“Did you know we can check the log on NPS issued cell phones, Gracie?”
Another sudden shift. Gracie wasn't stupid. She had a high IQ, she scored well on every test she'd ever taken but she couldn't track sudden conversational changes, not quickly. “I'm sorry, I don't—”
“I know you called Ranger Garrett last night,” the ranger continued to hammer away. “I know you called him from the guest phone here in the Lodge. Did you ask him to come up here and meet with you? Did you lure him to the Canyon?”
“I didn't. Julie took me home and I stayed there.” Even as she spoke, her obsessive brain found the image of the unturned deadbolt, her tender feet when she climbed out of bed. A single tear slid down her cheek. She was still shaking her head, denying what he said—even as she wondered if he was right. What in the hell is happening to me?
“I don't know what happened,” she insisted, holding on to the truth of those words. She didn't care what Ranger Mathews thought or what evidence he had. What was happening to her, the waking nightmares of the little girl, the blackouts, losing control of that hateful voice, which she thought she had tamed a long time ago. The idea of facing charges, of going to prison, all paled next to the feeling that she was losing her mind, slipping back into uncontrolled chaos. She couldn't handle that, not again, not after being free for so long.
A sudden quiet outside as the background of voices faded, caught the ranger's attention, and his gaze moved to the windows. Needing any excuse to get her brain back on track, to pull it out of the spiral it was in, she moved to the window and pulled the chain that raised the blind. One voice rose out of the silence, the anger and frustration it conveyed helped pull her back from the brink of her own thoughts.
She couldn't tell who the men arguing down the hill were, but as one turned her way, his eyes locked onto her and widened in recognition. She went cold inside. She didn't know the man, nor could she feel the heat of his anger from where she stood, sheltered behind the window, but she knew the look.
He was a predator, and he had just locked on to his prey.
Ranger Mathews was still talking, still driving, still hammering away at her, but it was distant. The coldness that had seeped into her was still there, giving her an anchor in the storm to hold on to, helping her to get her bearings again. He grabbed the chain from her hand and dropped the blind, severing the connection between her and the other ranger.
With one hand reaching out for the doorknob, Gracie's eyes met Ranger Mathews'. He fell silent. “I wish I could help you. I wish, more than you will ever know, that I knew what happened to those men. I don't. I'm sorry.”
As numb as she felt, she wasn't about to walk outside to go to her shop the way she used to. She didn't want to be around anyone, or to talk to anyone. Julie was still at the front desk, answering questions. On the breezeway between the registration building and the Lodge, Kari spoke quietly with another ranger. They fell silent and watched Gracie pass through the glass doors that led to the lounge, gift shop and dining room.
Just inside the doors, she turned left, heading down the interior stairway to the working section of the Lodge's basement. The personnel manager stood in his doorway, talking to two senior staff members whom she should have recognized, but couldn't place. Her thoughts were jumbled, overflowing and chaotic as she tried to sort through what had just happened.
The dark hall between the employee pub and the recreation office was empty, each shuttered for another week, waiting for the true horde of employees who would come in just before season started. She pushed through the door that led to the employee dining room, triggering the air curtain overhead to blow cool air in a brutal assault against the intrusion of insects and dust. A blinding white glare compared to the gloomy gray cement halls that led to it, the EDR was nearly empty, a small oasis of light and quiet. Two employees busied themselves by scrubbing the floor and counters, getting ready for the next meal.
She stood under the fluorescent lights for a moment feeling lost. The echoes from the canyon hadn't made it this far. Not yet. Instead of bombarding her with questions, the two men glanced at her and went back to work.
She was a familiar face in the EDR. Since she lived in an RV instead of a dorm or cabin, she was not on the meal plan. Nor could she have handled the press of bodies as the room filled with employees during the season. Yet her shop was just down the hall and coffee and snacks were always on hand. Gracie sought them out between meals when the place was quiet.
Coffee. The greatest comfort drink of all time. Though the stuff in the EDR was barely stronger than dirty water—it would do. She filled a cup at the automatic dispenser before heading back to her shop and closing the door on the world outside.
She sat at her desk, but didn't wake up the computer to work. Her foot found the roller arm under her chair and rubbed over the top of it. Though still bruised, it didn't feel as raw as it had when she got out of bed in the wee hours of the morning.
The lock. That damned lock.
What have you done? That hateful voice asked, just a whisper from the other side of her consciousness.
She could evade and lie to others when she had to, but never to herself. As much as she hated that insistent voice, it was a part of her, always had been.
“I don't know,” she muttered.
15
Hudson's heart stopped dead in his chest saw Gracie O'Dowdy cowering in the window. David stood behind her, towering over her, and though he didn't look like he was yelling, he looked fierce. Although Hudson was not close enough to see if she were crying, she certainly looked upset.
Hudson edged to his right, getting the Deputy Ranger to turn his back on the building. He wasn't sure what David was up to, but it was far cry from the Deputy Ranger's orders, it put his friend at risk of a reprimand, if not worse. Every Wilderness Resorts employee on the lot had their eyes on Hudson and the tongue-lashing he was getting from his supervisor. For now, he wanted to keep it that way.
