The Murders at El Tovar

by Charles Williamson

  As we drove to the park headquarters, I let Amy do all the talking as the official representative of the Park Service. She intended to use a conference room to brief the family, but in the car she explained that the helicopter search was continuing. Amy had arranged for the Gilberts to stay in rooms at a Tusayan motel because there were no vacancies at the accommodations in the Grand Canyon Village. It was 6:30 when we drove through the park entrance.

  Once we were seated in the conference room, Amy began her report to the Family. She explained, “I have met Sam, and he was an outstanding young man. Unfortunately, the circumstances of his fall into the river look very bad. He was carrying a heavy backpack. When he lost his balance, he slid headfirst down a seventy-five degree slope of a jagged rock wall of the Inner Gorge. He fell into a very fast moving section of the Colorado River a short distance from a series of three dangerous rapids.”

  One of Sam’s sisters said, “Sam partially grew up in the family swimming pool. He can swim like a fish.”

  Amy said cautiously, “We have that going in our favor. Also, Sam is a very athletic young man.” I noticed that Amy was careful to use the present tense. She was not ready to indicate that she thought Sam was dead. I hoped she was right.

  Steven Gilbert asked, “What are the odds?”

  Amy turned on a project unit. The first photo was of the spot where Sam went into the river. There was a gasp when the family realized how far he would have slid on those jagged rocks. Amy said, “There was one witness who watched Sam slide down into the river, his roommate Will Blake. Will was certain that Sam still had the aluminum frame of the backpack on when he went into the water.”

  Amy changed slides to show the river near where we had lunch and said, “Detective Damson and his wife were hiking about a hundred yards behind Sam and Will. They couldn’t see Sam’s slide into the water, but they had a clear view of the river. They didn’t see Sam trying to swim.”

  Steven Gilbert had been leaning forward in his chair totally focused on every word and photo. I noticed that he sat back in his chair. He now understood the odds. I could see a tear roll down his ruddy cheek. He looked at me and asked, “Detective, are you certain that this was an accident?”

  I had been certain at the time, but Margaret’s question about whether Will was trying to steady Sam had raised a little doubt. I replied with as much sympathy as possible. “It looks that way. He stepped to the cliff edge of the trail to let a jogger pass. We’ll ask Sam how it happened when we find him.”

  “Have you checked out this jogger? Was she Russian?” Steven Gilbert asked.

  “The young woman is not Ukrainian. She’s from Phoenix and works at Phantom Ranch. She jogs at that same time every afternoon. Mr. Gilbert, I know that your son had some difficulty in Kiev, and that the embassy felt he was in danger, so much danger that they sent marine guards with him to the airport. This afternoon’s events do not seem to be related.”

  Steven Gilbert glanced at his daughters. I guessed that they did not know the whole story of the young girl in Kiev. He said, “Sam was moving down to Phantom Ranch because he felt it was safer. I wanted him to go to college when he got back, but he wanted to spend a year doing something else first. His scholarship was set to begin two years after high school.”

  “Sam’s roommate was killed a few weeks ago. Did he discuss that death with you Mr. Gilbert?” I asked.

  “Yes. He called me twice a week. Jim’s death hit Sam hard. They were friends.”

  I explained that I was here to investigate that death and that I’d interviewed Jim Otto’s roommates in the process. I said that Sam thought he might have been the target, but I had found no evidence of that. I asked if any of the family members had discussed the crime with Sam.

  The young women shook their heads indicating no, but Mr. Gilbert said, “Sam told me all about the murder in the next bunk. It’s a horrible thing for a young man to experience, blood all over the bed and the floor and a friend dead a few feet away. Death from hammer blows is an execution method sometimes used by the Russian Mafia.”

  That was news to me, but I had no experience with the Russian mob and no reason to question Mr. Gilbert’s assertion. I couldn’t dismiss the similarities in the dead women and the probable connection to a serial killer. I said, “I think that Jim Otto was the actual target and that the killer was someone who knew him, someone who had been in his room and knew which bunk was Jim’s. It’s part of an ongoing investigation of some other deaths. Was there anyone that Sam worked with that he was suspicious of?”

