by John Dibble
“What about the kayakers?” M.J. asked.
“That’s a different story,” Dodd said. “They all wear life vests and most of them are pretty experienced. We work with them on safety issues and they’re real good about warning people away from the water. They’ve even helped rescue a few visitors that have fallen in. In the time I’ve worked here, we’ve only lost one kayaker.”
As they left the overlook, M.J. stopped to look at a tall pole that had markers to record the highest floods in the park.
“The flood in ’36 was the granddaddy of them all,” Dodd said, pointing to the topmost mark. “Came out of nowhere and put this whole area under more than ten feet of water. Of course, this wasn’t part of the national park system then. It was privately owned by the Great Falls and Old Dominion Railroad. For a long time, it had a trolley line that ended at a station at the entrance to the park. There was also a road for cars and carriages and the like. The trolley line is long gone, but the road is still here. In fact, we’ll be coming back on part of it when we finish your tour.”
M.J. looked around the open area and tried to imagine what it would look like under that much water. “How often does the park flood?” she asked.
“We get flooding almost every spring when the snow in the mountains west of here starts to melt, or if there’s been a lot of rain in a short amount of time,” Dodd said. “The river has to reach around twelve feet above flood stage before it comes over the edge of the basin here at the falls, but it doesn’t take that much for it to come over the edge along Mather Gorge. Remember what I said about it being like the stem of a funnel?”
M.J. remembered the analogy. “So do you have to close the trails downriver when that happens?” she asked.
“We close the River Trail all the way along the gorge. Just too dangerous to let anybody in there when the water is coming up the side of the gorge,” he replied.
“What about Difficult Run?” she asked.
“Don’t need to close it. The gorge opens up into a valley down there and the high water dissipates, but it’s still flowing really fast and is dangerous as hell,” he said. “That’s why I said it looked like those boys had gone down Difficult Run and then cut over on the Ridge Trail so they wouldn’t encounter any of the flooding.”
They walked down a wide path lined with towering sycamore trees that skirted the picnic area. Dodd turned left onto a narrower trail that led toward the river. “This will take us down to the River Trail along Mather Gorge,” he said.
The trail wound through some heavy underbrush and was punctuated with puddles of water from the recent flooding. They came out of the foliage into an open area with large jutting rocks and M.J. could see the cliff on the Maryland side of the river and hear the water rushing through the narrow passage below.
They followed the trail between large outcroppings of moss- and lichen-covered rocks until they came to an open area where they could see the gorge in both directions. M.J. walked to the edge and looked down. The fast-moving water was splashing against the rocky walls on both sides of the gorge and in the middle there were large whirlpools that seemed to appear and disappear in the current.
“The river is still up here,” Dodd said. “It normally runs about seventy-five feet below the edge here, but it will take a few days before it calms down.”
They walked another half mile until they came to a barricade warning that the trail ahead had washed out.
“We’ll need to make a detour here,” Dodd said. “This part of the River Trail washes out just about every time there’s any flooding and we haven’t figured out a way yet to keep it from happening.”
They turned right and followed a path that emerged into an open area where massive stone walls lined canal locks that descended in steps to the south. “These are more than 200 years old,” Dodd said. “It always amazes me that they are in such good shape. It also amazes me that they were able to build them in the first place. Some of those stones weigh a couple of tons and they all had to be cut by hand and then moved into place using mule teams. Quite an engineering feat.”
Pointing to the right, he said, “Up that way are the ruins of the town of Matildaville. During the time the canal was being built and then when it was in operation, it was a bustling community. There’s not much left now, just some stone foundations and part of a chimney.”
They followed the River Trail south, paralleling the gorge, and then went up a steep incline that had cross-timbers to prevent erosion. M.J. noticed that this part of the park felt more isolated. The trail was less improved and the overhanging trees and massive rock outcroppings gave it an ominous quality that intensified as they hiked farther into the deep forest that covered the hillside.
“These hills are what limit the flooding to the parts of the park that aren’t right along the river. They’re also what protects Difficult Run,” Dodd said, pointing to the south.
They reached the top of the hill and the trail intersected with another trail. “This is the Ridge Trail and we can follow it all the way to Difficult Run,” he said. “This area is probably where the boys were biking before they were killed.”
The trail leveled along the top of the hill and wound its way through the foliage until it began to slope down sharply over large rocks. It ended at Difficult Run and M.J. recognized the section where they had found the bodies. In the daylight, she could better recreate the scene in her mind. The descent on the Ridge Trail was quite steep and she guessed the boys would have been going very fast before they reached Difficult Run. They had probably planned to turn right and head back to their car in the parking lot. If someone was waiting for them at the bottom, it would have forced them to go left, not right. They had been found less than fifty yards in that direction.
“Let’s go down toward the river,” Dodd said, walking in the direction the boys had gone.