Every opportunity his boss gave him, Hudson slid in an 'I didn't', or a 'but', to get him to launch into another lecture. Trying to look as if he were paying attention and getting frustrated while keeping Gracie in his sights made for an awkward dance with Erikson.
The girl didn't seem to be responding to David anymore. Though he would have sworn, only moments before, she had been in distress—it looked as if a switch had been flipped. She went still; all emotion, all personality, drained away as surely as if someone had pulled a stopper on tub, letting everything that made Gracie, Gracie, drain away.
As David grabbed the chain, dropping the blind and blocking Gracie from view, Hudson turned his attention back to the Deputy Ranger in time to hear him say, “Are we clear?”
Hudson nodded, trying to look solemn as if he had seen the error of his ways, while his thoughts raced. “Yes, Sir. It won't happen again.”
Erikson softened and held Hudson's shoulder as if he were a preacher tending his flock. “This will pass, Foster. There's plenty of work at the Pagoda to keep you busy. When this blows over, we'll get you back into the field.”
Hudson flinched and tried to cover it up. Desk duty? How much of the conversation had he missed while he watched Gracie? He had known as soon as he heard Erikson on the radio that he'd be strapped to a desk, but thinking it and hearing it out loud were two different animals.
He had to talk to David. Had to know if he imagined that shift in her at the window. He had to know what line of questioning David imposed. Most of all, he needed to know if David had his back, or if he was on his own.
Ever since he'd heard of Gracie O'Dowdy and her snowshoes, his gut had been telling him she was involved. If David believed she was guilty, it would go a long way towards turning this around. Might even get the Powers That Be let to him go after her. He'd lost his standing with Erikson, but if David found a line to chase, it might just prove to be Hudson's ticket back onto the playing field.
There was nothing he could do to help Mike. Nothing he could acc
omplish at the Canyon. Loathe to leave the area before he absolutely had to, he headed back to his truck. Returning to the search with the hope that David would find a way to make contact was his only option.
As he turned the key to fire up the truck, a piece of paper fluttered in the breeze, trapped under the windshield wiper in front of his face. He hesitated only a moment before snagging it. He hadn't seen David leave the Lodge, hadn't seen anyone come down the road toward his truck, but it was definitely David's handwriting.
A phone number, non-departmental, had been scrawled across the top of the paper, a brief note below it. 'Call tonight, after eight. This woman is dangerous. Need to get our shit together.'
He would have given anything to have been a fly on the wall in the counting room. Any doubt he had about what he had seen at the window was put to rest. It didn't sound like David had much in the way of evidence, but he was in Hudson's corner and that was a start.
He dropped the truck into drive as his cellphone chirped. He pulled it out to find a text message from Billie. 'Sent two emails. List of files to be researched per D.R. Erikson. Will have further when I see you tonight. On my way to Canyon.'
Hudson put the truck back into park and reread the text, trying to make sense of it. He got the list of files thing, Erikson was making sure he had plenty to do to make him behave. After reading it a third time, he had more questions than answers. Why would it take two emails to get him the files? And since when did they see each other off-shift?
David. The note said to call after eight. Billie said she'd see him tonight. David had to be behind this. He'd said they needed to get their shit together, and apparently, he wasn't wasting any time. Good boy. If Hudson couldn't take an active role in the investigation, at least someone was.
He'd have to wait until tonight to find out what the little sneak was up to but the emails he could get a hold of in a matter of minutes. Making sure no one was behind him to see which way he went, he pulled into the tree-covered lot of the Canyon Ranger Station and parked behind the building where his truck couldn't be seen from the road.
He pushed through the doorway and the desk officer did a double take before jumping to her feet. “Hudson, I heard… I'm so sorry.”
“It's okay, Gwenn. They'll find the bastard responsible.”
“Yes, Sir. I truly hope so.”
“Got a computer I can use? Deputy Ranger has sent me a list of busy work to keep me occupied.”
Understanding made her freckled nose crinkle up as if she'd just bit into a lemon. “Yeah, I heard about that too.”
“Already?”
“The grapevine has nothing on the echoes here in Canyon, Sir.” She pointed to a desk in the corner, “Help yourself.”
After connecting the NPS network, Hudson logged in to his desktop and pulled up his email. There were several new messages, mostly bulletins and interoffice memos. Only one was from Billie. He pulled out his cellphone and checked the text again, making sure she had said two.
He opened the email to find the list of files he was supposed to work on. All cases that had to be documented and closed from over the winter. Winter was a slow season in Yellowstone, but they had their share of skiers, snowmobilers and winter explorers that rode snow coaches back and forth between Mammoth and the Old Faithful Snow Lodge. More than a few managed to get themselves into trouble.
Strumming his fingers on the desk, he closed the mailbox and stared at the screen. He had a personal email, but rarely used it. Thinking he'd read more into the text than had actually been meant, he pulled up the outside internet connection and logged into his email account. Buried among a mountain of spam from life insurance agencies and offers for Viagra—how did these people get his email address?—he found an email from Billie. There was no subject, but the little paperclip told him she'd sent more than a note. Leery, worried that it was merely a carbon copy of his new workload—he opened the email.
