“How does someone administer a nerve toxin?” I asked.
“I only know two ways, as a gas or through an injection,” she said. “A nerve gas would be a military produced toxin. There are natural nerve toxins that kill quickly that are found in some animal species. They would probably need to be injected. Mike, I’ve never seen a case, even in my residency in Washington D.C., of a nerve toxin death. I’ll need to do some research. Mrs. Jordan looks so much like the other women; it’s difficult to accept that her death was a coincidence.”
I liked Dr. Sumter’s willingness to follow even a remote possibility. I asked, “Was there any indication of an injection on Mrs. Jordan’s body?”
Dr. Sumter replied, “Mike, you have to understand that I had no indication that this might be a homicide. I did the normal skin exam, but I found nothing. I could have missed the mark from a small needle injected in an out of the way spot. Without a body, there’s not much I can do about finding an injection point, but I can do more tests for toxins with the tissue samples I kept.”
“How long will the tests take Dr. Sumter?” I knew she was leaving early for a weekend in Las Vegas.
“Mike, I’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow morning, even if it takes all night. Please call me Kay. Dr. Sumter is too formal for our collaboration.”
She was certainly onboard for the duration of this investigation. I was glad that the prospect of a serial killer had piqued her curiosity. I asked, “Kay, our file on Jim Otto’s murder was pretty skimpy. What do you recall about that case? Because it was clearly a murder, it seems like an excellent case to spend more time investigating.”
She opened his folder and placed his facial photograph on top. The smile that several people who I’d interviewed had mentioned was gone from his young face forever. Jim Otto had had regular features with a firm jaw with a dimple in his chin. His skin looked very tanned even in death. Most young women would have thought Jim Otto was a very handsome young man. I had not interviewed anyone who did not claim to have liked the young waiter. I wondered about his family and his girlfriend in Boston. If Deputy Callison had met them, he had not mentioned it in his report. I wondered if Jim had had plans for college or a career. I could solve his murder and bring his killer to justice.
“Kay, my reports didn’t indicate if you tested for blood alcohol.”
“The young man was legally drunk at the time of his death,” she said. “In fact, he was still much over the legal limit at death. There were no defensive wounds. I assume that he was too incapacitated from alcohol to have even been aware of his murderer. A single very strong blow to the left side of the forehead killed him. The splintered bones of the cranium made huge gouges in the frontal cortex.”
“Was death nearly instantaneous, or could he have called out or screamed?”
She thought for a few seconds, “I think he died quickly but not instantly. It’s unlikely that he could do more than utter an animal-like scream. If Jim Otto had survived the blow, he’d have been in a permanent coma because so much of the cortex was destroyed. The blow was so forceful that the hammer’s shaft damaged part of the skull near the entry wound. I was able to determine that the hammer’s shaft is 2.2 inches from the round strike head, and the head had a diameter of slightly under an inch.”
I explained, “There were other young men sleeping in the same room who didn’t hear anything of the attack.”
Dr. Kay Sumter seemed stumped for a second and then replied, “I don’t know Mike. If the other young men were as drunk as Jim Otto, the building could have collapsed and they wouldn’t have noticed. This blow was fairly loud from the sound of cracking bone. It would have been as loud as a hammer striking wood a very forceful blow.”
Only one of the three young men in that room was sober that night. My hour was up and Dr. Sumter had another appointment waiting. I gave her my cell phone number, and she promised to contact me as soon as the test on Margo Jordan’s tissue samples were completed.
CHAPTER 16
As I drove back to the Grand Canyon, I considered what I knew of the case. My best guess was that Margo Jordan was an unrelated death from natural causes, but I couldn’t put her photo out of my mind. Her photo was just too similar to the other dead women.
The name of an individual who I’d never met came up in regard to these cases repeatedly. Deputy Craig Callison had investigated most of these Grand Canyon deaths. Even though I’d never met the guy, my opinion of his police work was extremely negative. All of the case files he’d produced lacked important details. I decided to meet Deputy Callison as soon as possible. Perhaps he knew useful information that he hadn’t bothered to put in the files. I’d known some fairly competent investigators back in my LA years who hated paperwork. They might have also produced files that were lousy but still asked the correct questions during the investigation.