A few hundred yards later, they reached the end of Difficult Run where the stream emptied into the Potomac River south of Mather Gorge. There was an otherworldly quality to the scene. High cliffs framed a wide basin with the river swirling past as it traversed the bends in the river. Viewing it, she thought that it was hard to believe this was only a few miles outside the urban setting of the nation’s capital. It looked more like some undiscovered place in the far west.
They walked back up Difficult Run to the crime scene. M.J. stopped and looked around at the steep hills to the north and the escarpment to the south that bordered the stream some twenty feet below. The trail was not very wide at this point, maybe eight feet.
The killer or killers would probably have hidden on the hillside just up from the place where the Ridge Trail meets this trail and then jumped down to intercept and attack the boys, M.J. thought. But why here? Perhaps because it was so remote and the chances of being discovered so unlikely. That meant that they had some familiarity with the park and especially with Difficult Run.
“Let’s head back to your office,” she said. “I think I’ve seen all I need to for now.”
They hiked back up the Ridge Trail and then followed it in the opposite direction from the way they had come until it intersected with a wide gravel road. “This is the Old Carriage Road,” Dodd said. “It’s used a lot by runners, horseback riders, and bikers.”
They followed the Old Carriage Road back to the main part of the park and then cut across to the Visitor Center. When they entered Dodd’s office, M.J. looked at her watch. They had been gone almost three hours. “How far do you think we just hiked?” she asked.
“All told, I’d say about eight or nine miles,” he replied, adding, “We actually made pretty good time.”
M.J. sat across from his desk. “Does anyone stay in the park at night?” she asked.
Dodd hesitated and looked down at his hands. “Well … not officially,” he replied.
“What do you mean not officially?” M.J. asked.
“I mean there’s no housing here for the site manager or any of the rangers. We close the main gate at
sundown and one of your marked cars makes sure there are no cars left in the parking lots. After that, everybody’s supposed to be gone,” he replied.
“Dodd, I know everyone is supposed to be gone, but is there anyone still here on a regular basis?” she asked with a note of irritation in her voice.
He looked up and said, “Yes there is. There’s a homeless guy with a camp back in the forest. He’s a Vietnam vet. Lives there with his dog. He doesn’t bother anybody and we just leave him alone. He was a Navy corpsman attached to a Marine unit and he’s administered first aid to some of the rangers when they’ve fallen and cut themselves, things like that. One time, he even set a broken arm until we could get the ranger to the hospital.”
“So why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?” she asked.
“Look, M.J., you know it’s against the law for anyone to have a permanent camp site in a national park. The only way we could get him out would be to call you guys and have him arrested and we didn’t want to do that. We actually like the guy and check up on him now and then to make sure he’s alright. Like I said, he’s helped us out several times and he doesn’t bother anybody. I hope you won’t report this to anybody,” Dodd said.
M.J. thought for a moment and said, “I’m not going to report it, but I want to talk to him. When can I do that?” she asked.
“I’ll have one of the rangers go by tomorrow morning and tell him to expect you. His camp is behind a big rock outcropping off the Swamp Trail. Not many people go back that way. I think the name of the trail puts them off,” Dodd said.
“I’ll plan on going to see him tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “There’s one other thing. I run every morning. I’ve been running at Hains Point, but I’d like to start running here so I can see who comes and goes in the park. Is that a problem?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “There are lots of runners here every day. The park opens at seven in the morning, but I’ll give you a key for the gate so you can come earlier if you want. We’ve got locker rooms in this building and you can shower and change there.”
“Sounds great, Dodd. By the way, what’s the homeless guy’s name?” she asked.
“His last name is Wonders. I don’t know his first name. We just call him Doc. His dog’s name is Lola,” he replied.
M.J. stood and they shook hands. “Thanks for the tour,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
M.J. STOPPED ON THE WAY to her apartment and purchased several extra-large T-shirts, big enough to hide her gun belt. It had occurred to her that she might encounter the murderer while she was running in the park and she didn’t want that to happen while she was unarmed. When she ran at Hains Point, she didn’t wear her gun belt and her rough calculation was that it—together with the gun, extra magazines, handcuffs, and pepper spray canister—would weigh about six pounds. She spent some time rearranging the items on the belt to balance the weight for running, then put it on and ran in place to try it out. Not perfect, she thought, but she could handle it.
The next morning, she went to Anacostia Station. The message light on her phone was flashing. It was Zerk asking her to come by the lab, which she did after downing a cup of coffee and checking the duty roster.
Zerk was sitting in front of a computer monitor when she entered the lab. He motioned her over to a table where the two bicycles ridden by the boys were lying on their sides along with their two helmets, all marked with evidence tags.
“There weren’t any usable prints on the helmets, just smudges,” he said, “but I think I’ve got something else that might be helpful.”
He pointed to the front wheel of one of the bikes. “If you look carefully, you’ll notice that the spokes are depressed in this area,” he said, moving his finger in an arc over the wheel. “I think the killer may have stepped on it going after the other boy. Come over here and take a look at this.”
