Shadow Dragon (19 page)
Authors: Lance Horton
Carrie began her search with the paper’s online archive system. She started by searching for the word “murder” in any news stories within the last year. The system returned forty-three entries, each sorted by date from most recent to oldest. She scrolled to the end of the list and began reviewing the oldest ones first. She wanted to try to follow the chain of events of the last year chronologically, but she also knew that the majority of the articles within the last ten days would be about her grandparents, something she wasn’t ready to deal with yet.
As she made her way through the list, she was able to eliminate many of the items simply from the titles of the articles, such as one regarding the local high school’s production of
Dial M for Murder
or a book review of the latest murder mystery by Carole Nelson Douglas. Others, including several regarding a drunk driver charged with manslaughter, she skipped because they didn’t fit the pattern she was looking for.
Several stories, however, did register a blip on her mental radar. As she read them, she wrote down her thoughts regarding the possible relevance of each before she went on to the next one. There was a series of articles covering the trial of a young man accused of killing his friend in a dispute over drugs and then burning down his house but not before removing all of the chemicals used in the production of crystal meth.
Then she came across the stories regarding the murder of the four Seattle men in her grandparents’ rental cabin.
She knew of the murders from her discussions with the police, but she had never known any of the details until now. She was appalled by the ghastly nature of the murders. Her insides knotted up as she read, and for a moment, she thought she might get sick, but she forced herself to continue.
She filtered on through several more stories, including one about a local man, Adam Peters, who had disappeared while he was skiing. A major search had been launched, and his car had been found, but he had not. She wrote down the man’s name, the date of his disappearance, and the location where his car had been found. He was an insurance salesman, which caught Carrie’s attention. There were countless stories of people being murdered for insurance money, and while she knew that wasn’t the reason for her grandparents’ murder, it could have played a role in the murder of the Seattle men. It was at least something worth checking into, so she printed out the story before she continued on through the others.
Then she came to the first of the stories regarding her grandparents. These, she printed out without reading. She knew she would have to read them at some point, but not now, not here.
“Are we doing all right?”
Carrie jumped, a surprised squeal escaping from her.
“Pardon me,” Wallace chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you, but I was going to step out for lunch, and I thought you might want to join me.”
“Oh, uh, that’s very kind,” Carrie replied, trying not to sound too repulsed. “But I’m not really hungry, and I’d like to finish this up before I leave. Thanks, anyway.”
“Yes, well, maybe some other time then,” he said with a slight bow and a polite nod. The prissy, sibilant sound of his voice and the way he moved reminded Carrie of a snake, sneaky and slithery. She shuddered in disgust as he walked away.
After she waited long enough to be sure he was gone, she made her way to the break room, where she bought a Diet Coke and a bag of pretzels.
With her lunch taken care of, she returned to the computer. This time, she tried a new angle, searching for the word “killed” instead of “murdered” to see if it came up with any different hits.
For the most part, the only stories that came up different were several stories involving people killed in various automobile accidents and one involving a couple of extreme skiers who died in an avalanche while they were attempting to ski down one of the glaciers the previous winter. There was also an unusual story from the previous summer regarding the number of goats visiting a particular location known as the “Salt Lick” just south of Essex. The appearance of the goats had been such a common occurrence in the past that a lookout had been built next to the site just off the nearby highway. But over the last year, almost all of the goats had disappeared. Carrie would have dismissed the article as simply a human-interest story and thought nothing more of it, but one item in particular caught her attention. The article speculated that poachers or illegal trappers might have killed the goats, which caused her to think of Jeffrey Wayne Tucker. Even so, she still couldn’t imagine how the disappearance of a bunch of wild goats could be related to the murder of her grandparents.
Another story was a follow-up piece regarding the death of two men killed in a plane crash eighteen months earlier. Before she called it up, Carrie checked her watch and decided it could wait unit tomorrow. It was already 2:25, and she had a meeting with her grandparents’ lawyer at 3:00 to go over some of the details involving the transfer of her grandparents’ estate.
