Mortal Fall

by Christine Carbo

  “Yes, sir, if I need to be.”

  “Just thought you might want to lead this—being recently out of your refresher courses and all. Give you a chance to ask the right questions. See how they feel about an autopsy.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to the job at all. I’d only done it once before and my partner had taken care of the hard part while I simply stood by and listened. “I’ll do it as soon as I get back.”

  Joe gave me a solemn nod, placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a pat. Joe usually took that god-awful task and had informed more families than I can imagine of the accidental deaths of loved ones in Glacier. I knew part of his enthusiasm to send me to DC for the classes was fueled by his desire to have someone relieve him of that burden. Something left unspoken inserted itself between us—a surrendering—that what had transpired with the Bear Bait case had taken too much of a toll and he no longer had the resilience to tell anyone of any loss ever again if he could avoid it.

  I walked over to the other side of the tape, knelt down, and inspected the edge of the ridge. “Doesn’t really look like much foliage has been disturbed here other than a few broken shrubs. If he’d lost footing and slipped, wouldn’t he have taken more of these plants with him?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. These plants are green with new life, they’re moist and resilient this time of the year and would spring back to their upright position in no time at all.”

  “A big guy like Wolfie, though? He’d at least have tried to grab onto some. Ripped them clean out. Not just broken them.”

  Joe shrugged and I could see he wasn’t interested in being pressed at the moment. “If he didn’t get a good grip, then that wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed. “I’m not seeing much in the way of scuffle marks, but it’s always harder to tell on rock bases. You find any?”

  “I didn’t,” Joe said.

  “Yeah, well, okay, what next?”

  “You visit the family and we wait for the coroner’s exam results. Otherwise, at this juncture, there’s no reason to call this anything but an accident.”

  “But you want me to look into it?” I knew any unattended death of an otherwise healthy individual needed to be investigated—that all unobserved deaths were treated as suspicious until shown they weren’t, but I asked anyway just to confirm that he wanted it to be me doing the checking.

  He nodded. “Find the last person who saw him, who spoke to him. Check credit card spending, possible extramarital affairs, unpaid bills, debt, that sort of thing. You know the drill.” Joe looked me in the eye and it felt strange, as if I hadn’t seen his in a long time. They looked pale and distant, slightly rimmed in raw pink. “If he committed suicide,” Joe said, “something will show. If it was truly an accident, everything will be pretty much status quo.”

  3

  * * *

  KEN AND I turned off Whitefish Stage Road onto the long gravel driveway between the towns of Kalispell and Whitefish. To the side of the drive, a vibrant yellow field of blooming canola spread picture-perfect until it hit a border of deep-green trees near the Stillwater River. The Columbia Range under a sky so blue it looked artificial stood in the background and completed the country picture, making it perfectly serene.

  My stomach tightened and I felt short of breath at the thought of fracturing such a scene—of looking Cathy Sedgewick in the eye and telling her that she would not be seeing her husband, and her children would not be seeing their father ever again. But I had no choice; this was my task.

  “Ranch Lane should be right up here,” Ken said, studying the map on his cell-phone GPS app.

  I made a right where a small farmhouse with green shutters nestled among tall cottonwoods with deeply furrowed bark. A small porch sat in front with flower boxes below the large windows. Above the slanted porch roof, two windows looked out across the field from the small A-line second story.

  A barking golden retriever ran toward the car. I rechecked the house number on the mailbox as I passed to make sure I had the right place and parked the Explorer in front of the garage. I sat for a moment and looked at the dog, its tail wagging eagerly.

  I let out a breath as if releasing steam from a pressure cooker. It didn’t feel real; the evening was too perfect for this. I glanced at Ken and he looked at me questioningly. “Ready?” I asked. Ken nodded and I forced myself to get out. “Hey, buddy,” I said to the dog solemnly and gave him a pat on the head. We walked toward the front porch and a warm breeze tickled my face. I could smell steaks from a grill from their backyard.

