And bring Kevin.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Driving home, Mac had to smile at the irony. He visited Nana to cheer her up, but nearly every time he went, it was he who ended up feeling better.

  “YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME.” Mac glanced at the nightstand alarm clock. Two o’ clock in the morning. The audible tone on his pager went silent after three choruses. Mac leaned over and pressed the readout button on the digital pager, squinting to read the alpha message.

  The page from dispatch read, TROOPER DOWNEY REQUESTS 12-4 AT TROUTDALE P.D. ASAP.

  “Now what?” he grumbled. “Probably a car full of stolen property, and they want me to write the warrant again.”

  Mac reached for the phone, calling dispatch to have them patch him through to Troutdale. No sense in spending his dime on the call; it was long distance from his place.

  “State police dispatch. Is this an emergency?” the dispatcher answered.

  “This is Detective McAllister out of Portland. The supervisor sent me a page to call a troop at Troutdale. Would you patch me through, please?”

  “I think the desk supervisor wanted to talk to you when you called in. Hold on a sec, and I’ll transfer you.”

  “Who’s the . . .” Mac stopped, realizing she’d already put him on hold.

  “Is this Mac?” a woman asked.

  “Yeah. I was paged to call TPD.”

  “Hi, Mac; this is Sue. Trooper Downey called a few minutes ago and said he needs you to respond to TPD instead of calling.

  He said it is important, related to the twelve-forty-nine Adam you are working.”

  “The murder case? Really? Did he say how it was related?” Mac was suddenly wide awake.

  “Nope. He arrested a DUII out on Highway 30 just after 1:00 A.M. and went to the PD for a breath test when he called in. He said he wanted a call from you, then he said he couldn’t talk and wanted you to respond ASAP.”

  “Okay, I’m en route. My ETA is about thirty. Would you alpha page eleven-fifty? Tell Sergeant Evans I’m out and about. I’ll have my cell on if he has questions, though you know what I know at this point.”

  “Will do, Mac. Take care.” The dispatch supervisor ended the call.

  I wonder what this is all about. Mac slipped into his jeans and running shoes, grabbing his Glock and cuffs off the top of the fridge on the way out. He made good time as he crossed over the Glen Jackson into Oregon and headed east on I-84 to Troutdale. The small town, located at the confluence of the interstate, the Columbia River, and the Sandy River, had really expanded in the past few years. The towns of Gresham and Troutdale had grown together, providing a gateway to the Columbia Gorge. Mac parked next to the trooper’s marked Crown Vic and rushed inside. He was buzzed through and met with Trooper Downey inside the DUII processing room.

  “Hey, Tom. I came as soon as I could.” Mac noted the time on his watch out of habit. “What’s up?”

  The trooper pulled a finger to his lips, indicating he wanted Mac to keep his voice down, and pointed to the next room. “Thanks for coming, Mac,” the trooper spoke in a low but deliberate tone. “I have a guy in the Intoxilyzer room. Arrested him for DUII out on Highway 30 about ninety minutes ago. Nothing remarkable at first. I stopped him for driving with his high-beam lights on when he passed by me without dimming. When I walked up I knew I had a keeper—slurred speech and blurry eyes. I arrested him after field sobriety tests and took him back to the PD for the Intox. The guy’s name is Troy Wilson. He gave a breath sample then started bawling like a baby. Still nothing too far out of the ordinary, right? He’s a two-time loser on probation, and I figure he’s just upset because he may go to jail for thirty days for the probation violation. He had a no-alcohol package as part of his probation. His probation officer wanted him revoked and lodged.”

  “How’s this connected to my case?” Mac kept his voice down, but it wasn’t easy. “You’re killing me here.”

  “I was getting to that.” Tom gestured toward the room where Troy Wilson was being detained. “Wilson starts telling me about how he’s going to lose custody of his daughter because of the arrest. I guess he has some custody hearing this next week and will lose by default because he’s in jail and his ex-wife will get their girl for good this time. Out of the blue he starts telling me he has information about some body recovery that’s been in the paper. He hasn’t said much else, except that it’s the one where the guy turned up in the river, and he called it a murder. Your case, I think, but I didn’t think the media knew it was a murder investigation.”

