Deadfall (27 page)

“Oh, great. Just what I need.” Mac brushed out the snow, his hands freezing in the process.

Kevin chuckled. “You may want to dust the snow off the car before you open the door, Daniel Boone.” He caught the edge of his coat sleeve in his hand and brushed the snow from the top of the passenger side door and the windshield. “You do have tire chains, don't you?”

“Chains? Didn't you put them in the trunk?” Mac cast Kevin a concerned look as he finished clearing his seat. “If you didn't, we may have to spend the night.”

“Are you serious? You came up here without chains?”

It was Mac's turn to laugh. He clipped his pager to the visor so it wouldn't fall and get lost in the deep snow before brushing the white stuff off his side of the windshield. “Of course I have chains.

I'm just not sure I know how to put them on.”

“Marvelous.” Kevin popped the trunk with the dash button then went back to retrieve them.

Mac pulled the box of tire chains from the trunk and dropped it on the ground. Kevin pulled his yellow slicker from the trunk, snapping it on over his clothes. “Never put on chains, huh? You didn't grow up in the country, did you?”

Mac shivered and slipped on his rain gear, wondering when Kevin would realize he'd been joking about putting on the chains too. During his stint as a trooper he'd helped dozens of stranded motorists chain up.

“Still want to make fun of my coat?” Kevin pulled a chain from the box and wrapped it around the right rear tire. Less than fifteen minutes and numerous grunts later, Mac and Kevin had chained the rear wheels.

“Thought you didn't know how to chain up,” Kevin huffed when they were finally back in the car.

Mac grinned. “I didn't say I couldn't. I said I wasn't sure I knew how.”

“Okay, wise guy. Next time you get to do both wheels.”

They plowed through the snow and out of the parking lot. Mac took his pager off the visor and checked it before clipping it onto his belt. “Darn. Missed a page.”

“Who called?” Kevin asked, rubbing his hands over the heater.

Mac frowned as he tried to place the number. “I think it's Jessica.”

24

J
ESSICA? Are you sure?” Kevin asked, apparently as surprised as Mac was.

“I think so.” Mac examined his pager again. “The area code is right. I'm pretty sure it's the same number Mrs. Gaynes gave me. I gave it to the detective in California. Where do you think we should call from? I don't want to make the call on a cell phone; we may want to tape it. And I'm not sure if we even have cell coverage up here.”

Kevin agreed. “Let's head back down to Highway 26 and use our outpost office in the ODOT shop. The Portland office key should still fit the Government Camp office.” Mac traveled slowly down the icy Timberline Road to the highway shop. Even with chains and using extreme caution, his tires spun in the fresh powder when he tried to catch traction and cross Highway 26 to the shop entrance.

The Oregon Department of Transportation kept sand and gravel, used by the highway workers to maintain the icy road, piled in small mountains under covered ports. The parking lot to the highway shop led into a narrow alley between huge garage bays where snowplows and sand trucks were housed much of the year. In the winter, however, the vehicles were in service 24-7. At the end of the alley stood a familiar blue highway sign indicating an OSP office was nearby.

The small office wasn't much more than a couple hundred square feet, just big enough to hold a coffeepot and a report writing desk when the winter flares and boot chains were stacked inside. The A-frame design was popular in the Hoodland community, where heavy snowfalls were the norm. This year was no exception, and the area around the OSP office was piled high in snow. Mac and Kevin parked and took out their briefcases before stepping again through knee-deep snow to the door. Once inside, they stomped off the snow and headed for the desk.

Mac pulled a pad out of his briefcase and began to set up for the important call. “Looks like these phones aren't set up with recorders.”

Kevin pulled a small ear recorder and wire from his briefcase. “You can use my mobile device.”

“I've never seen one of these before. Where did you get one that small?”

Kevin shrugged. “ATF insisted I keep it after I worked an armed career criminal assignment with them. The feds get all the neat stuff; this recorder is almost ten years old.”

