Noelle looked closely at the puncture wounds. No signs of scratching or tearing, just pencil-girthed holes punched into the chest cavity. Turning the body on its side, Noelle felt around the man’s back for wounds but found none. That probably ruled out a bite. She was rethinking the possibilities when the broken light flickered for a second and then came on brightly.
“What the hell?” Noelle was a little startled. Her nerves still hadn’t settled since her surprise run-in with the hospital’s engineer. On the exam table directly under the recently repaired light was the engineer’s tool belt.
“No way,” Noelle said in a whisper. She walked over to the tools, grabbed one, and then went back to the desk for another glove. She slid the shaft of the screwdriver into the forefinger compartment of the glove to keep it sterile. Plus, it seemed disrespectful not to. Then she lined up the screwdriver with one of the puncture wounds. The shank slid through with just a little force.
Noelle checked the other wounds too. “No way,” she said again, aloud.
She set down the tool and looked closer at the penetration points. Around the wounds were halos of bruised skin, three-quarters of an inch, perhaps. She placed the screwdriver in the wound again. The hard plastic lip where the shaft met the handle perfectly matched the size of the bruise.
The bruising must have increased slowly after the man’s death! she thought. There’s no other way the coroner could have missed this.
Noelle zipped the bag and quickly closed the drawer. She put the screwdriver back in its place and tossed the rubber gloves on the way out. As she went up the stairs, taking two at a time, she passed the engineer.
“Light’s fixed!” she said between breaths.
“I figured—they just told me that last fixture was on a different fuse. Hey, why are you in such a hurry?”
Noelle didn’t say anything. She ran to the car, started the engine, and picked up her mobile. She had to call Jake.
To her dismay, his phone rang without answer. Noelle couldn’t leave a message; the news was just too big. She sped north.
* * *
The camp was still a ghost town like it had been the day before. Jake surveyed the cabins, lean-tos, and old canvas tents. No sign of anyone. The Impala was gone, likely towed back to Jackson. Jake stayed still and observed for a moment, as if just breathing the air and looking around might yield some clue. The cool wind lent an extra dose of loneliness.
Strange, really. Like a commune or something.
His tactic yielded nothing else, so Jake started looking around inside the structures. After scrounging around in three empty tents and the main cabin, a lean-to gave him some hope.
Bingo.
Stuffed into the nook between two lodgepole supports, Jake found a thin book. He pushed aside some of the smaller branches making up the wind stop and pulled it out. The shoddy wall fell outward as he did so.
The book was ratty and faded from the elements but the title was easy to read. It said, Avalanches: Causes, Prevention, and Rescue. Jake leafed through it, looking for anything that might provide him with more information on the camp and its deserters. The receipt for the book, purchased at the Montana State University bookstore, was folded into the middle of chapter 7, which was titled “Wet-Slab Avalanches.”
His heartbeat increased and he looked around the camp. Still deserted. Jake sat down on a worn log that must have been used as a bench by the previous occupants.
Back to the book. Jake flipped to the beginning of the marked chapter and started there. On some pages he found highlighted words, and on others notes scrawled in the margins. The focus of the reader was clearly on the triggers of wet-slab avalanches rather than prevention and rescue: “occur in spring during rainy and/or warm periods,” “unlikely to be triggered by skiers,” “except in periods of high rainfall, occur most often in the afternoon on sun-exposed aspects,” and “slow-moving but extremely destructive.”
“Shit!” Jake closed the book and jogged to his vehicle with it in his hand. The book hadn’t revealed everything—why or how the Maelstrom avalanche had been started, for example—but it revealed enough. Jake was almost certain now: the avalanche on Maelstrom wasn’t an accident at all.
He knew what he had to do next. He had to try to get in contact with Mr. Ricker, the survivor of the Maelstrom slide. Jake had a gut feeling that Ricker wouldn’t be easy to find.