  The front door swung open and Cathy stepped out and started walking toward us calling the dog—Max—to her. I knew it was Cathy because I recalled her from the time at Pizza Hut, and I’d seen her with Wolfie a time or two at other local restaurants when I’d been out with Lara.

  She smiled and waved, then pushed a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear. She wore shorts, a faded purple T-shirt, and flip-flops. The sun, still intense but lowering in the western sky, painted her skin tawny. “Monty?” she squinted at me through a questioning smile.

  “Yes, hi, Cathy, good memory.” I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. I noticed her eyes drift to my badge, to Ken, then flicker to the NPS vehicle. I was only a distant acquaintance and would never have a reason to stop by under normal circumstances. Her smile faded, and she narrowed her gaze as if sensing something wasn’t right.

  “Yes, of course I remember you. What brings you out to visit us?” she asked. “Paul isn’t here right now.”

  “Cathy, this is Officer Ken Greeley. I’m not sure if you’ve met, but he’s also with Park Police. May I ask if the kids are home?”

  Cathy nodded, her eyes growing large and scared. “Jeff’s out back with a friend playing badminton and Abbey’s upstairs.” She pointed up. “Is everything okay? Have you seen Paul?”

  I motioned to the porch and started that way slowly. I didn’t want to tell her out in the driveway. Ken walked with me, and she followed. I felt bad delaying it, making her trail us like a puppy, but I wanted her by something substantial she could at least lean or sit on. Ken and I walked up the steps, but she stopped at the bottom. “What’s this about?”

  “Cathy.” I stepped back down. “I’m afraid I have very bad news. There’s been an accident.”

  She put her hand to her mouth and a terrible worry sprang to her eyes.

  “We found a man this morning in a steep ravine below a drop-off near the Loop. He”—I shook my head—“he didn’t make it.”

  “Wha—” Cathy looked confused. She dropped her hand to her chest, her mouth forming an O shape with the half-spoken word. She was trying to process what I’d just said. “He’s hurt?” She peered down the drive as if someone would be coming up with her injured husband so she could nurse him back to health. “Where is he? I need to see him.”

  “No, he’s not hurt. He didn’t make it. He was already gone when we found him.”

  Confusion swiftly changed to something wild flashing across her face. “No, that’s not possible. What do you mean, the Loop? What in the hell do you mean?” Her hands were on her hips now, defiant, and she glanced at the peaks of the park. They shone white with spring’s remaining snow, bright and beautiful in the late afternoon sun casting across their tips. A pair of large, sleek ravens launched from a tall pine and flew overhead. Max started barking wildly, rearing off his stiff front legs as if the black birds were the problem here, as if he needed to protect his family from them. But there was no protecting them from what we were bringing.

  “Cathy, please. Look at me.” I waited until her eyes focused on mine and Max had stopped barking. Her eyes were wide with fear and the colors looked amplified—light brown with cinnamon flecks. “Paul has passed away,” I said. “He fell a long distance off a steep ridge and the fall took the life from him.”

  “But, but, that can’t be true. Why, why on earth would he fall—that’s not even possible.” She looked from me to Ken like we had just made a
big blunder. “Someone’s made a mistake here.”

  “No, no mistake. We both went down into the ravine. We both recognized him. And his car was in the Loop parking area with his registration.”

  She put her hand to her mouth again, her confusion slowly turning to comprehension and her eyes turning wet with tears. “No.” She whispered a sound that was partly a moan. “Oh God, no. It can’t be.”

  I dropped my gaze to the sunlight hitting the wooden porch, trying not to think about the repercussions of this—how the waves of pain were going to keep pushing outward to her children, to Paul’s parents, to his siblings if he had any. How we were shattering their entire world. I could feel a sheen of sweat gathering across my forehead and between my shoulder blades. “Is there someone—a friend or family member of yours I can call to be here with you, to help you tell the children?”