I called Doug Redman, Craig Callison’s boss, on my cell phone. When he answered, I suggested that he introduce me to Callison over lunch at The Streak House in Tusayan. It was my treat. I explained that I’d update them on the cases. We agreed to meet at 12:15.
Next I called my partner, Chad Archer, in Sedona. There had been little going on at the Sedona Substation during my short absence, only the normal traffic tickets, two cases of cameras stolen from unlocked cars parked in Oak Creek Canyon, and a spousal abuse call from one of our regulars. Chad was not busy. He jumped at the chance to be involved in my Grand Canyon serial killer case. I asked Chad to run thorough checks on all of the people that I’d interviewed during my investigation. I also had him do a meticulous records check on all of the deceased. He promised to have some information to fax to my hotel by tomorrow morning. I had complete confidence in the quality of Chad’s work. I wanted his help because I didn’t trust the competency of the Grand Canyon Substation.
I also explained that Superintendent Harmon was gathering a great deal of information from the time cards of employees at the Grand Canyon Village. It would be in Excel format, and he should expect the file to arrive by e-mail today. I wanted Chad to try and sort out the names of people who were off work during the times our victims died. He should especially look for people who lived in the Colter House dorm or were likely to have been known to Jim Otto. I was still operating under the assumption that he was killed because he recognized someone who was waiting in ambush on the Bright Angel Trail. Chad said, “I can’t predict how long that will take until I see the Excel file, but I’ll work all weekend. Maybe I can take the fifth and sixth of July off as comp time.”
The county was very tight on overtime expenses. The enormous cost of the Secret Mountain Murder investigation had busted the budget for the year. I’m not eligible for overtime pay because I’m a supervisor. If I worked Chad’s shifts on the fifth and sixth of July, the county would save money because Chad wouldn’t claim overtime for this weekend. It wasn’t quite OK within our personnel policy, but the county saved money and Chad got to pick some extra days off.
Chad is extremely athletic and usually does something strenuous when he has time off. I said, “It’s a deal partner. Are you going mountain biking over the Fourth of July?”
He answered with a note of disappointment, “No Mike, I promised Coral that I’d take her to San Diego sometime. I guess this will be the time to go.”
Coral was the latest of a long line of girlfriends. Usually, they lasted less than six months. I said, “You have a deal partner. I’ll call you tomorrow after I review your faxes.”
As I was nearing the Grand Canyon Airport just south of Tusayan, my cell phone rang. It was Alan Markley. I could hear traffic passing nearby as he spoke softly saying, “Well Lieutenant, I finished my first night waiting tables at the Arizona Room without getting fired. I’d forgotten how hard the work could be waiting tables in a busy room. I was pretty tired when I got attacked in my own room at the Colter House.”
There was a hint of levity in Alan’s voice. I could tell he wasn’t very serious about an attack. “I’m glad
you’re alive to make the call. Doug Redman would be really pissed at me if you were killed on your first night of undercover work. Tell me about it.”
Alan chuckled and explained, “Yesterday, I met one of my roommates, Will Blake, but the other two were already at work. Tonight, when I got to the dorm room, I used the new key that the woman ranger brought to me while I was at work. It opened the door with no problem, and I entered the darkened dorm room. I didn’t turn on the light because my roommates were already asleep. I was trying to find my bunk in the dark when the attack came. Within a second, I was face down on the hard floor with the breath knocked out of me. My arms and legs completely secured by a wrestling hold by someone really powerful. I could hardly breathe.”
I understood. “Sam Gilbert by any chance?”
I could hear Alan grunt, “Mike, you’re too good. You guessed already. Sam heard someone enter the room and thought I might be the killer returning for another victim. He took me down with some wrestling trick and held me immobilized until Will Blake turned on the light and identified me as the new roommate. Billy Blackstone slept through the whole ruckus. I didn’t meet him till this morning.”
