Cold Fear (9 page)

ELEVEN

The sun
was setting when Reed
stopped his rented Taurus as instructed by the Montana Highway Patrol officer
at the West Gate of Glacier National Park.

“Who you with?”

“The
San Francisco Star
.”

The officer directed him to where the rangers had set up
the command center. It was busy with people and vehicles coming and going. Reed
saw TV-news satellite trucks from Spokane, another from Great Falls. A ranger
was explaining something to news crews while handing out sheets of paper. It
was an updated press release on the search for Paige Baker and an advisory
explaining how federal authorities had designated the airspace over Grizzly
Tooth restricted. No TV or still news cameras could fly over the area. It was
dangerous to aerial search operations. This angered the networks who were
arguing about establishing elevation levels for the press, or at least pool
access.

“We’ll sort it out in the morning. We’ll discuss
reviewing the restriction with the park superintendent and the incident
commander,” the ranger told the TV people. For that evening, no press could
access the area, period. They could drive to the trailhead, which was nearly
ninety minutes away by way of Going-to-the-Sun road, then the Icefields Highway. But all information would be coordinated from the community center.

“Where are the parents?” a TV crew member asked. “Can
you bring them here now?”

“They’re deep in the trail at the command post. At this
point, the only way in and out is by chopper, really. We’ll look into the
request.”

Aware his deadline was ticking, Reed needed to find
better data. He strolled around the area of small and large buildings. At the
rear of one, he found a young ranger talking on his radio. Reed kept a
respectful distance until he was finished, then approached him.

The ranger was in his early twenties, built like a
college defensive tackle. A blond brush cut, ruddy tanned face. From what Reed
overheard, he was one of the first searchers to the family’s campsite. He had
just returned to gather more maps and radios before heading back to resume
searching at dawn. Sensing the guy was pumped from the search, Reed took
advantage, drawing him into a quick conversation.

“Sorry, they sent me to wait for somebody over here.”

“Who are you looking for, I can--”

Reed cut him off. “They say the parents are having a
rough time?”

“Yeah.” The ranger nodded. “They’re pretty shook up. She
ran off yesterday afternoon. Looks like she was chasing her dog. Rained last
night, washing away her trail. It’s been well over twenty-four hours. I don’t
get it. Why did her parents take her there? That region is for advanced hikers,
experienced hikers.”

“I guess it doesn’t look good.”

“Not good at all. Elevations are high. The temperature
drops drastically. We could get snow. There are bears up that way who feed in
that sector. Between you and me, if we don’t find a trace of her soon, some
kind of sign, we’re not looking for a lost kid, we’re looking for a dead one.”

“Who else we got helping?”

“The FBI’s got jurisdiction. Nobody really knows what
they’re doing--” The young ranger stopped himself. “Who did you say you’re
with? You’re with SAR, right? I’m a seasonal. Was at Yellowstone last year. I
just finished some rescue training on Grizzly Tooth a few weeks back--”

“Ronnie!” Somebody from inside called the ranger, who
pointed a finger down at Reed. “You better not be a reporter, pal.” Then he
shouted: “Coming!” Then back to Reed as they parted. “You’re with SAR, right?”

Reed waved but did not answer.

Back near the satellite news trucks, one of the rangers
was standing in a halo of white light, a small microphone clipped to his shirt,
an earphone inserted in his left ear as he talked to a camera, summarizing the
search for Paige Baker. He said nothing about what Reed had learned from the
young searcher. As the ranger wrapped up, Reed overheard a crew member saying
that the feed had gone smoothly to CNN. When the TV interview ended, Reed,
along with several arriving reporters, talked to the ranger.

The story was skyrocketing, Reed thought later, making
notes from the on-record interview with the ranger who was on TV, mixing in
details from his conversation with the searcher and the press release.

He tried his cell phone, getting through to the Star’s
night desk, coming up on first-edition deadline. Alice Buchanan, a senior
copy-editor, took his material. He could hear her keyboard clicking rapidly as
he read to her from his notebook.

“Things look pretty dire for our little San Francisco girl, don’t they, Tom?” Buchanan said when Reed finished.

