by John Dibble
“One of you needs to stay here to secure the trail while Zerk does his job. We could probably get by with one of you in the parking lot to secure the area where the victims’ car is parked and the other can go back on patrol duty,” she said and added, with a perceptible smile on her face, “I know how much you love patrolling the GW, so you can draw straws to see who does what.”
The pilot of Eagle One came on her handheld radio. It was circling over the park but had limited visibility, even with its infrared camera. “We’ll stay on station until the fog lifts and then we should be able to get a better look,” the pilot said.
M.J. and Jake made their way back to the parking lot and found Officer Crocker from the Fairfax County Police.
“We think the murderer or murderers may have escaped on foot,” M.J. said to Crocker.
“We’ve got cars patrolling all of the perimeter roads,” Crocker responded. “I’ll let them know that our suspects may be on foot.”
“We’re going to leave one of our guys down the trail to help secure the area. There are two others coming back here and one of them can take care of the area around the car,” M.J. said.
“Well, we’ve got to control the entrance to this parking lot anyway, since it’s Fairfax County property, so we could probably keep an eye on the car too,” Crocker replied.
“We’ll leave our guy, just to help out,” she said. “Also, if you could notify the families, it would be a big help. Probably a good idea to be sketchy on the details right now, though. Maybe tell them the boys were killed in a biking accident. We’ll be talking to them later and can fill in some details, but I want to wait until we have some more information. Same thing goes for the press,” she added.
“What about the Medical Examiner?” Crocker asked.
“Let’s wait until our technician finishes before we call the M.E. He shouldn’t be much longer,” M.J. responded.
“Got it,” Crocker replied. “By the way, one of our cars picked up some coffee and doughnuts. They’re sitting on the hood of my car over there. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” M.J. said. “I’ll let my partner know.”
While M.J. was talking to Crocker, Jake had been interviewing the woman who had discovered the bodies. Her name was Mary Stevens and she appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with short graying hair, an intelligent-looking face and an air of self-assurance. She was sitting in her car with her dog Rambles, a yellow Labrador retriever who did not appear to have missed many meals.
“Rambles and I walk Difficult Run every morning just after sunrise,” she said. “There was fog on some parts of the trail when we started, but we know it so well that it seemed safe to go ahead. We usually go all the way down to the river, but right after we rounded the bend about halfway there, Rambles started growling and wouldn’t go any farther. I could see two lights shining up in the air on down the trail and thought somebody might be in trouble. I called out, but nobody answered.
“Well, I couldn’t get Rambles to move, even when I put on his leash and tugged. I finally just tied him to a tree and started on down the trail by myself. When I got close to where the lights were shining, I took out a little flashlight that I carry on my belt so I could get a better look. That’s when I saw those two boys on the ground.
“I knew they were dead. They weren’t moving and had horrible expressions on their faces. I’ll never forget those expressions. I just hurried back up the trail, got Rambles and headed to my car as fast as I could. I had left my cell phone there and I called 911 right away.”
“Did you see anyone else on the trail or in the parking lot?” Jake asked.
“Not a soul,” she replied.
“Did you ever find out what was bothering Rambles?” Jake asked.
“I think he just sensed that those dead boys were down there and got spooked. Dogs are funny that way, you know,” she said. “What happened to them, anyway? An accident of some sort?”
“We’re still investigating it, but thanks for your help. I’ve got your phone number and we may be back in touch if we have any questions,” Jake replied as he reached into the car and gave Rambles a pat on the head. “Good boy,” he said.
M.J. was over by the boys’ car and Jake joined her there. They ducked under the crime scene tape, pulling on latex gloves as they went. M.J. reached out and tried the door handle. “Locked, of course,” she said. “The keys are probably in one of the boy’s pockets. Let’s wait and see if Zerk has them.”
The car, an older model Toyota, was blocked from view from the road by the trees. Judging from the beer cans and condoms littering the area, it appeared to be a popular parking place for teenagers.
Jake filled her in on his conversation with Mary Stevens.
“We can’t do much more until Zerk is finished,” M.J. said. “The Fairfax County guys got some coffee and doughnuts,” she added, pointing toward Crocker’s patrol car. “Go ahead and get some. I’ll be over in a minute.”
M.J. walked around the parking lot imagining the sequence of events: The boys would have arrived, unloaded their bikes from the rack, rested them against the car, put on their helmets and started for the trail. Was there anyone else in the lot? Did they talk to them? Perhaps there were other trail bikers looking to enter Great Falls Park after hours. If so, was it someone they knew or a stranger? Mary Stevens said there were no other cars in the lot when she arrived just after sunrise, so anyone else who had been there had probably left before dawn.
She walked over to the patrol car where a group of officers were drinking coffee and munching on doughnuts. Jake was standing off to the side and as she approached he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out, and lit it.
“I thought you quit,” she said, showing some annoyance.
“I pretty much did, but this seemed like a situation that called for a cigarette,” he replied.
“Every situation is one that calls for a cigarette if you let it be,” she said reprovingly and walked over to get a cup of coffee.
