The note had a final sentence. “Nothing yet on our colleague. Rose is trying to help find information on that individual. I’ve not found any connections between the victims, but I’m still looking. -- Chad”
I looked at the following page. It was the sorted list of the Colter House residents, however it didn’t add anything to the comments that Chad made on his note. There was one page for each of the people that I’d interviewed.
Oliver Cavanaugh was the older waiter who had served Peggy Marshall on her last evening. His legal file was completely clean. He’d never been arrested for even a traffic violation. He’d been married to the same woman since 1977, and they had three adult children. I had no reason to suspect him, and I set his page aside.
Next was the page on Billy Blackstone. He was one of six kids of John and Mary Blackstone. His father was an army sergeant major and the family had lived in eight different communities in the past twenty years. His mother currently waited tables at a Thai restaurant near Ft. Bliss. Billy had graduated from high school in El Paso, Texas with a B-average. He’d been on the baseball and cross-country teams. Chad had talked with Billy’s high school baseball coach. The coach remembered him as a young man with good talent and outstanding motivation. Unfortunately, Billy broke his arm during his senior year while riding a dirt bike in the desert north of El Paso. He had to drop off the baseball and track teams. The coach had reported that Billy might have received a baseball scholarship to the University of Texas at El Paso if he’d been able to play his senior year.
Billy Blackstone had a juvenile record in Lawton, Oklahoma. The court had sealed his records, but there was no indication that he’d spent any time in a juvenile detention facility. It was probably a first offense and minor. Nothing in his file pointed to a developing serial killer.
Next I reviewed the skimpy information about Will Blake. Will graduated high school at an expensive boarding school located about twenty-five miles north of Boston. It was a school that was famous for educating the New England elite for more than two hundred years. The boarding school was also well known for getting its students into prestigious Ivy League Colleges. While there, Will had played many different sports and been a reporter on the school paper, the Phillipian. He had spent his junior year studying in France. He had attended an Ivy League college, but struggled to make his grades. Will had a horrible driving record, including a second DUI last year, which caused his suspended license. He had never been in any other sort of legal trouble. Will was about four years older than his roommates, Sam Gilbert and Billy Blackstone. He was the only one who’d graduated from college. Will was an only child. His parents had been divorced for ten years. His father is a senior partner at a very large law firm who had recently remarried a woman only a few years older than Will. His mother lives in Montecito, California where she is active in supporting the arts.
The next page covered Sam Gilbert. As a senior, Sam had served as student body president of Provo High School and been captain of the Bulldog’s wrestling team.
He was a straight “A” student and had a full scholarship from Brigham Young that would begin a year from now. The arrangement for a two-year gap between his high school graduation and his college was certainly to allow for his mission to the Ukraine. Nothing in the records indicated why Sam had returned early from Kiev.
Chad’s information indicated that Sam’s father was a past president of the Provo Utah Mission, the senior church officer for the organization that supported foreign missions made by Mormons from the Provo area. Sam’s father was a successful car dealer. He was divorced from Sam’s mother. They had separated when Sam was only six. Her whereabouts were unknown, and she seemed to have no ongoing contact with the family. Sam’s father had never remarried. The senior Mr. Gilbert was regarded as a pillar of the community in Provo, and he’d raised his three daughters and Sam by himself since his wife left him fourteen years ago.
Sam had never been arrested or even had a speeding ticket. When Chad contacted his high school wrestling coach, the man had said that Sam was one of the finest young men that he’d ever coached.
The final report from Chad was about the victim, Jim Otto. Jim had been twenty-one years old when he was murdered. He was born in Connecticut and attended the Cooperative Arts and Humanities High School in New Haven. Jim had graduated with a “B+” average, and he’d won the outstanding drama student award his senior year. Jim was male lead in the school plays for two years. Chad had talked with the school counselor who indicated that she was disappointed when Jim decided not to go to college. He didn’t have any kind of scholarship and was from a working class family that had never valued higher education. The counselor knew of Jim’s murder and was utterly shocked that the fine young man had been killed. She thought he was one of the most popular guys in his school class and had never gotten into trouble of any kind. He had gone steady with a young lady, Linda Bernoulli, who moved to Boston during her senior year when her dad was transferred. The school counselor didn’t know if they remained in contact.
I folded the pages and headed for the room. I hoped Margaret was awake. I certainly wanted to talk to her about the case.
CHAPTER 21
Margaret was up and dressed in her hiking clothes when I returned to our hotel room. I began to update her on the case as I was shaving. I explained my drive down to Flagstaff to discuss the dead women with the medical examiner, Kay Sumter. I described the dramatic moment when Kay had placed the autopsy photos of the five dead women’s faces on top of their folders spread out in front of us at her conference table. The faces had looked like those of sisters.
Margaret smiled and said, “Oh good. That should make the case much easier.”
I nearly cut myself. This was one of the most difficult cases I could ever remember investigating. I still didn’t even have proof the women were murdered. Why would Margaret say it should be easy? I said, “Huh?”
“Of course, you must already be getting photos of your suspects’ mothers.”