“Yeah. Very grave.”

“Your stuff will likely top Molly’s for front. She’s on
the phone and asked me to tell you to check your e-mail in the morning. She has
stuff for you. Says it will all be there.”

“Got it. Thanks, Alice.”

Reed drove to the Sunshine Motel outside Kalispell,
where he had reserved a room. He had a late supper of nachos and a ginger ale
at the sports bar while watching the Mariners game on the big-screen TV. He
reflected on Ann and how lucky he was to have her and Zach. Wondering, for an
intense moment, where things could have gone had he taken Molly up on her
offer. He pushed the empty nachos plate aside, pulled out his cell phone, and
made a short call home to say good night to Ann and Zach. Then he called the
rangers while watching the game.

“Command center, Wilcox.”

“Tom Reed,
San Francisco Star
. Any developments
in the search?”

“None. Things have tapered off for the night. Operations
will resume at first light with more personnel.”

Reed went to his room, settling into his comfortable
bed, thinking of what it must be like for a ten-year-old girl lost in the Rockies with nothing but the night, the cold, the dog. Nothing for her hunger to feed on
but her fear. Jesus. Reed shuddered under his blankets.

Only one thing could be worse.

Daddy’s got a hurt hand.

Reed tried to imagine the terror Paige Baker would have
felt in the final seconds, knowing what her father was going to do…Reed drew on
images of his son, Zach, the horror in his boy’s little eyes when he exploded
on him during the dark days, his drinking days. Back when he had lost himself
in an investigative series on the murder of a two-year-old girl who was
abducted and whose body was found in a garbage bag in Golden Gate Park…Christ.

The picture of Paige Baker smiling in the mountains.
Would it haunt him like the others he had written about? Was she alive? What
the hell happened out there? Maybe Sydowski would tell him. He had to find him.

TWELVE

The pilot
of the idling FBI
helicopter at West Glacier signaled to Zander and Bowman that it was clear to
board.

They emptied the remainder of their coffees on the
ground, tossed their paper cups in the trash, and trotted to the pad, crouching
against the noise and pulsating air currents that whip-snapped their jackets.
They buckled in with Zander next to the pilot. He lifted off without wasting a
second as morning broke.

It had now been some thirty-eight hours since Paige
Baker vanished in the backcountry.

“The command post’s at Grizzly Tooth,” the pilot said.
“Should have you there in twenty-five minutes. A lot of updrafts with that
range. Ride could get rough.”

Zander nodded.

Behind those classic FBI aviator sunglasses, with the
early light in his face, Zander cut an attractive but icy all-American profile,
Bowman thought as they swept over the Rockies. He was stone-cold, all business.

It was evident when she picked him up here a few hours
ago at Kalispell and they made their way to her Blazer and the motel. He was
wearing a sport coat, no tie. About six one, 180, with a solid, firm build.
Deep-set blue eyes, square-jawed, dark hair. No smile. The instant she saw him
she felt self-conscious about the way she had bitched at him over the phone.
Zander stared into the night, checking the luminescent face of his watch,
saying nothing as they came to the motel. Bowman saw three TV-news satellite
trucks parked and felt the magnitude, the immensity of this case building. Was
she ready for this? She wanted to call Mark. It was too late. She took a few
deep breaths and forced herself to calm down and relax.

She thought of Paige out there in the night.

Alone. Lost. Dead?

That morning, during their predawn drive from the motel
to the chopper, Zander told Bowman of their objectives, talking almost in point
form. Confident. Authoritative. Cold. He knew what he was doing.

“Everything is confidential. This is the FBI’s file and
I am the case agent. Publicly, we are assisting the National Park Service in a
missing person’s case. Operationally, we are conducting an investigation on the
assumption foul play is involved. Only the primary investigators will know
this, those from NPS and the Inspector from SFPD. It is a small JTF. Our job is
to eliminate foul play here, or establish the foundation for prosecuting a
case. We are not here to make friends with Mom and Dad. With a situation like
this, you only get one shot. It is critical you start the process as quickly as
possible. This is going to require careful work, knowing when and how to push
and when to back off. Got it?”

“So what do you expect from me?”