He got in the car and checked his phone. A missed call from Noelle. He had spotty reception there in the woods and was too excited to pursue his new lead to return her call at the moment anyway. When the reception improved, he dialed the Jackson station and asked to speak with the chief.
“Roger, it’s Jake.” He held the phone with his shoulder as he used both hands to make a right turn back toward Jackson Hole. “I need another favor, if I might.”
“I’ll see what the favor is first, if I might.”
Jake sensed some hostility in Terrell’s voice.
“Of course. I need the contact info for that Ricker guy that survived the avy up on Maelstrom. I think he’s involved in all this, but I’m not sure how. I’ll give you my evidence if you let me talk to him first. These guys are after me, Roger.”
The chief laughed. It sounded manic to Jake. “We already got his statement, he was clean. If there’s new evidence, we need it now. You talk to him first, he’ll disappear before we even have a chance. If he does stick around, he’ll know he’s been found out. What the hell do you think he did wrong anyway? He might have been stupid, but he didn’t do anything illegal. You’re not a cop, Jake. Never were and certainly aren’t now.”
“I have evidence, Roger,” Jake pleaded. “I just need to have him alone. I’m convinced this doesn’t end with him. If your guys arrest him, he doesn’t talk and we lose our trail. I—”
“I said no, Jake. Anything else?”
Jake hung up the phone without answering him. Dammit. Until the last couple days, he always thought Terrell respected him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
What the hell is going on around here?
He had no real chance of getting to Ricker now. Jake wondered if he was better off just giving up the information to Terrell and the cops, but what if the cops botched the investigation, deliberately or accidentally?
True, Jake wasn’t a cop; he was much more than that. Jake knew that if Ricker was a pawn in a scheme to destroy him like J.P. suggested, he wouldn’t give up any names to the cops with such weak evidence against him. There was no reason to; he would know that the cops couldn’t build a case.
Shit!
Now closer to town, Jake returned Noelle’s call.
“We need to meet up,” Jake said hastily.
“Agreed. My place. Twenty minutes.”
Both vehicles pulled into Noelle’s driveway at the same time. Jake got out and walked quickly over to Noelle’s door to open it, but she scrambled out before he could get there.
“They killed him with a screwdriver! The bear did, that is. The impostor bear!” Jake followed Noelle’s hasty path to the porch, but not her line of reasoning.
“Slow down. What?” Jake’s news would have to wait. They stopped at the front door.
“Sorry, come in.” She opened the screen. “The couple that everyone thought was attacked by a bear. You and I, though, we knew something was off about it! We were right! They didn’t run into a bear up there at the lake, they ran into a killer with a screwdriver. He was definitely murdered, Jake. No doubt about it.”
“How do you know?”
“I went to see the body at the morgue. The guy’s body. And it didn’t look right, you know? From the beginning, we heard ‘puncture wounds,’ and guess what? The wounds, I examined them closely and it looked like someone just stabbed him with a screwdriver. No slicing or cutting, Jake. Just straight through.” Noelle neglected to mention the lucky sighting of the tool.
She continued. “So I went and I got a screwdriver. Just a regular Phillips head like this one. Short shaft.” Noelle held
up the implement she’d borrowed from the park. “And I checked it. And it fits perfectly in each wound. There is even a mark where each thrust came to its end when the handle hit flesh. I bet that screwdriver is up there somewhere, Jake. We have to go look.”
“Hold on. Just because a certain object fits into this guy’s wounds doesn’t rule out everything else.”
Noelle had overlooked this in her excitement. “Well, I know that. I mean, it was just perfect, though. Halos, Jake! There were little circular bruises from the handle hitting the skin.” She walked to Jake and showed him the part of the plastic handle that she was talking about, pointing emphatically.
“Okay. Maybe you’re right. If you are, I think you’ll want to hold off on calling the police until you hear me out . . .” Jake tried to butt in with his own news.
