Deadfall (18 page)

“We'll worry about ballistics later,” Kevin said. “Right now I'm more concerned with the prints. If we can get a starting point on the owner, it'll give us a lead on the investigation. Hopefully we won't have to pore over missing-person reports for the western United States—that could take weeks.”

“If we get lucky, I could have them in about thirty minutes.”

Allison took the bag from Mac. “You guys are welcome to wait here or grab some dinner and come back.”

“I'm sorry for the trouble, Allison,” Kevin said. “Hope you didn't have plans.”

“Don't worry about it. I was staying late anyway; I have some quality-control tests to perform on some instruments. It's easier after hours.”

“You hungry, Mac?” Kevin asked.

“Starved.”

Kevin nodded and turned to Allison. “I think we'll take your suggestion and grab a bite. Can we bring you back anything?”

“No thanks; I'm fine. My fifteen-year-old is always up for a late bite, so I'll eat with her in a couple of hours.”

“Okay. We'll be back in about thirty.”

15

T
HE SAME OFFICER they'd encountered on their earlier trip, with the same deadpan features, waved them inside the Justice Center. Upon reaching the twelfth floor,Kevin and Mac found the crime lab door locked. Kevin knocked, and Allison let them in.

“Sorry about that. One of the lab guys must have locked up on the way out.”

“That's okay.” Kevin stepped inside, looking to Allison to break the news.

Mac had the same anticipatory feeling—wanting to know, yet not wanting to know. Identifying the victim meant telling the family.

“I've got a match for you. Come on back.” Allison motioned for the two detectives to walk around behind the front counter.

“After you.” Mac held the half-door open, trying to subdue his eagerness. They followed Allison to a small office, containing only a desk with a computer and printer.

“Here you go.” Allison held out a computerized printout. “AFIS hit on him right away—on the first thumb I sent through.”

Mac grabbed the computer sheet and read the name aloud. “Bradley Gaynes.” He handed the sheet to Kevin. “The missing hiker.” Mac recognized the name immediately.

“You know him?”

“No, but I helped look for him. He went missing more than two months ago. Dana's been following the case pretty closely.

Don't know why I didn't think about him right away.”

“Our Dana?” Kevin raised an eyebrow at the implication and then turned his attention to the printout. “The kid was twenty-five. Looks like he was arrested for dope a few years back; he has a criminal history out of Deschutes County.”

Mac remembered his conversation with Dana where she'd gotten that information from the mother.

“There's more.” Allison handed a second page to Mac while Kevin studied the first. “Our guy is a listed missing person in LEDS. Looks like he's been AWOL out of Hood River County since November. His criminal history caught the prints through AFIS, but I had to run the name to check his status.”

“So the sheriff 's office has him entered as missing?” Kevin asked, moving in shoulder to shoulder with Mac to read the fax.

Mac's mind reeled with the news. His stomach twisted in knots as he tried to assimilate the information. He thought about the Gaynes family, feeling sick at the thought of having to tell them. He needed to call Dana—maybe since the two of them had helped with the search, they should be the ones to break the news.

“Can I use a phone, Allison?” Mac took both printouts.

“Sure.” Allison pointed to her office down the hall. “Use mine.”

“Calling out to Hood River County?” Kevin asked.

The question jolted Mac. Luckily, his back was already turned to them. Of course he had to notify the sheriff 's office first. Then he could call Dana. He glanced back over his shoulder. “You know it.”

“I'll get the firearms guys on that bullet first thing in the morning, Kevin,” Allison said.

“Appreciate it. Say, how's the better half?”

“Joe's doing great. I'll tell him you said hi. He's off on some fishing trip on the John Day River right now. Probably freezing his you-know-what off.”

“Going after some winter steelhead, or are the chinook that far up yet?” Kevin envied the man—not that he was out in this weather, but that he took the time to do what he loved most. Kevin needed to do that. He needed to back off before it was too late. On the other hand, maybe it was already too late. Kevin shoved the morbid thought from his mind.