“To do as I tell you.”

“The parents are going to get suspicious right off.”

“Drive home the point that we are here assisting, ruling
out all possible scenarios, for the sake of their daughter. Insist they keep
all discussion confidential, for the sake of their daughter.”

Some twenty-two minutes after lifting off, the command
post came into view as they made their approach to the ridge. Zander locked on
to the small tents belonging to the Bakers and the dozen or so people on the
ridge steadying themselves against the force of the descending helicopter. Pike
Thornton, law enforcement ranger, and Brady Brook, the district ranger who was
the Incident Commander, greeted Zander and Bowman, taking them aside privately,
waiting for the helicopter’s rotors to stop so they could speak. Everyone knew
not to waste time after it was stressed the rangers were in charge of the search
and rescue and the FBI was in charge of everything else.

“Search is going full bore,” Brook said. “We got two
hasty teams out there within an hour or so of the father’s report. They put in
about six hours yesterday, covered a lot of territory.”

“Find anything? Clothing, candy wrappers, human
excrement. Anything?” Zander said.

Brook shook his head. “We’re increasing the search. Got
more people coming in as soon as possible. We’re setting up a command center at
park headquarters for you. Your Salt Lake people are coordinating your help in
the operation. We’re restricting all of Grizzly Tooth, keeping the press there
at the center. This is snowballing, since the alert went out over the news
wires. The networks are already demanding briefings and access.”

Zander nodded. “We’ll sort that out, but I expect your
chief will designate a press person,” he said. “I am sure you are informing
park staff the FBI is merely assisting in the search of a missing child in a
federal park and they should not under any circumstances discuss anything with
the press.”

“Absolutely,” Brook said.

“More of our people will be arriving within a few hours
with equipment. Everyone will be, or should be, directed to the center.” Zander
checked to ensure they were out of earshot from the rest of the team on the
ridge, including the parents. Satisfied they were separated by nearly forty
yards, he said, “Pike, we’ve read the information you provided. What’s your
read on the parents?”

“I do not think they’ve told us the whole story. Dad’s
evasive. Got that nasty wound on his left hand. Something just isn’t sitting
right.”

“What about the moth…,” Bowman began, but Zander raised
his hand as if she were a child speaking out of turn. He halted her question,
then hijacked it.

“What’s your read on the mother, Pike?”

“Well, it’s hard to put your finger on it. But it just
does not add up with her, either. She said she was nowhere near this camp when
her daughter disappeared. Had gone off down the wooded trail to the ridge about
a hundred yards to sit alone and take in the view. That could very well be the
case.”

“But …,” Zander said.

Thornton
exchanged a glance with
Brook.

“A few hours ago in the middle of the night, the mother
had a bit of an emotional outburst, screaming into the mountains. That would be
in keeping with her daughter being lost. But the few words we could make out
were disturbing.”

“What were they?” Zander said.

Thornton
took out his notebook
and quoted Emily, “You can’t have her…Oh God, it is all my fault.”

For a moment, the four of them grappled with the
significance. Bowman felt a chill but repeated the words to herself and
considered the circumstances. Zander remained poker-faced.

“The father also said they had encountered another
family on the trail yesterday. A mom, a dad, and a boy about ten. He said they
seemed strange to him.”

“Strange how?”

“Didn’t specify.”

“You looking for any witnesses, people in this area at
the time?”

“We’re going through permits,” Thornton said. “Can’t
hike in here overnight without one, which requires a name and address, vehicle
plate, contact person. It’s routine in case a hiker gets lost or hurt.”

Zander nodded.

“What about Dad’s history?” Thornton asked him. “You get
much there?”

“We’ve got something but it requires more work. We’ll
need the SFPD to help us there. Their guy, what’s his name, Sydowski? He
arrive?”

“Got in last night and will meet you at the command
center,” Brook said.

“Good.” Zander answered. “Time for us to say hello to
Mom and Dad. Bowman and I will go alone, if you don’t mind.”

Zander and Bowman could not see Emily as they approached
the tent area, where Doug waited to meet them, catching the FBI seal on
Zander’s jacket.

Zander extended his hand. “Doug Baker?”

