I sat in the room pondering my list of suspects. I was anxious to discuss the case with Margaret when she arrived at 7:00.
CHAPTER 19
I spent several hours reviewing the work schedules of Colter House residents looking for men who had no alibis. I regarded the killer as almost certainly a man; one who probably had a distorted and pathological relationship with his mother. That was the most common pattern. So few women had been serial killers that I didn’t regard them as likely prospects.
Most residents of Colter House worked at the El Tovar Hotel and the Bright Angel Lodge. Almost all of the desk clerks, gift shop sales employees, maintenance workers, and housekeeping staff had at least a partial alibi for Helga Günter’s death. Her murderer would need to have set up the ambush and waited for Mrs. Günter to hike up from Indian Gardens. I estimated that it would have taken at least two hours to hike down to the ambush location and wait for the victim to hike by. I knew from Amy Ziegler’s report on the crime that Helga Günter had rested at Indian Gardens. She waited for the heat of the day to pass, but the killer would have had no way of knowing exactly when she might return up the trail. A man who was still working at 5:30 or 6:00 would not have had time to get to the proper location and kill Helga Günter. However, the most likely scenario was a killer who had the whole afternoon available to wait in ambush.
I set aside the Fred Harvey Company work hour reports and decided to go for a walk at about 5:00. My head hurt from reading the small print and trying to make sense of the huge number of possibilities. I had two hours before Margaret was to arrive, and walking often helped me think about a case.
I walked west on the Rim Trail enjoying the Canyon and digesting the day’s information. It was seventy-eight degrees with only a trace of a breeze. The day was glorious, with the blue sky that I only see at high elevations far from the pollution of big cities. Sedona often had that perfect cobalt blue sky, but, in recent years, the Grand Canyon occasionally had haze and reduced visibility from the coal-fired Navajo Generating Plant at Page, Arizona. Some media reports indicated that the smog of Los Angeles could drift all the way up the Canyon causing reduced visibility and a slight brown color to the normally azure sky on days when the winds were from the west.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, I was in that heightened state of perception that sometimes comes to me when I hike in a gorgeous spot. I thought of it as my Zen hiker state. I heard every bird. I saw every small animal and every tree branch. I let my mind focus on my surroundings and blanked out the conscious consideration of my current case. I let my internal voice go silent. There was an important consideration that had not been able to break through to my conscience. There was something about Margo Jordan that I was missing. I hoped it might seep through to my conscious mind by the end of the hike. Suddenly, as I turned around to retrace my steps to El Tovar, I understood how Margo Jordan could have died from natural causes and still have been a part of the pattern of these Grand Canyon deaths. I smiled at how simple the answer was and at how dense I’d been.
Kay Sumter, the Coconino County Medical Examiner, had shared my impression that the dead women looked too much like sisters for their deaths to be a coincidence. She was willing to postpone her trip to Las Vegas based on that similarity in order to look for any possible poison that she might have missed in her earlier tests. If Kay Sumter found nothing suspicious in Margo Jordan’s tissue samples, I knew how I’d proceed in my investigation. I was convinced that I was dealing with a serial killer, but I couldn’t yet prove it using any tangible evidence admissible in court. Without the hard evidence, it was impossible to ask for reinforcements from the FBI and US Marshall’s Service. I was anxious to discuss my new theory of Margo Jordan’s connection to the case with Margaret. My wife is great at seeing the big picture. She is also very well read, and often knows things that I don’t.
As I neared El Tovar, I thought again about the day’s events. I had had a disconcerting lunch with Deputy Craig Callison. He’d lied to me about the availability of the crime scene technicians to process the Jim Otto murder site. I was also suspicious of his explanation of flushing Billy Blackstone’s marijuana down the toilet and of giving a warning ticket to Will Blake. Why would Callison have given a warning ticket to someone driving with a suspended out-of-state license who was driving at twice the legal speed limit? The discrepancies didn’t make Callison a serial killer, but I wondered if he was covering up something. There was definitely something suspicious about the poor investigation done by the local Coconino County Sheriff’s substation. Callison had done much of that investigative work.
