Cold Fear (25 page)

FORTY-ONE

A nation
away from the FBI’s secret
investigation at the crevasse of Sector 23 in Montana, a constable with the
Ontario Provincial Police was ending her night shift east of Toronto,
patrolling RV campsites near the Sandbanks Provincial Park.

The waters of Lake Ontario lapped against the vast sand
beaches as she cross-checked license plates with the tourist alert sheet on her
clipboard. She locked on to a California tag for Meyers, knocked on the door of
their thirty-foot motor home, informing Willa Meyers to call the San Francisco
Police Department right away. “A family emergency.”

An SFPD dispatcher took her call at approximately 4:00
A.M. Pacific Time. She paged Inspector Linda Turgeon, who was sleeping but had
the call patched to her home. Turgeon told Willa Meyers what had happened in Montana.

“My dear Lord, no!” Willa was horrified, explaining that
she and Huck had no idea their niece was lost in the Rocky Mountains.

“We purposely avoided the news because of Isaiah Hood’s
impending execution,” Willa said; then she told Turgeon about Lee’s secret
family history. “We wanted them to join us in Canada. It was a delicate family
matter. Lee was receiving counseling. Doug didn’t even know everything. We
wanted to get Lee as far away from the hood case as possible at the time of the
execution. We didn’t know they had returned there.”

Willa told Turgeon that when a San Francisco reporter
recently reached them asking questions about Emily’s past, she figured it was
somehow related to Hood’s execution, not to Paige.

Turgeon consoled Willa, then called Sydowski, catching
him on his way out of his room in the Sky Forest Vista Inn near Kalispell. He
took extensive notes as Turgeon enlightened him.

Now, Sydowski was finishing his third coffee watching
the sun climb as Zander’s chopper returned from Sector 23 to the helipad near
the command center. The two men talked near a stand of spruce behind a fire
crew dorm.

“I think we found her, Walter.”

“Alive?”

“No. Blood, hair and clothing fragments at the mouth of
a narrow and deep rock fissure, just under two miles from the campsite.”

“You confirm her body is there?”

“No. It’s going to take a few hours to get some
equipment up there. No one, absolutely no one, knows what we’ve got there.”

“I’ve got an update on Emily Baker,” Sydowski said.
“SFPD contacted Emily’s aunt. Emily is the sister of Rachel Ross, the child
murdered in Glacier twenty-two years again by Isaiah Hood, the guy who is going
to be executed.”

Zander was dumbfounded.

“Why didn’t we know this from the outset?” He shook his
head. “That happened in the same region. The Bureau, or Montana, should have
known.”

“Turns out Emily was
Natalie Ross
at the time.
Natalie’s mother changed her name shortly after the tragedy. As you know,
Natalie Ross was the witness, the only witness, who saw Hood kill her sister.
Her testimony helped seal his death warrant.” He filled Zander in on the rest
of the story. “Emily would never speak of her past. Began undergoing counseling
for it as Hood’s execution date loomed.”

Zander stared into the sunlight piercing the spruce.

“Damn, Walt. What do you make of it?”

“In my time, I’ve seen them all. The devil told me to do
it, the voices told me, my dog told me. I’ve had the most upstanding people,
finest-looking people, look me straight in the eye and say they had to kill
their infant child because God told them it was the Antichrist. But--”

Zander looked at Sydowski. “But what?”

“To me, the pieces here just don’t quite fit.”

“I think they do. It’s just a matter of which category.
Just a matter of time, Walt. Look at everything we’ve got so far. The ax, the
T-shirt, his hand, her past, his temper, the girl’s corpse. I think we’ve got
them beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“I don’t. Not yet. It is still largely circumstantial.”

“What about the mother’s background, her history?”

“I see it as a reason for their strange behavior.”

“I see it as damning.”

“Frank, you have no linchpin to bring it all together.
Nothing physical, irrefutable.”

“She’s in the crevasse.”

“What if she fell?”

Zander’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to find out, Walt. Give me time. I am going
to get them on the box as soon as possible.”

“It’s your case. How you handle it is up to you.”

Within twenty minutes, everything was conveyed to Lloyd
Turner, FBI Special Agent In Charge, and Nora Lam of Justice, who immediately
shook her head.