  Cathy wrapped her arms around her waist. “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Her breath sounded suddenly frantic and her knees began to shake. I reached for her arm and helped her down to sit on the porch step while she continued to repeat, “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Max tried to lick her face, but she pushed him away.

  “There’s a chaplain,” I said. “He’s available to help for situations like this if—”

  She held up her hand for me to stop.

  “Cathy,” I said. “I know this is so hard, but I need to ask you some questions.”

  Tears continued to flood her eyes. “How did he . . . ?”

  “We’re not entirely sure, but we think he just”—I shrugged—“lost his footing. But I need to ask you, when was the last time you saw him?”

  Before she answered, I heard the creak of the front porch door and all three of us turned.

  “Mom?” a boy with thick and wavy blond hair like Wolfie’s peeked out. “The steaks are burning.”

  Cathy nodded, tried to say something, but it came out as a choked sob.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” He stepped out, tentatively walking over to us.

  I went onto the porch. “I’m Monty Harris and this is Ken Greeley. We work for the National Park Service. Do you mind giving us just one more second and I promise she’ll be right in. Maybe turn off the grill. You know how to do that? Officer Greeley”—I tipped my head to Ken—“he can help you.”

  He was tall and lanky and resembled Paul with full, round cheeks. A healthy line of sweat gathered at his hairline and his cheeks were flushed, probably from playing badminton. I figured he was around twelve or thirteen—in middle school. He looked at me funny, then nodded and backed into the house. Ken glanced at me and I nodded for him go around back and make sure all was okay with the grill. The last thing we needed was a fire.

  After Ken left, I turned back to her. “I’m very sorry.”

  “How, how in the world could this have happened?” There was an anger mixed with impotence in her voice, and I felt the same mix of emotions reverberate through me. I wanted to answer her question, but I couldn’t.

  “We don’t know yet. But I promise we’re doing all we can to figure it out.” Max now sat in front of Cathy and let out a whine.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s with Dr. Pettiman in Kalispell. The doctor is waiting for you if you want to speak to him, and like I said, a chaplain.”

  Cathy stared up at me, searching my face, as if waiting for me to come clean about the horrifying and cruel joke I was playing. She started to get up, but I put my hand out. “No, just stay.” I sat down near her on the lower step, and I caught a faint whiff of coconut, perhaps her soap or lotion. The smell triggered more summer—things happy and fun. The contrast to the current reality hit me with a poignant and bitter sting.

  “Cathy, when was the last time you saw him?”

  “I, I saw him yesterday. In the evening. He was heading to Glacier as always to do more research. To, to pick up some wildlife footage. Said the wolverine transmitters were picking up signals near Granite Park Chalet, the Highline, and the Loop.”

  “Footage?”

  “Yeah, I guess one of the motion cameras is posted near the Loop and he wanted to check it. Said he was going to pick the memory card up, then head over the pass and camp near Many Glacier and hike into Lake Josephine to pick up the card from one of the other cameras there too. He’s staying a few nights. He’s coming home on Sunday.” She looked at me with hope, as if saying the words that he’s coming home would make it all go away.

  “Was he with someone?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But, but we could call the rest of the team. Kurtis Bowman or Sam would know. They both work closely with Paul.”

  “Sam Ward?”

  “Yes, or even Pritchard. Tom Pritchard.”

  “The vet?” I asked. Not only did I know Pritchard from the Bear Bait Case, but I knew he sometimes helped the biologists by trekking into the backcountry and implanting the transmitters with steady veterinary hands accustomed to operating on animals.

  I pulled out my pad from my pocket. “What time did Paul leave yesterday?”

  “Around six or so, after working in his office all day.” She motioned to the house. He wanted to wait until the pass got less busy and with the late sun, he’d have plenty of time to stop at the Loop, head over, and still have enough light to pitch his tent on the east side.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look at his office?”

  Cathy looked at me strangely, her eyes distant. Ken came back around the house with another boy, shorter than Jeff, with darker hair. “The kids,” he announced, and I understood that we couldn’t keep them waiting any longer. I stood up. “Abbey came down from upstairs,” he said. “I’ve asked both to wait out back. Figured we could give Parker here a ride home.”

