“Please follow my lead in the hiking discussion,” I said to Margaret.
When Will Blake and Sam Gilbert reached us, I introduced Margaret. When Alan reached the group, he was introduced to both of us by Will as their new roommate on his first hike into the Grand Canyon. Alan made a perfunctory acknowledgment of the introduction. He dropped his pack and collapsed, panting and sweating, on a nearby bench.
I said to Will and Sam, “Margaret and I are hiking to Phantom Ranch. We’ve both been down to the river and to Plateau Point, this time we want to see what it’s like at Phantom Ranch. We plan to hike back up late in the evening to avoid the afternoon heat.”
“Sam needs to become accustomed to that heat since he’ll be living down there all summer,” Will joked.
“I understand it’s as hot as Phoenix but more humid because of the river,” Sam said in a tone that indicated that he wasn’t looking forward to a summer there.
I mentioned that Margaret and I live down in Sedona where it often gets near a hundred on June afternoons. I didn’t say that we have the good sense to plan our hikes for the early morning when it’s in the sixties and seventies. I mentioned that their new roommate looked a little tuckered out for this early in the hike. Will said, “Alan just needs to gut it out. He won’t have a pack on the way back out. He’ll be OK.”
What I saw was a young man lying on a bench almost in heat exhaustion with heat stroke not far behind at the temperatures they would soon experience. I said, “I’m trying to get in shape for a backpacking trip to Montana in August. Maybe I could trade off with Alan on the hike down. That would test my stamina a little before I do the five day hike at Glacier National Park.” There was no way I was going to let my partner hike with these guys alone. I had my handgun in my daypack, and I was fairly certain that Alan couldn’t have brought his and remained undercover. One of us needed access to a weapon.
“Will, I’d feel much safer if we hiked with an experienced young man like you,” Margaret said playing along. “I’ve never been in the Inner Gorge on the River Trail. I think that trail is very dangerous.”
“You’ll be fine if you wait until the heat is past to hike out,” Will said assuming the role of the Canyon expert. “You’re very welcome to stay with us Mrs. Damson. I’ve done this hike twenty times in the last six months; I’ll take care of us.” However, I had little confidence in Will taking care of us. He hadn’t paid any attention to the signs of heat stress that Alan displayed.
Margaret smiled her most charming smile and said, “We have enough goodies packed for all of us to enjoy a picnic next to the river.”
We rested there for ten more minutes until Sam and Will grew restless to move on. I suggested that Alan carry my daypack, and I’d carry his backpack until we got down the steepest set of switchbacks on the trail.
I walked over to where Alan was resting. His color was better, and he was no longer panting. I whispered as I handed him my small pack, “My weapon is packed in the front pocket. Walk at the end of the group, but keep us constantly in sight. Will Blake is one of my primary suspects.”
He looked grateful as he lifted my small pack. On the other hand, I was shocked at the weight of his dumbbell-filled pack. It was fifty pounds or more. At least I understood how to adjust the straps so that the weight rested on my hips and not on my shoulders. Margaret and I had enjoyed many a great backpacking trip in our younger days.
I forced a smile and suggested, “Will, why don’t you lead the way. You’re the most experienced.”
It was noon. We headed off in single file into the hottest part of the June afternoon. My magnificent banquet of hiking would end up with me in the oven.
CHAPTER 24
Before we left the rest area, I told Will, “You’re a very strong hiker, but Margaret and I usually hike at only about two miles an hour. We’ll go at our normal pace. If you don’t want to wait on us old folks, we’ll see you at Phantom Ranch.”
Will replied, “Detective, I’ll stay with the group on the way down. I may hurry a little on the way out this afternoon. I have a date at 7:00.”
Giant cottonwood trees shaded the trail for the first quarter of a mile from Indian Gardens to Phantom Ranch. There were only a few other hikers on the trail. Most people were smart enough to avoid an afternoon hike in the Inner Gorge in summer. I was beginning to feel comfortable with the heavy pack as we followed the trail along Garden Creek into the narrow gorge where the creek flows over a waterfall and away from the trail. I was walking beside Sam while Margaret was chatting with Will. Alan was in the rear of our little troop. I was glad that I wasn’t carrying a pack as top heavy as Sam’s. He’d tied plastic bags of clothes to the top of his pack until it extended a foot above his head. The higher the center of gravity, the more difficult it is to keep your balance when you weigh eighty to a hundred pounds more than normal.