  Mr. Gilbert thought a moment. He explained, “Sam was very popular in high school, but he was not as gregarious here. He was nursing a broken heart. Also, he didn’t have much in common with this drunken promiscuous crowd. He liked his roommates OK, but he had several run-ins with a guy down the hall, Jason something. Sam could take care of himself. There were no actual fights, just a lot of kidding and sarcastic comments. I don’t know if you’d call it suspicion exactly, but he thought Jason was charming on the outside and evil on the inside.”

  I thought it was interesting that he used the word evil. Jason seemed quite charming and pleasant to me, but I’d never been the subject of his kidding.

  Amy resumed her briefing, showing a slide of the Horn Creek Rapids. She detailed the helicopter search, which would be ending within an hour because of darkness. She mentioned that all of the white water rafting companies had been notified. Amy did the talking with only a few questions until she asked, “Mr. Gilbert are you a widower?”

  Steven Gilbert’s voice was gruff as he replied. “I divorced many years ago. I have no contact with the woman. I don’t know if she’s alive.”

  “We need to notify her. Do you have any idea of how we might do that?”

  “Twelve years ago the woman violated a Utah court order and kidnapped Sam. She took him to an ashram in Idaho run by a weird Asian cult she’d joined. The Jezebel exposed the poor boy to every sort of monstrous heathen practice before I was able to track her down six months later.”

  He continued, still angry after twelve years. “I went with a group of twenty friends to get Sam back. I’m no longer welcome in Idaho, and she’s wanted on a criminal complaint in Utah. Her name is now some nonsense syllables like, Cung Thri Son. I’m not sure how to spell it. I think she moved to somewhere in Asia. Sam would not have wanted her here. My kids despise what she became.”

  If Sam truly despised his mother, could that be significant? I was anxious to discuss all the information I’d gathered with the FBI profiler. Being abducted and taken into a cult at age seven or eight might do a lot of damage to a child. I expected to hear from the profiler on Monday. I asked, “Mr. Gilbert, do you have any photos that might help us identify Ms. Son? Even one from twelve years ago might be useful.”

  Amy looked surprised at my request but played along. She said, “Perhaps a neighbor could retrieve one and fax it to me.”

  “Sam wouldn’t have wanted her here,” he said. “However, I have the file the investigator used to find her when she took Sam. It’s in my office. I’ll have a copy of the whole thing faxed to you, Ranger Ziegler. If you find her and she comes, I don’t want to see her. Keep her away from my girls. Is that clear.”

  Amy looked a little taken aback by his tone and replied, “Of course, your wishes will be respected. There is a legal need to try and reach her. I’m sorry that I’ve troubled you further at this difficult time.”

  After a brief further discussion of the search for Sam, Amy Ziegler drove the Gilberts to their motel in town. I sat next to Teresa, Sam’s seventeen-year-old sister, as Amy drove us into town. She commented, “Sam loved to white water raft. He was looking forward to trying the Colorado through the Canyon. He’d know how to make it through those rapids. He’s OK. You’ll find him downstream.”

  I hoped she was right. Unfortunately, no one can swim with an eighty-pound backpack. The slide down those sharp rocks would have made survival even more difficult than a direct f
all into the river. There was a good chance he wasn’t conscious when he entered the water.

  After we had dropped the Gilberts at their motel, Amy and I discussed the case. “You told me that the bodies of people who drowned in the Colorado are sometimes never found.”

  She nodded, and I continued, “If I was in fear of my life and wanted to be presumed dead, a fall into the river might be a good cover. If I were an excellent swimmer and an experienced white water rafter who had studied this section of the river, my odds of survival would go up.”

  “Not with a heavy pack and with a slide down that jagged rock shoot,” Amy said. “No one can swim with that much weight, and he’d have been badly beaten up by those sharp rocks on the way into the water. Also, you and Margaret didn’t see him trying to swim after he went into the water.”

