by Todd Borg
“We’ll start a ground search immediately. If a chopper becomes available we’ll switch to that.”
Diamond came back with two flashlights. “They’ve roped off your Jeep, but they let me pull these out of your glove box. I turned your Jeep off. Left the key. I also talked to a sergeant I know in the El Dorado Sheriff’s Department. He knows the drill with their search and rescue team.” Diamond tapped the radio that was clipped to his belt. “He’ll let me know what develops.”
We headed up the mountain behind the barn. We stayed about twenty yards from each other, swept our flashlights through the woods and called out for Spot. Periodically, Street called Silence’s name even though we knew she wouldn’t answer, but we wanted Silence to hear a woman’s voice. Periodically, we came to an area where the moon shone through the tree canopy, and it was easy to see how many pitfalls could trip up a person running in the dark. Then we plunged back into the trees, the moonlight switched off, and our visual world shrunk back to the depth that our flashlights could probe the forest.
After twenty minutes of searching, we came to the canyon that cut across the landscape. The canyon wasn’t more than thirty or forty feet deep, but the drop-offs were vertical. There was nothing below but rocks. Even with the bright moon it would be very difficult to gauge the depth of the drop-off if you were running through the night. There was nothing to prevent Silence from running until she saw the hole in the ground at the last moment. She wouldn’t be able to stop before her feet struck empty air.
The little canyon wrapped in a large arc before it stopped. If by some chance Silence had not fallen off the edge and had gone around the end, she would have headed up the slope that led to Heavenly and the huge wilderness of mountains that stretched toward Freel Peak. Any person lost there would likely succumb to the sub-freezing temperatures that are the norm during fall nights at elevations that range up to and above 10,000 feet. Search dogs and a helicopter would be the only hope.
I heard Diamond’s radio squawk. In a moment he called out to Street and me. “The search and rescue team is in the air. They will drop one searcher and dog on the ground and then carry another team on an aerial search. They’re hoping there is enough room to land on the intersection at Pioneer Trail. If we hurry, you can go back up with them. Best if you and Street look from the air. Silence is scared and could be running. It wouldn’t take long for her to get a mile or two away. They can drop you down once you find her.”
The chopper ended up landing in a meadow down below the barn. A woman jumped out, her large Black Lab eager to find a scent and begin the tracking procedure. The chopper reduced its throttle, but still we had to shout to be heard over the roar of the bird. I explained to the search woman where in the barn she could scent her dog. I also told her not to be surprised if she found Spot.
“I’m not confident Spot will find the girl,” I continued. “There isn’t much to scent a dog on and he’s not a professional dog. But I told him to guard the girl. He’s friendly to dogs and people, but if he finds the girl he won’t let anyone near her until I call him off. If you see him, hold your dog.”
“Will do,” she assured me. “Anyway, other dogs don’t mess with Howler. Do they boy?” she said, patting him on his big chest. She started away, then called back to me.
“Yeah?” I said.
“What kind of dog is Spot?” she said.
“Great Dane.”
She made a slow, tiny nod. “Right,” she said, turned, and ran toward the barn.
I beckoned to Street. She ran out from the edge of the meadow. We ducked our heads and ran under the spinning rotor up to the chopper.
“Owen McKenna,” I shouted as a hand reached out from the open door.
“Sergeant Stafford, El Dorado Sheriff’s Department,” the man in the front seat shouted back.
I pushed Street ahead of me and we both climbed into the back seat of the chopper. In the seat was another man and a German shepherd.
Stafford leaned back from the front seat. “I’m sorry,” he said to Street. “You are?”
“Street Casey.”
“She’s part of the search,” I said.
Stafford said, “We were told McKenna and no one else. Have to follow rules. She’ll have to leave.”
I shook my head and shouted back, “The child we’re looking for is a young autistic girl. The girl is mute and responds to no man. Dr. Casey is a specialist. She must be the first person to reach the girl.”
