Murder Mountain

by Stacy Dittrich

  I had to peel each bony finger slowly away from the purse, and slowly slide it towards me. I handed it to Dan, who handed it off to the other lab techs.

  I dusted the body, took photographs, and collected evidence for another three hours before it was finally ready to be lifted out of the hole and placed on the table in the examination tent.

  This was a chore in itself.

  It took five of us to lift out the bag with the body on it. Not because it was heavy, but because the body was so fragile and because there was quite a bit of evidence on the bag. A slight jerk of the bag could possibly dislodge several bones. My sinuses and eyes felt like they were on fire, and when we lifted the bag off the ground, the smell, if possible, got worse. Underneath where the body lay, was a large wet spot where fluids continued to leak through the holes in the bag. The wet dirt would have to be dug out and bagged. We had to hand the body to five other people standing outside of the hole who would carry it to the table.

  The bigwigs would briefly examine the remains before placing it in a body bag, as is, to be taken to Cuyahoga County for an autopsy. After collecting the wet dirt and handing it to the lab techs, I couldn’t get out of the hole fast enough. I was taking my coveralls off while still walking as I went outside. I desperately needed fresh air, and the night was full of it. I stayed outside of the tent, bagging my coveralls and disinfecting my hands. I actually poured disinfectant over the knees of my jeans where the fluid had soaked through. I would still have to throw them away, but this would alleviate the smell for a while.

  I realized I was starving. The sheriff had ordered everyone pizza a couple hours before, but I hadn’t been able to eat. Some of the civilians at the scene, mainly the county maintenance workers, were appalled that any of us could eat pizza while watching a body being dug up, but when you’re hungry, you’re hungry. I grabbed a couple slices of the cold, but edible, pizza and essentially inhaled them.

  When I finally felt that I’d had enough fresh air, I went to the evidence tent, which smelled horrendous, and met with Kincaid and Michael. They were watching the lab techs take the contents of the purse out and lay them on the table. When they got to the wallet, the techs put the driver’s license belonging to Karen Cummings down in front of us. The body had to be identified through dental records, but to refer to the body as belonging to Karen Cummings now was a safe assumption.

  As more items were taken out and set on the table, a business card caught my eye. It was a card for The Tariff Inn, Edward C. Lewis, owner, in Tariff, West Virginia.

  The reservations I’d made for Michael and me were in Tariff, but not the same place. It was the closest town to Ovapa that had actual motels. I wrote down all the information off the card, and asked Michael to find me a decent picture of Karen Cummings. When we got to West Virginia, I could show her photo to the motel owner, and possibly get a look at the sign-in sheets. Most motels require the names of persons staying in the rooms and the license plates of their cars. I would make a safe bet that Karen never stayed there alone.

  Nothing else of immediate significance came out of the purse. Kincaid wrote down, for tracking, several phone numbers that had been scrawled on scraps of paper.

  It was late, and I was exhausted. Still, I called my mother, who was annoyed at the time, to check on Selina and Isabelle. Eric hadn’t picked them up as he’d said he was going to do. I had no intention of going home, but I was desperate for a hot shower and some sleep. Michael and I stayed in a hotel by the interstate, separate rooms of course, with the agreement that we would leave in the late morning for West Virginia. I checked my voicemail several times, hoping I’d missed a call from Eric, but there were none.

  After I settled in my room, I took off my clothes, put them in a garbage bag I’d found in the bathroom, and set the bag by the door. I turned the shower on to an almost scalding temperature. No matter how hard I scrubbed, or how long I stood under the hot water, I never felt completely clean after processing a dead body. Standing under the water, I thought how horrible it would be to lie in the dirt like that for almost three years without anyone wondering where you are. I thought it was a tragically sad situation. These people were cold-hearted monsters and needed to be stopped.