As we started down a set of switchbacks, Sam asked, “Have you made progress in finding the guy who killed Jim?”
“Not yet. There’re some things that still bother me about the crime scene. Four young men were asleep in a locked room. Not a single person heard the murder of one of their roommates. The medical examiner said the hammer blow that killed your friend would have been as loud as a hard strike with a hammer against a two by four.”
Sam’s eyes looked down at the trail even though the footing was excellent. I noticed the beginning of a blush on his face. He said nothing for two minutes. With the same tone of voice a guilty child might use, Sam said, “There was something that I didn’t tell Deputy Callison when he questioned me the morning Jim died. Because I hadn’t mentioned it to him, I didn’t tell you either.”
I said in a tone as gentle as my gruff voice is capable of using, “Sam, being honest about everything you know is the best way to help me with this case.”
Sam replied in such a quiet voice that I needed to strain to hear it over the crunch of our footsteps. “I was having a very explicit dream about a girl that I knew in Kiev when Will stepped on my mattress as he climbed into his bunk at about 1:00. It woke me, and I went down the hall to the bathroom to call her on my cell phone. I propped the door to our room open with the rubber doorstop I keep in my dresser. I was only gone about ten minutes. The room was dark. I didn’t notice anything suspicious when I went back to bed.”
Sam’s story still didn’t seem authentic. Why not just tell us he went to make a call after he woke up at 1:00? I said, “Sam, your keeping quiet about this has focused my attention on you and your roommates. I’m glad you’re being honest now. Tell me your cell phone number. It’ll be easy to verify an international call.”
There was a short intake of breath from my hiking companion as he considered his next comment. We stopped hiking for a few seconds as Sam looked directly at me and said, “I didn’t really call her, but the rest of the story is true. I was embarrassed about why I went down to the bathroom.”
By now Sam’s face was crimson. Raised in a very religious household, Sam might well have been too embarrassed to mention his nocturnal trip to the bathroom after waking from an erotic dream. I believed Sam. His reaction was too authentic to have been faked. Sam dropped several notches on my suspect list.
“Sam, now think carefully. Did you see anyone at all? Do you have any idea who killed Jim Otto?”
“It was probably nothing,” he said. “As I came out of the bathroom, I saw a door close at the far end of the hall. I’m not even certain my memory is right, and I don’t know which room. It was on the left side of the hall. Everyone liked Jim. He didn’t have any enemies who would murder him. Maybe they were after someone else. I sleep on the other lower bunk. Maybe they killed the wrong person.”
I thought that fear might explain Sam’s move down to Phantom Ranch. He might feel much safer there. I had never mentioned the possible connection to Helga Günter to the suspects. I asked, “Do you have that sort of enemies Sam?”
Sam replied with a terse, “No.” He voice carried a different mean
ing. His voice said, “Maybe.”
Sam didn’t plan to explain more about who concerned him, and I didn’t think his fears were connected to the serial killer who was stalking the Grand Canyon National Park.
I had narrowed my focus too much as a result of the locked room misinformation. The murder could have easily occurred soon after the two young drunks went to bed. The medical examiner had said that Jim Otto’s blood alcohol level was extremely high. That was consistent with his being killed soon after he went to bed and before his liver had a chance to metabolize much of the gin he’d consumed. The time of death was within the expected range. If someone had followed Jim and Will as they left the party, the killer could have seen Sam leave the door open when he went to the bathroom.
We rested at the end of the switchbacks, and when he started hiking again, Margaret was next to me. Sam and Will were out in the lead with a substantially refreshed Alan Markley following ten feet behind. I explained Sam’s story about a nocturnal trip to the bathroom to Margaret, and she told me her impression of Will Blake.