“But she isn’t trained in helicopter rescue. I can’t allow it.”
“Sergeant, you’re going to have to make an exception. There is a canyon up there with vertical cliffs. If the girl is still alive, she will be so traumatized that the slightest shock will cause her to behave even more erratically. We could find her and still lose her to a fall off the cliff. You don’t want to be called before the review board with that over your head. Where is the greater danger in this decision?”
I could see the sergeant’s jaw muscles bulging in the dim interior light of the chopper cabin. He shook his head, eyes narrowed. He pointed at the door latch. “That latch shuts it. Those are the seatbelts.” He reached up to a rack of headsets and pulled two of them off. “Put these on.”
The pilot revved up the turbine as we pulled on the headsets. The noise-canceling electronics of the headsets blocked out the tumultuous engine roar and we could all talk into our mikes and hear each other clearly.
I worried that the roar of the chopper would stress Silence so much that she’d run frantically away and fall into the canyon. But without the chopper we’d be unlikely to find her before she froze. It seemed a necessary risk.
They had a large assortment of other gear onboard including radios and devices for lowering both people and dogs from the chopper while it hovered above ground too rough to allow a landing.
The second search dog handler explained the procedure as we flew. The pilot would fly a pattern that allowed his searchlight to do a thorough scan of the nearby territory. At any sign of Silence, the chopper would pause and lower the handler and the dog. With a dog already on the ground and the chopper doing an air search, there was a good chance that they would eventually find Silence. He didn’t say how often such searches end with the victim still alive.
I strained to look out a side window, hoping that the pilot had a view many times better than mine. We went back and forth over the landscape, starting at the low-altitude areas and gradually climbing higher.
When the initial search yielded nothing, the pilot flew back to the beginning of the canyon and trained the powerful searchlight on the areas where Silence would have fallen had she plunged off the edge in the darkness.
Again, we saw nothing. But all of us knew that she and Spot could be sprawled at the bottom of any number of rock faces, their broken bodies hidden in the thick fir trees that grew at the canyon’s bottom.
When the canyon search also turned up nothing, the pilot began cruising over the granite slope that rose up steeply toward the mountains above. It was obvious that no weak, hungry kidnap victim could make it very far while climbing in the dark. But everyone on a search, dogs included, are unwilling to give up until there seems no possible positive outcome.
We flew for another hour, the turbine behind us roaring as the blade above cut the air. Finally, the pilot spoke in our earphones and said he needed to refuel. He was going to turn and head back to land in the meadow and let us and the remaining dog and handler out to begin the laborious search by land, starting at the barn where the original search dog had begun.
The pilot tipped the stick and we circled around to head back. I still had my face plastered to the side window, staring out at the moonlit night, when I saw something.
Even with my eagerness to see anything at all, it wasn’t much, and I almost didn’t speak up. But there was a tiny glimmer, a vague sense of something light in color, so brief it vanished as quickly as it first appeared. Nevertheless, I spoke into the mike.
“I po
ssibly saw something catch the light,” I said in a low voice. “Two o’clock or two-thirty. Maybe nothing, but something caught my eye.”
“That’s why we’re here,” the pilot said. He leaned the stick to the right and we arced around in a steep bank. He straightened out the chopper and shined the searchlight ahead as we flew. Below were trees and rock and more trees. The canyon appeared and the ground fell away and there was blackness below.
The pilot turned the chopper and we retraced our path through the sky. Nothing caught our eye at 2:30 or 9:30 or 6:30. The pilot turned again and we flew the area a second and then a third time. Once more we came up against the quick rise in slope where the mountain rose up. The pilot slowed, came to a hovering stop and then slowly rotated until we were pointing back toward Lake Tahoe in the distance.
“I tried to cover the area you described,” he said, his voice low in the headsets. “But I didn’t see anything.”
“I didn’t either,” I said.
The other passengers agreed.
