Difficult Run (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

M
.J. MET JAKE AT THEIR FAVORITE PIZZA PLACE near the waterfront in Old Town Alexandria. They each ordered a beer while they were waiting for the pizza.
 
M.J. tossed the Metro section of the
Washington Post
on the table.

“Did you see this?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Jake replied, thumbing through the paper.
 
On page four was a small article with the headline
MURDERS IN GREAT FALLS PARK
:

The bodies of two McLean residents were found early Monday morning in Great Falls Park.
 
Police are investigating the deaths as homicides.
 
The victims were Steven Marsten and Patrick Hager, both age 17, of McLean.
 
A spokesman for the U.S. Park Police declined to elaborate on the case, except to say that the victims appear to have been trail biking in the park late Sunday night when the murders occurred.

“It’ll probably be in the community papers when they come out tomorrow,” M.J. said.
 
“I met with the Medical Examiner this morning.
 
He said that the killer had to have a lot of upper body strength to do this.
 
Zerk did some tests and said we’re looking for somebody around six feet, 180 to 200 pounds. The M.E. also said the person is probably right-handed.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Jake said.

“No shit,” she said, “but it’s all we’ve got for now.
 
I’m thinking about canvassing the gyms in the metro area to see if anything turns up.”

“What good would that do?” Jake asked. “You’ve seen the people at our gym.
 
At least half of them do workouts to develop upper body strength.
 
Short of finding somebody practicing breaking the necks of mannequins, I doubt that there’d be any good leads.”

“What about ex-military?” she asked.

“Same thing,” he replied.
 
“There are a lot of active duty and former military people in this area and a lot of them work out at gyms.
 
Besides, if somebody wanted to work out with murder in mind, they could always buy some gym equipment and work out in the privacy of their home.”

“That’s true,” she said, taking another drink of beer.
 
“Well, I made appointments to interview the parents and some people at the boys’ school tomorrow.
 
I hope you can come along for those.”

“I finished the case I was working on today, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied.
 
“What about the person you were going to interview at the park?” he asked.

“He’s a homeless guy who has a campsite and I asked him to keep an eye out.
 
Don’t say anything about him to Swain.
 
The rangers like him and don’t want him kicked out.
 
Besides, he’s the best set of eyes we’ve got in the park at night,” she said.

“Are you planning to keep running there?” he asked.

“Yep, and probably make a few nighttime visits too,” she said, “although from what I’ve seen so far most of the people on the trails are pretty harmless looking.”

“Did you check the National Crimes Database?” Jake asked.

“Yeah,” she replied.
 
“The closest things are murders by hanging.
 
There are no reported homicides involving violently broken necks.”

“By the way, I called our guy assigned to the Joint Terrorism Task Force,” Jake said.
 
“I remembered that the hijackers who crashed the plane into the Pentagon had been working out at a gym in suburban Maryland for several months before 9-11.
 
They were building their upper body strength so they could overpower the crew and passengers.
 
I thought our case might be a practice run for another terrorist attack.”

“What did he say?” M.J. asked.

“He shopped it around at the JTTF.
 
The consensus was that because the bodies were left it doesn’t fit with the profile for terrorists,” Jake replied.
 
“They go out of their way to stay below the radar screen.
 
He couldn’t completely rule out a terrorist connection but thought it was pretty unlikely.”

The pizza came and they each took a piece. They ate quietly for a few minutes, then M.J. said, “This case is driving me nuts.
 
You know the drill for analyzing homicides: means, motive, opportunity.
 
Problem is, we only have one, the means, for sure.
 
The only part of opportunity in the equation was being in the right place at the right time. As for motive, I’ll be damned if I can figure one out short of pure psychopathic behavior.”

“Well, the way in which they were killed certainly points to a psychopath, but that doesn’t give us much of a solid lead,” Jake said.

“I know,” she said.
 
“What we really need is some luck.”

They finished the pizza together with a second beer.
 
As they left, M.J. spotted a pet store across the street and pulled Jake after her.

“Why are we going to a pet store?” he asked.

“Need to get something for a friend of mine,” M.J. replied, entering the shop and picking out a bag of high-end dog treats.
 
She paid for them and they went back out onto the street.

It was a beautiful spring evening, warm with the scent of blooming trees imprinted on the breeze from the river.
 
As they walked back toward their cars, Jake asked, “Why don’t you come over to my place?”

“I think I’ll pass tonight,” M.J. said. “I’m really wound up with this case and I also need a good night’s sleep.”

When they got to the parking lot, she put her arms around Jake’s neck and gave him a lingering kiss.
 
“See you in the morning.
 
Our interviews start at 11:00,” she said as she started to walk to her car.

Jake took her arm and gently pulled her back.
 
He kissed her and said, “You know things would really be a lot simpler if we just lived together.”

“I know,” M.J. replied.
 
“I’ll seriously think about it.
 