Noelle was offended. “I didn’t mean I would call the police, I thought we could—”
“Just listen for a minute. Relax.” Jake hesitated. “I’m not sure we can trust Terrell.”
“What?” This surprised Noelle, though she had found the chief’s recent behavior a bit odd.
“I’m not sure why. I just get the feeling he wants to ruin me for some reason. Jealousy? I don’t know.” Jake realized this sounded cocky. “But look, I found something up at that camp too. Something that I think proves that the avalanche wasn’t an accident. I think the survivor of the slide was the one who killed the victim. And on the way back, I realized a few things. Why wasn’t there anyone at that camp when we got there? Somebody must have tipped them off. And how did Terrell even end up so close to an accident that almost killed J.P.? In a car registered in my name no less. Who would have easier access to change the title than the chief of police?”
Noelle looked astonished. “I don’t know, Jake. Now you need to slow down. Sounds like a stretch, doesn’t it? And think about it—Terrell could have already killed or arrested you . . . or whatever his intentions were. Why wouldn’t he have done it by now?”
“That’s the thing I don’t understand,” Jake admitted. “Maybe he’s toying with me—maybe he just wants me to leave town.”
“What did you find up there, anyway?”
“A book. A guide to avalanche safety. There was the avalanche on Maelstrom and—”
Noelle interrupted. “Yeah, but think about where we are, Jake. Everybody has that book, or one like it. I’ve got one right there.” Noelle pointed to a small bookshelf that hosted Surviving Avalanches among others.
“No. No, it wasn’t just the book that made me think, it was what the reader was interested in. Whoever owned the book took a really keen interest in how wet-slab avalanches start. They highlighted almost every other word in that section. Notes too.”
“You’re thinking a single person is responsible for all this?”
“No, not a single person. How could one person do it all? Plus, we found a camp. Gotta be more than one person involved. I’m certain that everything is connected now. An organized group.”
Jake was drawing conclusions and playing out the rest of the script in his head as he spoke.
It dawned on him now that whether it was vengeful criminals from his past or Terrell or someone else, he knew he would have to involve the federal authorities at some point. It was too risky to reach out to the town police for help with Terrell in charge. Jake had plenty of friends in the business: CIA and FBI.
Noelle didn’t let the silence last too long. “Okay. Either way, what do we do next?” Jake snapped out of his inner monologue.
“We don’t have enough information to go to Terrell or his police force. Even if he isn’t involved, he won’t believe us. We need to talk to that kid who survived the avalanche. J.P. knows him—they’re at least acquaintances.”
“Who is he?” Noelle asked as Jake dialed J.P.
He’d better answer.
“Don’t know much about him, really.” Second ring. “He’s been involved with some protests and things in the past. Arrested actually, during one of them.” Rings three and four.
“You think he’s still in town?”
“Don’t know.” The call rang one final time and went to J.P.’s voice mail.
“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“J.P., he’s just impossible to get ahold of sometimes.” Jake was grabbing for the doorknob.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll run into town and try to find J.P. Any better ideas?”
Noelle gave him a quizzical look. “Uh, the Internet—do a search for him, social networks, whatever. It’ll take a second. If we don’t find anything, I’ll help you find J.P.”
Noelle’s idea was obvious, but Jake had overlooked it. Noelle went to her bedside and picked up her laptop. As she plunked it down on the table, Jake went outside to get the other chair.
They huddled next to each other on one side of the table, and Noelle turned the machine on. When the search engine came up she asked Jake for the name.
“Graham Ricker,” Jake said. “I think his first name was Graham.”
The results came in. A Facebook profile. “Looks like it’s spelled Graem. Must be him. Location is Jackson, Wyoming. Let me log in.”
“You’re a member?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, sure. Just to keep track of old friends and stuff. People from school.” She was a little embarrassed, even though she was younger and more computer savvy than Jake.
“Everybody is. It’s not like I’m e-dating or anything.”
