As we walked, I asked Amy, “Did you investigate the Helga Günter death personally?”
The trail was wide enough to walk side-by-side until other hikers approached. She explained, “It was about two weeks ago. The ranger on duty called me about 8:30 in the evening. I walked down to see the body before it was moved. It was quite dark that night, but even using only flashlights it was obvious that Helga Günter was hit in the back of the head by a thirty-pound chuck of sandstone. The back of her skull was crushed. She probably died instantly.”
“Who first reported her body?” I asked.
“A young couple from Phoenix was the first to call in. They reported that other hikers had found the body before they reached it, but the Phoenix couple was the first to hike out to make the call. It was already dark when the couple saw the body. They really didn’t observe anything useful, but I can locate their name and phone number for you. We don’t have a record of who was first on the scene.”
We chatted about other things until Amy brought us to a halt at one of the steepest switchbacks. The trail was bordered by a row of Coconino Sandstone rocks of about a foot in length. One was missing. Amy explained, “We can’t be certain, but we think the rock that killed Mrs. Günter fell from here. We saved the rock and gave it to the Sheriff’s Office.” Pointing down to a portion of the trail directly below us, Amy said, “Helga Günter’s body was down there.”
I looked fairly straightforward. There was a missing rock from the row in front of us and directly below, about seventy feet, the trail made one of its switchbacks. I asked, “Do these rocks fall on hikers regularly?”
“We’ve had a number of injuries and fatalities from similar falling rocks. Usually they occur during or right after thunderstorms. Storms can wash away the soil supporting the rocks.”
I looked closely at the spot from which a rock was missing. “Amy, the support for this rock is still here. There’s no indication that it washed out.”
She agreed. “Mike, that’s why we assumed that someone up here on the trail above Mrs. Günter dislodged it by accident. Maybe they stepped on it to avoid someone coming down the trail. I can’t imagine that anyone would kick it off deliberately.”
I looked more closely at the spot. “It’s been two weeks since the death, but we’ve had no rain recently to wash away evidence. Look right here. There’re no marks in the soil to suggest a rock slid off or was kicked off the side of the trail here.”
Amy looked at me in exasperation. “Well how else would it get down there?”
I smiled at her tone. “Amy, I’ve spent almost thirty years dealing with the worst of people. I was a homicide specialist at the LAPD before I moved to Sedona. If someone tossed the rock off the trail, it would have been extremely bad luck for Helga Günter to have been at the exact spot where the rock would lethally strike the back of her head. The thirty-pound rock would have bounced a couple of times before it even reached the trail below. Someone intent on premeditated murder could never count on this ambush working.”
Amy nodded. “That’s why it had to be an accident.”
“What if I just picked up one of these rocks and put it in my daypack? I could walk down to that rock outcropping on the trail below us. I couldn’t be seen by anyone hiking up the Bright Angel Trail until they passed my resting place. If I brought the rock down on the back of Günter’s skull as she passed the outcropping, I could just drop the rock and hike quickly back up the trail.”
A look of astonishment crossed Amy’s face and an unprintable expletive crossed her lips. “We still have the rock; maybe there’re prints.”
“We’ll check the rock for prints and even DNA, but our odds of finding anything are not good on that type of sandstone.”
We hiked down the trail to the point where Mrs. Günter died. I positioned myself in the outcropping that we had noticed from above. I could see several of the lower switchbacks clearly from my vantage point above the trail. A murderer would see his victim fifteen minutes or more before she actually reached this spot. We tested the hiding spot by Amy walking up from a lower switchback. She never saw me watching her even as she walked past my resting spot.
“A hiker walking down this trail might have spotted someone suspicious waiting here, even though the murderer wasn’t visible as you hike up the trail,” I said.
“Unfortunately, you wouldn’t look very suspicious resting here,” Amy said. “There’re always people resting on hot afternoons along this part of the Bright Angel Trail.”
“I wonder if Jim Otto went for a hike that evening and saw someone he knew either resting here or on his way up the trail.”
Amy grunted. She looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Mike, you have a very devious and complicated mind.”
CHAPTER 9
I took twenty-five digital photos of the site of Mrs. Günter’s death, the outcropping of rock that might have provided a hiding place, and the location of the missing rock along the outside border of the trail on the switchback above. About 1:00, we began our hike back up to the rim. Amy explained, “The Superintendent has reserved a room adjacent to El Tovar’s main dining room for your interviews with Fred Harvey Company employees. You’ll have the room from 2:30 to 5:00. He said he’d stop by at 4:00 to see if you needed anything. We scheduled an interview with the night desk clerk, the fellow who was on duty when Mrs. Marshall left the hotel to take photos of the sunrise. The young man remembers Mrs. Marshall. The Superintendent has also asked the three roommates of Jim Otto to be available. Of course, the Fred Harvey people are ready to make any other employees available. The personnel files will be in the room for you to review before your interviews this afternoon. They found the waiter who served Peggy Marshall dinner the night before she died by checking her credit card receipt. He’ll be available about 4:30. He lives in Williams rather than here in the Grand Canyon Village.”