Maybe when this case is wrapped up we can do something.”

Jake smiled and said, “The way this case is going, that’s a pretty open proposition.”

On the drive to her apartment, M.J. decided that living with Jake wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, they had maintained an exclusive relationship for almost two years and sharing an apartment with him wasn’t such a big step.
 
She also realized that her continued resistance to the idea might threaten their relationship and she didn’t want that to happen.

When she entered her apartment, she took off her gun belt and clothes and fell into bed.
 
She was asleep in minutes.

CHAPTER NINE

M
.J. ARRIVED AT GREAT FALLS PARK just after sunrise the next morning.
 
She changed into her running clothes and started down the Old Carriage Road.
 
She turned onto the Swamp Trail, which required that she slow her pace to avoid the rocks and fallen tree limbs.
 
When she reached the path to Doc Wonders’ camp, she climbed halfway up and then called out to make sure that he was there.

“Doc, it’s Detective Powers.
 
OK if I come up?”

“Sure is,” he called back.
 
“You’re just in time for coffee.”

Lola appeared at the top of the path, wagging all over.
 
M.J. patted her head and said, “C’mon girl.
 
I’ve got something for you.”

Doc was sitting under the tent awning and there were two cups of coffee on the little table.
 
M.J. reached into her pocket and took out one of the dog treats she had purchased the night before.
 
“Sit,” she said and Lola obediently sat down, her body wiggling in anticipation.
 
M.J. gave her the treat and the dog looked up at her expectantly.

“Do you want another one?” M.J. asked.

Lola responded with her dog smile and tried to control her excitement.
 
M.J. gave her a second treat and walked toward the tent with the dog following closely behind her.

“You’re spoiling her, you know,” Doc said, handing M.J. her cup of coffee.

“I know,” said M.J., “but I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

M.J. sat down and took a sip of coffee.
 
“I was out running and thought I’d stop by,” she said.

“Glad you did,” Doc said.
 
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked when you first stopped by—about whether I’d seen anything unusual at night.
 
Don’t know why I didn’t remember it before, but about a year ago I did see something that seemed pretty odd.”

“What was that?” M.J. asked.

“Well, it was early spring.
 
I know that because the leaves weren’t on the trees yet.
 
It had been raining hard for a couple of days, lots of thunder and lightning to boot.
 
Lola and I had just stayed holed up in the tent.
 
Only went out for necessities.
 
The storm started to taper off the second night and I came out here under the flap to check things out.
 
I was looking toward the ridge over there when there was a big flash of lightning.
 
That’s when I saw a guy moving through the trees on the ridge,” he said. “I remember thinking it was pretty strange for anybody to be out in weather like that.”

“What did he look like?” M.J. asked.

“I can’t give you much of a detailed description,” he said.
 
“I only saw him for an instant when the lightning flashed. Also, he was pretty far away. I’d have to say that he was pretty big, though. He was kind of hunched over, but I’d guess he was around six feet tall.
 
Pretty hefty in the shoulders, but I couldn’t see much detail.
 
It looked like he was wearing a jacket or sweatshirt or something like that with a hood pulled up over up his head.
 
When the lightning flashed again, he was gone.”

“Could you tell if he was black or white?” M.J. asked.

“I remember seeing his face sticking out from the hood and it looked white,” Doc replied.

“Which way was he heading?” M.J. asked.

Doc pointed to the south.
 
“That way,” he said, “toward Difficult Run.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Nope.
 
But if I remember something, I’ll sure let you know Detective,” he replied.

“Call me M.J., please,” she said.

“OK, M.J.,” he said. “By the way, if you want you can take Lola along on your run.
 
She doesn’t get to run very much.
 
I mean we go for lots of walks, but with this gimpy leg of mine, running isn’t on the agenda.”

M.J. looked down at Lola, who was pressed against her leg, and asked, “What do you think, girl? Does that sound like a good idea?”

The dog jumped up and began barking and turning in circles.

“You can take that as a ‘yes,’” Doc said, smiling.
 
“There’s a leash right over there.”

M.J. and Lola started running when they got back to the Old Carriage Road.
 
M.J. started slowly and the dog kept her pace, looking back occasionally as if to seek approval.
 
As M.J. increased her stride, Lola matched it, never straying from her right side.

They ran about three miles and circled back to Doc’s campsite.
 
When they reached the tent, M.J. reached into her pocket, took out another treat and gave it to the dog.
 
“Good girl,” she said, scratching behind Lola’s ears.

Doc was sitting where they had left him, sipping his coffee.
 
“How’d she do?” he asked.

“Great,” M.J. replied.
 
“A born runner.”

“Feel free to take her along anytime,” he said.

“I’ll do that,” M.J. said.
 
“I plan on running every day, but it may not always be at the same time.
 
Is that a problem?”

“As you’ve probably noticed,” Doc said, smiling, “we don’t have much of a schedule, so just stop by when you’re in the neighborhood.”