“So Sam seems to be a light sleeper?”
Alan answered, “Yes. It’s a little odd that Jim Otto’s murderer didn’t wake him, but my quiet entrance did. However, I’d be a little jumpy if the guy in the next bunk had recently been killed while I was asleep.”
“It’s just another fact among many,” I said. “Giving the guys the new keys might have actually increased their sensitivity by reminding them of the risks from an intrusion into the room while they were asleep. If the reaction was based on real fear of the murderer, it might indicate that Sam wasn’t actually involved in Jim Otto’s death.”
“Thanks for the quick work on changing the locks. It helped me sleep better anyway.”
I pulled into a motel parking lot to finish the conversation. I asked, “Alan, what do you think of your new roommates?”
“I only had a short conversation with Sam before he went to his breakfast shift at El Tovar. When he saw the bruises all over my chest, he was very apologetic. Sam is shorter than I am, but he’s damn powerful. I think he could have killed me if he’d wanted to. Sam said that he was being transferred to Phantom Ranch tomorrow. Today is his last shift at El Tovar. Frankly, he didn’t seem very happy with the move. He said it gets to 115 degrees down there and that it would be difficult for him to keep to his diet and exercise routines. Sam seemed like a genuinely nice guy in our brief conversation this morning. I think we could be friends under other circumstances. He’ll only be spending one more night in the Colter House.”
“Did you spend some time with Will Blake?”
“Yes,” he said. ”He reminds me of some of the guys in my fraternity at ASU. He may be reasonably smart, but he’s only interested in having a good time. The chess set in the room is his, and Billy told me no one here has ever beaten him at the game. Will claims he has slept with sixty-three different women since he got to the Grand Canyon Village six months ago. Most of them were one-night stands with tourists just passing through. The fact that he’s keeping count tells you a lot about his personality. Apparently there’s an underground communication system to identify women who arrive without a man. The clerks at check-in keep a list. Each woman had a grade of one to ten assigned. Of course, you earn more points for a nine or ten. Will considers himself in the lead in this year’s contest.”
Alan continued, “Will also has some good qualities. He offered to help Sam carry his gear down to Phantom Ranch tomorrow morning. I offered to help too. It’ll be my first hike down to the Colorado River. We’ll have backpacks on the way down, but get to leave them so the hike out won’t be too difficult.”
Having done the same hike several times, I knew better. The extra weight on the way down would take its toll. Every step would have an extra forty or fifty pounds of effort. Hiking down to Phantom Ranch with a full pack and hiking out the same day would be a challenge. I asked, “How about Billy Blackstone?”
Alan described Billy saying, “Billy sees himself as a totally rad dude. He claims to love all kinds of radical and extreme sports and to laugh at the dangers and risks. He’s even tattooed images of mountain biking and sky diving on his back. Billy is a friendly guy but a bit of a braggart about all of his exciting adventures. I’ve done a lot of white water kayaking, and it only took a few minutes to realize that Billy is all show. The only white water he’s ever done was in rafts on guided day trips, about as safe as the average amusement park ride. He seems to never go off trail on his mountain bike. I think Billy mostly collects the T-shirts. I can’t imagine he’s a serial killer; he’s just a little guy showing off.”
“Any hunches about our murderer yet?” I asked.
“Not yet Mike. Sorry, I’ve got to head to work now. My conversation with Sam was short, but I don’t think he’s a serial killer. He doesn’t seem to have any close friends here, but I liked him even though he almost crushed me last night. I think Sam is sincere. The other guys make fun of him because he doesn’t drink or participate in the bedding-the-tourist-girls contest. They call him Deacon Gilbert when he’s not around. Personally, I respect his religious convictions and abstinence. Honestly Mike, I don’t think any of the three guys is involved. I’ll call you in the morning before we head down to Phantom Ranch.”