Jake’s smoking was just one of a series of minor irritations that seemed to have recently become more of a problem for her. It also occurred to her that they had been dating seriously for almost two years and that finding fault with him was just a way of justifying her own fear of commitment.
She enjoyed her freedom and had sometimes chafed at Jake’s attempts to make their relationship grow into something more permanent. He had wanted her to move in with him, an idea that she had steadfastly resisted. Although they slept together regularly, it wasn’t the same as living together and she wanted to maintain her own apartment as a refuge and expression of her individuality. He had even brought up the subject of marriage more than once, but she had dismissed it first with “We haven’t known each other long enough” and more recently with “I’m not ready.”
She also had to admit that there were a lot of things that continued to attract her to Jake. First of all, he was very handsome. He was about her height and in very good shape, which was important to her. He kept his dark brown hair reasonably short and had piercing brown eyes that she found quite sexy. He was also very thoughtful and affectionate, almost to a fault.
Her reflections on her personal life were interrupted by a call on her radio. It was Eagle One. The fog had dispersed enough to allow use of its infrared camera.
“The only thing we’re seeing are some people down the trail, which I assume are our folks,” the pilot reported. “We looked at the forest all the way down to the main part of the park. Nothing there but some deer,” he added.
She asked the pilot to look along the perimeter roads and check back with her. As soon as she had finished talking to the pilot, Zerk came on the radio. “All finished here, but I’ll need some help getting out the bicycles and evidence bags,” he said.
M.J. confirmed that Zerk had found the keys to the boys’ car and then walked over to Officer Crocker, who was talking to Jake and Dodd McMillan.
“Any way to get in there with a vehi
cle?” she asked.
“I’d say the best we’ll be able to do is send a four-wheeler down the trail to the place where it narrows,” Crocker replied. “You’ll need to haul everything to that point, including the bodies. I’ll contact the Fire and Rescue unit in Great Falls Village. Should I contact the Medical Examiner, too?” he asked.
“Yeah, go ahead on both counts,” M.J. said. She walked over to the uniformed Park Police officer in the parking lot. “They’re going to bring in a four-wheeler,” she said. “You’ll need to follow it down the trail and help with getting the evidence up to it; same with the bodies for the M.E.”
As M.J. joined Jake and the others, Eagle One came back on the radio. “We’re looking along the perimeter roads now. No sign of anybody there or in the forest. Do you want us to remain on station?” the pilot asked.
M.J. looked at Jake and said, “I don’t see any reason to keep them around, do you?” He shook his head.
“Eagle One, go on back and thanks for your help,” she said into the radio.
She turned to Dodd McMillan and asked, “Are the horses for the mounted unit assigned to the park in the flooded area or can we get riders to them?”
“The horses are kept in a stable off the entrance road to the park. Should be able to get to them without a problem. In fact, they can ride from there through the forest to the area around Difficult Run,” he replied.
M.J. called the GW Station on her radio and asked them to send riders.
“I’m beginning to think we’re not going to find anybody,” she said to Jake, “but I want to try everything we can.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY WERE SITTING IN Lieutenant Mike Swain’s office at the Anacostia Station in Washington where the Criminal Investigations Branch was headquartered. Swain was behind his desk and they were sitting in the two fake leather chairs that had been carefully placed in front of his desk with a full view of the wall behind him, which showcased his various certificates and awards.
“I’m leaving this case with you guys,” Swain said. “M.J., I want you to take the lead. Jake has several other cases pending, but he’ll be available for backup. This is a big deal case, so give me regular updates. That’s it for now.”
As they rose to leave, Swain said, “M.J., stay for a minute. I’ve got some ideas I want to discuss with you.”
She sat back down and feigned attentiveness, although she was still processing the images from the murder scene in her mind. Even now, twenty-four hours later, they were disturbingly vivid and horrific.
“So, you may be wondering why I’m assigning this case to you, huh?” Swain asked.
“I hadn’t given it much thought, but now that you mention it, I am a little surprised that you didn’t give it to someone with a little more seniority and experience,” she replied.
“Well, seniority and experience don’t really matter on this one. First of all, we don’t have that many detectives with homicide experience because the Park Police doesn’t see that many homicide cases—certainly not like this one,” he said. “No, there are two reasons I’m giving you the case. First, only somebody smart has any chance of figuring out who did it, and you’re one of the smartest people in the unit. The other reason is that I doubt anyone else would even want it because it may never be solved at all. Nobody likes unsolved cases. They look bad on everybody’s record.”
“Well, I appreciate the opportunity,” M.J. said, thinking to herself that Swain was more concerned about his record than hers. If the case was never solved, he would have a scapegoat; if it was, he would gladly take the credit.
Of course, there were homicides in national parks—several hundred since she had been on the force—but the Park Police didn’t handle all of them. That was because they only had units in three locations: Washington, D.C, New York, and San Francisco. Even with that, they often had limited jurisdiction over homicides. Washington was a prime example: Homicides on federal park land within the District of Columbia were the exclusive jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police. Great Falls Park, on the other hand, was the exclusive jurisdiction of the Park Police.