  “That’s true,” I said, but a theory was still forming in my suspicious mind.

  It was about 9:00 when Amy dropped me off at El Tovar.

  As I’d suggested, the night chain was on the door. When a smiling Margaret opened the door, I saw a candlelight dinner for two was set up in the room. A portable table was covered with a white cloth. Metal covers were on each plate, but I could identify my favorite pinot grigio cooling in a silver wine cooler. Margaret smiled and said, “Cold shrimp and a Caesar salad. Tony the headwaiter arranged it.” Best of all, I could see a plastic container of Margaret’s homemade double chocolate walnut brownies for dessert.

  CHAPTER 28

  I was up at 4:00. I decided to go down to the hotel’s front desk and confront Jason McKinney about the missing page from Chad’s fax. I wanted to talk to the Australian before he went off duty at 5:00.

  The young Australian smiled as I approached the counter saying, “G’Day Detective Lieutenant. Are you up to watch the Sunday sunrise?”

  I had previously found Jason’s consistent cheerfulness endearing, but this morning, I was annoyed by his good humor. I replied, “Jason, you took one of the pages out of the fax that I received yesterday morning. That’s obstruction of justice. You’d better do some explaining or you’re going to visit the Coconino County Jail.”

  He continued to smile and explained, “It was a bonehead act. I’m very sorry detective. I saw my name at the top of one of the pages, and I read it. I wadded it up in anger and then it was too late to undo it. You’d have known I’d read the fax if I gave you the damaged page.”

  He took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and put in on the desk. He placed his hands together over the desk as if waiting for handcuffs. He continued to grin.

  Now, I was seriously pissed at his smile and his flippant tone. I didn’t reach for the wadded up ball that was the missing page. I stood for a moment thinking of how to put a little fear into this smug young man. I continued to frown. “ Jason, this page says that you have only the ninety day tourist visa which is automatic for Australians. The page you took from the fax reports that you did not enter the country declaring your intention to work. After that first ninety days expired, you were here illegally.”

  He continued to grin and replied, “I came by my resident alien card on the up and up detective. I got it from the American consulate in Sydney before I came to the States. It’s not a fake. I can prove that. I’m sorry about the fax. It was stupid of me, but I’m working here legally.”

  He took the identification from his wallet and placed it on the desk. “Check with Kim Oshouski at your consulate in Sydney. She can verify it.”

  He was so self-confident that I thought he might be telling the truth. I picked up the card and said, “Do not leave the Grand Canyon Village until I’ve checked with the INS.”

  I grabbed the wadded up page and turned and walked up the stairs to the second floor. I had overplayed my hand. Chad had told me that the INS wasn’t willing to spend resources on this kind of case. They were too busy searching for terrorists to prosecute a guy from Australia working as a desk clerk. I could probably get the guy fired, but jail time and deportation were not likely. It had made me even madder that I wasn’t able to wipe the smile off his face.

  I retrieved my cell phone from the room where Margaret was sleeping. I sat in the empty second floor lounge. There were two voice mail messages. The first was from Chad. “Partner, the airline records indicate that Garland Pickney flew to London from Chicago the day following his going away party. If the British Airways records are correct, Pickney was out of the country when Peggy Marshall was killed. Call me when you get up. I have some of the photos of your suspects’ mothers.”

  It was too early to call Chad back. Sheriff Taylor had agreed Chad could come up and help me. I wanted to discuss that with him as soon as possible, but I decided to call him back at 8:00. I knew his girlfriend, Coral, would appreciate my waiting till later on a Sunday morning.

  The second call was recorded at 2:00 AM. Alan Markley’s voice had the strained tone of a marathoner in the minutes after completing a run. “Mike, It took me eight hours, but I’m out of the damn Canyon. I was tempted to crash somewhere on the trail and sleep until morning, but I kept on walking. Hiking out of that big hellhole in the dark was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Sam was the second guy from this four-man room to die this month. Hiking out, I figured I might be the third. I plan to sleep until my shift at El Tovar starts this afternoon.”

