Maximum Exposure (7 page)

“You and I read the same reports, Ms. Revere. And as I said, college boys can be brainless. But even if my team had been told Saturday night when the boys got back to campus, we couldn’t have gone up there. It was the first big storm of the season, came in earlier than anyone thought. Even me, and I’m pretty good about predicting storms.” He shrugged. “It was a tragedy, and those boys are going to have to live with this for the rest of their lives.”

It was hard for Max to explain her gut, what her instincts said, but she tried. “I think there was something else going on that weekend, something that put Scott in danger. And—” She stopped. What more could she say without treading into conjecture?

“And the only proof you have that the boys are lying is your gut.”

She wanted to say she had more than that, but she couldn’t. “I would call it … circumstantial evidence. The photo. The fact they weren’t close friends. That Arthur Cowan is an expert skier and should have known better about weather conditions, or at a minimum alerted the ranger station the same night Scott disappeared. That they all acted suspicious when I asked questions. Nervous.”

He tilted his head and smiled. “Most college boys would be nervous when a beautiful, intelligent woman questions them.”

She laughed. “I hardly think that was the reason. Certainly not for Arthur Cowan, who was belligerent and threatening. If you need credentials, I can give you references, people in law enforcement and others who can vouch for me.”

“Ms. Revere,” he said, “why are you so far from home? You have no ties to Colorado or Colorado Springs. The Sheldons aren’t longtime family friends, are they?” Now she shook her head. “So why do you care?”

What did she tell him? That she didn’t know why she’d flown two thousand miles on her own dime to find out what had happened to Scott? That wasn’t completely true. Did she share a half truth? That Adele Sheldon’s letter pulled her heartstrings? Stirred her curiosity? She couldn’t stop thinking about him, or shake the deep belief that she could uncover the truth.

But lying wasn’t something that came natural to her. Too many people in her life had lied—either to her face or by omission. She spoke the truth, but kept it simple.

“My best friend disappeared when we were in college,” she said. “Her body was never found. I know she’s dead, just like my instincts tell me Scott Sheldon is dead. Except with Karen, there was evidence that she’d been murdered.” She paused, wished she had ordered a second glass of wine, but she sent the hostess away with a look ten minutes ago. “Her family still suffers with the unknown. I see them every year, and the pain—it’s never left. But they still harbor an ounce of hope. That hope is trumped by the pain they feel with her loss—not the loss specifically anymore, but the
not knowing.
When I heard about this case, when I talked to Adele— I think I can help her find peace. I don’t want her living with the unknown, like Karen’s family. If Adele knows what happened, she can grieve and be there for her daughter.”

Karen’s sister had lived in the shadow of Karen’s disappearance for the past seven years. Laura would have graduated from college last year if her life hadn’t been turned upside down. As it was, she barely graduated from high school, never went to college, was in and out of rehab. Scott’s sister wasn’t Laura, but Max had seen firsthand how the pain of grieving parents forever marked the surviving children.

“Do you have the proper clothes and footwear for a prolonged search?” Chuck asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Be at ranger headquarters by oh-eight-hundred, properly geared up. Like I said, there’s one more grid to search. If Scott’s body is up there, Trixie will find him.”

At the sound of her name, the golden retriever perked her ears up. She stood as her master rose. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Thank you, but I’m already late getting home. My wife is a patient woman, but I need to get back.”

Chapter Six

On Wednesday morning, Max arrived at the ranger headquarters at quarter to eight. The morning was cold but completely clear, and the weather report had said it would warm to the fifties.

Chuck introduced her to Tim and Ann Callow, volunteers with search and rescue. They were both lifelong residents of the area and had been part of the initial search team. Older than Chuck, but both appeared fit.

“Chuck told us you’re a reporter from New York,” Ann said, overtly curious. “Sounds fascinating.”

“You won’t catch me dead in a city like that,” Tim said with a grin.

“I’m a city girl at heart,” Max said. “Though I enjoy the mountains. My cousin owns a ski resort in Vail, and I try to visit every year.”

