Death Canyon

by David Riley Bertsch

  He had a sudden, intense urge to call her, but he stopped himself. Hearing the voice mail click on and ask that he leave a message would hurt too much.

  There wasn’t a chance Elspet was going to answer a call from him without listening to the voice mail. Unless Jake left a message regarding a legal question or some gravely serious personal matter, she would never return his call.

  His mind left the past and Jake thought about who he might call next.

  Jake again thought of the unknown number that had tried to contact him while he was in the cruiser. Maybe they were involved in all this. He opened the “missed calls” directory on his phone and pressed call.

  “This is Noelle,” a female voice answered pleasantly. Jake was surprised.

  “Hello?” She spoke again before Jake could respond. “Is this Jake Trent?”

  “It is. Uh, who am I speaking with, please?”

  “Noelle Klimpton,” she repeated. “I work for the National Park Service. A friend of mine, Keith Strang, gave me your number.”

  Jake remembered Keith well. They’d met years ago on Lewis Lake, Jake fishing and Keith tracking a bear. They used to fish together in Yellowstone—a convenient, in-between meeting place—and had plenty in common. Keith, like Jake, had fled mainstream life to pursue the things he was passionate about. If Jake remembered correctly, the only things Keith was passionate about were bears and trout.

  Keith sometimes gave Jake’s number to fishermen who were traveling through southwestern Montana on their way to Jackson Hole and looking for a guide. Jake appreciated the referrals. He assumed that Noelle had called for that very reason.

  “Regarding what?” Jake asked. There was a twinge of irritation in his voice.

  “It’s a bit complicated and sort of out there . . .” Noelle started. “Um, I think it would be easiest if you and I met to discuss it.”

  “I would love to . . .” Jake replied honestly. He was getting frustrated at her inability to get to the point. “But I’m in police custody at the moment, so an in-person meeting wouldn’t be possible.”

  “Um . . . well, I’m sorry. What for?” She thought this sounded rude. Keith had apparently thought very highly of Mr. Trent’s crime-solving ability. Why in the world is he in prison? she wondered. “Never mind . . . I . . . none of my business.”

  Noelle started anew. “Okay, look, two days ago a French couple was mauled by a bear near the Gosling Lake overlook on the Death Canyon trail.”

  “I’m aware,” Jake said. Get to the point, lady. He needed to conserve his cell phone’s battery for as long as possible.

  “Of course. Well, I found a bear tooth up there, at the scene of the attack. Because of a silly suspicion about the attack—you know, things just didn’t add up—I took the tooth up to Keith. As you know, Keith is a bear expert.”

  Noelle continued, “So, Keith looks at the tooth with his naked eye and sees something wrong . . .”

  “A cavity?” he deadpanned. The woman’s circuitous story wasn’t going anywhere, and Jake wasn’t too enthusiastic to discuss anything other than how he was going to clear his name.

  “No, it was a fake, or possibly a fake. It could have been a real bear tooth, Keith told me, but if it was, it had probably been preserved with a man-made epoxy or finish. A chemical test confirmed for us that whoever left the tooth behind—well, it wasn’t a bear.” She quoted Keith almost verbatim.

  Whoa. Jake thought about what her assertion might mean. “Well, have you considered the possibility that the tourists were carrying a souvenir bear tooth?”

  Noelle’s heart sank. This was the same criticism Keith had of her suspicion. “But that seems odd, doesn’t it? Isn’t it unlikely that a park visitor would be carrying a bear tooth? I’m fairly certain we don’t sell them anywhere in the park.”

  Jake questioned her further. “I have no idea how odd it might be. Why did you drive the whole way up to Bozeman to investigate this? And why didn’t you hand the evidence over to the police?”

  Noelle was concerned. As far as she knew, Jake had no authority within the police force (the man was, in fact, in custody), but she still hesitated to admit to him that she took the tooth without permission.

  “I was curious because the damage done by the animal seemed . . . well . . . unusual. I expected to see scrapes and cuts and bruises on the victims, but instead I found puncture wounds. Keith agreed with me that this was strange for a bear attack.”

  Jake recalled the same details from his discussion with Chief Terrell. “Yeah, I think perhaps that was odd.”

  Noelle was encouraged to hear his approval. “Well . . . so I took the tooth. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I think the incident should be investigated as a murder now. And Keith told me that you would be the man to ask for help in convincing the cops. Can you help?”

  The wheels started turning in Jake’s head again. The occurrence of three deaths in one day was unusual enough to alert the former investigator’s sixth sense. Now that there was a possibility that at least two of the deaths had been murders, it was too much to ignore. He weighed his own suspicions against the possible repercussion—getting himself in deeper with Terrell. On the flip side, he might be able to exonerate himself.

  “Can you come down to the police station, Noelle? Is there any chance that the chief owes you any favors? I’d like to speak with you as soon as possible.”

  “He doesn’t owe me anything, but it’s worth a shot. I can stop by in a few hours and ask to speak with you. And, Mr. Trent, why are you in custody?”

  “Call me Jake. I’m in custody for murder.” He hung up the phone, focusing his thoughts on what he had just been told.

