Cold Fear (43 page)

EPILOGUE

After
Paige Baker downed a pizza and
large root beer she slept.

Doctors at Montana General Mercy in Missoula told
reporters she had suffered exposure, dehydration, sun burn, some shoulder
separation, strain of tendons, ligaments and post-traumatic stress from her
ordeal.

“She is in remarkable shape considering her exposure to
such extremes for five days and nights. Her dog was a factor. His warmth helped
her endure the cold. His presence was a psychological boost; another being to
care for and keep her company,” Dr. Oliver Veras, Mercy’s chief of staff told
the press in a news conference that was broadcast live across the nation.

“When can America see her, Doctor?” one network TV
reporter asked.

“That’s up to her family. But when she wakes tomorrow,
we expect she’ll be in good condition.”

That evening Tom Reed, Molly Wilson and Levi Kayle filed
their pictures and account of the Baker story. The
San Francisco Star
moved quickly to lock up worldwide syndication rights, and the story-picture
package was purchased by newspapers from Columbus to Cairo, from Buffalo
to Bucharest. It ignited speculation about a Pulitzer.

“Violet’s ecstatic,” Wilson said passing her cell phone
to Reed after they filed. “Cripes, Reed. Send you to fish for a story, you
bring back Moby Dick. Good stuff.”

Later that night, Reed called Ann in Chicago.

“Didn’t forget about the wedding, dear. I’ll be on a
plane tomorrow night after the news conference.”

Paige slept for twenty hours. Kobee was allowed in her
hospital bed and never left her side.

For this moment in history, Paige Baker was the most
famous ten-year-old girl on earth. Her story was known around the world.

Montana Highway Patrol Officers guarded her hospital
room, which filled with balloons, teddy bears, flowers, toys, and cards from
well-wishers.

The flow would not stop.

It spilled across the hall to the room where Doug and
Emily Baker slept.

At one point in the night, Emily awoke and went to
Paige’s door. Two FBI agents posted there allowed her a glimpse of her daughter
sleeping soundly with her arm around Kobee.

Emily strolled down the tranquil hall, finding Bowman in
the lounge, awake in a chair. She sat beside her.

Neither woman spoke for the longest time. Then Bowman
took Emily’s hand and their eyes met in the night.

“Emily I--”

“We both know what it’s like to lose someone, Tracy.”

Bowman nodded. “Uhm. You know, Frank and I must talk to
her first. It’s not officially closed yet.”

Emily nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, with a half-smile,
before returning to bed.

Tracy
stared into the night,
remembering Carl, then thinking of Mark.

The doctors summoned the FBI when Paige awoke. Zander
and Bowman entered her room. Her bed was blanketed with stuffed toys. She was
drinking orange juice, an IV connected to her arm. Hair in a ponytail, face dotted
with some scrapes but radiating with the bright aura of a happy little girl.
The agents introduced themselves and chatted for several minutes with Paige,
joking about all the presents she received.

Eventually, Bowman asked, “So what happened?”

Paige knitted her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Tell us how you got separated from your mom and dad,”
Zander said.

“Kobee chased a chipmunk. I went to find him and got us
lost.”

“That it?” Zander smiled. “Was your dad mad or
anything?”

Paige chewed her straw, nodding. “Cut his hand chopping
wood.”

“Then what happened?”

“I went to find my mom and got lost. It was Kobee’s
fault.”

“The man who found you,” Bowman asked, “other than at
the cliff, did he harm you in any way?”

Paige shook her head. “He killed a bear that was trying
to get me. He saved me.”

Bowman and Zander exchanged glances.

“Can I see my mom and dad now?”

Zander patted Paige’s shoulder. “Absolutely.”

In the hall, Zander informed the doctor they were done.
Bowman’s cell phone began to ring. Zander walked to the empty lounge at the end
of the hall, searching for something in the Rockies that crowned the horizon.

“You made all the right calls, Frank.” Walt Sydowski had
followed him.

“Ah, well, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Look what you were confronted with, the time frame, the
circumstances, the politics. You’re a helluva cop. I’d be honored to work with
you again.”

Zander looked down and accepted Sydowski’s hand. They
shook.

“Heading back to San Francisco?”

“Got a flight tonight.” Sydowski smiled. “There’s a date
I got to keep and some money I have to win back in a card game from a wily old
fox who claims to be my father. How about you? Any plans after this?”

“Maybe take some time off to think things over.”

“Listen to me. We never know how a case will twist.
Believe me, I know. I also know you are a good investigator, Frank.”

Sydowski gripped Zander’s shoulder, then left him alone
with the mountains.

Zander sat staring at the sky for some time when he
heard someone say his name. It was Emily Baker, standing in the doorway of the
lounge. Doug was next to her. Zander stood, searching his heart for the right
words. Emily spoke first.

“We understand.”

“It was very complicated,” Zander began.

“Frank,” Doug said. “I know it looked very bad because
it was very bad. For everybody. Inspector Sydowski told us everything,
including the Georgia case.”

Emily had tears in her eyes. Her face was a portrait of
kindness. She embraced Zander. “In your way, you were fighting for Paige too.”

“Yes, I was,” Zander whispered. “I’m happy for you.”

“Paige turns eleven in two months. We would like it if
you and Tracy would consider coming to her birthday party.”

Zander blinked. “You bet.”