They chatted as they loaded up the four-wheel-drive truck and Chuck checked provisions. Chuck drove and asked Max, who sat in the passenger seat, “Is that a map of the search area?”

“Partly—I printed it from the park service Web site and marked it up based on the information I learned from the police reports. They parked here—” She put her finger on the map, then traced it south. “—and camped here.”

“We’ve been focusing on the area between the campground and where they parked. The witnesses said he walked toward the car. But at night, he may have inadvertently left the trail. We’ve covered every area between, but now that we have had warmer weather, Trixie can be of more use. She’s still young, not fully trained, but our last cadaver dog died.”

From the backseat, Ann said, “We owned Mickie, Trixie’s mother. She died six months ago, cancer. We still have the two male dogs from her last litter. Chuck took Trixie, and the other two bitches went to friends of ours in Denver who are training them for their own unit.”

“Trixie is a great dog,” Chuck said, “but training takes time. She’s smart, though. Smartest dog I’ve had, and I’ve had plenty.”

Max absently reached back and scratched Trixie behind the ears. She loved dogs, and the only thing she regretted about her career—and all the travel it entailed—was that she couldn’t have her own pup. But it wouldn’t be fair to the animal to be alone so much, or left with neighbors when Max was out of town.

While she petted Trixie with one hand, she marked off on her map where Chuck said they’d searched. “Why didn’t you search south of the camp?”

“Like I said, we focused north and east because of the terrain and where the truck was parked. We also covered a mile perimeter from the campsite during the initial search. We had more than a dozen people the three days after we were notified—though we only had a couple hours each day where we could be out.”

“So the perimeter was defined based on information those three boys from Cheyenne gave you.”

He hesitated. “You sound suspicious.”

“I am.”

“Do you think Scott was murdered?”

“No,” she said immediately, but then she wondered. “It would explain a lot, but at the same time, eventually the body will be discovered, and if it’s clear he was murdered, a more thorough investigation would put those three under more scrutiny. But intent to kill is not the same thing as being responsible for a death. What if there was an accident and some reason the boys didn’t want to admit to it?”

“Like if they had been drinking? Doing drugs?”

She nodded. “Maybe. Scott dies and they fear getting in trouble, so they leave him and make up a story about how he left without them.”

“One of my first encounters with a corpse was finding a pair of young lovers who’d dropped acid about a hundred miles north of here. They hadn’t brought any provisions, no sleeping bags. They were so wasted, they wandered off and we found them buried in leaves. Died of exposure in below-freezing temperatures. Even in the summer, it gets really cold at the higher elevations when the sun goes down.”

Tim said, “Ann and I were up here during the initial search. Chuck and his team covered more ground than anyone thought possible, considering the storm. If there was an accident, it wasn’t at the campground.”

That validated Max’s theory. “Maybe,” she said cautiously, not wanting to offend the three, “you were searching in the wrong place.”

Chuck turned off the winding paved road onto a well-packed dirt and gravel road. Any remaining snow was deep in crevices and under trees, where little sunlight reached, but it looked like spring was fully blooming in the Rocky Mountains. They bounced around in the cab more than Max’s stomach liked, so she put her map away and focused on the terrain.

About a mile later, Chuck pulled over in a clearing. There were deep rivets from other vehicles that had come and gone, and several marked paths. “This is where the boys parked,” he said. “It’s a two-mile hike to the campground. We’ve covered everything around this area both six months ago and this past week.”

Max stretched her legs and brought out her map again. “This is the trail map that’s downloadable from the National Park Service Web site,” she said. She pointed to an area southeast of the campground. “What’s over here? This looks like a marked path.”

Chuck studied it, nodded. “It leads to an abandoned Boy Scout camp.”

“It also looks like a direct route to the highway.”

“It’s not—it’s treacherous, and the trail is impassable in winter.” But he studied the printout that Max had brought. “I can see why the route appears direct. But why would he go that way?”

“The question is, why would the others lie about the direction he took?”

Chuck considered for a long minute. “Ann, Tim, can you take this quadrant?” He pointed to a section west of the campground. “It’s the only area we haven’t covered in the last week. I’m going to take Trixie to follow Ms. Revere’s hunch about this trail.”