My realization about Margo Jordan’s death helped to move Craig Callison to near the top of my suspect list. Callison would often have been on patrol, free to come and go from the Grand Canyon substation on his own. He could have hung out at the Grand Canyon Village without causing suspicion while watching for unaccompanied women with brown hair, blue eyes, and round faces. Callison might have been in the Colter House on previous cases and known his way around the dorm. He had had contact with Will Blake because he said he’d apprehended him for speeding. Did he have a reason to go to Will’s room at the Colter House and while there meet his roommate, Jim Otto? Maybe Callison had met Jim Otto in some other way. In either case, Otto might have recognized Deputy Callison if Callison had been waiting on the Bright Angel Trail to ambush Helga Günter.
As I was walking back toward El Tovar to wait on the verandah for Margaret, my cell phone rang. It was Senior Ranger Amy Ziegler. She explained, “Mike, I found something that I thought you’d want to know right away. You asked me to check on the dead women’s actions while they were here in the park. I’m still looking into their other activities while they were here, but I’ve discovered that Peggy Marshall, Jane Corliss, Margo Jordan, and Rachel Stein had dinner alone at the El Tovar dining room the nights before they died.”
My mind suddenly recalled a comment made by Oliver Cavanaugh, the waiter who had served Peggy Marshall her final meal. He’d commented that it was unusual for a woman to eat alone in the El Tovar dining room. Many women traveling alone ordered room service because they weren’t comfortable sitting alone in a formal restaurant.
“Do you know if Helga Günter also had dinner in the El Tovar dining room the night before she died?” I asked.
“I can’t prove it yet because she didn’t charge it to her room or a credit card, but I’m betting that she did. I have a call into Tony, the headwaiter, to see if she made a reservation for dinner at the hotel the night before she died. I think he keeps those reservation records for a couple of months.”
I thanked Amy for the quick work. When I reached the verandah of El Tovar, I sat in a cane rocker thinking about this new development. If the women had become the targets of the serial killer while having dinner alone at the El Tovar dining room that would increase the likelihood that the murderer was working in that dining room at the time the women had dinner. That left me uncertain about two prospects who had been high on my suspect list, Sam Gilbert and Billy Blackstone. They usually worked breakfast and lunch shifts. The first floor areas of El Tovar were always busy during the evening. Anyone could have been sitting in the hotel lobby and seen the victims enter the El Tovar dining room, but this information increased my confusion.
I was deep in concentration when Margaret walked up the front steps of El Tovar. It wasn’t until she was standing next to my chair that I realized that it was already 7:00. After a big hug Margaret said, “Sweetie, you’ve got a lot on your mind, but a good dinner without thinking about the case should relax you.”
We agreed to put off any discussion of the case until after dinner. After taking Margaret to our room to freshen up, we went out to watch the sun drop toward the western horizon, changing the great spectacle before us to a whole new set of colors, accenting with long shadows the dramatic Canyon formations. We stood, holding hands like newlyweds, as the Canyon turned blue and then purple in the evening light.
&n
bsp; When it was time for our dinner reservation, Tony seated us promptly at a table near the window. The final rays of the sun still lit the highest points of the rock formations as we watched the tourists wander by on the sidewalk between the hotel and the Canyon. Although we’d decided not to discuss the case until after dinner, I couldn’t put it completely out of my mind when Will Blake came to take our drink orders.
Will Blake had jumped a notch on my suspect list when I realized that all of the dead women had eaten dinner at El Tovar alone. Sam Gilbert and Billy Blackstone did not normally work the dinner shift. Will Blake had been working when Mary Jane Corliss died but not when the other women died. In addition, Will Blake was a frequent hiker. He could probably have caught up with Mary Jane Corliss as she hiked west of the hotel to see the sunset and returned to his job within fifteen minutes. If he jogged part of the way, he might have pushed Mrs. Corliss from the Rim Trail on his break and returned to work without causing much notice.