  Once I was out of the shower and dressed for bed (sweat pants and a t-shirt), I carried the garbage bag holding my clothes outside to the dumpster. Walking across the parking lot, I saw the light on in Michael’s room. I debated whether I should knock on the door or not, but quickly decided against it. Why put myself in a situation that I might regret later. Furthermore, I didn’t want him to have any misconstrued thoughts about my intentions. I thought it best to go to bed and get plenty of sleep, if that was possible.

  I had a horrible dream that I was buried alive in a garbage bag behind the Sheriff’s Department. I could hear people calling my name, but I couldn’t scream or talk, let alone breathe. No one knew I was there, and I kept thinking about Eric and the girls, how they would never know what happened to me. I woke up soaked with sweat. It was still dark. The nightmare had been one of the most vivid that I could ever remember. I wasn’t able to go back to sleep after that. For the rest of the night I watched movies and chain-smoked.

  When Michael knocked on my door late in the morning I was ready to go, and tired as hell.

  “You get enough sleep?” he asked.

  “Yes I did, thank you. I slept like a baby,” I lied. “You?”

  “I didn’t sleep for shit; I was up all night watching movies.” He picked up my suitcase and started carrying it to the car.

  I smiled at the vision of both of us, sitting in bed, watching television all night, ignorant of each other being awake. I lost my smile when I saw that the tires on my car had been slashed.

  “God damn it!” I yelled, throwing my travel bag on the hood, “These assholes don’t know when to quit!”

  “They’re persistent little buggers, that’s for sure,” Michael said, bending over and looking at the right-front tire.

  “I’ll call Coop and see if he can pick us up,” I said, not really liking that idea because I would have to explain why I stayed at a motel with Michael. I called him from my cell phone, and he started questioning me about what I was doing there with Michael, just as I predicted. Coop was also friends with Eric. I cut him off and told him we were taking a trip—I would explain more when he arrived—and emphasized that we’d stayed in separate rooms. I told Michael that Coop was on his way, and was calling a tow truck.

  “We’ll just have him drop us off at my car,” Michael decided, “and we’ll drive that.”

  “No way,” I decided. “We are getting a rental car. They knew my car and you can guarantee they know yours. If we are being watched and followed, hopefully we’ll lose them while we go to the rental place.”

  “You’re the boss,” he said, slamming the car door after locking it.

  Coop wouldn’t be there for a while, so we walked across the street to eat breakfast at one of the fast food places. Adding to my already lovely morning, we were too late for breakfast and had to get lunch.

  The tow truck pulled into the parking lot as Michael and I walked back. Coop drove in shortly after. While Michael was haggling with the tow truck driver, Coop pulled me off to the side and hissed in my ear, “Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “Coop, don’t even look at me like that, or insinuate that this is some raunchy love fest, because you couldn’t be farther from the truth. I will tell you what’s going on, but prepare yourself; you’re not going to like it.”

  “I stand before you with breathless anticipation.”

  “We didn’t leave the dig until early this morning. We came here to get a couple hours of sleep, in separate rooms, because we’re driving to West Virginia today. Before you even ask, no, I did not clear this with Kincaid, nor am I going to. She would never allow only two people to go there, as dangerous as it is. I am simply going to leave her a voicemail, explaining where I am and what I am doing. I
would greatly appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut and pretended you know nothing.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” He’d clearly become angry. “Does Eric know about this?”

  “No, I haven’t lost my mind. And yes, Eric knows; he threw me out of the house a couple days ago because of it.”

  “CeeCee, what is the matter with you? You’re smarter than this. You’re gonna get yourself killed down there. Haven’t you realized what these people will do? Not to mention this is what they’ve been hoping for; remember the “Visit West Virginia” postcard? They want you on their turf, and you’re playing right along.” He was beginning to sound a lot like Eric.