  Mac struggled to maintain his composure. Could they finally be getting a break?

  “He clammed up after that. Says he’ll only talk to a guy that has the authority to deal with him. I thought you would want to know right away, so I had dispatch call you. I was recording him and decided to have dispatch have you come out. I knew you would want to talk to him.”

  “Thanks, Tom. You bet I do. Does this guy sound credible?”

  “He sounds pretty straight up to me,” Tom said.

  “What did he blow?”

  “A .10 blood alcohol content, but he’s not drunk out of his mind.”

  “Could you introduce me?” Mac thought about calling Kevin but figured it would take him almost an hour to come from south Clackamas County after a wake-up call. No sense in getting him up at this hour—especially with what he was going through. Mac could handle the interview with Wilson for now.

  “Sure. Come on in.” The trooper opened the door to the Intoxilyzer room, introducing Troy Wilson to Mac. Wilson was still cuffed behind his back, slumped down in the chair next to the Intoxilyzer machine. “Mr. Wilson, this is Detective McAllister with the Oregon State Police. He was the one you wanted to speak with.”

  “You got the authority to deal?” The demand came via slightly slurred speech and eyes as red as a fire engine.

  “Thanks, Tom. I’ll take it from here.”

  “I’ll be right next-door when you’re ready to transport.” Tom walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Mac turned to Wilson, his gaze drifting to arms that had been secured behind his back. “Why don’t you stand up, and let me switch those to the front?”

  Wilson shot him a look of surprise. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

  “You can call me Mac. Do you mind if I call you Troy?”

  “Sure, that’s fine.”

  Mac removed the handcuffs and motioned for Troy to sit down.

  “Thanks.” Troy rubbed his wrist. “You never answered my question—do you have the authority to deal or not?”

  Mac pulled up a chair next to him. “Let’s just say I am the conduit for the person who does, but he’s not going to talk deal before I know what you have to offer. Only the district attorney can cut deals, but if I call him up right now he’s just going to want to know what you have to say and go back to bed. So I’m the guy you want to talk to first. Got that?”

  “Yeah, I got it. I spill my guts and you get the chance to stiff me if you want.” Troy frowned, adjusting his grimy baseball hat.

  “I’m afraid that’s the way it works.” Mac almost felt sorry for the guy. “How old is your daughter?”


  “She’s six.” His features softened. “Her name is Julie. I’ve got to get her back, man. I’ve got to. That little girl is my life.” Troy met Mac’s gaze. “My ex has hooked up with a real loser, Detective. I’ve got to get my baby girl back.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about her before you picked up the bottle.”

  “I know. I got a problem, but I’m trying to quit.”

  “I’d like to see you get a fair shake at that hearing, Troy, but I need to know what you have to offer. That’s the way the system works. Are you willing to give me a shot? I can tell you this. If you have good information for me, I’ll go to bat for you.”

  Troy fixed his gaze on the ceiling.

  “I give you my word on that,” Mac added.

  “Okay.”

  “First of all, this murder you claim to have information about.

  Are we talking about Bradley Gaynes, the man who was recently pulled from the Columbia River?”

  Troy nodded, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s the one, but you gotta know, I’m as good as dead if I tell you about it.”

  “How’s that?” Mac asked.

  “This guy will kill me. He even suspects I crossed him, and he’ll . . . he knows where my little girl lives. The guy is ruthless.”

  “Sounds like your best bet is to put this guy in prison. Are you willing to help me help you?”

  “I’ve got no choice.”

  “And you’re sure the victim you’re talking about is Bradley Gaynes?”

  “I’m sure. I didn’t know the name until it hit the paper, but I recognized his picture.”

  “Good.” Mac took a long, deep breath and started the tape recorder. “For starters, I need to explain something to you. Because you are in police custody, I need to advise you of your rights. That’s the rule.”

  Troy winced. “Twice in one night, great.”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him or her present with you before any questioning. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”