As we hiked along the small crystal-clear stream called Pipe Creek, Margaret explained, “Will is very charming. Maybe his story about sixty-three women is true, or maybe it’s an exaggeration. In any case, Will certainly knows how to talk to a woman. I felt very relaxed hiking with him. We discussed all sorts of interesting things. My impression is that Will is bright but hasn’t found the direction and motivation he needs in life. He’s aimless in a literal sense, just a young man from a well to do family enjoying casual sex and drinking too much. Will Blake is not a serial killer, just a lost soul who needs a really caring relationship.”
“You don’t think it was one of Jim Otto’s roommates?” I asked.
“If you cross these three men from your suspect list, maybe the real killer will be more obvious. I haven’t met Deputy Callison, but he doesn’t live in the Colter House. Maybe he knew where Jim Otto was sleeping in some other way. You haven’t learned much about Callison’s background yet. Who else lives in this dorm who might have had the opportunity to commit all of these murders?” she said.
I was not ready to dismiss Will Blake from my suspect list based on Margaret’s short conversation with him, but I recognized that Margaret has a great track record in judging character. I said, “I don’t know. Most of the men who live in the dorm were working when Helga Günter was murdered on the Bright Angel Trail, but the more people we eliminate the closer we’ll be to the actual murderer.”
We continued hiking through a deep side canyon that brought us to the rocky shore of the Colorado River. The five-hundred-foot high Glenn Canyon Dam in northern Arizona near the Utah border tames the mighty canyon-digging river. The Colorado River is over a hundred feet wide and rushes through this part of the Grand Canyon as it approaches a series of class four rapids a few miles downstream. It’s much too dangerous for a cool swim along this stretch. The clear green-hued water flowing past our lunch stop came from deep within Lake Powell. It was as cold as a mountain stream because the turbines that it powered took their water from deep within the lake.
Sam Gilbert and Alan Markley soaked their feet in the cold water while Margaret prepared the lunch goodies that we had expected to eat at Plateau Point. It was too hot in the bright sunlight to enjoy eating next to the quick moving river. Margaret set out our lunch in a rock pavilion a short distance up the trail.
Our meal conversation was jovial, but poor Alan took a lot of kidding from the other young men about needing me to carry his pack from Indian Gardens. They pointed out that I was old enough to be his father. Alan didn’t have much experience hiking, and he had some serious blisters on his feet. Margaret helped him treat them and covered them with moleskin. After consuming every bit of the food Margaret and I had brought, the troop started the River Trail. It’s a dramatic trail that had been blasted out of solid rock. It connects the Bright Angel Trail to the North Kaibab Trail. It would take us to Bright Angel Campground and then on to Phantom Ranch. Alan said he’d carry the heavy pack the rest of the way; I was grateful.
It was only two and a half miles from our lunch spot to Phantom Ranch, but it would not be a good journey for any hiker who didn’t enjoy walking along a trail blasted into solid rock with a three hundred foot sheer cliff along one side. If the fall didn’t kill you, the downstream rapids of the Colorado would finish the job. However, the views along the trail are amazing. They made up for the discomfort of the heat and direct sun. Along the highest part of the trail, upstream we could see the two suspension footbridges that allow hikers and mule trains to cross the river. Downstream, we could see the white water of the Horn Creek Rapids below Plateau Point.
There were a few other hikers visible far ahead on the trail, but the five of us had this portion of the route to ourselves. We stopped to enjoy the panorama. Alan took off his backpack but the stop was brief. We were soon on our way, anxious to get to the shade of Phantom Ranch before it got any hotter. We were walking single file next to the solid rock and away from the three hundred-foot precipice. Alan was about a hundred yards behind, and Sam and Will were about the same distance ahead when the jogger passed me. She was a buff young woman with a water pack on her back, but not much else on. My partner in Sedona is something of an extreme sports aficionado, but even Chad wouldn’t have been running in the Inner Gorge on a June afternoon. As the young woman neared Sam and Will, they heard her approach. Sam moved to the outside to let her by, but the momentum of his heavy pack caused him to lose his balance.