The pilot nudged the stick forward. The front of the chopper dropped in a gentle tilt and we started toward the lake. We rode without speaking. The canyon was ahead and we began to cross it when the pilot suddenly pulled back on the stick.
The chopper slowed, stopped and then moved backward. The searchlight shined on rocks and trees, same as before. We went backward fifty or more yards, the pilot carefully holding course so we didn’t waver sideways. Then he stopped again.
Below in the searchlight, at the edge of the canyon, under a stand of trees, was a tiny figure in a pink shirt. She sat with her legs hanging over the edge of the drop-off. Next to the figure in pink was another figure, much larger, dressed in white with black spots.
The pilot flew a good distance away and dropped down until we were hovering over a small clearing in the trees. The men on board wanted to send the dog handler first, followed by his dog. I protested, saying that a stranger might startle Silence. She could fall off the precipice where she sat. The men held firm, saying procedure is procedure. I repeated myself, voice raised, and added some strong words. The pilot joined in, agreeing with me.
I reached for the harness, held it out and commanded, “Hook me up. When I’m down, send Dr. Casey next.”
Slowly, one of the men complied. “You get hurt and try to sue, we’ll make things difficult.”
I leaned in so our eyes were ten inches apart. “Dr. Casey and I are not that kind of people.”
He helped me into a harness that was attached to a rope that went through a pulley overhead. He opened the side door, and I stepped out into space and was lowered through the trees.
When my feet hit rock, I unhitched myself. They raised the gear and repeated the process with Street. When she was down we turned on our flashlights and started through the trees.
“It’s me, Spot,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Silence,” Street called out. “We’re here to bring you home.”
We walked some distance through the forest and over rocky outcroppings and boulders. It was farther than I had judged based on my view from the helicopter.
We came up behind them. We kept our lights on the ground by our feet as we approached. The less shock of light, the better. Street kept up a soft running patter, her voice reassuring. We stopped when we were thirty feet away.
They were sitting on the very edge of the canyon. Silence had her knees drawn up. Her feet gripped the rock where it dropped away. Spot was sitting to her side, his toes on the same edge. Silence leaned against him, her slight body dwarfed by his mass. Her arms were wrapped around him, one over his shoulders, the other across his chest. Her hands were clasped together at the far side of his neck.
Even from our distance I could see that she was squeezing him with every muscle she had.
Spot sat calmly, his head canted slightly her way, loving every bit of vice-grip, pet-crushing effort that she could muster.
EPILOGUE
The night we found Silence they put her into the hospital for observation. Except for dehydration and malnutrition she was okay. Physically, okay. But she was terrified any time a doctor came near her. After a day, Marlette brought her home and kept her sequestered, except for visits from Henrietta. After ten days, Marlette called and said that Silence wanted to see me. We decided it would be best to meet someplace fun.
Street and I packed a picnic lunch, headed for Nevada Beach and found it mostly empty on a midweek fall morning. We had a mile of perfect sand to ourselves.
Street spread out several blankets while Spot ran down the water’s edge. A seagull flew up and Spot gave chase. The gull must have thought it fun for it stayed about eight feet off the sand and just in front of Spot.
I got a large pile of coals going on the barbecue I’d brought. Without husking the corn on the cob, I put it directly on the grill. I pulled the corkscrew from my pocket and went to work on the wine.
“A little Mondavi Private Reserve to start off our festivities?” I said.
“At eleven-thirty in the morning?” Street said. “Of course.”
I poured some into my finest wine glasses and handed her one. Street took a sip. She was silhouetted against the backdrop of Mt. Tallac looming over the far shore of Tahoe.
“A pretty picture,” I said. “Except you’re wearing your baggy shorts.”
“You wanted the tight short ones with the notches? But I wasn’t planning on doing much bending.”
“Ah,” I said.
By noon the corn was cooked. I arranged it on the edges of the grill and added more charcoal so I’d be ready to do burgers when the rest of the party arrived.
Street and I sat in the sand and sipped wine as I filled her in on some of the details.