Will turned out to be an excellent waiter. He greeted us saying, “Lieutenant and Mrs. Damson, it’s a pleasure to be your waiter this evening. I see that Tony took good care of you by providing one of the best tables to watch the sunset.”
Will Blake was charming and articulate. I wondered if he actually knew that Margaret was my wife, or he just assumed it. Will certainly knew the details of the wine list and menu like a long-term pro. I shouldn’t have been surprised since Will was assigned to the dinner shift at the best restaurant in the park, but frankly, I’d assumed that Will would focus all of his attention on the young women present and not on the food and drink he was serving. He was the same young man who had told Alan Markley about the “Sleeping with the Tourists” contest. Will claimed to be in the lead in this year’s contest by sleeping with sixty-three different women, which was about sixty more than I had slept with in my whole life. I wondered if that satyr appetite was connected to other types of psychological problems. I was curious about the relationship Will Blake had with his mother. He had told me that he had a difficult time getting along with his lawyer father. I knew that Will Blake was from a wealthy family, and he probably grew up with a better than average familiarity with good wine and good food. Perhaps his skill at waiting tables in a fine restaurant came from eating in a lot of them.
The meal was outstanding and the conversation was pleasant. There was no talk of being pushed from the Rim Trail or being bludgeoned by hammers or sandstone rocks. I’d missed Margaret and was very glad she’d come for the weekend. I hadn’t caught the person who’d killed five or six people at the Grand Canyon. I would never have let Margaret come to El Tovar with a serial killer on the loose if she resembled the deceased women. Margaret is gorgeous, even in her fifties; no one would claim she resembled the dowdy women who were the victims of this killer. Besides, I was determined not to let Margaret out of my sight until she left on Sunday afternoon.
After a comfortable and delicious dinner, we ordered a slice of chocolate mousse cake to go. We planed to share it in the hotel room before going to bed. I always say that chocolate is the best aphrodisiac. I was anxious to discuss what I learned about this case with Margaret. However, when we got back to our room, we found something much more entertaining to do.
CHAPTER 20
Margaret was still sound asleep when I walked down the hallway to the empty second floor lounge. I wanted to call a friend, Frederich Mann of Interpol Bonn, but I didn’t want to disturb Margaret at 4:00 in the morning. I had met Frederich in Santa Fe, and he had asked me to call him if I ever needed a favor. Although it was Saturday, I had his home number, and I dialed it on my cell phone while sitting in a comfortable over-stuffed chair.
Frederich answered and seemed genuinely glad to hear from me. After exchanging pleasantries, I explained, “Frederich, I’m working on a serial murder case at the Grand Canyon National Park, and I wondered if you have any contacts in the Ukraine?”
“Yes Michael, I know the Assistant Chief of the national police force. He was a liaison to Interpol for two years before his promotion. I’m confident that he’ll assist in your investigation. What do you need?”
I explained, “One of my suspects is a Mormon, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints.”
“Yes, we have them in Germany too,” Frederich said,
“This twenty-year-old man, Samuel Lee Gilbert, was on a mission, normally a two year missionary effort. He would have been well trained, able to speak Russian and Ukrainian, and supported by the local members of the church. He came home last November, much sooner than normal. I’m trying to determine why. Can you find out if he had a run-in with the local police?”
Frederich was glad to help. He credited me with saving his life in Santa Fe even though that was probably an exaggerated version of my contribution. He replied, “I will contact my acquaintance in Kiev today if I can reach him on a Saturday. You’ll hear from me for certain by Monday morning.”
“Thank you my friend. When are you and Ursula going to visit us in Arizona? Margaret and I would love to show you around the state.”
I sincerely hoped they would come. I enjoy being host to European guests and showing off my country. Frederich said that they would love to visit the American West, and that maybe they could come next year. He asked, “Are there any other ways Interpol can help?”