“Will do,” M.J. replied, giving Lola one more scratch behind the ears.
 
“By the way, thanks for the information on what you saw last spring.
 
It may be very helpful.”

“No problem,” he said.

“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll probably see you tomorrow,” M.J. said, turning toward the trail.

When she got back to the Visitor Center locker room, she showered and changed into her pantsuit.
 
Jake was going to pick her up so they could go to the interviews in McLean, but she had a few minutes and stopped by Dodd’s office.

“M.J.,” he said, looking up from his desk. “How are things going?”

“Fine,” she said.
 
“Have any of your people seen or heard anything?”

“Nothing,” he replied.
 
“A couple of reporters came around yesterday, but we told them any questions had to be referred to your office.”

“Thanks for that,” M.J. said.
 
“We’re holding back any details on the murders for the time being.”

“Understood,” he said.
 
“I’ll let you know right away if we come up with anything.”

“Thanks,” she said.
 
“See you in a couple of days.”

She walked out to the parking lot where Jake was waiting in his unmarked car.

M.J. had interviewed a lot of families of victims.
 
Sometimes it produced useful information; usually it did not.
 
She was not looking forward to meeting with the boys’ parents because it was likely to only be an encounter with the raw edge of grief and little else.
 
But it was one of the items on the checklist of an investigation, and it had to be done.

The Marsten residence was on a quiet, tree-lined street in McLean.
 
Compared to some of the sprawling homes in the area, it was quite modest.
 
The car they had found in the parking lot at Difficult Run was tucked to one side of the driveway, the bike rack still attached to its bumper.

They rang the doorbell and were met by David Marsten, a tall man with graying hair, probably in his late forties.

“Please, come in,” he said.
 
“My wife and the Hagers are in the living room.”

As they entered the room, the three parents rose from their seats.
 
The two mothers were wearing black knee-length dresses.
 
The fathers were dressed in suits and ties.
 
All of them had the haggard look brought on by unbearable grief.

One of the women stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Jean Marsten, Steve’s mother,” she said. “This is Phil and Kate Hager, Patrick’s parents.”

M.J. and Jake shook everyone’s hand and sat down in two chairs opposite a sofa and a loveseat where the parents were sitting.

“We apologize for bothering you during this difficult time,” M.J. said, “but there are a few questions we need to ask to help us find whoever murdered your boys.”

“Anything we can do to help . . . anything,” Phil Hager said.

“What can you tell us about your boys and why they happened to be in Great Falls Park the night they were killed?” M.J. asked.

David Marsten was the first to speak.
 
“Steve and Patrick were fast friends since kindergarten.
 
They played together when they were little, were on the lacrosse team in middle and high school, went on dates together—you could say they were inseparable.
 
They were already making plans to apply to the same colleges,” he said.

Kate Hager had taken out a piece of tissue and was dabbing at her tears.
 
“They loved adventure, particularly extreme sports,” she said.
 
“They went bungee jumping in West Virginia, did all kinds of acrobatics on their skate boards—you know, half pipes, that sort of thing—and they were very much into trail biking.
 
They were always going to Great Falls Park and had ridden in Shenandoah and some of the other national parks.
 
About four months ago, one of them read in a biking magazine about a new adventure sport that involved riding trails at night. They went out and bought lights for their helmets and started practicing after dark in the parks here in McLean.
 
We think they had been to Great Falls Park at night before, but we’re not sure.
 
They weren’t supposed to go anywhere without telling us, but you know how that is with teenagers.
 
They were good about not going out on school nights though, and we think the only reason they were in Great Falls Park the night they were killed was that the next day was a school holiday.”

Phil Hager interrupted.
 
“How in the hell were they murdered, Detective?
 
When Dave and I went to identify the bodies, they kept the sheets tucked up under the boys’ chins to hide their necks.
 
Now the mortuary is telling us that if we want open caskets, they’ll have to dress them in turtlenecks to hide the bruises,” he said.

“Their necks were broken,” M.J. said matter-of-factly.
 
“If it’s any comfort, the Medical Examiner said they both died instantly.”

“You mean someone broke their necks?” Jean Marsten gasped, putting her fingers to her lips.

“Yes,” M.J. replied.
 
“We are keeping that information very close, however, while we’re conducting the investigation and I would ask that you not share it with anyone.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Jean Marsten asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out Mrs. Marsten,” M.J. said.
 
“Anything any of you might know about anyone who would want to kill the boys would be very helpful to us.”

“How many people do you think were involved?” David Marsten asked.

“We don’t know for sure,” M.J. replied.
 
“Based on what evidence we have, it appears that the same assailant killed both boys, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t others involved.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill our boys, can you?” Kate Hager asked, turning to look at the other parents, all of whom shook their heads in agreement. She added, “I mean they were popular at school, didn’t do any drugs, and played sports . . . ”