The only thing I can say in defense of my stupidity was that I’m a professional law enforcement officer. I think in terms of evidence that would be useful in court. A similarity between the facial appearance of the victims and a suspect’s mother certainly wouldn’t have been useful in getting an indictment. However, discovering a similarity might be very helpful in focusing my attention on a specific suspect.
Margaret had helped me a thousand times in my many years as a homicide detective in LA. Her observations and suggestions had been helpful in solving the Secret Mountain murders and the recent death of Chris Cooper during our vacation in Santa Fe. My loving wife’s help with my cases never upsets me. “Good idea Margaret. I’ll start by calling Chad and asking him to track down driver’s license photos for our suspects’ mothers.”
I told Margaret about my lunch with Deputy Craig Callison. I covered every detail including his facial expression and manner when he lied about the availability of the crime scene technicians. She just nodded knowingly when I explained that Callison had let Will Blake off with a warning for speeding without a valid driver’s license. Margaret smiled when I recounted that Callison claimed he’d made Billy Blackstone flush his marijuana down the toilet when he discovered it in the room where Jim Otto was murdered.
At the end of my story, Margaret said, “Mike, I know you don’t want to believe it’s possible here in Coconino County, but Craig Callison has almost certainly been taking bribes. It’s the sort of thing you’d expect in some parts of the world, but not in Arizona, USA. It sounds like the classic shakedown. He stops an expensive BMW sports car that is speeding. The driver is well to do but has neither a valid driver’s license nor an Arizona car tag. The deputy lets him off in return for some cash changing hands. Callison probably just hints that cash might solve the problem and lets the other person make the suggestion. It must have been the same routine with the drugs that he found in Billy Blackstone’s dresser.”
There are thousands of foreign
tourists passing through Tusayan every month. Many of them would not know that paying cash to a law enforcement officer is not at all normal here. They probably wouldn’t understand how to file a complaint if they did think the solicitation of a bribe was unusual. The Grand Canyon was the perfect place for Callison to run a traffic shakedown scam.
Margaret had stated clearly what I’d also guessed regarding Deputy Craig Callison. I asked, “Margaret, do you have a hypothesis as to why his work on this case is so sloppy. Do you think Callison knows something that he’s being paid to keep quiet about?”
“I don’t know Sweetie, but I suggest you find a photo of his mother too,” Margaret said. “From your description of Deputy Callison, I’d guess it would be difficult for him to hike to where the German lady was killed. Tell me what you’ve learned about the other young men you’ve been investigating.”
I gave Margaret the faxed reports that I had picked up from the front desk that morning. She read them while I took the shower that I had postponed to avoid waking Margaret when I got up at 4:00. It would soon be time to get some breakfast before we started our strenuous hike down the Bright Angel Trail to Plateau Point.
After I was dressed in my hiking clothing, I told Margaret another bit of information that I learned from Amy Ziegler. “Margaret, you’ll certainly not be eating any meals alone while you’re here.”
She nodded, already guessing what I was going to say. I explained, “The victims share something besides very similar looks. They all ate in the El Tovar dining room alone the evening before they died.”
Margaret asked, “Did Will Blake work the dinner shift those evenings?”
I already had checked. “Yes, Will Blake worked every one of those shifts, but Sam Gilbert and Billy Blackstone didn’t work any of them. They normally work breakfast and lunch.”
Margaret commented, “Will Blake seemed charming last night when he waited on us, but I’m convinced that his account of his own sexual conquests is not normal. Sleeping with over sixty different women in six months is pathological. It indicates an extreme reluctance to form real relationships. His description of those conquests may be an exaggeration, but only dating women who’ll be gone the next day indicates that something is seriously wrong with this young man. I only met Will for a few minutes. Maybe if I see more of him I’ll have a different opinion.”
I wasn’t certain that Will was crazy for sleeping with all those women, but I didn’t think Margaret would welcome my opinion. I agreed that it was an astonishing number of women, but I knew some other men who would do the same if they had the opportunity. I thought many pro athletes and rock stars could have easily beaten Will in both volume and quality. I said, “Will won’t be at work for the dinner shift tonight. He’s helping Sam Gilbert move his things down to Phantom Ranch. Sam has been transferred down there. My undercover deputy, Alan Markley, is also hiking down to help Sam carry the heavy load of stuff he’s taking.”
Margaret looked at me in surprise. “If Sam Gilbert didn’t kill Jim Otto himself, he’d be the roommate who is most likely to have heard something suspicious and have an idea of who did it. If Will Blake actually murdered Jim Otto to cover up his other murders, do you think Sam might be in danger? You’ve been on that River Trail. There’re any number of places where a man with a heavy backpack might fall to his death.”
I picked up my cell phone and called Alan Markley. I knew he’d been up until past midnight, but I couldn’t take a chance on missing him before the three young men started their hike to Phantom Ranch. A sleepy voiced Alan Markley said he’d call me right back. Two minutes later, Alan called and said he was alone in the head and could talk unless someone came in.
