Critical Conditions, page 24
He introduced himself and said, “We’re ready. You know the rules?”
I looked at Lucy. She was impassive. I said, “No.”
“Do what I tell you. If for any reason you need to quickly exit, do so toward the front. If you can see me, you’re okay. Got it?”
I said, “Yes.” But I was thinking, Why might I need to quickly exit?
“She’s fueled. Let’s go.”
The cameraman and the pilot took the front seats and Lucy and I climbed into the back and buckled up. I asked her if she did this sort of thing often.
“I dated a guy who flew in the Air National Guard. But that was a while ago.”
I discerned her last few words by lipreading. The pilot had started the engine of his Bell Jet Ranger and was pantomiming to us to put our headphone/microphone units on.
The engine noise disappeared and the Bose headphones offered the clear voice of the pilot. “Any questions?”
“How do you know where you’re going?”
He laughed. “I know the way. I also have a GPS-Global Positioning Satellite-system. The thing can guide me to a specific elk during hunting season if I ask it to. The people we’re meeting have a portable GPS, they’re going to call in the coordinates to me. We’ll hit them like a hammer hits a nail.”
I wasn’t fond of the analogy.
A moment later we lifted off gently, and I was immediately mesmerized by Boulder’s lights as we headed northwest.
Lucy asked, “Tim, is there a way you can separate out our headphones from the ones you guys are using up front? There are some things we need to talk about privately.”
“No problem.” He touched a button on the control panel and raised his fingers in an okay sign.
Lucy touched me on the knee to get my attention. The lights had disappeared below, and I wondered how close we were flying to the ridge tops I was seeing so clearly.
“Yes?”
“Two new developments that I think you should know about. First, I think you should know that MedExcel contacted the Arapahoe County DA’s office this morning about an extortion attempt that was phoned in to Ed Robilio’s secretary late yesterday.”
“What kind of extortion attempt?”
Lucy shrugged. “There’s no tape of the call. But the secretary thought the voice was of a young female. She threatened to, quote, ‘bring the company down’ if ‘their’ demands weren’t met. Said it was about Dr. Robilio. Something that the company wouldn’t want made public.”
“Do you think it’s related to these kids? What are the demands?”
“Don’t know. And no demands yet. A voice in the background, a young male, was screaming at the caller to hang up. The secretary thinks he sounded angry, agitated. We think maybe he was timing the call, afraid of a trace. Silly, how would MedExcel have the capacity to trace a call that they didn’t know was coming?”
“Caller ID on the phone?”
“No such luck.”
“You think it has to do with these kids, Lucy? Did they find something at Robilio’s cabin? Or is it a bluff because they know half the cops in the state are looking for them?”
“I don’t know what to think, Alan.”
“What could they have found?”
She turned her palms up.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“What else should I know? You said there were two things you thought I should know.”
“Oh, yeah. The missing girl’s mother, hell, what’s her name?”
“Madison’s mother? Miggy Monroe?”
“Yes, good. Miggy Monroe. She called us at five-fifteen this evening, feels certain her daughter came home while she was at work today.”
“Really?”
“She says a couple of things are moved around and that some heavy boots and gloves are missing that she was sure were there before.”
“That’s it? Madison would risk coming home for some boots? Do you guys give much credence to this? It doesn’t make sense.”
“We’re not sure what to think. Her daughter has a key, of course. The place wasn’t a crime scene, so we didn’t work the place for physical evidence before, and the mom’s living there, so it’s hard to tell whether or not the story has merit. She’s the kid’s mom, so it could just be wishful thinking on her part. On the other hand, she could be right on. Maybe Madison is still in Boulder.”
“Anybody see anything?”
“Wits? Are you kidding?” She tapped the pilot on the shoulder and indicated that she wanted the communications opened again.
We listened in as Tim made radio contact with the local authorities and had the Routt County Sheriff provide wind speed and direction information for their location. He asked them to check for wires and other obstructions near the landing site.
They asked him how he wanted the site marked. He requested a fifty-foot square of highway flares.
I surmised from their conversation that we were supposed to land in a corral at the Somersby Ranch, about a mile from the location of the suspect motor home. A while later, I looked down as we were dropping from the sky toward the corral, which was lit with the requested highway flares in a square that seemed to be about the size of a king-size bed. I felt as though we were trying to land on a postage stamp in an ocean of black water. I didn’t like our odds.
The touchdown was uneventful.
On the ground we were met by eight deputies of the Routt County Sheriff’s Office, the entire Oak Creek Police Department, four deputies from Summit County, a firefighter from Steamboat Springs, and a few troopers from the Colorado State Patrol.
So far the authorities had surrounded the site but had made no contact with the kids and had seen no signs that they were even in the RV.
After introductions were made, Lucy said, “You probably know that they had a motorcycle yesterday. Is it there?”
“We know about the bike. We haven’t seen any sign of it.”
“Okay, what’s the plan?”
The kids had selected a pretty good spot to stash the huge motor coach. At this time in the spring, the backcountry in Routt County, outside Steamboat Springs, was relatively untraveled.