“What’s you’re hurry? Why not see what your
investigation at the crevasse yields? It might give you your trump card.”

“We’re holding a pretty winnable hand now, Nora.” Zander
said.

“I agree with Frank. A polygraph might help at this
stage,” Turner said.

“You know he has to agree, cooperate and be Mirandized?”
Lam said. “You must advise him of his right to a lawyer.”

Doug was escorted once again to the task force room and
seated before the investigators. He listened as Zander explained the situation.

“Doug, we’ve got a problem and we need your help.”

He emphasized how the search was expanding, “more
people, more resources,” but the job of ruling out all other possibilities in
Paige’s disappearance required a lot of work. “We’re going through permits
trying to locate and talk to every other party in the area at the time.”

“How can I help?”

“Well, Doug,” Zander said. “An investigation is largely
a process of elimination. We want to eliminate all potential options quickly so
we can concentrate on valid ones.”

“I see.”

“The most disturbing one we have to deal with is that
something has happened to Paige--an animal, or a stranger in the park. Do you
follow me?”

Doug looked at his hands. That other family made him
uneasy.

“I--I. Yes.”

“We have to look at everyone. It is critical.”

“Yes.”

“We want to eliminate you.”

Doug said nothing. He had known for a long while that
was coming.

“Doug, your wound, the ax, her T-shirt…”

Doug sniffed; tears welled…he knew.

“Can you appreciate where I am going here?”

His pulse galloped. “Yes,” he said, his heart breaking.

“Would you agree to take a polygraph?”

Doug swallowed.

“It’s just a tool, but it might help us, help everyone.”

Before Doug realized his head was nodding, Zander asked
him to voice his answer.

“Yes, I will take a polygraph.”

“Then I have to tell you certain things first because
the law requires it.”

“What things?”

“You have the right to remain silent…”

Jesus,
Doug could not
believe…

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a
court of law.”

How does a life come to this…?

“You have the right to consult with an attorney and have
them present with you while you are being questioned.”

Screaming at Paige. Shouting at my daughter with the
bloody ax in my hand. The terror in her eyes…

“If you cannot afford to hire an attorney, one will be
appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish one.”

For God’s sake, I’m just a teacher, a husband, a
father. Days before, we were like any other American family, struggling through
an airport, embarking on a vacation.

“Do you understand each of these rights I have explained
to you?’

No I do not understand any of this. Lord, help
me…help Paige….

“Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us
now?”

Doug looked into Zander’s eyes.

“I want a lawyer before I take the test.”

FORTY-TWO

The phone
rang in David Cohen’s Deer
Lodge motel room at 5:14 a.m.

“I’d like to speak to David Cohen, the lawyer for Isaiah
Hood?”

“That’s me. Who’s this?”

“Nick Sorder, Capitol News Radio in Helena. I’m calling
for your reaction to the development in the case. Governor Nye’s office issued
a statement this morning. Actually, late last night, from the time on our fax.”

A statement? He knew nothing about this.

“Tell me what it says.”

“Summarizing quickly, it says with respect to the U.S.
Supreme Court’s denial of Hood’s petition for appeal and the Board of Pardons
not recommending executive clemency, the governor will not grant your request
for a delay. The AG’s office adds that the sentence will be carried out
tomorrow as scheduled.”

Oh, godamn it.

“Your reaction, sir?”

John Jackson in his dinner jacket, winking his
warning about the governor squeezing his balls so hard they’ll hear the scream
in Chicago.

“Your reaction, sir?”

“I’m very disappointed. But I have no further comment
until I speak with my client.”

Cohen hung up and hurled the phone to the floor.

I will take your concerns under advisement and make
my decision known to you tomorrow. His black suit waiting. Ashes to be
scattered. He did not do it. Whatever happened out there, it was not murder.
Emily Baker, or whatever her name is, knows the truth. She knows the goddamned
truth. Somehow, it has to be squeezed out of her.

Cohen sat at the edge of his bed in his boxers and
Chicago Bulls T-shirt, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, tears stinging
his tired eyes. His stomach quaked.

