by Jerold Last
“I’ve had a very long day, mostly spending far too much time flying back and forth by helicopter,” began Gretchen. “This is the first chance I’ve had to relax and try to think. We’ve got five federal employees in jail, so my best guess is things are going to get a lot less pleasant for me at work tomorrow. It’s probably a good time for all of us to catch up on what’s been going on around here so I can prepare for all the lawyers and the political pressure we can expect as word trickles out. Does anybody have any good news to share?”
Jason Culpepper swallowed a chunk of crab far too loudly and cleared his throat. “It’s not good news, but I’ve got something to say before we go any further. It’s about a possible conflict of interest I think you all have to know about.”
Gretchen focused on the embarrassed looking FBI agent. “What’s on your mind, Jason?”
“Two of the five Park Rangers are presently in jail or the prison ward in the Anchorage hospital. Ingrid Ravenswood, the Park Ranger, and I have been dating off and on for the last year or year and a half,” Culpepper announced. “This seemed like a good time to tell you all about my dating Ingrid since there’s an excellent chance one or two more of the Park Rangers may be arrested or face disciplinary action before this is all over. I’m 99.9% sure she’s clean, even if none of the others are.”
Gretchen looked like she’d bitten into something bitter. “I’ve got to admit I didn’t see this coming, Jason. You should have told me sooner, probably as soon as we learned the deaths at the National Park weren’t an accident. But better to hear it now from you than to be blindsided by the media. Is there anything else I need to know?”
Culpepper had an earnest expression on his face, like the schoolboy truant who has been busted at the movies during a school day. “We’ve mostly seen each other over the winter season in Anchorage when she’s not based at the Park. Ingrid and I also saw each other a bit either in Denali when I could take some time off, or in Anchorage when she had a day off during the tourist season. But it’s a long commute for either of us by car or train, so it was all kind of hit or miss during tourist season.
“Last night I called Ingrid to inform her I had to tell you all of this, Gretchen. She agreed it was the proper thing to do under the circumstances. A lot more importantly, I think, she agreed to fill us in about everything she knows or guesses with regard to illegal activities by the other Rangers at the Park. Ingrid told me this has been bothering her for a long while, but she didn’t want to accuse anybody of anything she couldn’t prove, so never mentioned it to me. She’s very conscious of my being an FBI agent.”
Gretchen nodded and leaned forward towards the bemused local FBI agent. “Tell her to come in tomorrow morning and make a formal statement, Jason. And make that the last phone call between the two of you for a while. You can’t be involved in any of this, especially because of Ed Barclay’s situation. Like it or not, you’re currently the only FBI agent stationed within 1,000 miles of Anchorage. You now represent the agency to the Alaskan public, so it’s important you appear to be squeaky clean. Make sure you’re at arm’s length whenever Ingrid is questioned in this case, and don’t under any circumstances be alone with her until all of this is over.
“While we’re discussing the legalities for tomorrow, we’ll need formal statements from both of you, Suzanne, and Roger. I’ll arrange helicopter transport to and back from Anchorage for you tomorrow morning. I think you two still have some important unfinished business here at the Lodge. We still have a murderer to identify and arrest. For the next couple of days Barbara and I have to wade through all the paperwork we need to catch up on and do some of the less glamorous parts of investigating a whole bunch of federal crimes committed by various individuals at the National Park. Do you have any other little bombshells to share with us, Jason?”
A very quiet and thoroughly chastised Jason sat at the table contemplating what his future career trajectory might be as he slowly shook his head no.
“How about you, Roger?” continued Gretchen. “Do you have anything new to tell us?”
“Yes, we do. Let’s get the small stuff out of the way first, then I’ll let Suzanne tell you all about the biggie. Barbara, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you this earlier, but it sort of fell through the cracks when we started arresting people who were involved out at the illegal mine. We can rule out the gentleman with the Chilean credit card being involved in all of this. His use of a Chilean passport for I.D. wasn’t relevant to the murders. Our bogus Chilean turns out to have been a 19-year-old student in graphic arts at the University in Anchorage who forged the passport as fake I.D. so he could drink beer at the local bars. He apparently has a very promising career ahead of him as a graphic artist.”
“I’ll need the name and address to check this out, Roger,” replied the FBI agent.
“I’m sorry, Barbara, but that’s not possible,” I replied. “I tapped into an unofficial CIA alumni network to get this information. It’s reliable, but one of the conditions of their cooperation was no details are available. I can tell you my back channel source is named George, but that’s all I know. You might want to just list him as a confidential informant in your report and let it go at that.”
“You do have interesting, if somewhat spooky, connections, Roger,” she replied. “Thank you for checking off another box for me.”
I sat back in my chair, deciding it was time for our little bombshell. “Let’s hear from Suzanne now. She’ll share the next bit of news, and I guarantee it will be more exciting than mine on several levels!”
“Let me start by thanking you for the little gift of Kevlar lingerie you gave me earlier today, Gretchen. It saved me from a bad hangover, or worse, when I was shot this afternoon.”
Suzanne paused to milk the drama out of her little announcement.