I watched as if in slow motion as the young waiter toppled and fell while the runner continued on her way, unaware of the accident she’d caused. I heard an anguished shout as Will Blake reached out to steady his former roommate, but his hand seemed to clasp only air. Sam had disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
CHAPTER 25
Margaret and I ran to the point where Sam Gilbert had fallen from the River Trail. It could not have taken us a minute. We stood in shock looking over the edge. Next to us, Will Blake’s attention was focused on the green fast moving river. There was utter shock on his face. Sam was gone. Below us was a jagged rock chute that would have dumped the young man into the turbulent waters of the Colorado several hundred feet below. The nearly vertical slope contained some articles of clothing and other personal items that had been scattered when the sharp metamorphic rocks of the Inner Gorge cut into Sam’s backpack. There was no sign of Sam in the foaming water that raced through the steep sided gorge.
I had my cell phone out even before we reached the spot, but there was no signal this deep in the Grand Canyon. Will said, “He just slid down on his back, head first, like an overturned turtle. I saw Sam trying to grab hold, but the slick nylon and the aluminum frame of his pack was like a sled. God, I’ll never forget the look on Sam’s face as he struggled to use his bleeding hands to stop his slide.”
I didn’t believe what I said, but I mentioned, “Sam may still be alive. We need to get help. There’s a phone at the rangers’ station at Bright Angel Campground.”
Will said, “I’ll go.” He dropped his pack and took off running. His long legs could take him to the phone within a few minutes. It was slightly over a mile. The rest of us rushed back to where the Bright Angel Trail met the river. It was the only approach to the river anywhere downstream for many miles. In this part of the Canyon, the Inner Gorge had nearly vertical walls and no sandy stopping places for rafters. I knew how dangerous it would be to go into the water this close to a major rapids, but I was a good swimmer. If I saw Sam’s body, I was going to try to reach it.
Margaret positioned herself higher on the trail and scanned the river for any sign that the young man was struggling in the fast moving water. I took off my pack and my boots and waded out until the cold water was knee deep. It was difficult to stand against the current. We saw no sign of the hapless young man.
Within twenty minutes, a helicopter was flying along the river looking for any sign of Sam Gilbert. Will returned, a
nd we sat on the rocky bank of the Colorado River waiting for any news. After about two hours, Amy Ziegler joined us. It was her job to investigate the death for the National Park Service. She interviewed each of us. She’d flown down on a helicopter and had already interviewed the young runner whose approach had caused Sam to move too close to the cliff edge. The young woman was an employee of Phantom Ranch who ran every day along the Rim Trail. She was unaware of Sam’s fall until Amy told her about it.
Amy explained that the helicopter had searched far below the nearby Horn Creek Rapids. However, downstream were even more dangerous rapids, the Salt Creek and the Granite Rapids. There was no easy place for a swimmer to get out of the river until after the Granite Rapids. In several cases, drowning victims from this area of the river were never found. In other cases, the victims floated to the surface weeks later in the quiet waters of Lake Mead a hundred miles away. Amy took all of our statements, recording them on a small digital recorder that looked like a thicker than normal fountain pen.
When Amy was taking my statement, she said, “Mike you can see my problem with the deaths you’re investigating. Most accidents have witnesses and understandable explanations. In this case, Sam was carrying an overweight pack. He just lost his balance. I can usually establish which ones are accidents fairly easily. In this case, there’s no doubt.”
“It certainly seemed to be an accident. Are you certain of the young runner’s explanation?” I asked.
“You’re a very suspicious man Mike. I checked with her supervisor. The young woman works in the kitchen at Phantom Ranch. She runs every day between the end of the lunch service and the beginning of preparation for the dinner service. She’s in training for a TV adventure race. Do you have a reason to think Sam might have been someone’s target?”
“Sam was afraid of someone. He thought that he was the actual target of Jim Otto’s murderer. Sam was sleeping in the other lower bunk in the same room. He didn’t explain who might be after him, but I think that fear caused Sam to ask for a transfer to Phantom Ranch. It’s accessible only by mule or by foot, and guests need to book the cabins two years in advance. It would be unlikely for one of the guests to be a danger to Sam.”
The Murders at El Tovar Page 14