Haldeman, the RV, was cloaked in a tight clearing in a thick grove of denuded aspen and lush ponderosa pine. A dirt road climbed straight up the hill toward the clearing. Madison and Brad had cut branches from the pines and covered the entire top and front of the vehicle with foliage.
A maintenance man for the nearby Somersby Ranch had been checking the perimeter of the property for fence problems and had spotted the camouflage. He had reported the suspicious vehicle to the Routt County Sheriff. The Routt County cops knew that the Summit County Sheriff was looking for a big, fancy RV and within minutes the Boulder Police Department had been notified, too, and was negotiating to send an observer to the scene.
The plan was organic. Surround Haldeman. Assess the situation. Rouse the kids from a distance. Negotiate their surrender.
The firefighter from Steamboat was fitting a headset and camera rig over his head. Lucy asked him what it was.
“It’s called IRIS. We just got it. It’s a remote infrared imaging system. Helps us see through smoke inside buildings. Thought we might be able to use it tonight to locate your suspects.” He scanned us and pronounced the device operable. Then he focused the headset on the Holiday Rambler for about two minutes, scanning in narrow bands. Finally he said, “I don’t think anyone is in there. I’m not picking up anything hot. Not even anything warm.”
The surrounding-the-hilltop part of the plan seemed to go without a hitch. All the cops checked in from their positions with military precision.
The rousing-the-kids part was less successful. A combination of halogen lights, megaphones, and the helicopter hovering above with spotlights trained on the clearing earned no response from the RV. No lights came on in the bus, the door didn’t open.
None of the police reported seeing any movement. The firefighter still reported no positives on his infrared unit.
My role during this phase seemed to be limited to staying out of the line of potential fire and trying to keep warm.
I was significantly better at the former than I was at the latter.
Twenty-eight
A motorcycle engine revved and upshifted somewhere in the adjacent canyons. The sound echoed off the stone walls, and each shift in pitch of the distant drone froze the assembled cops like the assured click of a gun cocking.
Someone said, “Shh. Quiet,” and we all stilled and listened.
The canyon walls trapped and distorted the sound. At first I thought the high-pitched whine I was hearing was identical to the drone I had heard fading away from Dead Ed’s ranch the night before. Then I wasn’t so sure. And at first I thought the motorcycle was north of us, heading toward the west, and then I thought it was south of us, heading farther south.
By the time the engine noise finally disappeared, all I was certain of was that the motorcycle wasn’t coming up the hill to rendezvous with Haldeman.
Lucy said, “False alarm.”
The Routt County deputy said, “Infrared still negative?”
“Yes. It’s ice cold in there.”
“Let’s go check out the RV.”
“Everybody have vests on?”
“I don’t,” I said.
The Summit County deputy helped me pull one on. He told me to stay back until we found the kids.
I thought it was great advice.
The approach to the Holiday Rambler reminded me of the stealth my friends and I used to employ while capturing an unprotected treehouse when I was a kid. Everyone skulked up the hill waiting for an attack nobody really believed was forthcoming.
“Police, open up!” yelled a Routt County deputy as he tried the door on the RV. It swung open. “Police!” he called again, then once more, the barrel of his handgun pointing toward the Big Dipper.
Everyone waited. There was a moment of shared doubt. Maybe the infrared was wrong.
Maybe it was an ambush.
“Scope?”
“Just you guys bright as Martians. Nothing’s glowing inside. Nothing. It’s cool.”
“Okay, go in.”
Three deputies did, one after the other, their guns ready, their hearts, I was sure, beating like steel drums.
Lucy appeared beside me. Coolly, she said, “They’re not here. Damn. Sorry about pulling you away for this.”
“It’s fine, Lucy. The helicopter ride was great.”
I heard a radio call. “Clear.”
One of the deputies poked his head out of the RV and said, “We have a crime scene here. Lot of blood inside.”
“Vic?”
“No vic.”
“Weapons?”
“Half a dozen of them.”
Lucy said, “Shit.”
The flashlights were out now, and all the cops were scanning the area around the RV for physical evidence.
The Routt County deputy was silent for a minute; then, in a loud voice, he ordered the area cleared. He wanted a perimeter set up at fifty yards.
Someone said, “Wait. Blood trail goes out the door and then down here.” A Summit County deputy was pointing his flashlight at some large pine boughs that were resting against the side of the vehicle, midway between the wheel wells.
“See anything else?”
He crouched and adjusted the beam of his flashlight. “Dark stains. There are some big doors behind these branches. You know, like for luggage on a bus.”
The Routt County deputy called for a camera. He took shots of the pine boughs and the blood before removing the branches. He pulled latex on his hands and tried the handle of the left-hand door. As the door raised on hydraulic lifters, he stood off to one side.
The converging beams of the flashlights showed an empty cavern.
The deputy moved to the other door, clicked it open, and again stood back as it lifted up to a horizontal stop.
This cavern wasn’t empty. I thought what I was seeing inside was a pile of rags. Then I saw the wispy hair, the hair so light that it could be lifted by baby’s breath.