“They insisted, huh?” Mac raised an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe more like they forgot I had it. I've put it to good use over the years. Just put this little speaker in your ear and plug the male end into your mini cassette recorder. This little beauty picks up your voice and the one on the other end. It's pretty slick.”

“I don't know if California has laws that prevent recorded phone calls. Is that going to be a problem?” Mac slipped the tiny padded microphone into his ear.

“Nope. Testing—one, two, three,” Kevin said into Mac's ear then played the recording back. “Oregon doesn't require us to notify the person that you are recording over the phone, so that's all we need to worry about. Just as long as one end of the conversation is in Oregon, we're good to go.”

“Humph. Are you sure about that? I'm probably violating some federal law,” Mac mumbled.

“Sure I'm sure.” Kevin slapped Mac on the back. “But if you end up going to prison, I'll deny ever having this conversation with you.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Maybe you better call.”

Kevin chuckled. “I'm kidding. Of course I'm sure.”

“Great.” Mac took a deep breath and let it out in a swoosh.

Then he punched in the number, saying the date and time into the microphone. The phone rang once.

“Hello.” The female voice sounded out of breath.

“Uh, hello.” Mac glanced at Kevin. “That was quick. This is Detective Mac McAllister with the Oregon State Police. I received a page to call this number.”

“Yes, I paged you. This is Jessica Turner. Um, Mac? You helped search for Brad that first day, right?”

“Right. I'm surprised you remembered.”

“Oh, well, you and Dana were nice to me and . . .” She sighed.

“Anyway, I'm here with Officer Rodriguez from the sheriff 's office. He said I could get hold of you at this number. He said you found Brad?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so, Jessica,” Mac said. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“Um, thank you. How are Brad's parents handling the news?”

“They're understandably upset.”

“Still blaming me, no doubt.”

Mac ignored the last comment, hoping to establish a rapport with Jessica before getting into the meat of the questions.

“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I can reach you at this number, right?”

“Excuse me?” Mac asked, surprised by the statement.

“Oh, sorry,” Jessica said. “I was talking to the officer here at the house. He just handed me his business card and said he was leaving.”

“I'd like to speak with him before he goes.” Mac leaned back in the chair.

“Sure,” said Jessica. “Hang on.”

A few seconds later, Mac heard, “Rodriguez here.”

Mac introduced himself. This wasn't the same person he'd talked to earlier. “Can you tell me about the conversation you just had with Ms. Turner?”

“Yeah. I just came out here to tell her this Brad Gaynes fellow had been found dead. I gave her your pager number in case she wanted to talk to you about it. The detective you talked to originally was sidelined by another homicide and assigned the death notification to me.”

Mac held back a few choice words.
If you want something done
right, do it yourself.
The pager number hadn't been for Jessica's use, but for the detective's. Still, Mac was glad she called.

“How did Ms. Turner react when she received the news?”

“Yeah, things are a little cold down here. Not what I would expect this time of year.”

“So she was indifferent to the news?”

“You could say that.”

“All right. Thanks for your help. I'll give you a call at your office.” Mac wrote down the officer's phone number. “Go ahead and put her back on.”

Jessica told Rodriguez good-bye again then came back on the line. “So now what?” Jessica asked. “I guess I'm suspect number one, huh?”

“I wouldn't say that. I do have several questions for you, but they can wait. The purpose of this call is to answer any questions you may have about Brad's death.”

“Deputy Rodriguez didn't have many details. He just told me that Brad had been shot and was found in the river.”

“The officer told you Brad was shot?” Mac glanced up at Kevin and rubbed his forehead.

Kevin tipped his head back and threw out his arms, obviously upset that key evidence had been released.

“That's what he said. Is that true? Was Brad shot?”

“Yes. Brad was found in the Columbia River. The medical examiner is ruling Brad's death a homicide. We—um, Detective Bledsoe and I are playing a little catch-up now. The best information out there is that you are still the last person to see Brad alive.”

“So . . . what? Do you want to arrest me or something? I'll take a lie detector test or whatever; I didn't kill Brad.”