“Who knows,” Allison laughed. “Joe doesn't catch much. With the money he has tied up in fishing gear and the price of gas nowadays, the fish he brings home run us about a hundred dollars a pound.”

“I bet he has a blast, though.”

“Yeah, he does; so I don't complain. Besides, Beth and I get a chance to do some heavy-duty bonding and shopping when he's gone.”

Kevin nodded. “Thanks a million for staying late. I know you don't get overtime.”

“No problem, Kevin. I'm glad to help a friend. Besides, I'll have an excuse to come in late tomorrow after staying up late tonight.”

Mac caught the tail end of their conversation as he walked back into the room. “Looks like we're going to be up a little late too.”

“Why, what's up?” Kevin asked.

“I talked to Deputy Sam Wyatt with the S.O. Since I was working on the sawmill case, I was only able to search that one day. Dana kept me up to speed for a few weeks. Wyatt says they did a full-blown search-and-rescue mission but didn't turn up a scrap of evidence. They speculated that there may have been an accident or maybe Gaynes committed suicide up at Wah-kella Falls.”

“I remember that case now,” Allison said. “Joe and I hike the Eagle Creek trail system. He likes to hunt around there. Wah-kella is the first big falls when you go past Bonneville Dam.”

Mac nodded. “The sheriff says the family is still searching for this guy, going back to the falls and posting fliers.”

“So as of right now, the family thinks there may be hope for their son,” Kevin said, as more of a reflective statement than a question.

“Afraid so. We have to make some notifications tonight. His parents live here in the Portland area.”

“Looks like you two have work to do, so I'll get out of your hair.” Allison gave Kevin a pat on the shoulder as she walked past.

“Thanks again, Allison. We'll be in touch on the bullet,” Kevin said.

“You guys can lock up if you need to stay.”

“We're heading out now,” Kevin said. “You have the address, Mac?”

“Yep. It's over by Portland State. We're only about ten minutes out.”

Mac and Kevin walked out to the elevator with Allison, but she continued past the doors. “You going down?” Mac asked.

She pointed to the stairway door. “I always take the stairs. It's the only exercise I get some days.”

Mac smiled and waved good-bye as Kevin hit the first-floor button. Before the door shut, Kevin was formulating his game plan. “Did you tell the deputy what we found in the body?”

“You mean the bullet?”

Kevin nodded.

“Yes, I had to. When I first told him about Brad's body, he wanted to gear up his crew and start working this thing, still thinking it was an accident or a suicide. So I told him about the bullet and said we were working it as a probable murder. Wyatt is still under the impression the guy went over a waterfall after his girlfriend broke up with him, and his body floated downstream to the Columbia.”

“That's doubtful,” Kevin said. “I'd lay odds that this Gaynes fellow didn't go into the river above Bonneville Dam. The turbines would have turned him into mincemeat, unless he somehow navigated the fish ladder or sneaked through the locks. My guess is this guy took a bullet and was dumped in the lower river.”

“Wyatt didn't have any information on a firearm from the family or girlfriend, although I didn't specifically ask. He wasn't too thrilled about us working the case—looks like he's been on it for some time.”

“Did you tell him we were OSP?”

“Yep.”

“We'll touch base with him again after making the death notification to Brad's mom and dad.”

“He's working until four in the morning, so I told him we would give him a call. Apparently he hears from the mother a lot.” Mac folded the papers and stared at the floor, remembering Brad Gaynes's distraught mother, father, sister, and girlfriend.

“Kevin, do you mind if I call Trooper Bennett in on this? She's been following through with the family on her off time. Besides that, she's been through the grief counseling training.”

The elevator door opened when they reached the ground floor of the Justice Center. They stepped out, their wet soles squeaking against the marble floor.

“That's a good idea, Mac.” Kevin hesitated a moment and then added, “In fact, why don't you and Dana go? I'll sit this one out.”