When I was done, she said, “So Tony Go wasn’t a bad guy after all?”
“A bad guy, yes. But not this time.”
“How do you explain the bone that Pierson’s dog found up by the top of Kingsbury Grade? Wasn’t that where the Granite Mountain Boys camped out in June?”
“Yes, and it came from them. But it turned out to be a sheep’s leg bone. They’d sacrificed another sheep, just like Tony Go said.”
Street looked mortified and started giggling. “A variation on eating leg of lamb.”
“Yeah.”
“And the giant? The one you shot in the leg out at Emerald Bay?”
“An El Dorado Sheriff’s Deputy found him crawling along the highway. With his prior convictions, it looks like his murder of Charlie will send him to prison for the rest of his life, no chance of parole. Same as Dr. Power.”
I looked up and saw Henrietta approaching from the parking lot. To her side was an old woman and Diamond. Diamond had his arm bent so that the old woman could hold onto him. Henrietta stopped at the edge of the sand and took off her sandals so she could walk barefoot. She was dressed in her overalls and a heavy sweater to ward off the cool fall breeze, a striking contrast to Street whose high metabolism kept her warm in light clothes when the rest of us bundled up.
The three of them approached slowly, Henrietta and Diamond matching their pace to the old woman’s. The woman had a tight helmet of white hair and crisp azure eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea and a thin face with sharp bones like an exotic bird.
“Owen, Street,” Henrietta said. “I’d like you to meet Tillie Bilkenstein, Silence’s new best friend.”
We nodded and greeted and traded several comments, each of us realizing at different moments that Tillie, like Silence, was alert but also mute.
Diamond had carried a folding chair in his other hand and he set it up near the barbecue and helped Tillie sit down.
Henrietta said, “Have you seen Silence since the night you rescued her?”
“No, how is she doing?”
“As you might expect. Very traumatized. But something extraordinary happened five days ago. I was over at her house, and she communicated to me that she wanted me to get some Computer Science textbooks. Normally, she would have ges
tured and pointed at books and a computer to get her desire across. But this time was different. She made a drawing of herself and a textbook and a computer. The drawing showed her reaching for the book. It was the first time she’s ever made a specific request using a drawing alone.”
Henrietta paused, thinking. “Of course, the drawings sent to the high school were similar in that way. But they were more general in nature, a picture of where she was. It didn’t show her in the room. It didn’t telegraph the self-awareness that makes others empathize and understand her point of view, something the rest of us automatically put into our speech and actions.”
“You mean,” I said, “that she hadn’t figured out how to make a specific request for rescue.”
“Right. Whereas this drawing of herself wanting a computer textbook was more focused, more specific. It was like she was talking with her pencil by using drawings in place of words! Do you realize what this means?”
Street spoke up first. “She isn’t non-verbal after all. She’s just silent.”
“Yes!” Henrietta said. “This kidnapping, terrible as it was, somehow focused her on communication. Without Charlie to help her she knew she had to try some way to get a message out to the world about where she was being held. And she realized she had a skill that could substitute for words. It’s amazing.”
Henrietta continued, “Anyway, I got several textbooks from the computer teacher at school and dropped them off the next day. Just a couple hours later, Marlette called and said Silence wanted to see me again. I went over and Silence opened the books and pointed out some technical things, diagrams and equations that I didn’t understand. Then she did some drawings of her father, which I took to mean that she had learned something from him back when she visited him last month. Her biological father, I mean. She knew his discovery was a secret, so she told no one. But now that he is dead, I think the kidnapping experience convinced her it would be safest for her if she brought the information to the world. Her drawing of her father showed him with a computer. The computer was opened up so the inside was exposed. Silence had drawn a picture of a little storage closet inside the computer. Then there was an arrow that went from the storage closet and pointed to a picture of a huge warehouse. That’s a simplified explanation, but the intent of the drawing was clear, that a computer could have greatly increased storage.”