Terminal 9 by Patricia H. Rushford

time it was Kristen’s turn to blush.

SIX
    W EDNESDAY MORNING AT 6:15, Mac balanced his large Starbucks coffee on his leather notebook cover as he fumbled with his keys to open the door to the detectives’ office. Turning the key and pushing the door open with the same hand, Mac was surprised to find someone was already in the office. The lights were on and the coffeepot was simmering on the hot plate.
    â€œPhilly?” Mac called, wondering why the veteran detective hadn’t left the door unlocked.
    â€œYello.” Philly popped his head out the door of his private office.
    Lifting his cup in a salute, he said, “Morning, sunshine. Decide to get to work on time for a change?”
    Ignoring the slam, Mac stepped partway into Philly’s office.
    â€œSarge here yet?”
    â€œNope. He has court in Washington County today. Probably won’t be in all day.”
    â€œHas Kevin been in yet this morning?” Mac peered around the corner. “I thought he was scheduled back today.” His partner had been gone for the better part of a month after having surgery and beginning chemo.
    Philly shook his head. “He’s not coming in until this afternoon. Another chemo treatment this morning. I told him I’d pick him up and bring him to the office so his missus could get a break.”
    Mac nodded. “What are you doing here so early?”
    Philly shrugged, spilling a few drops from his cup onto the carpet on the way back to his desk. He rubbed his black wingtips over the drop on the carpet, massaging the liquid into the fibers along with the other stains. “Paperwork. What else?”
    â€œYou and Russ are up for the next call.” Mac folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Dana and I got one last night to Columbia County.”
    â€œOh yeah? That’s good. I’ve got a date with my barber this morning, just wanted to get some reports dictated before the phones start ringing off the hook.”
    Mac settled his gaze on Philly’s thinning hair. For a guy who seemed to let everything else go, Philly was very conscious of his hair and always had a comb in his pocket. In his early fifties, his heavy frame weighed well over two-fifty. He had a protruding stomach that always seemed to catch crumbs from the mega-portions of food he ate.
    Mac had learned early on that, as far as Philly was concerned, appearances could be deceiving. Philly might be a little uncouth, but he was one of the best detectives in the department—right up there with Kevin Bledsoe. Many an offender had been fooled by Philly’s sloppy outward appearance, and Philly played it to his advantage.
    â€œWhat did you and Dana go out on?” Philly asked. His attention seemed more focused on the reports than on his question.
    â€œA retired railroader got hit by a train out at a Western Pacific terminal near St. Helens. It will probably end up being an accident, but there are a few odd things that need to be looked in to.”
    â€œLike what?” Philly took a sip from his coffee then leaned back in his squeaky chair, hands behind his head.
    Not feeling entirely sure of himself, Mac was glad for the chance to talk to Philly about the case. “The guy was a worker at the rail yard for years and still enjoyed hanging out at the terminal. From what I’ve heard so far, he had a house and chunk of land next to the terminal that was worth a bundle. I haven’t actually confirmed that yet. There was also a guy at the terminal who didn’t care much for the old man.” Mac shrugged. “Like I said, there are some things I need to look at.”
    â€œNeed any help?”
    â€œNot at this point. I’ll let you know, though. I’m starting with a search warrant for the house. We’re meeting the district attorney out at the courthouse this morning. I want to get started on the affidavit here on my laptop and finish it up with the prosecutor. I’ll