“No problem,” Tim said. He checked his watch. “It’ll take four hours, give or take.”

“We’ll meet back here, at the truck, at one thirty,” Chuck said. “Unless any of us find something. We’ll use the emergency band, keep the chatter to a minimum.”

“Be safe,” Ann said. She and her husband left, each with their own backpack and radio.

They walked down the trail that led to the campground. It took them thirty minutes, walking at a brisk pace, but the trail was relatively flat, making it easy. Trixie stayed with them until they reached the acre-size campground. Max looked around. There were two fire pits, neither of which had been used for months, if not years. The snow had completely melted, but there were some remnants in shaded areas. The clearing was nearly perfectly round, the west bordered by huge boulders that, when scaled, would likely reveal an amazing view. The rest of the clearing was framed by trees. To the west, they were spindly; to the east, thicker and taller as they went down the mountainside. They were still below the tree line and seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but less than two miles from where campers could park. From far in the distance came the sound of running water.

“Peaceful,” Max said. “But when I was researching, there appear to be more popular—and populated—places to camp.”

“Many,” he agreed. “This is off the beaten path, so to speak. But it’s on the map, so it’s not unusual to have people come here. Because of the old Boy Scout camp, there’re visitors who like to hike the area.”

“Is that camp still viable?”

“It closed seven, eight years ago. It’s accessible only via a bridge over a narrow canyon, and it was destroyed one winter. There’s a newer camp a few miles north, and the local troop decided not to rebuild the bridge. You can still reach the camp, but it’s a long trek.” He hesitated. “If Scott went that way, it’s treacherous with steep drops.”

Chuck didn’t have to elaborate. Max could easily picture a scenario where Scott died of injuries he sustained while trying to find his way out of the forest.

Chuck let Trixie off her lead and gave her a command. The golden retriever delighted in her freedom and raced ahead, down a narrow, overgrown path. They followed. Less than fifty yards off the campground, the trail was covered with slushy snow while also dipping steeply down. Max couldn’t see Trixie anymore.

The temperature also dropped dramatically as the canopy of towering pine covered them.

“This is going to sound like a dumb question, but will Trixie just keep going until she finds something?”

“She’ll come back every five to ten minutes and get a confirmation from me to continue.” As if on cue, Max heard a rustling, and then Trixie appeared at a point where the trail seemed to disappear. Chuck gave her a hand signal, and the dog ran off again.

Chuck said, “This isn’t much of a trail at all, and if he went this way, I can easily see how he’d get lost. Some hikers like to go back to the scouting camp, but with the bridge out, most avoid it.”

“Could Scott and his friends have found it?”

“Yes, but why wouldn’t they have told us that was where they’d been?”

Max could think of a half dozen reasons, none of them innocent. An accident, murder, violence, drugs, drinking—any number of things. She’d become so jaded over the years that she wasn’t surprised at what people said or did to each other. Her instincts told her that those three boys had lied to the police about
something;
whether they were capable of murder was another question.

“Watch your step,” he said. “There’s a stream that cuts through up ahead. It shouldn’t be too wide yet, but with the melting snow, it’s going to be running and the ground’s slick. We cut off the search there, since there was no evidence he’d gone this way.”

They turned another sharp curve, and a stream came fast down the mountain in a twenty-foot waterfall and went under the path. A makeshift bridge had been built over it—but it didn’t look stable.

“One of the scout troops did that,” Chuck said. “Probably safe, but step over it if you can.” He went first, then held his hand out for Max. She took it and stepped over. Trixie showed her head, Chuck signaled her, and the dog ran off again.

The vast beauty of the mountains could turn to a nightmare—in the dark, in the winter, during a storm. Scott was out here, alone. Angry. Scared. Had he really walked off? Gotten lost? Why? It didn’t make sense, knowing what she did about him.

They continued on, more than a half mile past the stream. They’d already been walking for an hour. The only sounds were dripping water, birds, a faint rustle of leaves. There was no wind, no voices, no traffic.