  Jeff’s buddy, Parker, looked completely confused and a little freaked out with a wide-eyed stare. Cathy stood abruptly and faced me. “I can’t tell them. I don’t even know if this is true. How do we know there hasn’t been a mistake?”

  Before I could answer, Abbey burst through the front door, older and more commanding than Jeff. Her hair wet and combed sleekly behind her ears as if she’d just taken a shower. “Mom, Mom, what’s going on? Is this about Dad?”

  Cathy stared at her daughter, holding the post by the steps. “Oh baby,” she whimpered.

  I identified myself to her. “Abbey, maybe you could go get your brother?”

  “No,” she said defiantly. “What’s going on?”

  “Your father,” Cathy cried, “I’m sorry baby, but he’s, he’s had an accident.”

  “What?” she ran to her mom and Cathy caught her in her arms. “Where is he?”

  “He’s, I don’t know. They say he’s gone, sweetie, and he’s not coming home anymore.”

  Pain registered on Abbey’s face, like a child falling in a playground, and she began to wail. With her sobbing, Jeff came barging through the porch door, a sad and hopeless look in his eyes that said he’d already figured it out—that there was nothing but crushing news coming his way.

  4

  * * *

  ONE OF THE things I loved most about working in the Park was how happy everyone always looked, content and smiling. Glacier Park could be as wild and brutal as it comes, but on many summer days, it is pure peace and bucolic bliss replete with fresh air, dancing butterflies, cold mountain streams, valleys filled with a mosaic of vibrant wild flowers, and the high peaks of the Divide kissing cobalt skies. If you catch it on these perfect days, your blood pressure goes down and it buoys your soul, lifts you to the sky—makes you forget that there might be things hidden inside us all, things able to erupt if not diligently kept in check.

  But today not even nature’s glory could keep the darkness from entering our gates. Wolfie would not be going home from a perfect early summer day in the Park with a sunburn and more data on the wolverine. He would not be going for another exploratory hike, another camping trip, another barbecue with his family this day or any day again. The reality of it was as sharp and fi
nal as a slap across the face.

  I had quickly looked around Wolfie’s office while Cathy huddled with the kids on the deck and Ken and Parker waited in the car. After I found nothing remiss, we drove Parker home, then went to Park Headquarters. We parked outside the 1960s-looking Arizona brick structure, like some utilitarian building out of the old Eastern Bloc. A rectangular patch of lush green grass carpeted the area between the parking lot and the building. Off to the side of the lot, the Rocky Mountain Maples, more like large bushes than their large illustrious eastern cousins, provided foliage for several mule deer sporting their scruffy, shedding coats. The prettier imported eastern maples on the west side stood in full bloom with green leaves lazily resting on one side of the roof.

  Ken looked completely spent and I could see this might have been one of the hardest things he’d done on the job yet.

  “You good?” I asked, trying to be sensitive to the fact that it was his first investigation of this type.

  “Yeah, just tired. That really sucked.”

  “Go home to your family. Get something to eat and I’ll see you in the morning.” I knew Ken had only been married a little over a year, but had one young boy about two years old. “We’ll head up early to look for that wildlife camera.”

  “Sounds good.” He sighed and headed to his car.

  I saw an office light in Joe’s window even though there was still plenty of light in the sky. The sun was low on the western horizon. It was going on eight and most employees had left, but in late June, it doesn’t go fully dark until after eleven, making the days feel endless and bursting with promise. I grabbed my briefcase from the passenger seat of my Ford SUV, which I used only in the park for the most part, hit the auto locks, and went inside.

  I stopped by Joe’s office first. It has two old, worn leather chairs for guests, and Joe waved for me to sit. The air felt stuffy and Joe must have noticed when my hand went to part my collar because he stood, leaned over, and cranked open his window. “How’d it go?” he asked, sitting back down, his narrow readers low on his nose.