Amy explained the afternoon’s agenda as we were walking quickly up a very steep section of the trail. I’m in pretty good shape, but I was breathing too hard to do more than ask short questions. “Amy, can you give me a feel for the normal level of deaths here at the Canyon and tell me about some of them?”
As we stood to the side of the trail to let the afternoon mule train pass, Amy commented, “Gosh Mike, it’s hard to say that there’s any normal level; it varies so much from year to year. Some years there have been no fatal falls. I have an interesting book that I’ll bring you this afternoon. It describes all the Canyon deaths except ones in the most recent years. It’s Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon, by Ghiglieri and Myers. I’ve been here sixteen years and seen my share of deaths from carelessness. The worst year for falls was seven deaths in 1993, but I can’t explain why that year was so bad. The vast majority of deaths occur from really poor judgment. About half of the deaths are foolish younger people, mostly young men, who are free climbing or hiking off-trail and alone. The other half are normal sedentary tourists who do something really stupid. People actually do take one step too many when posing for photos, or they fall off when they’re taking pictures of the scenery while ignoring where they are walking. For every death, there are thousands of people who display astonishingly bad judgment. Only a few unlucky ones die from their mistakes.”
As we started hiking again, I asked, “I guess there are a lot of non fatal accidents?”
Amy smiled at the monumental foolishness of some tourists. “We help many people with every type of minor injury every day, but they’re not from falls into the Canyon. Fortunately, those are unusual. When people fall hundreds of feet from the Rim Trail or other hiking trails, they don’t survive. You mentioned that you and your wife love the hike to Plateau Point. We’ve had a number of deaths out on the Point in the past few years.
Naturally, people want photos of the Colorado rapids 1,300 feet below. They also want to document the rigorous hike they’ve made to reach Plateau Point. Unfortunately, some of them move out onto dangerous rock ledges so that they can also be in the pho
to that includes the river. The National Park Service has no way of saving people from their own bad judgment.”
We continued our rapid hike up the Bright Angel Trail. I took it as a sign of respect that Amy didn’t feel she needed to take it easy hiking with a middle-aged detective. When we reached the trailhead near the Bright Angle Lodge, Amy headed back to her office. I checked with the front desk of the Lodge and found that I would remain in the same room for the night, but they had accommodations at El Tovar available for me for the weekend. I hoped that my neighbors who partied half the night had moved on like most Grand Canyon guests.
Margaret would be pleased that we’d be in El Tovar when she got here tomorrow evening. She loved that old hotel. I had just enough time to take another shower before walking over to El Tovar for my questioning of the hotel employees.
At the El Tovar Dining Room, a taciturn employee with a sour expression named Tony showed me into a spacious wood paneled room next to the main dining room. Tony was at least sixty but had unnaturally jet-black hair. He was the headwaiter and clearly proud of his role. He seemed resentful of any potential disruption of his duties. Tony clearly did not like the idea of my using the restaurant’s private VIP dining room for my interviews.
I decided to ask the Fred Harvey Company to let me question Tony at a later date. He acted like someone with something to hide, but maybe he was only unusually arrogant for a headwaiter. I asked him to bring me a hamburger, fries and a coke, he frowned and nodded. I was too hungry to be at my best after the morning’s hikes. I took out my tape recorder and note pad and asked Tony to send in Jason McKinney in ten minutes. While I waited, I reviewed the personnel files that had been stacked on the table.
Jason was the same young man that I had talked with at the front desk about a room at El Tovar yesterday afternoon. He started the conversation by saying, “Sorry about not having a room Detective Lieutenant. We have a nice one for you for tomorrow.”
“Thanks Jason. The Bright Angel Lodge has been convenient, but I’d prefer El Tovar. Are you Australian by any chance?”
He grinned and said, “Sure, a true blue Aussie, a Sydneysider born and bred. I’m spending a year in the States. I do have a work permit. They’re difficult to get.”
Jason was personable and cooperative, but he wanted to make certain that I knew he was working legally. I mentioned that I’d be recording the interview and turned on my pocket-sized digital recorder.
I got to the point. “Jason, I understand that you were one of the last people to see Mrs. Marshall early yesterday morning. Tell me everything you remember about her.”
Jason explained his brief contact with Mrs. Marshall. “I greet everyone who comes by in the early morning, but I especially remember Mrs. Marshall because she asked about the best place to view the dawn. I directed her to the Rim Trail east of the hotel. Detective, I’m truly sorry that I didn’t suggest that she stay nearer the hotel. The Rim Trail is wide and tarred. I assumed that you’d have to be blind as a bandicoot to fall off.”
“I agree.” I said. “I think there’s a good chance Mrs. Marshall didn’t just slip off the edge.”
He didn’t seem surprised at my statement. “The lady I remember was cheerful and excited about seeing the Grand Canyon. She didn’t suicide. She must have come a gutser somehow.”
I watched Jason closely as I commented; “Another possibility is that she had help over the edge.”
Jason still didn’t show any sign of surprise. “Damn, you think she was pushed? What sort of bleeding wuss would do something like that?”
“Jason, who else was around that morning. Do you remember anything unusual?”