As she was packing up her things, Wallace appeared once again. “Oh, leaving us so soon?”
“I, uh, have a meeting to get to,” Carrie said, focusing on the papers she was placing in her satchel in order to avoid eye contact. “But if it’s all right, I’d like to come back tomorrow, I mean, if I wouldn’t be in the way or anything.”
“No, certainly not,” Wallace replied. “Be our guest.”
“Thank you,” Carrie said, pulling her satchel over her shoulder. Ducking her head, she slipped past Wally and into the hall.
“Allow me,” Wallace said, attempting to lift Carrie’s satchel from her shoulder.
“Oh, no, it’s fine, really. I’ve got it. Thank you, though,” she said as she pulled away. Quickly, she made her way to the front. She knew he was there, watching her the entire way. She could practically feel the heat of his gaze warming the nape of her neck. It was everything she could do to keep from running.
*
Wallace Hipple watched as Carrie hurried away, amused by how flustered she became around him.
Like a schoolgirl with a crush on her professor
, he mused. He watched until she was out of sight and then went to the computer she had been using. He logged on, pulled up the Web browser, and page-by-page began scrolling backward through the links to see what she had been viewing.
Kyle and Mr. Lattimer helped Mrs. Lattimer up from the floor. While Kyle helped her sit in the dining nook, Mr. Lattimer turned off the range and wet a dishtowel in the sink. When he returned to the nook, he sat next to his wife, who leaned her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her and gently placed the cool cloth across the back of her neck to help calm her.
Mr. Lattimer looked up, his face twisted in misery. “Our grandson, Danny, was married last week,” he began, his voice was low, thick. “We … we drove here with him and Tammy and let them borrow the car to go into Canada for their honeymoon. They were going to spend two nights at the Prince of Wales Hotel and then drive back.”
“You said their names were Danny and Tammy?” Lewis confirmed as he pulled out his notepad. “And their last names?”
“Knowles,” Mr. Lattimer said, a hint of disgust creeping into his voice. “He’s our daughter’s son. He’s a good kid. His father’s a worthless bastard, but Danny’s a good kid. He’s never been in any trouble.”
“And what was Tammy’s maiden name?” Lewis asked.
“It was … uh,” Mr. Lattimer paused, trying to remember.
“Taylor,” Mrs. Lattimer said as she looked up, taking the damp cloth from her neck and using it to dab at her puffy eyes. “She’s a sweet girl. They both work at the Walmart in Pocatello.”
“Do you know about what time they left yesterday?”
“Not exactly,” Mr. Lattimer replied. “Around two or three, I guess.”
“Were they going anywhere first? Going to meet someone? Anything like that?”
“No,” said Mr. Lattimer. His wife shook her head.
“Was anyone opposed to them getting married? Parents, former lovers, anyone like that?”
“No,” he answered firmly.
“Not even Danny’s father?”
“The only thing he cares about is his next drink. I doubt he even knew Danny was getting married.” The comment reminded Kyle of Janet.
My mother and Danny’s father would make a hell of a couple
, he thought.
“Do you happen to have a picture of them?” Lewis asked.
“I took some pictures at the wedding,” Mrs. Lattimer offered. “The camera’s in my purse.”
“I’ll get it,” Mr. Lattimer said. He slipped out of the booth and stepped to the small bedroom at the back of the RV.
While he was gone, Mrs. Lattimer looked at Lewis. “Their life is just starting,” she said, a beseeching tone to her voice.
Lewis nodded in response.
“You have to find them,” she said, the tears gathering in her eyes. “Please tell me you’ll find them. Tell me they’ll be okay.”
A strained look came over Lewis’s face. His jaw muscles tightened as he clenched his teeth. In spite of the pleading looks from Mrs. Lattimer, he remained silent. His lack of response was so noticeable it became uncomfortable. The silence was almost palpable, like a wall of glass between them.