Mac couldn't help but smile at her naiveté. “We're not going to arrest you.”
At least not yet.
She sounded young and sweet, not like a cold-blooded killer. “We would like an interview. We could really use your help in catching the person who did this.” Kevin gave Mac a thumbs-up.

“Okay. I was planning on coming to Oregon soon; I have some things in pawn and wanted to pick them up. I'll tell you right now, some of the stuff is Brad's. I needed cash to get to California, so I hocked a few things. My boyfriend has loaned me some money so I can get the things out and, you know, give Brad's stuff back to his family.”

“Boyfriend?” Mac asked, again for Kevin's benefit.

Kevin raised his eyebrows and whispered, “Don't ask about Jeremy; let her talk.”

“Yeah, I met someone here in California. He's a really nice guy.

Um . . . I don't know if you know this, but Brad was abusive.” She huffed. “I bet Vicki never told you about that.”

“He hurt you?”

“Mm. He was mean—especially when he drank and did drugs.”

“I see.” Mac decided not to press it. Plenty of time to talk with her when they were face to face. “When did you say you were coming to Oregon?”

“I didn't. I haven't made any real plans yet. If you need me to be there right away, I could catch a bus in the next day or two. Will that work? I can't drive that far right now, and I can't afford a plane ticket.”

“That would be great. I hope you aren't feeling like you're getting the third degree. Unfortunately, Brad's killer has a real head start on us, and like I said, we can really use your help.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.”

“Listen, Jessica, would you mind telling me what happened the night Brad disappeared?”

“Can't you get my statement from the reports? Nothing's changed.”

“I know, but sometimes if you tell a story again, new memories come back to you. Besides, the officers early on didn't know where Brad was and they may not have documented something that is important now.”

Kevin nodded, obviously impressed that Mac was going to lock her into a statement on tape. A provable lie was just as valuable as hard evidence.

Jessica sighed. “All right. Whatever you need. I want to help as much as I can.”

“Good. Rather than play twenty questions, why don't you take it from the top?”

“Okay. Brad and I met at Timberline Lodge. You know where that is?”

Mac looked out the window at the towering mountain and smiled. “Yes, go on.”

“I fell pretty hard at first. Brad had the looks and the reputation, the total package. We had a lot of fun. One thing led to another, and we ended up moving in together—actually, I moved in with him at his cabin in Brightwood. We had some great times at that place. Our friends were really into the party scene.”

“Would the parties sometime include drugs, Jessica?”

She didn't answer.

“Jessica, let me make one thing clear. I'm not a narcotics officer.

I work homicide. I don't care if you and Brad slept in a mattress stuffed with weed. That's not what I'm after.”

“Um . . . yeah, there was some drug use. Brad and I both smoked a few bowls now and again.”

“Bowls of marijuana or crank?”

“Just marijuana, nothing serious,” Jessica answered, sounding a little offended. That always amused Mac, when drug users would minimize their vice and have an example of some type of drug or conduct that was more serious. Kevin had taught him to utilize this human trait in interviews, minimizing their crime and giving an example of something more serious to keep the perp talking.

“A little marijuana doesn't concern me.”

Kevin smiled and shook his head at Mac's comment. Mac held his finger up to his lip and waved Kevin away.

“I don't do drugs anymore. I never did a lot. It was mostly Brad.

I don't drink either. Brad liked to drink and have a good time, you know, get high. I wanted him to quit. We argued about that a lot, and at the falls that day I broke up with him. He didn't take it well.”

Jessica went on to tell Mac about her argument with Brad and the trucker who had intervened. Her story was the same as what Mac remembered reading. No discrepancies, no changes.

“Tell me more about this truckdriver,” Mac said.

“Well, Brad was really mad. I got out of the car, and so did he.

He grabbed my arms when I tried to walk away—told me I wasn't going anywhere. This truckdriver decided he was going to play hero, I guess, and came to my rescue. He asked me if there was a problem, and Brad said, ‘There will be if you don't mind your own business.' ”