In addition, some high-profile homicides in national parks had been handled by the FBI at the request of the National Park Service because of the limited resources of the Park Police. The serial murders in Yosemite National Park in 1990 and the murder in 1996 of two women campers on the Appalachian Trail were good examples.
“Are we going to keep this one to ourselves?” she asked Swain.
“For now,” Swain replied. “I don’t want to ask for help from the FBI or the local police unless we absolutely have to. Let’s see how it plays out.”
“How about offering a reward for information?” she asked.
“That’s certainly on the table, but let’s see what you come up with first,” he said. “That’s all for now, but keep me posted.”
She left his office and went back to her cubicle, which faced Jake’s.
“So, did you and Swain finish your private discussion?” he asked. “Anything I should know about?”
“Just the usual bullshit,” she answered. “Of course, if it goes south, he’ll blame it on me. But you’ll probably be able to stay clear since you’re just backup.” She smiled.
“I’m really not trying to stay clear, M.J.,” he said. “Keep me in the loop.”
“OK,” she said. “I’m going back out to the park. Dodd McMillan said he’d give me a tour. May need your help later to follow up on any leads.”
“Just let me know,” he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT TOOK M.J. ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES to drive from Anacostia Station to Great Falls Park. She passed the parking lot at Difficult Run and, about a half mile later, turned into the main entrance. It was about another mile to the gate on a road lined with tall trees that cast dark shadows in the late morning sun. Below, to the right, she could see an expanse of flat land that seemed to melt into heavy forest on all sides, with an occasional trail visible through the foliage.
She showed her badge and was waved through by the ranger at the entrance station. The Visitor Center was just past an open grassy field dotted with picnic tables. The heavy rain and flooding had left large puddles of water over the entire area.
She parked her car in the restricted lot adjacent to the Visitor Center, a clay-colored block building with a cedar shingle roof and ascending ramps on each end. She entered through the door to the ground level where the administrative offices were located.
It wasn’t hard to find the office marked “Site Manager – Randall D. McMillan.” The door was open and Dodd was sitting behind a long table that served as his desk. It was cluttered with papers from end to end and the only illumination was an old-fashioned banker’s lamp with a green glass shade. The walls were lined with bookshelves, some of which contained worn leather-bound volumes that lay on their sides. There were several historical pictures of the park on the wall, including some of areas under water.
M.J. was able to get a better look at Dodd now than the day before at the murder scene. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with close-cropped hair that was turning gray at the edges. His skin was tanned and leathery, undoubtedly from spending a lot of time outside. As he stood up from his desk, she could see that he was trim and obviously in good shape.
“Hope you brought some comfortable walking shoes,” he said, removing a pair of reading glasses.
She pointed to the Merrell hiking shoes she was wearing and said, “Ready for my tour of the park.”
M.J. looked at two framed pictures on one of the shelves. They were of a woman in her late forties and a younger woman perhaps in her early twenties. M.J. pointed at the pictures and asked, “Is that your wife and daughter?”
“Yes,” Dodd replied. “My wife passed away four years ago from cancer. My daughter lives in Wyoming now and it looks like she may be getting married soon. Who knows, a few years from now I may have some pictures of grandchildren up there too.”
“I
’m sorry to hear about your wife,” M.J. said. “That must have been very difficult for you and your daughter.”
“It was,” he replied, “but my wife fought a good fight to the very end and it made my daughter and me strong, whether we liked it or not. She made us promise that we would go on with our lives and not let her death drag us down. We’ve both tried to honor that promise, but it hasn’t always been easy for either of us. Every year that passes, though, seems to put things more in perspective and that helps.”
They left the Visitor Center and started down a wide path that paralleled the river and the remains of the Patowmack Canal, which had been constructed in the late eighteenth century. There were two overlooks from which visitors could get a panoramic view of the falls.
As they turned into the second overlook, Dodd said “A lot of people never get farther than this area. They come to see the falls and maybe have a picnic. The park is much larger—about eight hundred and eighty acres altogether—and runs for four and a half miles from its northern end to Difficult Run at its southern end. We’re going to follow the river all the way down to Difficult Run and then loop back along some of the interior trails.”
M.J. had seen the falls before, but she was still taken by the majestic view and the raw power of millions of gallons of water cascading over the jagged rocks. Several kayakers were maneuvering the roiled water at the base of the falls, retreating to calmer pools in rocky coves, only to return to the challenge of paddling against the strong current. Everywhere were signs warning visitors not to climb the steep rocks and not to enter the water.
Dodd pointed to one of the warning signs and said, “You know even with all these signs, we lose between eight and twelve people a year out here. They think the river looks real calm at the base of these rocks but don’t realize there’s a current just below the surface that will drag you under in an instant. The Fire and Rescue team in Great Falls Village saves some of them, but a lot of them we never find at all. The current takes them down and pins them against a rock on the bottom and they never come up. Sometimes the bodies show up way down river or in the Chesapeake Bay, but not for weeks or months.”