Deadfall (33 page)

“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?”

Troy nodded.

“I need a yes or no for the audiotape,” Mac said.

“Yes, I understand.” Troy licked his lips.

“Having these rights in mind, do you still wish to speak to me?”

“Yes, I do. For my daughter's sake.”

Mac began the interview with small talk, getting Troy's biographical information and discussing his daughter. When he thought Troy felt more comfortable, he asked for the information on the murder.

“Where do I start?” Troy asked.

“At the beginning. Let's just work through this together.”

“Well, it all started about six months ago. I met this guy through a friend of a friend. Goes by the name Jayce. It's his nickname. I don't know his real name. That's the way he likes to keep it. I don't even know what it means or where it comes from; I don't ask and he don't tell. I needed some quick cash and my friend recommended me to this guy.”

“To do what?”

“Act as a guide. I used to guide for black bear before I moved to Oregon. Jayce was looking for some help with his guided bear and cougar hunts, so we hooked up. It was pretty easy money, and all I had to do was keep my mouth shut.”

Mac frowned. “Why the secretiveness? There must be hundreds of guides in the state for big game.”

“Jayce doesn't go on those kind of hunts; they aren't as profitable. We poach animals, not hunt them. Mainly black bears for their galls and paws, but we take any trophy animal to sell on the black market. We use dogs for bear and cougar, but we wouldn't pass on a trophy elk or deer if we got the chance. People pay top dollar for big antler racks.”

“How much were you pulling down?” Mac immediately thought about Chris Ferroli's comments about poaching.

“Depends. Fifteen to twenty grand a week. Jayce would cut me in at twenty percent. I'm good with a gun and fast with a skinning knife, but he had the contacts. Most of them were out of Portland area with overseas buyers. I know that was the case with the bear galls; I'm pretty sure they went to Asian countries.”

“How does this involve Brad Gaynes? Was he a client?”

“Hardly. About two months ago we were hunting near Cascade Locks, running hounds for black bear. You can run for miles and not see another soul. I knocked down this big sow and her cub. She didn't die right away. She took off and ran a few miles west before the dogs finally caught and killed her. It was a shame; they messed her hide up pretty bad. Jayce and I were harvesting the galls when we saw this kid staring at us from about twenty feet away. The dogs alerted us or we might not have seen him.”

“And this kid was Brad Gaynes?”

“Yeah. Like I said earlier, I didn't know his name until his picture was in the paper last week. I didn't even know he was dead until then.” He squirmed in the hard wooden chair. “I had my suspicions, though.”

“Why's that?” It looked as though Brad might have caught a hunter's bullet after all, but in this case it was no accident.

“Jayce walked over to the kid all friendly-like. Told him we were with Fish and Wildlife doing some tests on the bears in the area. Jayce told me to leash the hounds, then he told the kid to step back so he won't get bitten. Jayce put his arm around the kid's shoulders and led him away. It was dark by then, so I couldn't see beyond the lantern. After a while I heard a gunshot.”

“So this Jayce was carrying a gun?”

“He always carries a gun. That night he was carrying a scoped revolver—some custom job with hand loads that he uses for shooting cats and bears from the trees.”

“What happened after you heard the gunshot?”

“Jayce came back and said the kid tried to jump him, so he fired a warning shot and the kid ran off. Jayce told me to leave the sow and get the dogs back to the trucks. Once we got back to the rigs he told me to call it a night and paid me two grand in cash—twice the normal pay. We hadn't even harvested the goods from any of the animals that night. Jayce just said to take off and he would go back and get the gall bladder from the bear. He looked kind of nervous. When I asked him about it, he just said the shot might have drawn attention. That's when I knew he'd taken out the kid. I mean, we fired our guns all the time with no worries in that country; it's too rugged for the game wardens. And besides, there are legal hunters that time of year.”

“Could you take me back out to the place where you saw Brad?” Mac wondered if the bear carcass was the same one Chris had told them about.

“I don't think I could find it. It was dark, and we took so many turns tracking the wounded bear.”

“Have you seen this Jayce guy since that night?”

“Yeah. We've been out a few times since, even taken some customers on hunts.”

“Tell me more about these customers.” Mac leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“People pay top dollar to shoot a trophy bear or cougar. Since hunting with hounds is illegal in this state, folks pay big-time to kill a trophy with us then claim they shot it during daylight hours. That way they get their names in the record books. I bet sixty percent of the top animals in every category are taken illegally.”

“How much do these hunts go for?”

“Up to five grand a night, even if you don't shoot. We have several repeat customers.”

“How does a person learn about this type of thing? I'm sure Jayce doesn't have a web site or newspaper ads.”

“Humph.” He smiled at the comment. “Word of mouth mostly.

If he doesn't trust you, no way. You have to know somebody to get in.”

“Troy, is there any way you can get me this guy's real name, maybe a recorded phone call or a license plate?”

“No way. I'm telling you, Jayce is real careful. He only meets his customers in person. He never talks business over the phone. He even pulls off his plates when we hunt so no one can get a read if they call in the shooting.”

“Has he said anything about the shooting incident with Brad since it happened?”

Troy rubbed his eyes. “No. But he knows I know. Sometimes he asks about my daughter and ex, ask if they still live at the same address. Jayce made it clear that I needed to keep my mouth shut.