Lucy said, “It’s the girl.”
All the flashlight beams focused on the body. The firefighter with the infrared helmet had his scope on her. He said, “Don’t bother disturbing her. She’s stone cold.”
I said, “Oh, Madison.”
Lucy and I stepped out of the helicopter onto the tarmac at Boulder Airport at one-thirty in the morning. We had spoken little on the ride back over the Divide. She was husbanding her energy for her next errand-heading off to tell Miggy Monroe that her daughter had been murdered.
I was going home.
My head found my pillow a few minutes after two o’clock. But I couldn’t sleep. The night’s events felt unreal, my subconscious rendering them into the hazy stuff of dreams. I didn’t think I had slept at all when I looked up and saw the clock at four-forty-two. At five to five I crawled out of bed, took a shower, dressed, and headed to Denver before rush hour.
I had my own notifying to do.
The adolescent psychiatry unit at The Children’s Hospital was still. The kids were all asleep, and the night shift was putting finishing touches on the kids’ charts, looking forward to going home. My arrival surprised everyone. The nursing staff wasn’t accustomed to doctors showing up before dawn for psychotherapy sessions, especially on weekends.
After I explained the circumstances, they handled my request to awaken Merritt with aplomb and informed me that Merritt had not started speaking with any staff members.
Generally, adults awaken looking like leftovers. Kids awaken looking soft and tousled and unkempt. And Merritt was still a kid. Her skin was puffy and pink and she held her hair back from her face with one hand. She examined me with a combination of vigilance and fire in her sleepy eyes. Defiantly, she said, “Is Chaney okay? Is this about my sister?”
“I’m not aware of any change in Chaney’s condition, Merritt. I’m here about something else. Please sit.”
She did.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, but-”
“Are my parents okay?”
“As far as I know, yes.” With a cushion in my voice, I added, “Please, may I go on?”
She nodded.
“Merritt, I’m afraid your friend Madison is dead.”
Merritt released so much air from her lungs that I expected her to collapse in on herself and implode, like a punctured balloon. I waited for the inhale. The delay was inexorable and when she finally breathed, she gulped at the air, swallowing hungrily.
“Are you sure? What happened?”
I searched for a euphemism. I didn’t find one. “She was murdered. Sometime yesterday, probably. The police aren’t sure yet.”
“Was it Brad?” No hesitation.
“We need to make some decisions about the ground rules, Merritt. I need the freedom to let the treatment team know what we talk about here.”
She looked injured, mumbled, “God.”
“It’s essential, Merritt.”
“Not my parents? You won’t tell them?”
“No, I don’t need to tell them.”
“Not the police?”
“No, certainly not the police. Not unless it’s about child abuse or hurting someone.”
She stretched her neck back and tried to tame her unruly hair. “I think…I’m about to trust you. Do you deserve it?”
“I hope so.”
“Okay. You can tell the treatment team what we talk about if you also tell them not to tell anybody else. That’s important. And you can tell the lawyer, Mr. Maitlin, too. Now you tell me, was it Brad?”
“It may have been. She was with him.”
“Did he beat her again?”
“Has he beaten her before?”
“He’s hit her before. He has a temper. Did he beat her?”
I thought about the bloody trail and Madison’s pitifully crumpled body. I said, “Someone may have.”
“He beat her to death?”
“No, she wasn’t beaten to death.”
“How did she die?”
“She was shot.”
“Did you see her?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the mountains. Near Steamboat Springs.”
“No, no. Where was she shot? Where on her body?”
“She was shot a number of times, Merritt. Different places.”
“Was it really awful? Like…Dr. Robilio?”
“I didn’t see him. What happened with Madison wasn’t pretty, Merritt. I don’t think she suffered, though.” I had no idea whether or not Madison had suffered. But I desperately wanted to put a Band-Aid on Merritt’s hurt.
“She’s so stupid. I told her not to stay with him. He’s, he’s trouble. He’s…”
“What?”
“He scares me, okay? I told her not to tell him. He’s such a jerk.”
“Tell him what?”
She looked at me with total concentration. I knew we had reached the edge of the frontier. She had to decide whether to guide me through it.
She hesitated, hugged herself, and said, “It’s about Chaney.”
Twenty-nine
“It’s about Chaney?”
When she answered me, Merritt’s voice was low, tentative, as though she were speaking to herself. She said, “Yes. Everything is about Chaney.”
With another agenda in different circumstances the therapist in me could have mined the sibling issues in those words for a mother lode. But my agenda this day insisted that I dig differently, cautiously. So I waited.
A minute or so later, Merritt said, “I hate it when Trent does that.”
“Does what?”
“The silent thing. Waiting for me to talk. To say something stupid.”
I said, “You think I’m waiting for you to say something stupid?”
She slapped her open hand against the knee of her sweatpants and yelled, “Don’t! Damn it, don’t! This is too important for your games. Jesus. I thought you knew that. Don’t you see what’s going on?” And she started to cry.