“Somebody took a shot at us with the dart rifle filled with anesthetics, probably the same one that was used to shoot the Roberts before ‘the bear’ attacked them. I got hit in the back at just about the same location both of the Roberts had been shot. The good news is the dart didn’t penetrate the Kevlar, so the only wound on me is a bruise, not a hole. Which means I didn’t get tranquilized with a large dose of Immobilon.
”I think it’s clear the killer or killers are still running around loose at the Lodge. We probably can eliminate all of the suspects currently in the Anchorage jail as being the individual who actually shot the Roberts with the tranquilizer rifle, and who I think is probably also the person who faked the bear attack.”
“Are you sure you’re OK, Suzanne?” Gretchen asked, her tone one of concern. “Maybe we should get you looked at by a doctor when you’re in town tomorrow or let you talk to one of the psychologists who handle our local agents who’ve just had traumatic experiences.”
“Don’t worry, Gretchen. I’m fine. I’ve had much more traumatic things happen to me, especially since I met Roger who seems to have desensitized me to violence and finding dead bodies. Right now I’m a lot angrier at whoever shot me than I’m traumatized by the event. I’m just thankful you had the foresight to give us the bulletproof vests, which also turn out to be dart-proof if you didn’t already know it.
“As I’ve thought about it, this little episode is interesting for a whole lot of reasons. The first, and most obvious, question I’d ask is why did the shooter pick me as the primary target when Roger was right there too? I think we can rule out my being the target by accident, and that Roger was the intended victim. From all the evidence thus far, whoever has that air rifle is a crack shot. All three darts they’ve used on humans have hit exactly the same place on the person’s back. I assume they like to shoot people in the back so they can’t reach the dart and remove it, which ensures the target gets the maximum dose of the drugs.”
I added, “I’ve thought a lot about our relative positions when the dart was fired. I think the question of where would the shooter have to have been to get a clear shot at Suzanne’s back is important. If our sh
ooter has a fetish for the human back as a target, they might have chosen Suzanne as the primary target just because her back was the one exposed due to our relative positions. If that’s the answer, Suzanne was just in the wrong position at the wrong time.”
“That sounds right, Suzanne,” responded Gretchen thoughtfully, as she idly fidgeted with her spoon. “Did you see the shooter?”
“No, neither of us saw the shooter,” Suzanne replied. “But we both heard the sounds of someone running away into the woods behind the Lodge right after we heard the shot. Which is funny, because based on which way my back was turned when the dart hit me, the shot had to have come from either inside, or right alongside, the Lodge. The person running away couldn’t have been the same one who fired the shot. There must have been at least two different people involved, the shooter and an accomplice.”
“There’s another possibility we should think about, and it’s more consistent with what actually happened,” I added. “Think about what Suzanne just told you. The shooter and someone else took just one shot, at Suzanne. Then they ran away. They didn’t take a second shot at me. Why not? We already explained why she had to be the intended target.
“I think we need to ask the question of what could Suzanne see or do which I couldn’t that posed a threat to the remaining criminals? And it had to be an immediate threat. The weapon of choice was a tranquilizer dart. I checked the dart carefully and it hadn’t been tampered with. The vial of Immobilon that would have injected Suzanne if the Kevlar vest hadn’t stopped the dart was still properly sealed. There wasn’t anything lethal added to the drug cocktail. At best, the injection would have immobilized Suzanne for several hours. If this theory is correct, we can conclude that whatever threat to the shooter Suzanne posed was only a concern for this evening. Even more specifically, I’m not a threat in this scenario.”
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, Roger!” exclaimed Suzanne. “What could I have done to make anyone try to shoot me? You’re the one who beat up a Park Ranger and two miners severely enough to put all three in the hospital. You’re the one who’s helped arrest four other people connected to crimes in the National Park. If someone’s out for revenge they should have shot you!”
Everybody around the table looked confused. Finally, Gretchen broke the silence. “OK, Roger. Do you have any idea what it is Suzanne can do and you can’t do that scares the shooter so much? And do you have any guess who the shooter is?”
“Yes to both of your questions, Gretchen. If we follow the rational deductions based on these theories we get to the next question: What was the motivation for the attack on Suzanne? Was it revenge against her for something she did or said? I don’t think so. If one of us were a target for revenge, it would have to be me. Which leads logically to the next possible motive: How could she pose an immediate threat to someone? That got me thinking about the possibility that the place the dart rifle is being kept hidden is vulnerable to Suzanne, but not to me. Where do you think such a place might be?”
Suzanne intervened, “I know you’re having fun showing off, Roger, but if time is critical let’s get to the point. I’ve already told you how angry and upset I am. Let’s just arrest the person who shot me as fast as possible. Where do you think the air rifle is hidden?”
“Maybe you and Gretchen should use the ladies room while Jason and I entertain Barbara for a bit,” I replied. “We may need Barbara to help us make an arrest if anyone tries to escape when you go into the bathroom.”
With a wry grin, Suzanne stood up, motioned to Gretchen to follow her, and said to the table, “It’s just like third grade again. But now we’re getting bathroom jokes from an adult Roger. Let’s go and see if he’s right. Two to one odds he is. Any takers?”