The comment lingered awkwardly in the air.
“Wait—I think I’ve actually skied with this guy before,” Noelle said as she examined his profile and pictures. “I met him in a carpool group for skiers. I can send him a message through the site. What should I say?”
Jake thought. J.P. was the more obvious route. At least J.P. and Ricker seemed to have a connection.
Damn. The hit and run. If Ricker was involved, hearing from J.P. might spook him. He’d likely leave town before I even got a chance. Even if J.P. asked around about where Ricker lived, word might get back to him through the grapevine.
“Just ask him for it,” Jake finally said.
“Huh?”
“Just ask him. If you can send him a message, send one and ask for his number. It’s the least suspicious thing you can do.”
“You think that will really work?” Noelle was skeptical. It was too barefaced. Too direct. “Hold on, I think it might. I always get these messages from people on this site that say they lost their phone or got a new one. They want their old phone’s contact information back. I usually send my number, even if I’m not sure who the person is or how they got my number in the first place.”
Jake nodded at her when she looked up from the computer screen, even though he didn’t quite grasp the laws of social networking.
“Okay. I’m gonna send it.” She typed, “Hey Graem, lost my phone. Could I have ur number?”
“Now what?” she asked Jake.
“Now we wait. I’m going home. See if J.P. has any info on Ricker. Call me right away if you hear back.” Jake let his hand slide across her shoulders as he excused himself past her and out the door.
* * *
He was on his way home when another stray thunderstorm hit the valley. He thought he felt a slight quake, but it could’ve been the thunder. He clicked on the wipers and slowed down.
Murder, deception, and who knows what else?
The rain had a sentimental effect on Jake. He thought about Philadelphia. His past life. In some sense, he missed the excitement and danger of it all, the challenge of outsmarting the bad guys and cracking the case. Putting his life on the line for the greater good. His investigations had always begun with those feelings, though.
But at some point, the excitement and thrill always morphed into tangible peril. That part he didn’t miss. He could feel it when the change occurred. It was as if a far-off war being played out on television news and radio came crashing into your hometown. Maybe it
was the rain and darkness, but Jake sensed that moment was coming soon.
18
GRAND TETON NATIONAL PARK. THE NEXT DAY.
It was early Monday morning. A new workweek. Noelle was up and about, checking her messages for a response from Graem Ricker. After four or five times looking at an empty in-box, her enthusiasm wore off and she felt tired, so she walked over to her kitchenette and fixed some instant coffee. Now she was out of both sugar and milk. The brew was bitter without accoutrements, but it got the job done.
Noelle looked at her watch and remembered that she had to be at work at eight thirty. An hour and a half. She still had a real life to tend to. Before she left for her patrol, she checked her work email. Her supervisor at the park had emailed her and asked that she check on the trail crews throughout the park to make sure they were on course to complete their work before the tourist season began.
The trail crews were responsible for maintaining the park’s many hiking paths. They removed downed trees that crossed the trail, diverted snow runoff that interfered with the route, and monitored erosion. If a section of trail became damaged due to overuse, they were also responsible for rerouting the trail and closing the area.
The crews were mostly composed of locals in their early twenties who considered the job a pretty good gig. They were left alone for days on end, camping in the wilderness and working at their own pace. Unfortunately for Noelle and her superiors, this sometimes meant they slacked off. Noelle’s random inspections were aimed to remedy this.
If she wanted to fit a run in, she would have to go now. She closed her computer, tied her shoes, and bounced down the stairs. The cold, dry air wafted easily through her synthetic mesh T-shirt. It chilled her completely, so she picked up the pace. She would make one loop around the camping area that was adjacent to her cabin and then grab her shower stuff. After her shower, she planned to start her random checkups around Gosling Lake.
* * *
Monday mornings meant less to Jake since his retirement, but he woke up early nonetheless. He checked his cell phone for a call from Noelle. Nothing yet.
Death Canyon Page 18