Mr. Lattimer returned with the camera, diffusing the uncomfortable situation. Lewis took it from him.
“It’s one of those digital ones,” Mr. Lattimer explained, and Lewis just nodded.
“We’ll get you an evidence receipt for it,” Lewis said. “But we won’t need to keep it long. Once we download the images, I’ll have Agent Andrews call you to return it.”
The Lattimers both nodded, looking helpless and lost as he and Lewis stood. Kyle got a number where they could be reached and then handed Mr. Lattimer one of his cards, assuring him that he would call as soon as they learned anything new. Then they stepped from the RV.
Neither of them spoke as they marched back across the lot into the rising wind. Tiny pellets of ice peppered him in the face, but Kyle hardly noticed. Because of their failure, a young couple was almost certainly dead. And the guilt brought on by that realization left him numb to everything else.
Carrie woke to a bleak day. It wasn’t the weather but her attitude that had changed overnight. Yesterday, she had been motivated, determined to find out what had happened to her grandparents in honor of their memory and in an effort to extract at least some small measure of vengeance. But this morning as she lay in bed, it occurred to her just how foolish her little quest really was. What did she expect to find when the FBI, with all of their vast resources, had been unable to come up with anything more substantial than rumors and wild speculation? Besides, what did it matter? Nothing she did would change the fact that her grandparents were gone. Her meeting with the attorney had only confirmed what she already knew. There were no other surviving family members, which meant that she inherited everything. But to Carrie, it also meant that she had no one left to call when she needed someone to talk to, no one to spend the holidays with or to lean on in hard times, no brothers or sisters or grandparents, aunts or uncles, or even distant cousins. There was no one.
She was alone—utterly, totally, alone.
At ten o’clock, she was still lying in bed, trails of dried tears on her cheeks. All of the notes and articles she had printed the day before lay scattered across the bed, some spilling onto the floor. She had read everything at least three times, but none of it made any sense. It was nothing but a collection of articles with the word “murder” in the text—nothing more, nothing less. She was completely at a loss as to what to do, so she just lay there.
As inevitably happened when she was in a funk like this, her thoughts began to turn toward alcohol. She knew that wasn’t the answer, but as a quick fix, it would at least numb her enough so that she might be able to make it through the day without breaking down every few minutes. And she still had the bottle of Xanax in her purse.
Her cell phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello,” she answered, her voice low and raspy.
“Ms. Daniels, this is Agent Andrews. I’m returning your call from yesterday.”
“Yes?”
“I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, but there was a lot going on at the time. I just wanted to let you know that I followed up on the return of your grandparents’ computer for you.”
“Oh, okay—” she said, surprised.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything good to tell you. It’s being held as evidence, and as you know, the case is still open, so I’m afraid it will have to be kept until the case is resolved and, if necessary, until the trial is completed.”
“So in other words, never,” Carrie growled. There was no response, and she suddenly felt guilty for taking out her frustrations on him.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Daniels, but it’s really out of my—”
“I know. I know,” Carrie sighed.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, that’s fine,” Carrie sniffled.
After she hung up, she forced herself to get up and shuffle into the bathroom.
She felt better after a shower. It was good to be up and moving about. It helped to keep her from dwelling on her grandparents too much.
It was 10:45, and because she hadn’t eaten yet, she decided to stop at the diner in front of the motel to get breakfast before she went downtown. Before she went inside, she bought a paper from the machine out front.
After she ordered, she opened the paper. The headlines announced, “IDAHO COUPLE MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD.” Intrigued, she began reading. The article was by Wallace Hipple, and once again, Carrie found herself irritated by the tone of the story. But as she read on, her pulse quickened. There were elements of the story that seemed eerily familiar to her. The missing people were two young newlyweds on their way to Canada for their honeymoon. The couple’s car had been found abandoned on Highway 2 just past the Salt Lick overlook. While there were signs of foul play, including blood at the scene, no bodies had been found.