I thought of another possibility. There was one foreign national who may have some connection to the case. I said, “Since you asked my friend, there is an Australian who might be involved in the case. He’s from Sidney. He’s about twenty-one and his full name is Jason Griffin McKinney. In both cases, I’m looking for any indication that these young men might be connected to the murders of middle-aged women with brown hair, blue eyes, and round faces. The women who died in Arizona look enough alike to be sisters. One of the possible victims was a German citizen, Helga Günter.”
“I can certainly help in Australia. I’m positive that you want to keep this information very secret. I could guess what such a case would do to your tourist industry. I’ll call by 8:00 Arizona time on Monday morning.”
I thanked Frederich and called my voice mail messages. There were three messages waiting. The first one was from Alan. His message said, “Hi Mike. It’s a little after midnight and I’m off work, but not back in the room. I’ll be hiking down to Phantom Ranch in the morning. We plan to leave at about 10:00. Sam Gilbert is a crazy man. He’s already shipped two hundred pounds of weights and a weight bench down by mules. He wants the three of us to carry another hundred pounds of weights and dumbbells plus all his other gear down to Phantom Ranch. I hope I can make it. I didn’t know what I was getting into when I volunteered to help. I’ll call when I get out of the Canyon tomorrow evening.”
The second one was from my partner, Chad Archer. It was sent at 2:20 in the morning. Chad said, “Mike, a fax should be waiting at the front desk when you get up. I’m going to bed.”
The third message was from Kay Sumter, the Coconino County Medical Examiner. Her message said, “Damn you Mike. I’m sure you’re still asleep. It’s 4:10 on Saturday morning, and my husband is sleeping out in the car waiting for me. I have done every test I know. I can find no trace of poison in the Margo Jordan tissue samples. I give up. I just don’t know why she died. We’re headed for Las Vegas. I’ll call you on Monday.”
The call had come in while I was talking to Frederich Mann. I wasn’t surprised that no poison was found. I went down to the first floor to retrieve the fax from Chad. He had been researching employee records of hours worked looking for employees without alibis. He was also doing records checks on Jim Otto, on the people that I’d interviewed about the deaths, and on the victims.
When I reached the front desk Jason McKinney welcomed me with a warm and sympathetic smile. “G’Day, Detective Lieutenant Damson. You’re up early this morning.” He reached into a box behind the desk and said, “You’ll be wanting to get started on the fax you received during the night. There’s no rest for the
wicked when you’re after them. The murderer stands Buckley’s chance of evading you Lieutenant.”
Jason handed me a fat envelope with my name written in a very exact handwriting on the front. I thanked him and went back up to the second floor lounge to read Chad’s communication. I had seen no one in the hotel lobby except for Jason. If anyone else was awake at this hour, they must be outside watching the sunrise. I sat back into the comfortable chair and began to read the faxes.
The top cover sheet indicated that it was the first of nine pages. The second page was a hand-written note from Chad. It said, “Mike, here’s what I have found so far on your suspects. I’m sorry that there’s not more. I’ll work on the case Saturday and Sunday.
“I’ve sorted the male residents of the Colter House by their work times vs. the times of our fatalities. There were only two men who live in the dorm and who were off during all of the deaths, Sam Gilbert and Billy Blackstone. There are three other men who don’t live at the Colter House without any alibis. They are part-time employees who only work on weekends at the bar at the Bright Angel Lodge. Two of them live in Flagstaff and one lives in Williams. I’ve sorted the Colter House residents by the number of alibis furnished by their work schedules. There was only one person who had an alibi for only the Mary Jane Corliss death, Will Blake. Everyone else has alibis for both Helga Günter and Mary Jane Corliss, but not for the sunrise victims. Almost everyone starts to work after 6:00 AM. One individual, Jason McKinney, has alibis for both Peggy Marshall and Rachel Stein. McKinney works the night shift, but he was off when Mary Jane Corliss and Helga Günter died. It looks like Gilbert and Blackstone are your best prospects.”
The Murders at El Tovar Page 11