  “This has to be done, Coop. We don’t have one shred of physical, or even circumstantial, evidence that links the Chatham County Sheriff’s Department to any of this. If I tried to get a warrant with what we have now, the judge would laugh me right out of his office. What do we have, really, is a video with two guys pumping gas using a technically-not-missing-anymore girl’s credit card, a statement from a, now dead, Roseland hillbilly, a statement from another, un-credible, Roseland hillbilly, and a postcard. Oh, and a couple dead rats. Whew! Let’s wrap it up, we’re done!”

  “I’m not saying there isn’t a need to go down there. But to go down with only two of you is just plain asinine. Now is not the time. You said yourself there isn’t anything tying that department to this case. Go down when there is, and when you can take several agents with you.”

  “Andrea Dean may still be alive. If she is, she won’t be for long, and it is my responsibility to find her ...”

  “No, it is not!” Coop interrupted. “That little bitch concerned herself with everyone’s business and now it finally got the best of her. It is our job to investigate, and put facts together, not to lose your life for some little Roseland skank!”

  Hearing all the commotion, Michael walked over, his face full of curiosity. I was taken back by Coop’s attitude, which was definitely out of character for him.

  “Is everything okay?” Michael asked, looking at me, then at Coop.

  “Was this West Virginia trip your idea, Michael?” Coop barked.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Michael showed some surprise at Coop’s attitude.

  “Did you, perhaps, do or say one word to try and talk her out of this, or refuse to go?”

  “Coop, you’re right. I’ll refuse to go. You know what will happen then? She’ll go by herself, anyway. I didn’t try to talk her out of it, because we all know how hard-headed she is, and I didn’t want to waste my time, like you’re doing now.” He was getting angry himself.

  I was angry that they were arguing back and forth like I wasn’t there. Coop glared at me.

  “You’re going to tell Kincaid, aren’t you?” I snapped.

  “I don’t know, yet.”

  “Well, if you do, make sure you do it tomorrow when I’m already gone. I’m not going to fucking debate this with you anymore. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get going.” I stalked off towards his car.

  Coop remained silent during the drive to the rental car lot. While Michael went inside to get a car, I unloaded our bags out of the trunk. Coop helped.

  “Promise me one thing,” he said when we were finished.

  “I can try,” I said suspiciously, still a little agitated.

  “You call me and check in every night while you’re there. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume something is wrong and start the State Police that way. Not every cop in West Virginia is involved in this thing. When you call me tonight, give me the name, and room number of your hotel. I also want a list of people you are going to contact, and their addresses. If you come upon any new names, I want those also. I’m sorry I yelled at you, CeeCee. We’ve already lost one cop this summer; I can’t deal with another one, especially you. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you agree to this; is it a deal?”

  “Deal,” I agreed.

  Michael came out with the keys to our new rental car and Coop drove away. I stared in the direction Coop drove, still upset over our conversation.

  “He’s right, you know,” Michael put in. “I guess I should’ve said it before, but I will now. I am totally against this entire trip. I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. We’ll be on our own down there. I requested some extra agents, but they’re tied up in Parkersburg for at least two days. I agreed to this because I know that if I didn’t, you’d go anyway.”

  “I’m sorry you disagree, but you’re right. I would’ve gone anyway.” Still watching the direction Coop left, I felt bad.

  I knew I was being difficult, and unprofessional for that matter, but this just needed to be done. At least Coop seemed to brighten up somewhat when we made our deal. Little did I know at the time, but as Coop was driving home he had a change of heart. He called Eric and Kincaid, updating them on the day’s events and on our trip.

  I estimated it would take us approximately four and a half hours to drive to Tariff, West Virginia. We were getting a late start, but I expected we would be there at a reasonable hour. I did my best to ensure that we were not followed to the rental car company, but not knowing who might be following us or what they might be driving, tended to pose a problem.

  Pulling out of the parking lot with Michael in the passenger seat, I drove around in circles several times, making turns at the last minute and speeding. Michael kept watch, and as far as he could tell, we weren’t being followed. It was time to go.