“Will Blake and Sam Gilbert are two of our prime suspects,” I said. “I want you to be extremely careful on today’s hike. Alan, you must always be in the rear of the group but don’t let the other two guys out of your sight. Don’t take any chances; that’s a direct order. Don’t let either of them get behind you on the steep parts of the trail. They’re both in better shape than you are. Remember that these cases are about falls from high places and about being hit with heavy objects. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
He promised. I felt very uncomfortable with the situation, but Alan was a law enforcement officer working a case.
“Have you seen any photos of your roommates’ mothers?” I asked.
‘No, these guys don’t have photos of their mothers in their room. That would be weird,” he replied.
“Serial killers are weird. Call me when you get out of the Canyon.” I knew that finding a photo that easily would be a long shot.
I wished Alan luck on his hike. It was one of the most difficult hikes in Arizona, and Alan would have a very heavy pack on his back on the way down to Phantom Ranch. His legs would feel like rubber before he made it back to the Grand Canyon Village.
After the call, Margaret asked if I knew what killed Margo Jordan yet, and I replied, “The medical examiner still hasn’t found any toxic substances in the body. It’s not conclusive, but she thinks it was a death from natural causes.”
“I know you’re not going to accept that her similarity to the other women was a coincidence,” she said.
Margaret knew me better than any other person ever has. She’d guessed that I must have a theory by now. “My current hypothesis, is that Margo Jordan died from natural causes,” I said watching for a surprised reaction from Margaret.
“There’s more to it,” she said.
“I think it’s possible that the murderer saw Margo Jordan‘s body and that the sight of the dead woman triggered the other crimes. Seeing a body that closely resembled his hated mother might have set him off on these murders. I’m no expert on serial killers, but something must have gotten him going. The other crimes followed so closely that I still think these deaths are connected.”
“Craig Callison?” Margaret asked.
“It certainly takes him to a higher spot on the suspect list. Two maintenance men and a cleaning lady were present. I don’t know who else might have seen the body.”
I looked on the time sheet list that the Superintendent had provided. I found the two maintenance men who were on duty at the Maswik Lodge the morning that Margo Jordan’s body was found. They were Eugene Munson and Garland Pickney, two more men for our suspect list. I checked the list of Colter House residents and found that Eugene Munson didn’t live in the Colter House. Garland Pickney was listed in room 27, but his name was crossed off and replaced by another. I wondered if he was the Englishman for whom the party was held on the night Jim Otto was killed. Both men had been working at the Maswik Lodge on the day that Helga Günter died. Garland Pickney might have already been back in England when Peggy Marshall died. Neither man would be high on my suspect list.
Next, I called Chad Archer’s voice mail. I had some additional research I wanted him to do when he came in today. My message said, “Chad, thanks for the faxes. I have two more people that I want you to check out, Eugene Munson and Garland Pickney. Please see if you can get photographs of all of our suspects’ mothers. You might try the driver’s license offices of their states. They probably don’t have any criminal files. If you can get them, have the Grand Canyon office print copies and deliver them to my room at El Tovar. Be certain to check on Craig Callison’s mother too.”
I felt good about the case for the first time since I was called by Sheriff Taylor and asked to drive up to the Grand Canyon to investigate the death of Peggy Marshall. I expected progress before the weekend was out. Margaret and I went down to breakfast at 7:00. We both wanted to eat a substantial early breakfast and then a relaxing few hours to digest the meal before we started on our long hike.
CHAPTER 22
We found that the El Tovar dining room had a waiting list. A young woman hostess that I hadn’t seen before gave us a pager, and we went out onto the verandah to wait. While we were sitting in adjacent rocking chairs, Margaret brought up an article that she had recently read ab
out the Green River Killer in Washington State.
“The Green River Killer was one of the worst serial murderers in American history. By some accounts he may have murdered ninety women, almost all of them prostitutes. The crimes occurred over a twenty-year period. The first victim was found near the Green River in 1982.”
“My God, that’s an incredible number of victims.” I had not followed the case except to know the name.
Margaret continued, “The criminal was pursued by an enormous law enforcement task force, which grew to 56 members in 1986. The man who was eventually arrested was a suspect in the case in the 1980’s, but law enforcement could never find solid proof to connect him to the crimes. He wasn’t caught until recent improvements in DNA testing tied him to some of the early murder victims.”
She continued by describing the man. “The monster that they finally caught came from a family where the mother had completely dominated the weak father. The serial killer was very religious as a young man. He regularly went door to door proselytizing for his fundamentalist sect, and he would read the bible for hours. That religious zeal was only on the surface. He was extremely sexually active and a regular user of paid sexual partners. Of course, the Green River murderer killed prostitutes. I don’t know if there is any pattern to the monsters who become serial killers, but at least the Green River Murderer had a facade of religious fundamentalism.”
“Sam Gilbert is the only suspect who seems to be actively religious,” I said.
“I don’t mean to imply that Sam should move up on your suspect list. My point is that the surface appearance is often very different than the evil that lurks underneath,” she said.
The Murders at El Tovar Page 12