The thing that jumped out at Carrie was the mention of the Salt Lick. Just yesterday, she had read about the strange disappearance of goats from that same area. And now this? The proximity and similarity of the incidents caused Carrie to wonder if something more than coincidence might be involved.
When her food arrived, she ate quickly, anxious to get back to her room to compare her notes to the article in the paper.
Back in her room, Carrie sipped from the coffee she had gotten to help motivate her as she leafed through her notes from yesterday. Finally, she found what she was looking for. She hadn’t printed out the article on the goats, but she
had
noted the date the story had run, so it would be an easy matter to recall it from the archives.
She stuffed the newspaper and her notes into her satchel, grabbed the keys to the Hummer and was off.
At the newspaper, Carrie was pleased to find that Wallace Hipple wasn’t in but had apparently anticipated that she would be back. He had already cleared it with the receptionist, who told her to just go on back.
Sitting in front of the computer once again, she pulled out her notepad and got to work.
She performed a search for the story with “goats” that had appeared on August 16th
of the previous year and was able to retrieve the article about the Salt Lick. It had been written by a staff reporter who had interviewed Amanda Johnston, a local game warden. Part of the warden’s duties had been to monitor the health of the mountain goats that came to the Salt Lick. Over time, the warden had become so familiar with the goats that she had named them—names like Gramps for the one with the long beard, Shaggy for the one with the thick, ruffled mane, and Daisy for the female that liked to eat flowers. The warden had become troubled over the last year, however, as almost all of the goats had inexplicably vanished. Ms. Johnston had been personally saddened by the loss, as well as the many tourists who came to the overlook only to find the site vacant.
The author had gone on to note that according to the game warden, there had also been an alarming increase in the number of mutilated deer and elk and even bear remains found in the surrounding areas. The State Wildlife Federation had asked for additional funding to help catch the responsible parties.
Carrie found it odd that the missing couple’s car had been found in the same vicinity, and though she tried to think of any possible connection between their disappearance and those of the mountain goats, she couldn’t come up with anything plausible.
Frustrated, she flipped to a new page in her notebook, turned it sideways, and with her pen, drew in a number of columns. At the top of each of the columns, she wrote, “Name, date of death, location, home, occupation, record, and motive.” Then she began to methodically go back through each of the stories, filling in the columns with the pertinent information in hopes of finding a connection. If the information she needed about a specific person wasn’t in the story, she tried to pull it up from other Internet sites she was familiar with like 411.com and CriminalBackground.com. It wasn’t an exact science; however, it had worked for her in the past, and now more than ever, she was determined to find the common link, if one existed.
As she filled up the page, she found that she kept writing down Hungry Horse as the location of many of the incidents. Of course, a number of the deaths had happened at her grandparents’ cabins, but there were several others that had occurred in the vicinity of the lake as well. Curious, she used the browser to pull up a map of the area on the computer. Her grandparents’ cabins were about halfway down the lake, whereas the insurance salesman’s car had been discovered near Swan Lake, which was almost due south of the cabins on the other side of the mountain range. The location of the Salt Lick was almost directly north, again in line with the cabins. The thing that leapt out at her as she looked at the map was the relative proximity of all the locations. She began ticking off the incidents in her mind: the missing goats, the honeymooning couple, the insurance salesman, the men from Seattle, her grandparents.
With the exception of the intervening mountain ranges, they had all occurred within a radius of about thirty miles.
With this new information, Carrie went back to the archives and began searching again. Only this time, she searched for stories involving Hungry Horse. There were not nearly as many, and most of them involved the cases she already knew about. There were two, however, that fit the pattern she was looking for. She read the articles chronologically in reverse, simply because that was the order in which they were listed.