  I was sitting in the lounge in a comfortable chair thinking about the case when Jason McKinney came up the stairs. He handed me a cup of coffee and The Arizona Republic, which was thick with ads on a Sunday morning, saying, “I’m truly sorry about the fax page.” He had a serious expression for the first time since I’d met him. He turned and went back down to work. It was his way of apologizing.

  The most prominent Arizona story reported on the forest fire that was out of control in the vicinity of Hannagan Meadow in the eastern part of the state. It was the fifth arson fire this season in that scenic area of aspen, spruce, and fir. The rugged Blue Range Primitive Area along the New Mexico border was one of Arizona’s little known treasures. It was in danger from the latest fire. This year had been unusually dry, and the risks in the area were very extreme. None of the arson fires had been in Coconino County, so I didn’t know how the search for the arsonist was progressing. The newspapers hadn’t reported how the authorities had determined that it was the same arsonist. The first four fires had been discovered and put out quickly, but there was a new one set every Sunday morning. The fire set last Sunday was still not fully contained. Since this was a Sunday, I assumed that every law enforcement officer in that area of the state would be out watching for the next fire. I was busy with the deaths at the Grand Canyon and glad these fires were not in my jurisdiction.

  I read the first section of the paper and checked to see how the Diamondbacks were doing, one game ahead in the Western Division. I went back to the room and found that Margaret was up. I updated her on the voice mail messages and my conversation with Jason.

  “Mike, why are you so upset about Jason? Do you think he’s got something to hide besides taking the fax page? If his work permit was valid, why would he want to take the page in the first place? It was stupid,” she said.

  “I was fairly stupid at that age too, “ I said. “It doesn’t make him a serial killer.” I decided to call the Sydney consulate after 5:00 this afternoon. It would be Monday morning in Sydney by then.

  Margaret and I dressed in our hiking clothing and went down for a short walk along the Rim Trail before breakfast. We went east from the hotel along the route that Peggy Marshall had traveled. It was difficult to be cheerful and enjoy the spectacular morning. We sat silently on the same bench where Mrs. Marshall had waited for the dawn to take a photo for her second grade students.

  Breaking the silence, Margaret said, “I’ve been thinking about Sam and about what his sisters said. They said he was an outstanding swimmer and an experienced white water rafter.”

  “Yes, but with all that weight in his pack, it doesn’t look good,” I said.

>   “Why did he carry that weight and not ship it down by mule?”

  Sometimes discussing a case with Margaret leaves me feeling interrogated, but there’s usually a valid point to her questions. “How would I know,” I said with a slight tone of annoyance. “Maybe he thought the exercise of carrying it would be good.”

  “Will and Sam knew that Alan Markley was not experienced at hiking the Canyon and probably couldn’t keep up with them.”

  “Yep, it was a little stupid of Alan to volunteer,” I agreed. “They were both suspects, and he wanted to keep an eye on them. He underestimated how difficult the hike would be.”

  “Did you or Alan see what was actually in Sam’s pack?” she asked.

  I wonder where my very bright wife was going with this line of questioning. “I could see that his pack was really heavy the way the straps dug into his shoulders. He was carrying a lot of weight, but I didn’t see inside the pack. I don’t think Alan did either.”

  The edges of Margaret’s eyes had that charming little crinkle that sometimes shows up when she’s figured out a puzzle. She explained, “If Sam and Will were working together to help Sam disappear, they might have made arrangements to carry something smaller than a normal scuba tank that would let him breath for a few minutes underwater. The plan might have been for Sam to disappear by slipping into the water, maybe near where the Bright Angel trail reaches the river. Will could have reported him as having fallen into the river somewhere else. They could be fairly certain that Alan would be lagging behind because he wasn’t in as good a shape, however Alan could confirm how heavy Sam’s pack was. They had no way of knowing that we would tag along and spoil their plan.”