  8

  JACKSON POLICE HEADQUARTERS. LATER THAT EVENING.

  It was getting late in the day and Jake was going to miss his opportunity to speak at the eight o’clock council meeting because of Terrell’s misguided suspicion. It was all so ridiculous.

  He decided to draft a memo to be handed out to each council member. If he couldn’t deliver his speech, at least he could get his point across on paper. He called a fellow councilman named Nick Begaye and asked him to come by the station before the meeting; the memo would be waiting for him at the reception desk.

  Jake knocked on the door of his make-do holding cell. A young officer opened the door and agreed to bring him a legal pad and pen.

  When the young cop came back, Jake sat down at the interrogation table and began to write.

  Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council,

  Because of the righteous forethought of many men and women in our history—John D. Rockefeller, Franklin Roosevelt, Horace Albright, to name a few—the United States of America is situated uniquely among developed countries with respect to its public lands.

  A visit to any European nation will reveal this distinction. In the United Kingdom, for example, a pursuit as basic as fishing is reserved for the wealthy, for those who can afford to pay the substantial day fees necessary to convince the private landowner to allow others to use his or her property.

  In these nations’ histories, almost no land was set aside for public enjoyment, and thus their natural environments are principally private. Private owners, as we all admit, tend to cherish the private nature of their possessions, and rarely choose to share them with others.

  This theme recurs in nearly every developed country that you might decide to visit. There, notions of unfettered economic competition and first-come, first-served ideology have led to what many of us believe is an undesirable situation: natural resources sitting solely in the hands of those who can afford them.

  Before you consider the specific repercussions of the decision you are about to make, I would urge you to consider the following series of more general questions: If a man is not entitled to the free enjoyment of the earth onto which he was born, what is he entitled to? Are we, as a society, truly desirous of pursuing wealth and personal gain until all the natural resources are used up? Was it not the intention of
the men and women who created our public lands to look out for us—to prevent us from destroying these lands despite our vicious appetite?

  And most importantly—Do we not have an ongoing obligation to give this same gift to our future generations?

  Of course, the question we face presently doesn’t directly involve those lands set aside by the Rockefellers or by the United States government early in the last century. Rather, it involves a tract owned by a man who made his promise to future generations by attempting to ensure that their enjoyment of this beautiful landscape would not be ruined by condominiums or business. The man who formed this covenant knowingly took a substantial loss in the future value of his land the moment he created it. He acted selflessly and intended to benefit others rather than himself. Now we are faced with the same opportunity.

  Because of the confusion regarding the filing of the easement, it appears as if a court of law may decide this issue in either way. We, the council, have an opportunity to first decide the issue by making a judgment from a far more meaningful source of jurisdiction. We can make judgment on this issue based on what is right and selfless, or what is greedy and self-serving. By denying the developer’s zoning applications, we can both honor the wishes of the original landowner and help guarantee that future generations will be entitled to the same enjoyment of natural lands that brought many of us to this area.

  There was a knock on the door. Jake assumed that it was Noelle Klimpton. He shouted, “Just a minute,” and hurried the closing of his letter.

  I hope you will consider this issue with the gravity it deserves. My apologies for my absence. As always, I am—

  Very truly yours,

  Jake Trent

  Jake folded the letter into thirds and walked to the door. It was Terrell.

  “You have a visitor. Noelle Klimpton,” he said. “I normally wouldn’t allow this, Jake, but I know you and I know Ms. Klimpton. Please don’t prove my instincts wrong.”

  “Will do,” Jake responded. “Could you please have the receptionist keep this letter on hand? A man named Nick Begaye is going to stop by and pick it up later. It’s important.”

  Terrell took the letter from Jake’s extended hand. “Okay. This isn’t a four-star hotel, though, Jake,” he muttered as he turned. “I’ll get Noelle.”

  After the chief left, Jake felt a rumbling beneath him. An earthquake. The fourth today. It started small and rumbled to a slightly higher intensity. Then it stopped.

  Terrell led Noelle back to the interrogation room. She and Jake shook hands. Jake was taken aback—the woman from the phone was attractive and fit. He hadn’t expected that. He recognized her from somewhere, which wasn’t unusual given the size of the town. Terrell shut the door.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this.” Noelle quickly realized the absurdity of her statement. What else does he have to do? “But I wasn’t sure whether to alert the police or not about Keith’s findings. I didn’t know if it was too trivial. Keith thought you might be a good person to discuss it with.”

  “First,” Jake replied, “there is no reason whatsoever not to alert the police about the tooth. Secondly, I’m not a cop or an investigator in any sense of the word. As you can see,” Jake said, motioning toward the door, “I am not even a free man at the moment. If you are planning to interfere with police business, I would urge you to reconsider.”

  “I just want your opinion. Keith trusts you.” Noelle blushed.

  “Okay.” Jake glanced in her eyes. She genuinely wanted to help. He sat down and took a deep breath. “Well then, sure, my opinion is that you’re probably right. That is, if everything you say is true. A bear attack occurs under somewhat suspicious circumstances at the same time as another murder, which was framed in the same way—as a natural death, and I think it makes sense to consider the possibility that it was a murder. Add in the evidence about the tooth and I think you’ve got a viable hunch. But then again, I’m a suspicious person by nature.”