Mac frowned. There it was again, that tired, strained look. “Sure, if you tell me what's going on with you. You've been acting strange for the past couple of weeks—more so today. Is everything okay?”

Kevin sighed and shook his head. “No, it isn't.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm tired. I'm getting old. Been thinking about retiring—but you know that.”

“Yeah. I just don't believe it.”

Kevin clamped his hand over Mac's shoulder. “We'll talk.

Soon. Just not right now.”

They left the building and hurried to the car. The ice had turned to snow and was building up fast. Once they'd gotten into the car and buckled up, Kevin folded his arms around himself and leaned forward. “Just drop me off at my house, Mac. You can pick me up there in the morning.”

“Why don't you want to drive your car?” It seemed an odd request, since Kevin lived across town and Mac's car was still parked at the OSP office. Usually they went back to the station, got into their separate cars, and went home.

“Like I said, I'm just tired. Now go.” The words were clipped.

Are you angry with me? Did I do something wrong? What's going
on?
Mac wanted to ask those questions and more, but he didn't.

Kevin didn't want to talk. He'd made that clear enough.

Mac grabbed his cell phone, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Partners were supposed to trust each other. They were supposed to confide in each other. He speed-dialed Dana's cell phone.

“Hey Mac, what's up?” Dana asked after his greeting.

“You know that floater we picked up this afternoon?” Mac said.

“It's Bradley Gaynes, isn't it?”

“How did you know?” Mac straightened and instinctively glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Intuition. I thought about him after you guys left. I hoped it would be one of the bargemen, but I had this feeling. Brad had blond hair and was about the same height.” She hesitated a moment. “You're sure?”

“We have a fingerprint ID.”

“Do you want me to notify the family?” Empathy swathed her voice, and he could almost feel the magic soothe his hurt feelings.

“That's why I called. I thought it would be good if we talked to them together.” Mac glanced at Kevin's reclining form. He'd leaned back, lowered the seat, and had his eyes closed. “I'm dropping Kevin off at home and then heading over there. Do you have the address?”

“Yeah. I've been there a few times. We've got a guy out here on S.E. Powell who's had a little too much holiday cheer. I'll let Perkins take him in. I can get there in half an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

Mac closed the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Think I should call the Gayneses first?”

When Kevin didn't answer, Mac thought he might be asleep. After several long seconds, he said, “No. Just head up there, Mac. It's better to tell them in person—that way you're there to handle any problems.”

There was no anger in his voice now, but Mac thought he saw a tear glisten on Kevin's cheek as they went under a streetlight.

“Why don't you give Sarge a call and bring him up to speed?” Kevin suggested.

Mac did, but when he couldn't reach Sergeant Evans, he left messages on his mobile and at home.

After driving his partner to his home in Milwaukee, Mac drove back to the city, through traffic on Broadway that was surprisingly heavy on such an icy night, past the various performing arts centers, and eventually passing the campus of Portland State University.

“I hate these,” Mac muttered as he thought of the dozens of times he had to make death messages while working as a uniformed trooper. He disliked delivering messages to family members that their loved one had died in a car wreck or other unusual circumstances.

Mac thought about the last message he delivered, the very evening he learned he had made detective and would shed his uniform patrol job. An older couple had been serving as foster parents to a child after the State had taken him from his violent parents. The father of the child had somehow learned where the child was staying. After murdering the foster mother in a bloody rampage, he kidnapped his son from the home.

Mac had drawn the short straw and had to tell the victim's husband that, while he was at work, his wife of thirty years had been killed by a madman. Mac met the man in his office and saw the look in his eyes right after they shook hands. The husband knew—somehow they always seem to know.

Mac found the address without any problem, probably because of the OSP vehicle parked on the street. He pulled alongside the curb behind Dana and glanced at the house. Judging by the cars in the driveway and the lights inside, the Gayneses were home. Mac took a deep breath and let it out again, willing his tension to dissipate.