“Yes.”

“Frank Zander. FBI.” Zander ignored Bowman. She
introduced herself.

Doug regarded both. He was tired, unshaven, tense.

“The rangers said you were coming but we don’t
understand. Our daughter is lost out there. She could be hurt. How does the FBI
help us with that? We need more searchers, more people looking for Paige. Not
police. And why the FBI?”

“Doug,” Zander said, “more searchers are on their way. A
huge search and rescue operation is being coordinated. This area will soon be
saturated with people determined to find your daughter.”

“We need them here now. We can’t waste any more time.”
Baker rubbed his reddened eyes. “She’s just a little girl out there.” Zander
looked at Doug’s injured left hand. “So why is the FBI here?”

“Federal parks are our jurisdiction. We get involved in
all serious matters, especially those involving children. Your daughter’s case
is very serious. It is important. We’re calling in a lot of people from a lot
of agencies to make sure we do everything right.”

“Like what?”

“Making sure we have not missed any possibilities.”

“She just wandered off, likely chasing Kobee, her dog.
What other possibilities could there be?”

“That’s where we need your help, Doug.”

Zander was smooth Bowman thought, seeing how a gentle,
assuring conversation was evolving into something more.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see anything or anybody that strikes you as
strange or odd during your time here, or on the way?”

“I don’t see how that has got anything to do this. I’m
telling you she just wandered off.”

“Doug, please. Was there anything?”

Baker thought about it. “Just that other family we met.
Might have been our first day in. We were tired and stopped for lunch and they
just came upon us, spying on us. Just staring. I mentioned that to the rangers.
But we left in separate directions. You’re writing this down? You think that
might be important?”

“Could be. We have to be thorough.”

“You don’t think that somehow they--that someone--?”

“Doug, it is our job to eliminate all other scenarios
here as quickly as possible. The search is a priority and it will be
exhaustive, but we will also examine everything else.”

The nylon of one of the family’s blue tents swished and
Emily emerged in jeans and a flannel shirt. Her hair was mussed and her eyes
reddened. She was exhausted, stressed. Approaching Doug and the agents, she
lost her balance and slipped. Bowman caught her. “Easy there,” Bowman said.

Doug introduced Emily to the agents, explaining their
presence as his wife struggled to grasp it. Shaking her head, a hand covering
her mouth, she stood, with eyes glistening, as Zander asked her about anything
or anybody that struck her as strange in the time before they entered the park
and the time leading up to her daughter’s disappearance.

“Nothing,” she said.

Zander studied her, watching her reaction, reading her
body language in relation to her husband’s as he explained how Paige’s
photograph and details have been circulated widely to news and police agencies.

“You think that maybe she didn’t just get lost?” Emily
said. “You think someone in the park may have abducted her? Oh God!” Doug
comforted her.

“Emily, we have nothing to suggest that,” Zander said.
“We just don’t want to overlook anything. It is a big park. And we need your
help to make sure we don’t miss anything. Please understand that we will use
every resource to ensure Paige is returned safely to you. I trust you would
expect nothing less. But your help is critical.”

Emily nodded and sniffed. “What can we do to help you?”

“We’d like to fly you with us to the ranger command
center. To talk to you some more in a comfortable place. As I said, we’ve got a
team of people there from different agencies. Everybody’s got a different job
but we just need a little time for more information from you to be as effective
as quickly as possible. It is easier than bringing everybody out here.”

“But what if Paige comes back, or they find her while
we’re gone? She’ll need us.” Emily said. “We should be here.”

“That’s right,” Zander said. “One of you should be here.
So we’ll take you in separately.”

Emily nodded.

So did Doug, but secretly he was uneasy.

“…take you in separately…”

Doug did not like this. Did not like sensing that
something more was happening. He could not see it in Zander’s or Bowman’s eyes
but felt they were concealing knowledge about Paige’s disappearance. He had no
idea what it could be. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was nothing. He was
exhausted. He had not slept. He was sick with worry. Not thinking clearly. He
was glad for the FBI’s presence. Yet something gnawed at him. Doug thought
about that other family. How strange they seemed, spying on his family’s
argument.