I thought about the conversation as I drove the short distance to The Steak House for my lunch with Doug Redman and Craig Callison. I had to admit that I liked Sam Gilbert better than his roommates. I knew that wouldn’t stop me from arresting him if I found any connections to these crimes.
CHAPTER 17
I parked in the lot of The Steak House next to Doug Redman’s white Explorer. It was identical to mine except that it was a few years older. In the restaurant, I found Doug Redman already seated next to a very large man of about thirty. Craig Callison stood up to be introduced to me. He was 6’ 3” and 260 pounds. Perhaps he had been a high school athlete, maybe a lineman, but he was going quickly to fat. Below his splotchy red face were double chins. Puffiness in his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes made him look unhealthy. I wondered if he could continue to pass the required physical for serving as a deputy.
I sat in the booth next to Doug Redman and across from Callison. I began by updating my colleagues about my investigation. Neither man made any actual comments until I finished, but I could tell that Callison was having difficulty holding his tongue. I was a superior officer by several notches, a direct report to Sheriff Taylor. He didn’t want to alienate me, but his facial expressions showed some contempt and considerable disbelief from the start of my narration.
I explained the striking similarities of the autopsy photographs and possible connection between the death of Jim Otto and Helga Günter. When I reported that Dr. Sumter was checking tissue samples from Margo Jordan for possible nerve toxins, Callison actually grunted in contempt. I noticed he regained control when Doug Redman kicked him under the table. He maintained a poker face for the rest of my update.
After I’d finished my story and the steaks were on the table, Doug said, “Mike, the connection between these cases seems a little tenuous.”
“Of course, I agree. That’s why I’m focusing the investigation of the Jim Otto murder and its connection to the death of Mrs. Günter. If I can find the person who murdered Jim Otto, I might be able to connect the crime to the other deaths.”
Craig Callison interjected, “Mike, the Jim Otto case is mine. What the shit have you been screwing around with it for? I thought you were investigating the accidental fall that killed that New Jersey school teacher because our office didn’t have the time to fool around with it.”
Doug said firmly, “Sheriff Taylor has asked Detective Lieutenant Damson to investigate any of the deaths at the Grand Canyon that might be connected to Peggy Marshall. If Mike wants to look into the death of Jim Otto, it’s his case now.”
Craig Callison los
t his poker face. He looked dangerous as he twisted his napkin in his huge hands and glared at me through squinting brown eyes. His red face got even redder. I wondered if he had some reason other than pride to not want me involved in the Jim Otto case. It had not occurred to me that his terrible paper work might be deliberate. I put that notion aside for now. Callison was a cop like me. He was a sloppy careless investigator, but his intentions were probably good.
I spoke softly, ignoring his glare, “Craig, please tell me everything you can remember about the Jim Otto murder scene. I think you were the first law enforcement officer to arrive.”
Craig Callison paused a second to regain control of his anger and said in an abnormally flat voice, “I was on night duty. I got a call in the early morning, maybe slightly after 6:00, from Ranger Amy Ziegler. She said that a young man had been killed at the Colter House. I drove to the crime scene and found Jim Otto’s corpse in the lower section of a bunk bed. There was a quarter-sized hole in his forehead, and blood and brain fluids were all over his mattress and the floor near his bed. There were some footprints from bare feet in the blood, but no other sign that the crime scene was disturbed. I spent the whole morning, six hours of overtime, questioning the three young men who shared the room and many other people in the dorm. We searched the room and the public areas of the building but didn’t find a murder weapon. I couldn’t look in the dorm rooms without a warrant. No one heard a thing. Everyone claimed that Otto had no enemies. No one could think of a motive.”
“Craig, what do you remember of the three roommates. There wasn’t much in your written report.”
“There were three guys, Sam, Billy, and Will,” he said. “I’d need to look at the file for their last names. None of them heard or saw anything. I ended up with no clues.”
I repeated, “Please, tell me about your actual interviews with the three roommates.”
The Murders at El Tovar Page 9