  After a short silence, Noelle spoke. “So you’re telling me the avalanche death has been determined to be a murder?”

  “We haven’t even gotten there yet. There was a third death. I found a body in the river two nights ago. At first it looked like simply a drowned fisherman—another victim to the Snake—but the coroner says he was suffocated before he ever entered the water.”

  “Is that why you’re here? The drowning?”

  “I’m here because I have no alibi—I was alone when I found the body, and therefore I’m what they call a ‘preliminary suspect.’ ” He made air quotes to emphasize the ridiculousness of the charge. “Why are you interested in all this?”

  “They really think you murdered someone?”

  Jake could see the wheels turning in her head. Did he look like a murderer? Finally she gave him a look; she doubted it.

  “You didn’t answer me,” Jake said, deflecting her question.

  “I wish I could say. I just . . . something doesn’t seem right.”

  “I see.” Jake again noticed something attractive and intriguing in her while he watched her intuition work. She was a thoughtful woman. And sharp, perhaps even to the point of being cynical.

  He looked at her, feeling now that he could trust her intellect and intentions. “Listen, I want you to turn the bear tooth over to the police with the information you got from Keith. Provide them with his contact information so a more formal test can be done, if necessary. If they pursue that lead, great. If they don’t, I’ll help you, but only under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do the same thing with the man in the river as you did with the bear tooth—ask some questions. I want you to go into all the river businesses—fly shops, taverns, boat rentals, everything. See if you can find anyone that knows who he was with, when he went out fishing, anything like that. If you can help get me out from under the chief’s suspicion, I can help you. You game for that?”

  Noelle perked up. “Deal. What was the guy’s name?” She took a pen and notebook from her breast pocket.

  “Bryan Hawlding. About five ten, medium build. Blond hair and light eyes. Light skin. Twenty-eight years old.”

  “Got it.” Noelle scrawled the information down and gave Jake an understanding look. She stood up, shook his hand, and left the room. Someone on the outside slid a key into the dead bolt and locked it.

  Jake was alone again. He looked at his cell phone: 7:15 p.m. Nick should have come for the letter and taken it to the meeting.

  He stood up and paced the room. Noelle’s beauty had not gone unnoticed.

  * * *

  On the main floor, Noelle was nervously looking around for the chief. She thought about just leaving the tooth on a desk, but she knew the police would find out who put it there. Then she would be much worse off.

  Before any more scheming thoughts leaped to mind, Noelle spied Terrell, who was making a beeline across the office. She jogged to catch up with him.

  “Roger, can I talk to you for a second?”

  The chief never looked up. “Walk with me.”

  “The thing is that . . .” She decided to fudge the truth. “When we were trying to get the female victim of the attack up to the helicopter, I found something there on the ground that now I think might be useful to you.”

  “What do you mean?” The chief stopped walking and gave her a serious look.

  “I think our bear attack may not be what it looks like.” The chief gave her a dubious look. “It’d be better just to show you.” Noelle reached into her pocket and took out the envelope. She handed it to Terrell, who took it and shook its contents into his other hand.

  “It’s fake.”

  Before Terrell could respond, Noelle started pleading her case. “I was just under so much stress! I think I was in shock, and I know I should’ve . . .”

  “You found this at the scene?”

  Noelle nodded and tried to speak again. Before she could, Terrell reached out and pinched her lips together like a
duck’s bill, gently but forcefully. Noelle looked around, unable to talk, to see if anyone was witnessing this bizarre act.

  “I must be going crazy!” the chief whispered in Noelle’s ear. He was still holding her lips. She silently agreed. “Get the hell out of here before I arrest you for withholding evidence.”

  He finally let go of Noelle’s face. He looked at his hand as if it had betrayed him. Noelle quickly shuffled out, muttering to herself. What the hell was that about?

  * * *

  Driving north from the station toward home, Noelle approached Broadway and the town square. A large crowd was gathered. She slowed down and pulled over onto the shoulder to take a look. The elk antler arches on the square’s west corners straddled her park service vehicle; the Cowboy Bar sat on her left. The sun was just setting behind her, over Teton Pass.

  It was some kind of rally or protest. Cacophonous chants filled the evening air. Clusters of people held signs and banners. The town as a whole was politically engaged, so the gathering itself didn’t surprise Noelle, but she was curious.

  She got out of the truck to have a better look at the crowd. She searched for familiar faces but saw none. Not a single person she recognized.

  Strange.

  The protesters were dressed in drab, baggy clothing, hippies. The square smelled of sweat, patchouli, stale campfire, and weed. Their chants were uncoordinated and impossible to understand, but their picket signs spoke for them. Closest to her a thin, blond man held a sign that read, “End Earth Alteration!!!” Other signs declared: “Land Use: Is it really our decision to make?” and “What did Mother Earth ever do to you?”

  Noelle approached another spectator, an old man, and asked what was going on.

  “I don’t really know,” the man responded. “Wasn’t scheduled in the paper or anything.” The old man seemed upset by this.