There wasn’t anyone willing to take her bet, so Jason, Barbara, and I sat down to watch the show.
A couple of minutes passed. All three of us had our eyes glued to the door of the women’s bathroom. Nobody said anything. The tension around the table was palpable. The door slowly opened. Suzanne emerged with a serious expression on her face, followed by an equally serious looking Gretchen carrying a fancy air rifle.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of a tray of dishes dropping to the floor. We both looked up to see Cathy staring with an expression of horror at the rifle in Gretchen’s arms. Jason and I were already on our feet as Cathy navigated through the broken serving pieces and slippery desserts littering the floor as she tried to run toward the back door of the Lodge. Her normally pretty face wasn’t pretty now. She looked totally terrified by what was happening to her.
I got there before Jason and used a basic Jiu Jitsu move to take her down and pin her to the floor with my left knee. Jason, who was a step or two behind me, quickly fastened a pair of handcuffs on Cathy’s wrists, which I held conveniently pinned behind her. Barbara waved her FBI badge to forestall any other late diners or staff who might be inclined to try to rescue an attractive damsel in distress. Jason read Cathy her Miranda Rights and dinner was abruptly over.
Barbara and Gretchen walked their newest prisoner over to the helicopter for transport back to the jail in Anchorage. Jason, Suzanne, and I decided to remain at the Lodge until tomorrow morning. Gretchen would call if Cathy revealed the name of her accomplice in Suzanne’s shooting. Otherwise we were free to investigate on our own, with Jason’s official presence if somebody else needed arresting.
Chapter23. Anchorage: A new day dawns
The FBI helicopter picked us up just after breakfast for delivery to the FBI offices in Anchorage to take our statements. Gretchen Kaufman greeted us on the roof of the FBI building as we climbed out of the now all too familiar helicopter, telling us that Cathy had not seen fit to answer any questions the previous night, but just sat in her cell in sullen silence. She led us into the elevator to the third floor office complex. Barbara would be taking everybody’s statements in Gretchen’s temporary office, formerly Ed Barclay’s office behind the main desk. We were going to be allowed to listen in on her interview of the Park Ranger Ingrid Ravenswood, who had driven to Anchorage the previous evening after work, from the adjacent smaller office, formerly Jason Culpepper’s and now being used by Barbara. Our statements were scheduled for immediately after Ingrid Ravenswood’s official statement had been taken and she had answered all of Barbara’s questions afterwards.
Gretchen, Suzanne, and I were squeezed tightly into the small office listening to Barbara interview Ingrid Ravenswood, who was present by her own choice so didn’t need or want a lawyer present. Gretchen had cell phone contact to a tiny bud in Barbara’s ear if anyone had a question to suggest, but for the moment nobody wanted to interrupt the flow of the interview. Barbara began with names, dates, and case numbers to identify the videotape record then began asking Ingrid questions in a friendly tone. She rapidly established Ingrid’s professional title as a National Park Ranger, where she worked, and the names of her coworkers.
“Ingrid, I know it’s going to be difficult for you to talk about your friends and colleagues under these circumstance. Perhaps it will be easiest for you to just tell me your story, and we’ll leave the questions for afterwards. OK?”
The Park Ranger answered yes. Barbara invited Ingrid to begin her statement.
“I’ve been assigned to Denali National Park for a little more than two years. Prior to coming here I was a Park Ranger in both Utah and Mississippi. I’ve had general training in being a Ranger and specific advanced training in law enforcement for Federal agencies when I was in Mississippi. I’m a college graduate with a degree in biology. I like it here in Alaska and I like the idea of being partially responsible for six million acres of land here at the Park. The staffing level here at the Park consists of five Rangers, Chief Ranger Manfred Fleming and four others, counting myself.
“For the last year or so, I’ve been noticing some actions and unusual patterns of behavior among the Park Rangers here at Denali, all of whom have been here a lot longer than I have and
are senior to me in years of service. Because of my lack of seniority I’ve been hesitant to share my concerns without a lot more proof than I’ve been able to put together. I brought a diary I’ve kept with me that lists detailed times and places. Here it is.”
She handed the bound notebook to Barbara Kaufman. “If you don’t mind, why don’t you look at the book afterwards? It’s mostly the documentation for what I’m about to tell you. I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible. Is that all right?”
Barbara nodded affirmatively. “Yes, that’s fine. We appreciate that you’re here voluntarily to help us. You should tell me about everything however you’re most comfortable.” She placed the notebook in her attaché case, which had been lying near her feet.
Ingrid cleared her throat, sipped at the small bottle of water she’d been provided, and resumed her narrative. “In a park as big as Denali, the Rangers have to be free to come and go at all hours to deal with all the issues arising. But we also have to adhere to work schedules for the things that need doing, like staffing the Visitor’s center and patrolling the road. I seem to be the only Ranger who is held accountable for being wherever I’m required to be according to the schedule. At first I thought it was probably reasonable for the most junior Ranger to need the most supervision, but there’s more to it than that. At one time or another, all of the others have seemingly just disappeared and whoever else is on duty is expected to pick up the slack.