'You're girl, Gracie, has a hell of a file. Most of it is juvenile records that have been sealed. I have a friend that owes me one. I'll see if I can find out more. Attached are the BCs on all four women who were at K-Bar. I know one of them well. Will let you know if anything pans out there.'
Covering his mouth to hide the smile of pride that blossomed as he read, Hudson highlighted each file and sent it to the printer. He grabbed some file folders from the supply shelf and stood between the printer and Gwenn's desk to make sure she didn't get a look at what was printing. There were enough good people putting their necks on the line to help him out. He knew Gwenn, knew she'd want to help, but he wouldn't risk anyone else.
With each background check safely tucked away, he went back to the computer and wiped out the printer history before deleting the cookies and internet tracker. The information was still there, but someone would have to do some real digging, to find it. Under his personal login. He didn't intend to give Erikson a reason to scrutinize him that close.
Topping off his coffee mug, he said goodbye to Gwenn with promises to stay in touch and stashed the files under the seat in his truck. He headed back toward the North Rim Road but instead of turning to rejoin the search parties, he passed the drive and headed for the isolated South Rim. Passing over the old bridge that crossed the Yellowstone River, he looked for any sign that search parties had come this way. The few tracks he found had been coated over with fresh powder from the daily snow showers that passed over the mountains.
Confident that he would be alone on that side of the canyon, he drove the full length of the road to Artist Point and backed into a spot at the far end of the parking lot. There, he would see anyone who came his way. After pulling out the stack of files he had stashed, he flipped through and pulled out Gracie's before dropping the rest on the seat next to him.
Billie hadn't been joking. The file on Gracie was at least three times the size of the others. Though most of the files had been sealed, the dates and authorizing agency were there, starting with the most recent which was almost fifteen years old. Wyoming Department of Health, Wyoming State Hospital in Evanston.
His blood ran cold as he remembered the way she had gone blank in the window, the way her personality, her emotional makeup, seemed to flow out of her. He pulled out his notebook and made a note to look into it. There was only one reason a state hospital would show up on a criminal background check, a court-ordered visit to the local nuthatch.
Flipping through the pages, he came across several references to police departments from Colorado to California but the agency repeated more than any other was the Department of Child Services. On the last page, the first entry in her background check was DCS in 1980. He flipped back to the front page and looked over biographical information, found her birthdate and did the math. She was forty now, that would have made her five or six years old.
She had started young. Without knowing the details, he was afraid to make assumptions. He'd never met a suspect who had started so young that didn't have psychotic tendencies. Though most didn't start showing up in the system until adolescence, the warning flags were always there. Bullying and tantrums gave way to quiet experiments in hurting other children and animals. As they grew, so did the objects of their rage.
Closing the file, he started his truck and turned the heater up on high to beat back the chill that was creeping in. Hot air poured through the vents but did little to warm him. He couldn't make assumptions; it would only land him in more hot water and cloud the facts. Yet warning bells were ringing.
If Gracie O'Dowdy was some kind of sociopath, she'd been off the radar for almost fifteen years. A serial killer didn't just stop feeding the beast inside of them. They would have to have an outlet, some way to deal with the emotions and urges that rode them. He needed to see her personnel file from Wilderness Resorts. With a little luck, it was still sitting on Mike's desk.
People died every year in Yellowstone. Most where accidents, or death by natural causes. Occasionally, a suicide popped up but most were visitors who failed to be
careful. Most were folks who didn't look before they stepped too close to the edge of the soft rhyolite cliffs, got too close to a thermal feature and broke through the fragile crust, or were up to something they knew they shouldn't be doing. How many of those closed cases were all that they appeared to be?
The imagery in the book he'd read the night before haunted him. He made a note to check into her literary career, to find out when she had begun writing. The MO of the serial killer in Tampa was hard to forget. If something like that had happened before, it should be easy to find.
Worse, if she was a serial killer, she was just getting started. In a couple of weeks tourist by the thousands would begin pouring into the park. Potential victims, targets. Before that, only a week away, employees from all over the world would be pouring through the gates by the busload. Coming to sow their oats and explore the park, most of them on summer break from one college or another. They had to stop her before her hunting ground opened up, before her field of prey was boundless.
He glanced at his watch and threw the truck into drive. It was pushing five o'clock; if he hurried, he could get into the office and check out Gracie's personnel file, compare it to the long list of deaths in Yellowstone and still have plenty of time before he made the call to David.
16
Gracie made it back to her shop without being forced into a conversation about the search underway outside. Questions about being hauled in to talk to the rangers and the brutal interrogation would have been intolerable. Every move she made from unlocking the padlock on her shop door, to stowing parts that had been shipped in, was done on automatic pilot.
It took everything she had to quiet the voices in her head, the ones that insisted the pockets of people were talking about her. Seeing everyone turn to look at her, the legs in the lower half of the window, and the accusing eyes of the rangers, were bad enough. But the insistent nagging in her damaged mind was focused on something far worse.
Canyon Echoes Page 8