She followed him to the computer where he had been working. He typed in some information and a picture of the wheel appeared.
“This is the wheel with the depressed area,” he said, typing on the keyboard, “and this is a picture of the wheel that I took using a lens with a very short focal length to enhance the image of the depression.” M.J. looked at the picture, which clearly showed an impression about the size of a foot. “It’s not really usable as a footprint because there’s no detail,” he said, “but I was able to do some experiments that may give you some information.”
Zerk got up from the computer and walked back to the table where the bikes had been placed. He pointed to a wheel lying by itself on the corner of the table.
“I was able to measure the depth of the depression using some instruments I have here in the lab. I bought the exact same wheel at a bicycle shop and then started placing weights on the spokes until they reached the same depth. Based on that, I’d say the murderer weighed between 180 and 200 pounds and, based on the rough size of the depression, I’d say he wore a size 12 or 13 shoe,” he explained.
“Zerk, that’s amazing,” M.J. said, noting the look of accomplishment on his face.
“Actually, I can give you one more piece of information,” he quickly added. “There is a rough correlation between a person’s shoe size and their height. That size shoe probably belongs to someone who is around six feet tall, give or take an inch.”
“That narrows things down,” M.J. said. “Thanks, Zerk. Let me know if you figure out anything else.”
She went back to her desk, passing Jake on the way.
“I’m going back out to Great Falls Park to interview someone who might have some information,” she said to Jake. “Zerk gave me some great stuff and, after I talk to the Medical Examiner, I may need your help in interviewing some more people.”
“I’m in the process of finishing up an assault investigation, but I should be finished by tomorrow. Just let me know,” he said.
“I’ll do that,” she said. “Oh, and if you want to have pizza tomorrow night, I’ll buy.”
“Deal,” he said.
She went back to her car and started the drive to Great Falls Park. She arrived at the Visitor Center carrying her gym bag and stuck her head into Dodd’s office.
“Good morning,” she said. “Am I OK to stop by and see Doc later today?”
“I had one of the guys stop by his camp this morning to let him know you’d be coming,” Dodd replied. “Are you going running?” he asked, pointing to her gym bag.
“I plan to do that right now. I’ll see him after I finish and clean up. Thanks for the locker, by the way,” she said.
“No problem. Enjoy your run,” he replied.
She changed into her running clothes and shoes, fastened the gun belt around her waist and pulled the T-shirt over it. There was a full-length mirror in the locker room and she stopped to see how she looked. “It makes me look fat,” she said aloud, “but that’s the price of law enforcement.”
Outside the locker room, she did her stretches and then began running down the trail past the overlooks. There were several other runners, men and women, taking the same path. She cut across to the Old Carriage Road and picked up her pace. The packed gravel surface was good for running and she was able to achieve a speed nearly equal to her Hains Point runs. Her breathing was measured and the gun belt was proving not to be a real problem.
She ran about two miles to the end of the Old Carriage Road, did a high-stepping U-turn, and headed back toward the Visitor Center. She passed more than a dozen runners coming the other way. They were mostly twenty-somethings. Some were wearing earphones listening to God-knows-what, oblivious to the natural beauty around them. She thought she recognized a couple of faces from one of the marathons she had run. None of the runners had the look of a killer.
When she reached the parking lot at the Visitor Center, she jogged in place for a few minutes, did some stretches and checked the GPS-enabled watch that she wore when she ran. It registered 5.2 miles—about the same distance
she usually ran at Hains Point—and a little over thirty-eight minutes; slower than her usual pace, but not too bad. The next time she would vary the run to include some uphill stretches, like the Ridge Trail and the trail at Difficult Run, she thought. It would increase her time, but it would be good strength training and let her see who might be on the back trails, away from the twenty-somethings.
She took a quick shower and changed back into the dark blue pantsuit that was her normal workday outfit. She unclipped her sidearm from the gun belt and attached the holster to the belt she used with the pantsuit. She did the same with the handcuffs, pepper spray, and extra magazines. Instead of her regular work shoes, however, she pulled on her hiking shoes.
She walked by Dodd McMillan’s office again. He was gone, but she was told that he was outside the building talking to several rangers. M.J. went out the side door and waited until he was finished.
“I’ll need some directions to get to Doc Wonders’ camp,” she said.
“I’ll be glad to take you up there, if you like,” Dodd offered.
“That’s OK. I’d rather talk to him alone, if you don’t mind,” she said.
“I understand,” he replied. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you to find. Just go back up the Old Carriage Road. The sign for the Swamp Trail is on the right.”
M.J. remembered seeing it on her morning run. “Then what?” she asked.
“Just follow the trail,” he said. “There are footbridges over some small streams coming out of the hills. Right after the second one, you’ll see a path to the right that goes up a steep hill and around a big outcropping of rock. Follow it to the plateau at the top and you’ll be at Doc’s camp. Like I said, he’ll be expecting you.”
“Thanks. I’ll stop by when I get back,” she said.