She Who Watches (26 page)

He sighed. “You're talking about the letters regarding the casino.”

“Yes.” Mac leaned back in the chair.

“I'm afraid that wasn't entirely the FBI's fault. I recently learned that there was substantial pressure from my office to keep the letters confidential so we wouldn't receive any negative press.”

“Let me guess,” Mac said. “Stokely?”

The senator nodded.

“Could you tell us about the letters and how they were received?” Mac asked.

“Of course. I assume you know about Mr. Post?”

Mac nodded. “We've been in contact with Therman. With the help of the Warm Springs P.D., we interviewed him on Tuesday. I can't go into too many details, but he was cooperative.”

“Did he admit to writing the letters we received after Sara disappeared?”

“Like I said, I can't go into too many details, but I will tell you this much.” Mac chose his next words with care. “Mr. Post admits to writing the letters prior to Sara's disappearance to convince you of his position on the casino placement, but he denies writing the letters indicating that Sara would be harmed if you didn't change your allegiance.”

The senator frowned and sat back down. “I'm glad to hear that, actually. Therman is a political activist and a good one. I'd hate to think he'd resort to murder or even kidnapping. Do you have any idea who might have written those letters?”

“No, but we're looking into the matter.” Mac glanced at Dana, who was taking notes. “Senator, you said earlier that Grant didn't want information about the letters leaked to the press, yet as I recall there were several articles in the
Oregonian
talking about the letters and speculating on tribal members kidnapping Sara in an effort to get you to change your mind. Do you have any idea how the press might have gotten that information?”

“None whatsoever, unless the person who wrote them contacted a reporter.”

Mac made a mental note to find the articles and talk to the person who'd first written them. “Did you talk about the letters to anyone?” Mac knew he had, but wanted to hear it from the senator himself.

“Yes. Scott and I discussed them. I thought he should know.”

“Could he have told anyone else?”

“I doubt it. I asked him not to.” He cast a long look at Mac and paced back to the window. “I hope you two don't consider Scott a suspect.”

“We're casting a pretty wide net right now,” Mac replied.

“And the husband is always suspect?”

“We really haven't focused on any single individual yet. Do you have any thoughts on the matter, any suspicions you'd like to tell us about?”

“I have my theories, but nothing concrete.”Wilde went back to the chair behind his desk this time. “I sincerely hope the tribal members were not involved. If they were, then I misjudged them. I didn't take any of those threats seriously.” With an elbow on the desk, he rubbed his forehead. “Maybe I should have, but that wouldn't have changed my mind. I refuse to be swayed by terrorist actions.”

“Sounds like you're feeling guilty.”

“I've had my moments. I suppose one of the tribal members could have killed Sara, but I prefer to think that Sara's death was a result of a robbery gone bad. You know that her car was broken into the day she disappeared?”

“Yes, we're aware of that,” Mac said. “We always consider the possibility of a random act—that Sara may have been killed by a stranger.” Mac didn't mention the beaded pouch and stone found in her mouth. That and the fact that her body had been buried near the reservation made the crime seem like more of a personal vendetta.

“Good. I'm glad you aren't being too quick to narrow your investigation.”

Mac realized he still hadn't gotten an answer to his question about the letters. “How did you actually receive the letters, Senator? Were they delivered to your office directly from the post office, routed from the mail room . . . ?”

“I don't get the mail directly. My staff always goes through the mail first. Then they pass pertinent letters on to me.”

“So you have people who open all your mail.”

“Right. My administrative assistants work under Grant. I receive a lot of mail, and the staffers read and respond to the bulk of it. They bring some of the letters to my attention, but to be honest, I see maybe one out of a hundred. The staff either sends a form letter in response, or they write a letter and provide my stamped signature to the document. Because of their somewhat threatening nature, I did read the letters from Therman Post and the letters that came after Sara disappeared, but they were among hundreds of others that were either in support of or opposition to the casino placement.”

“What was your understanding of these initial letters from Mr. Post?”

“I took them at face value. Mr. Post represents a group of people who stand to gain financially if the casino is placed in the gorge. For every letter I received in favor, I received ten that are opposed to the placement. It's evident that the majority of the population is opposed, but it's also evident that the matter will be decided in a legal battle and not a popularity vote.”

“Would you elaborate?” Mac asked.

“Sure, glad to.”Wilde sat forward in his chair and put his hands together. “You see, the battle is over treaties and legal rights afforded to the tribes. It was never a popularity issue. I don't plan to cast a vote in the senate. All I can do is offer my opinion and hope for the best. Though I'm against the casino going in, the Oregon Supreme Court will make the ruling, which will eventually go to the Ninth Circuit Federal Court of Appeals. The courts will make the final decision.”

“So there's no vote on the issue, and you really don't have the power to change the outcome.”

“That's what we explained to all the letter writers, but they continue to write. That's OK; it is their right, and I'm here to represent them. It goes with the office, and I can appreciate that.”

“The FBI made it sound like Therman Post was public enemy number one, although I get the impression from you that he was more of an inconvenience than anything else. He was just another letter writer your staff had to respond to.”

“That's essentially correct, but please note that ‘inconvenience' is your word, not mine.” He smiled. “I'd rather not go on record saying a concerned citizen of our state was an inconvenience.”

“Noted and understood.” Although Mac had been looking forward to the interview, the senator didn't have much information relevant to their case. His pager vibrated, and Mac glanced over at Dana. “Do you have any questions, Detective Bennett?” He pulled his pager from his belt after passing off the interview, looking to see who was calling.

“Just a couple,” Dana replied. “Tell us how you learned about the second set of letters, the ones indicating that Sara was kidnapped and would be harmed if the casino plans didn't go through.”