He replied, “There’re always a number of people up before dawn. We’re three hours behind the Eastern Coast in the summer. If you normally get up at 7:00 than you might wake up at 4:00 here. With no daylight savings time, the dawn is also very early for them that want to see it.”
He continued, “Sorry to say, I don’t know any of the folks who walked past by name. I normally work from 10:00 to 5:00 and only meet the people who check in very late or leave very early. No one I checked in the night before was up before dawn. I saw a young couple with rucksacks headed for one of the trails to get their hike in before it gets hot in the inner Canyon. That was about 4:00. There were several older couples who walked by to watch the dawn around 4:15. The only single person to pass was the lady that I think was Mrs. Marshall.”
I showed Jason the photo of Mrs. Marshall that her husband had given to the rangers for identification. Jason nodded and said that she was the woman he remembered.
“Are you certain that no unaccompanied men came down the stairs?” I asked.
“Not a one.”
There was a high probability that the tourists that Jason saw had already left the National Park. I still thought that an employee or someone with regular business at the Canyon was a more likely suspect if this was really a crime and not an accident. However, I hadn’t dismissed her husband as a suspect yet. He might have left the hotel without passing the front desk.
“Were there any other employees around?”
“Not that I recall. When no one else is on duty, I’m only allowed to leave the desk for the loo. I only see people who walk by. At that time of the morning, that’s mostly guests coming down the stairs.”
I hadn’t learned much from Jason except that Mrs. Marshall didn’t seem to have been in a mood that would imply her death was a suicide. I asked Jason to tell me more about his own background.
“I was raised by my dad after mum took off when I was ten,” he explained in a carefree tone. “Dad and I had some problems after I started waggin’ school and boozing too much. I was sixteen when I bailed out and moved in with some mates near Bondi Beach. Not much else to tell. I hung around the beach for a few years doing odd jobs. I made friends with a Yank, and she was able to get me a work permit in the States. I saved enough for a ticket to LA, and I ended up working here at the hotel in January.”
“Do you live in the Colter House dorm?”
“Sure do. I love it. It’s a fun place,” he said with a grin.
“Did you know Jim Otto?”
Jason’s smile disappeared. “Are you after the scum sucking mongrel who killed him? Jim was a good mate. He and I lived on the same floor at the dorm. Jim and I hiked to the river three times, and we put down more than a few pints together too. I saw him at a party the night he was killed.”
“Any ideas on who killed him?”
Jason replied, “Not a clue, but I hope you get the bastard. Everyone liked Jim Otto. I can’t believe he had an enemy in the world.”
“Did Jim have a girlfriend here?”
Jason explained, “No, he was totally in love with some girl back home. He flirted a little but didn’t date.”
“Do you know Jim’s roommates?”
Jason looked as if he was carefully considering his reply. “Will Blake is a good fellow. We’ve hiked the trails together several times and shared a drink or ten. I see Billy Blackstone around, and we say G’Day, but I don’t know the bloke. He’s OK, but that other roommate, Sam something, is a wowser. He’s got something against having a little fun. Reminds me of my dad.”
I assumed that a wowser was someone who didn’t drink at a friend’s going away party. I told Jason that I might have more questions later. I gave him my card and asked him to call my cell phone if he thought of anything that might be useful. When he left, Tony brought in an overcooked hamburger, cold French fries, and a warm coke. They were not from the excellent El Tovar’s dinning room, but from the Bright Angle Lodge bar. I bolted the food down before meeting with Sam Gilbert, Jim Otto’s Mormon roommate.
CHAPTER 10
Sam Gilbert was a young man of about twenty with watery blue eyes set in an angular face. He had straw blond hair, very fair skin with no trace of a tan, and a warm smile as I introduced myself. He was about five feet nine, and he looked like he might have been a high school wrestler, at
least he spent a lot of time weight lifting. Gilbert was dressed in an El Tovar Restaurant waiters’ uniform, a white tuxedo shirt, black bow tie, and a black apron covering his black dress pants. I wondered if his shirts had to be custom made for his thick neck and broad chest.
I started by explaining that I was investigating the death of his roommate Jim Otto. I asked him to tell me everything he remembered of Jim’s activity the night of his death.
Sam replied, “Yes sir. I’ll tell you everything I know. Jim was a good friend.”
He paused as if collecting his thoughts and recalling that day. “ I worked breakfast and lunch here at El Tovar that day. Jim worked at the Arizona Room because they don’t serve breakfast. He was a night owl and hated to get up early. He was sound asleep, snoring softly, when I went to work at 5:30. He wasn’t in the room when I got off work at 3:00. I think Jim had the day off and probably went hiking. I saw him briefly at a party that night. The place was loud and smoky so I didn’t stay long, but I’m sure he was there having a good time.”
“Having a good time?” I asked.
Sam frowned slightly. He explained, “Jim and some of the other guys drank a lot. Jim was a binge drinker. Occasionally, he’d get really drunk, not mean, just sloppy and unpleasant to be around.”
“Sam, did you have anything to drink the night Jim was murdered.”
Sam looked slightly disgusted and said, “No Sir. I don’t damage myself with that stuff.”
“Sam, you look like you might be a body builder. Is that why you don’t drink?”
The Murders at El Tovar Page 5