One involved a teenage boy who had been staying in the cabins at the Diamond R Ranch last summer. He had gone out four-wheeling along Beaver Creek Trail late one evening and had never returned. The next day, the search-and-rescue team had found the four-wheeler covered in blood. Though rare, it was assumed that the boy had been mauled by a bear and dragged off into the woods. His body was never found. The Diamond R Ranch was located at the southern end of the reservoir, near the Spotted Bear Ranger Station. It was about twenty miles from her grandparents’ cabin.
The other stories involved the plane crash that Carrie had come across yesterday. At the time, she hadn’t thought there could be any relevancy to her grandparents’ deaths, but now that it had come up again in the same vicinity as the other murders, she began to think about it. It seemed odd that such a flurry of murders would have taken place in such a small and sparsely populated area, especially when all of them had occurred within eighteen months after the crash.
Curious, she expanded her search to include any stories involving Hungry Horse for a four-year period prior to the crash. About a dozen articles came up, but as she read them, she found that none of them involved mysterious deaths or murders.
Suddenly, she wanted to know more details of the events surrounding that plane crash and what might have been on it.
The first story she read indicated that the final results of the NTSB’s investigation into the exact cause of the crash had been inconclusive. There had originally been several theories as to the cause of the accident, including wind shear and mechanical failure, but the NTSB had been unable to conclusively pinpoint any one event as the exact cause for the crash. The NTSB’s investigator-in-charge, Jack Kleister, noted that the investigation had been hampered by the fact that the plane’s black box had never been recovered, and because the plane had gone down in a remote and heavily wooded area of Flathead National Park, the recovery operation and accurate reconstruction of its condition at the time of the crash had been “very difficult.”
Carrie made a note of the investigator’s name, printed out the story, and then began reading the earlier article.
Just under eighteen months ago on October 3rd, a corporate jet had gone down in Flathead National Forest during an ice storm. Flight records indicated the plane, which was owned by the multinational conglomerate NorCorp, had been in route from Baltimore to Seattle when it disappeared from radar approximately forty miles east of Kalispell. Search-and-rescue efforts that had been coordinated by the Montana Aeronautics Division, Flathead County Sheriff’s Department, and the US Forest Service had been hampered by darkness and a blizzard, with winds up to seventy miles an hour accompanied by lightning and freezing rain that had turned to snow during the night.
Three days later, rescue workers located the wreckage in a rugged, remote area near the summit of Shadow Mountain, approximately fifteen miles east of the Spotted Bear Ranger Station, which, Carrie noted, placed it within the thirty-mile radius of the other incidents. Despite the fact that portions of the fuselage were relatively intact, there were no survivors.
The three men killed in the crash were: the pilot, James Laidlaw, age forty-eight; the copilot, Derrick Hughes, age twenty-six; and the passenger, Dr. Phillip Sandefur, age fifty-four. The article noted that the official coroner’s report would be held pending positive identification of the three men by the state crime lab in Missoula.
Carrie left the paper’s archive system, pulled up the Web browser, typed
www.ntsb.gov
and hit enter. She knew the NTSB’s report would give a much more detailed account of the crash and the investigative findings than were included in the paper. The screen filled with the home page of the NTSB’s website, which included postings of all its final reports of investigations into accidents involving virtually any mode of mass transit in the United States.
The site had its own search engine, which allowed her to search for all crashes within a certain date range by state and if there were any fatalities, which made it easy to find the one she was looking for. The final report was nine pages long, so instead of reading it from the screen, she printed it out and began reading as soon as the pages were spat out.
On October 3rd, a Gulfstream V-SP, number N9712E, had taken off from Baltimore International Airport in route to Seattle. At 23:18 MDT, the aircraft was contacted by the Salt Lake City Air Traffic Control Center and instructed to climb from ten thousand feet to twelve thousand feet to allow for the terrain as it crossed Montana. At approximately 23:32, the Salt Lake ARTCC lost radar contact with the plane.
According to the report, the accident occurred at 47 degrees 54.75 minutes north and 113 degrees 10.33 minutes west, which, Carrie knew from the earlier article, was on Shadow Mountain, approximately thirty miles from her grandparents’ cabin.