“From Grant. With the first one, a staffer opened the mail and brought it to him, and he immediately turned it over to the FBI. I never actually read the letter until later. Apparently they wanted as few prints as possible. I read it after the FBI provided a copy. They were hoping I'd be able to provide some clue as to who had sent it. I mentioned Therman, and they collected all the letters he'd sent. I'm afraid I wasn't much help. I had never seen any other letters with that kind of signature, and neither had my staff. We turned over all the letters from Warm Springs, many of which were legitimate letters of correspondence. All of those were returned to us for a proper response.”

“You saw the first letter in the second group. What about the others?”

“After that first letter, all letters from Warm Springs were confiscated before anyone could open them, but Agents Miller and Lauden filled me in on the contents. They did a good job of keeping us informed when they could.”

“Agents Miller and Lauden are still involved in the case, and they are both very concerned about finding the killer,” Dana assured the senator.

The senator glanced at his watch. “I don't mean to rush you, but I have an appointment in about ten minutes.”

Dana gave a slight nod. “Just one more thing. How well do you know Sara's family on her mother's side?”

“I know them, but not socially. That is, we don't spend time together. You don't think there's any connection . . . ?” Senator Wilde's gaze darted between Mac and Dana. “They cared about Sara as much as we did.”

“I'm sure that's true.” Dana pulled the photos of the beaded bag and rock from her briefcase and showed them to the senator.

“Do you recognize these items?”

“Yes—at least I think so. They look like the same ones in Sara's collection.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he spoke.

“She was so proud of those.”

“Do you have any idea what will happen to them now that Sara is dead?”

He shook his head and looked out the window. “That would be up to Scott, I suppose, unless Sara stipulated something in her will.”

“That's all I have for now.” Dana turned toward Mac. “Do you have any more questions?”

“We're set for now, but we'll be in touch.” Mac took out a business card and handed it to Wilde. The senator glanced at it and thanked both of them for their service. Wilde also passed along his condolences to Mac and Dana over Trooper Revman's death.

Grant Stokely was standing a few steps outside the door. Mac said good-bye to him but received a mumbled response. The aide gave Mac a wide berth as he entered Wilde's office. Mac would have liked to take a few minutes to interview Stokely, but that would have to wait.

“What now?” Dana asked.

“To the crime lab. They paged me during the interview. Angela has some breaking news for us.”

TWENTY-SIX

M
ac and Dana made their way back up I-5, but true to form, a jackknifed semi and trailer near Tualatin brought them to a dead stop just north of Woodburn. Half an hour later and tired of sitting in gridlock, Mac initiated the emergency lights and drove on the shoulder. “I'll just head up to the wreck and see if the trooper needs a hand with traffic.”

“Yeah, right,” Dana mused. “You're abusing your authority, partner. Don't lie to me. I heard the trooper say he was just waiting for the wrecker.”

Mac did feel guilty, but he was trying to solve a murder, after all, not make it home to catch a movie. Dana was right, but he wasn't about to admit it. One way or another he'd prove her wrong, even if it meant delaying them longer. He pulled his cruiser up behind the wreck, parking behind one of the two OSP motorcycles on the shoulder. Mac exited the car and approached the helmeted trooper, who was talking to the truck driver. “I didn't do anything wrong, Officer. This stupid guy driving a sports car was weaving in and out of traffic—cut right in front of me, then he brakes, you know. I had no place to go except the shoulder. You ought to be thanking me for avoiding a pileup, not questioning me like I'm some sort of criminal.”

Although the trucker seemed to be providing a good argument, his actions and the slur of his words told Mac another story.

“Hey, Mac.” The trooper gave Mac a nod, still keeping his attention focused on the truck driver.

“Hi, Roger. Do you need any assistance on the crash?”

“I could use some help with traffic control.” The trooper then faced away from Mac, holding two fingers down at his pant leg to indicate he was considering a custody arrest and wanted Mac to stick around. “Sir, would you wait right here by your rig for a second? I want to speak with Detective McAllister.”

“Detective? What for? I didn't do nothing wrong. Sheesh.” The heavyset truck driver begrudgingly turned and walked a few yards away, lighting a small cigar butt that he had in his pocket.

“What's up?” Mac asked.

“I think our trucker friend here is under the influence of some type of stimulant. I'm going to run him through some field sobriety tests. I have a female witness who tells me that he'd been driving next to her since Aurora. Guess he was trying to flirt with her. She was pretty scared and tried speeding away from him, but he kept up. It sounds like this business of being cut off by another driver is bogus, but I can't say for sure until I test him. His mannerisms and pupils are giving me some pretty strong suspicions he has something in his system besides coffee.”

“I'll stand by while you run him through the tests. I can call for a transport if you need one.”

“Thanks. Let's see what we have.” The trooper ambled toward the suspect.

Feeling a little smug, Mac stood back to observe the field sobriety tests. After all, the trooper did in fact need a cover officer. Dana joined him, and he filled her in.

She shook her head. “I arrested my share of users.”

“Me too.” Drug use was a common problem in the trucking industry—commercial drivers using illegal stimulants so they could stay awake and drive longer. The methamphetamine monster that was sweeping the country provided a cheap and easily accessible drug for the drivers. Although trucking companies publicly discouraged drug use among drivers, the unreasonable expectations placed on the drivers to deliver goods created an undue hardship on commercial drivers. One or two experiences with the highly addictive drug were enough to hook them. Intoxicated drivers in any sort of vehicle posed a potential danger on the highway, but the drivers operating forty thousand pounds or more of truck and trailer were lethal.

The trooper ran the trucker through a regimen of tests designed to gauge how the driver could perform under circumstances of divided attention, just as a driver must perform while operating a motor vehicle.

Dana leaned toward Mac. “The guy's obviously a user.”

“I almost feel sorry for the guy,” Mac said.