Deadfall by Patricia H. Rushford Page A

breath and gave Mac a quick glance.
    â€œSawed in half!”
    â€œDon’t know if it’s postmortem or notou sure you want to see it?” Mac raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.
    â€œNot really, but yes. If you don’t mind me tagging along.”
    Mac shrugged, “It’s your time, Dana.”
    Dana cut through Gresham on Highway 26, then down to Highway 224 from the town of Sandy, turning off onto Faraday Road toward the condemned Cazadero Mill on the Clackamas River. They pulled off the road, parking between a Clackamas County Sheriff ’s SUV and an OSP Cruiser. Mac noted that the medical examiner’s truck was there, as well as the Ford pickup belonging to the crime lab. The Camry probably belonged to the reporting party. It was hemmed in by two official vehicles, which in all likelihood belonged to the original responding officers.
    Yellow crime-scene tape had been set in place over one hundred yards from the mill’s entrance. Mac recognized Kevin’s influence there. “An outer perimeter to a crime scene can never be too big.” Mac could almost hear Kevin’s deep voice. “Start big, and you can always make it smaller. Start small, and if you need to go bigger, you’re in trouble.”
    Mac and Dana logged into the crime scene, waiting to make eye contact with Kevin before walking to the front entrance of the mill to avoid disturbing the evidence.
    â€œWatch your step.” Kevin peered at them over his clipboard.
    â€œFollow the yellow-brick road.”
    â€œFollow the what?” Dana asked Mac.
    Mac chuckled as he pulled some rubber shoe covers from the trunk. “That yellow strip of crime-scene tape on the ground.” Mac pointed to the four-inch-wide yellow plastic tape that ran from the parking lot to the mill entrance, where Kevin was standing with the chief medical examiner, Dr. Kristen Thorpe. With her usual getup and short, spiked burgundy hair, the M.E. was hard to miss. He smiled remembering the first time he’d seen her. He couldn’t stop staring at her, and she’d fixed his curiosity good by accusing him of flirting.
    â€œHumph. Looks like someone needs to tie their crime-scene tape a little better.” Dana nodded toward the tape.
    â€œWell, that’s Kevin’s yellow-brick road. He wants us to walk the same path to the mill entrance, which I assume he already searched for evidence. If we walk on the tape, it should be a safe path into the building so we don’t disturb anything. Here, put these rubber booties over your boots so we don’t leave any shoe prints in the sawdust. I think Kevin secretly likes seizing shoes for evidence from emergency personnel, especially firemen.”
    â€œWhy does he take their shoes?” Dana asked, slipping the large rubber slip-ons over her small boots.
    â€œIf he finds shoe prints in the crime scene, he has to compare all the shoes that emergency personnel wore into the scene. It’s a process of elimination. Sometimes they don’t ever get their shoes back; they just sit in evidence for years if no suspect is arrested.”
    â€œYikes. I just paid a hundred and sixty dollars for this pair. I’d rather keep them, so thanks for the rubber covers. They look like the boots my mother made me wear to the bus stop when I was a kid, except for the smooth soles.”
    â€œPerfect for not leaving prints. Here, wrap some duct tape around the top so they stay on your feet. We can just throw them away when we are done. I go through a lot of them.” Mac tossed Dana a roll of tape.
    When Dana finished securing the rubber covers to her boots, they walked the tape to the entrance.
    â€œSorry I’m so late, partner,” Mac said. “We got here as fast as we could.”
    â€œNo problem.” Kevin looked pale, and Mac noticed a line of perspiration on his upper lip. Mac had never seen Kevin get sick at a crime scene.
    â€œYou feeling