  For the first hour of the drive, Michael and I were both on our cell phones. He was calling the Drug Enforcement Agency to ascertain what, if any, information they had on the Chatham Sheriff’s Department. He’d called several weeks before, but they’d said they would check on it and get back with him, which they’d never done. I called my dad and checked on Selina and Isabelle before trying several times to call Eric. I tried his cell phone, the house, and his parents’ house. His mother said he had left over an hour before to run errands. I left a message for him to please call me, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.

  Michael discovered that the DEA had received several tips regarding methamphetamine labs in the area, with some unusual finger pointing at local law enforcement. According to the agent with whom Michael spoke, the investigation had fizzled before it got started. The DEA could find no one to pose as an informant to go undercover, and the area is so tight-knit that they couldn’t get an undercover agent in. All they had were the tips called in, all by anonymous persons. The agent also added that they were unaware of any connection to Ohio. Essentially, they were no help.

  I called Kincaid’s voice mail and left a message. I knew she would be livid, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. I didn’t plan on answering my cell phone.

  Michael drove the last two hours of the trip. I finally gave up after almost falling asleep twice. I was asleep before he pulled back out onto the roadway.

  He woke me up as he drove into the town of Tariff, since he had no idea of what arrangements I’d made for a motel. I rattled off the directions, and before we knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot of what appeared to be the Bates Motel. I swore that any minute Anthony Perkins was going to come running around the corner with his wig and knife. The place was appropriately called The Mountainside Motel. We had driven uphill on ten different winding dirt roads to get there. It jutted out of the side of one of the smaller mountains, and it was situated in the middle of the wilderness. Under any other circumstances, it may have deserved to be referred to as quaint. In our particular situation, though, it gave me goose bumps and shivers.

  “This come with four stars, did it?” Michael asked with fake-innocent sarcasm as he pulled into a parking space in front of a window that said ‘Office’.

  “There wasn’t a whole lot to choose from, to say the least. Let’s just get our rooms and get settled.”

  I climbed out of the car and stretched. I stood in the lot and looked around while Michael was inside the office getting our room keys. It certainl
y was beautiful there. The sun was setting and there was a light mist around the tops of the mountains. It was hard to imagine that a place this attractive had such a criminal element infesting it.

  I glanced towards the office, wondering what was taking Michael so long. He walked out five minutes later.

  “What took you so long?” I asked as soon as he reached me. “Was there a problem with the reservations I made?”

  “No, Norman Bates was just having a hard time finding one of the room keys.” He grabbed our suitcases.

  “Very funny,” I shot back, not mentioning how I’d had the same thoughts when we’d arrived.

  Our rooms were on the backside of the motel facing the woods. How convenient, I thought. I could be killed in my sleep, and no one would find me for weeks. I wished I would’ve looked harder for a better place to stay, but unless we wanted a three-hour drive each day, this was it. I called Coop and left a message with the name of the motel and our room numbers. I also gave directions to the motel from the nearest interstate. Michael had asked the office manager where the nearest places to eat were, and after we’d put our luggage in our rooms, we headed back down the mountain towards town.

  We found a small café towards the bottom of the mountain, near Tariff. I was famished and the food was good. I noticed that Michael didn’t eat much, and he was unusually quiet.

  “Michael, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing; I’m just tired,” he said quietly, picking at his hamburger.

  “You sure? I’m all ears.” I was trying to sound upbeat.

  He quit picking at his food and stared at the table. I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything; maybe he was angry with me for coming here.

  “My wife moved out last night,” he said softly, looking up at me, his piercing, green eyes, filling with tears.

  I was stunned, and immediately felt uncomfortable. I had a million questions, all of which were none of my business. I’d never told him about Eric wanting me to move out. I kept hoping Eric will snap out of whatever funk he was in, call me back, and apologize. The way Michael was looking at me gave me the impression I had something to do with his recent separation. I hoped I was being paranoid. People, as of late, seem to be falling apart whenever they get around me. They either drop dead or wind up single. I was starting to feel like a walking terminal disease.