Emily told him that before returning to California, they were going to go to Buckhorn Creek. “Going to put things to rest,” she
said.

Zander nodded. “Sounds like the right thing to do.”

Doctor Veras entered, pushing Paige in a wheelchair.
Kobee was in her lap. “I think they’re ready downstairs,” Veras said.

Emily dabbed her eyes. Smiling, they left for Paige’s
press conference.

Zander decided to watch it alone on the TV in the
lounge.

The hospital had turned its cafeteria into a press room.
Nearly three hundred newspeople had crammed into it for an event broadcast live
on virtually every channel in the United States.

It began with Emily and Doug Baker thanking the rangers
of Glacier National Park, the search and rescue people, everyone involved.

“In particular,” Emily Baker said, “we want to thank
agents Frank Zander and Tracy Bowman of the FBI, who performed a difficult duty
with the utmost respect, courtesy and professionalism under the most
challenging circumstances.”

Exhausted and watching alone, Zander put his hand over
his eyes.

Where do they find the grace?

Reporters began asking Paige to recount her ordeal.

In Helena, Montana’s governor and his staff watched with
relief.

The injured prison guard and crew of the Mercy Force
helicopter watched from their rooms in Kalispell.

David Cohen watched from his lonely Deer Lodge motel
room, where he would wait until a local funeral director provided him with
Hood’s ashes. Cohen would return to Glacier National Park, and disperse them
there. Maybe he would take Maleena Crow up on her offer of lunch in Kalispell.
Cohen planned a long, soul-searching drive across the western United
States back to Chicago. It would give him time to decide what to say in his
letters to the Baker family, the governor, Lane Porter, and to his firm. He
wanted a year’s sabbatical.

The news conference was ending when Bowman entered the
lounge.

“There you are, Frank!” Her smile lit up the room.
“We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“We?”

“That’s right. Got someone here I’d like you to meet.”

A boy, about the same age as Paige Baker, entered.

“This is my son, Mark. My friend drove him over this
morning. Missed his mom. Marshal, say hello to Frank Zander.” She looked
straight into Zander’s eyes. “One of the best there is.”

“Hello, sir.” Mark extended his hand.

Young eyes met his.

“Well, hello yourself, Mark.”

“Watcha doin’ here all glumlike, Frank? Mark and I are
going downtown later. We know a place that makes the best cheeseburgers east of
the Rockies. We’re going to celebrate. Join us.”

“What are you celebrating?”

“A happy ending and the fact my Los Angeles job came
through.”

“We’re moving to California,” Mark said.

“Sunshine, surf and movie stars.”

“Will you come with us?” Mark said.

“Sure,” Zander said. “Guess I could use a burger.”

Later, as they ate, Zander felt unbelievably comfortable
with Tracy and Mark. It was as if he had found something he had lost long ago.
Something that he needed. Over apple pie and ice cream he told her he had an
offer from the SAC in L.A. to join the Division.

“Do you think it would be a good thing if I accepted, Tracy?”

She licked her ice cream spoon and considered his eyes.

“I think that would be a very good thing, Frank.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Experts familiar with the realities in this story may
debate areas where I have taken liberty. But for those who enjoyed the journey
through regions of precedent and plausibility, I direct credit and my special
thanks to: Fred Vanhorn, Assistant Chief Ranger, Glacier National Park; Ronald
Nolan, Supervisory Special Agent, and Ms. Maureen Schutz, Federal Bureau of
Investigation, Washington, DC; Tom Laceky, the Associated Press, Helena,
Montana; Staff Sergeant Daniel Rahn, Crime Scene Bloodstain Pattern Analyst;
and Sergeant Warren Ganes, Police Dog Service Section, Royal Canadian Mounted
Police.

I also extend gratitude to John Rosenberg, Samantha
Banton, Susan Bowness, Lynn Reid, Wendy Dudley, Mildred Marmur, Ann LaFarge,
Jeff Aghassi, Mary Jane Maffini and Linda Wiken at Prime Crime, and members of
“The Club.” I am deeply grateful to the many friends, more than is possible for
me to list here, who provided their support.

I am especially indebted to booksellers everywhere who
have so graciously enlightened me while introducing my work to readers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rick Mofina is a former crime reporter and the
award-winning author of several acclaimed thrillers. He's interviewed murderers
face-to-face on death row; patrolled with the LAPD and the RCMP. His true crime
articles have appeared in
The New York Times
,
Marie Claire
,
Reader’s
Digest
and
Penthouse
. He's reported from the U.S.,
Canada, the Caribbean, Africa, Qatar and Kuwait's border with Iraq.

New York Times
Bestselling author, Tess Gerritsen, says: "Rick Mofina's tense taut
writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride." His
short stories have been selected for anthologies by Michael Connelly, Peter
Robinson, Ed Gorman, the Mystery Writers of America and the United Kingdom's, Crime Writers Association.

The
International Thriller Writers
,
The
Private Eye Writers of America
and
The Crime Writers of Canada
have
listed Rick Mofina's titles as being among the best in the world.

His books have been published in 21 countries and have
been praised by James Patterson, Dean Koontz, Michael Connelly, Lee Child, Tess
Gerritsen, Jeffery Deaver, Sandra Brown, James Rollins, Brad Thor, Nick Stone,
David Morrell, Allison Brennan, Heather Graham, Linwood Barclay, Peter
Robinson, Håkan Nesser and Kay Hooper.