Think clearly. It is not over.
Cohen attempted to console himself with a hot shower, then flipped
on the TV news and pulled on jeans and a fresh shirt. He downed some hot
coffee, bit into a muffin he picked up the night before at a truck stop on the
return drive from Helena.

“The long-awaited execution of Isaiah Hood, who murdered
a five-year-old Buckhorn Creek girl twenty-two years ago, will go ahead as
scheduled tomorrow. In a statement released this morning from Helena, the
governor said he will not intervene….”

Local news mocked him as he worked, sifting through his
files.

“…the search for Paige Baker enters another day in
Glacier National…”

A blue file, a pink file. Case law, that wasn’t it. The
green file. Nope. Here, the yellow file. It contained e-mails, faxes, business
cards and scribbled contact numbers from reporters with the most recent
requests to interview Isaiah Hood. He went through the file. Cohen had rejected
all requests. Hood had never, ever, been interviewed. Now most news attention
had been drawn to the lost girl story. Here it was. Cohen had a priority list
of cell numbers for about half a dozen big outlets. All print because it was
easier and quicker to get a print reporter inside the prison. Most of the
people on the list had called recently saying they were in Montana on the lost
girl story in Glacier.

The
New York Times,
Denver Bureau, Dianna. K.
Strauss. Cohen dialed the number. Busy signal. But a strange one. Maybe a bad
connection? He tried the Washington Post. Phillip Braddock. It just rang and
rang, unanswered. Cohen dialed the Los Angeles Times. Francis Lord. Out of
service range. Damn. USA Today. Lawrence Dow. Voice mail. Damn. Cohen wanted to
talk to somebody now. Right now. The
San Francisco Star
. Tom Reed. He’d
heard of him. A hotshot on some big story in California. Saw him on CNN talking
about it. Emily Baker was from San Francisco. This could work. Cohen punched
Reed’s cell phone number.
Come on
. The clock was ticking. Ticking. The
number rang.

Not long after the morning sun lit the eastern sky, Tom
Reed was waving good-bye to Chester Murdon, standing with his Lab, Sonny, on
the porch of his house. They made a perfect picture against the crisp dawn and
the glorious snowcapped mountains.

Thank you, Chester, Reed thought, patting the files that
Murdon had given him. They were vibrating on the passenger seat. Reed was
speeding into Wisdom, intending to get to the FBI in Glacier without wasting a
second. Thanks to Murdon, he had a new angle. Tomorrow, the man who murdered
Emily Baker’s sister twenty-two years ago in Glacier National Park would be
executed while searchers try to locate Baker’s daughter, Paige, in the same
region. It was an incredible story. A haunting tale. He had surpassed everyone;
even the Montana press had missed Emily’s connection to Hood. And if the police
knew, they certainly were mute on it. Maybe there was more to it?

It was coming up on the hour, Reed switched on the radio
news, bracing for any break in the search. He’d have to alert the desk and
Molly, he thought as the dramatic radio jingle led into the news from an AM
station in Bozeman.

“…our top stories this morning…Isaiah Hood will be
executed tomorrow as scheduled, Montana’s attorney general says. The U.S.
Supreme Court rejected Hood’s latest appeal and the governor will not delay the
sentence. The Montana Board of Pardons and Paroles convened an emergency
meeting last night and did not recommend the governor intervene in the case.
And, it’s day four of the massive search up in Glacier National Park for Paige Baker.
The ten-year-old San Francisco girl reportedly wandered from her mother and
father while camping in the remote and rugged Grizzly Tooth Trail region of the
park. Across the nation, a deadly heat wave in Dallas claimed three lives as
temperatures soared--”

Reed’s cell phone trilled. He killed the radio and took
the call.

“Tom Reed,
San Francisco Star
.”

“This is David Cohen.”

Cohen? Cohen? Hood’s lawyer.

“Yes, Mr. Cohen. I just heard the latest on your case.
Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

Reed was just exercising professional courtesy.

“I’ll come to the point. How fast can you get to Deer
Lodge?”

“Why, what’s happening there?”

“I’m offering you an interview with Isaiah, right now,
today in the prison.”

“Exclusive?”

“Exclusive.”

The ABS brakes on the rental engaged, bringing Reed to a
halt.