Chapter 14
I awoke early, and reminded myself what day of the week it was. Tuesday. It was something I started doing every morning. Being out of work, no email, no daily newspaper, no routine of going to a job, it was easy to lose track of something that basic. For the employed, the world was still in rhythmic motion. They were still contributing to bettering the human condition. I missed that greater connection of being part of something of value.
Yet I had my way to become reconnected. I was committed to speak for the dead man, to be his voice now that his had been silenced. But to do that, I needed fuel. It was still early enough that some of the motel’s pathetic continental breakfast, those stale donuts and diluted juice, would still be available. It wasn’t as good as the diner had been, but the price was right. Sure enough, when I got to the office, there were still two glazed donuts and a half-cup of juice. I took them back toward my room and sat in the white plastic chair outside.
As I ate, Deputy Powell cruised slowly past the motel going south, eyeing me as he went by. I was still on his surveillance list, which did not surprise me if he was protecting his secret, a payoff from bounty hunters. And I hadn’t helped the relationship by antagonizing him. But he wasn’t interfering with my activities, so I dismissed him for now. We would surely be seeing more of each other soon enough.
Even though it was still early in Montana, it was mid-morning in Cincinnati. Ed Garvey, though, was not answering his desk phone or his cell phone. He was probably out on patrol and could not answer. That left me disappointed. I still owed him a more detailed account of what happened on Monarch Trail. When I had talked to him last, he clearly knew more than he let on, and so certainly expected me to reveal more. I simply had not been ready then. But now I was now mentally prepared for that conversation. The conversation certainly had to precede me asking him for favors. I hoped he could look into my 9-1-1 call, ask for a transcript and any follow-ups that might have occurred. As a cop, he surely would get a quicker and more thorough response than Nathan Parker, private citizen. For now, though, I just left a message saying I’d call him back later in the day.
I got up from the plastic chair and noticed a business card lying on the sidewalk in front of my room. It probably had been stuck between the door and its frame, and I hadn’t seen it fall when leaving the room earlier. It was another greeting from Joseph Custer. On the back of this one was the same scribbled note as yesterday: Please call me ASAP. It was signed Joseph. The date was today at 6 AM. So he had visited very early, but thankfully had not pounded on the door to awaken me before the first rays of sunlight had even shone. With his persistence, I really did need to call him today. There was no need for any more of his business cards cluttering my pocket.
I also needed to get some detailed maps of the area to learn more about the lay of the land. All I had was a road atlas where the entire state had been squeezed onto a single page. It seemed that a good place for such detailed maps would be the ranger station in the National Forest. In the past two days, I had entered the forest through a more remote access road south and west of town. The main entrance was to the north on US Highway 287. This would also be an opportunity to meet and talk with a Ranger as part of the follow-up on my 9-1-1 call and the bounty hunter angle. With all of the budget cuts, maybe there weren’t many rangers still employed in the park, so I might get lucky and actually talk with the one who took the call.
On the way to my car, I saw Cortina. She entered one of the rooms with her cart. The guy from the front desk followed her, gabbing away. I still wanted to talk with her and considered waiting until she was done with her conversation. But it seemed like their discussion was more than just a casual chat, since he stood in the door of the room, continuing his monologue. So I would wait until later. While I preferred having something solid in hand, such as a news story, when I talked with her, I didn’t want to delay much longer. So tomorrow at the latest would be it, even if I had nothing new to steer the conversation.
Driving north toward the National Forest entrance, I soaked in the scenery, the expanse of trees and the mountains in the distance. The mountains were majestic and calming and enticing. I could gaze at them for hours. But what I really wanted was to wander through them, experiencing their embrace up close, touching, inhaling the fragrance of clean air, immersing myself in them. That closeness to nature had always stirred me and was an addiction not easily satisfied. I would experience it up close soon, very soon, since I planned to continue my hiking, along with starting my writing career.
Ahead on the side of the road, a brown wooden sign with yellow lettering loomed. It indicated I had entered the Lewis and Clark National Forest. There were no buildings on either side of the road, no houses, no businesses, no farms. Just barbed wire fencing on both sides of the road, marking boundaries for the Forest on the west and presumably ranchland on the east. A little further along, a sign proclaimed that the ranger station was ahead, and I turned west through a gate. On the gate, a small sign indicated the entrance was open from dawn to dusk. The paved road quickly turned into a gravel surface. This one was smoother than expected, suggesting perhaps some recent maintenance.
I pulled into an open spot in front of the ranger station, a brown wooden log cabin sitting on a stone foundation. Two other vehicles with out-of-state plates sat in the lot, so I was not the only tourist here today. Inside to the right, a set of small displays about the local history, flora, and fauna filled the space. There were waist-high glass-covered cases, dioramas on the wall, and some rocks, bones, and antlers for touching. These displays occupied the attention of what appeared to be a couple and their young son, who jumped up and down in excitement.
The other family fared less well. The dad stayed in the building continuing the survey of the exhibits with his daughter, and watching over a stroller containing a sleeping youngster. In the meantime, the mom dealt with a melt down, hauling a crying boy out the door. He sobbed something about there not being a gift shop.
I noted some maps pinned on one wall of the building. Those looked like just what I needed. They were large, about three-feet square, and had the kind of detail I sought. A Ranger in forest green uniform stood behind a counter. He appeared to be in his late thirties. Not quite six feet tall, thin, short brown hair, clean-shaven, neat. I thought he was even a bit prissy looking. The nametag on his chest read Andrew Pine. Some people just have the perfect name for the job. Is someone named Pine simply destined to be a forest ranger? Probably. It reminded me of a police officer in Cincinnati. His name was Jonathan Leash. He was head of the canine unit. There was no more suitable place for him in the department.
“Good morning,” Ranger Pine said cheerily with a wide grin on his face. “Looks like another beautiful day.”
“Yes, it does. Good morning,” I responded.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I was hoping to buy some detailed maps of the area, maybe even a topographical map.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said. “All of them are displayed on the wall over there.”
“Great.” I pointed to the ones I wanted. He fished them out from under the counter, and I paid for them. I also wanted to get some information from him.
“It seems there are several different parks in the area,” I ventured.
“Well, there are several National Forests that adjoin the Lewis and Clark, such as the Flathead and Lolo to the west. It all covers millions of acres.”
“Millions of acres. That’s a lot of ground to manage.”
“Yes, it is.”
“With all the government cut-backs, it must be getting harder than ever to patrol it all.” I had recalled reading that the number of rangers was grossly inadequate to monitor activities in the areas they were assigned to manage. Tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of acres per National Forest Ranger. An impossible task.
??
?Yes. The budget cutbacks have been difficult. We lost a lot of good people.”
“Must leave you with a lot of responsibility.”
“Sometimes it seems like too much. Makes for some long workdays and weeks. But I manage.”
“So, are you the head ranger here?” I probed.
He beamed with obvious pride. “Yes, that’s right. I run the entire southern end of the National Forest.”
“Well, then I’m talking to the expert.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he feigned a bit of modesty, though he still wore a wide toothy grin. “But if you have any questions about the National Forest, glad to help if I can.”
“Can you tell me about the hiking trails?”
“Sure,” he gushed. “I have maps of the trails right here.” He deftly snatched up a pamphlet, opened it to display the marked hiking trails, and handed it across the counter to me. “There are dozens of trails, well over 100 miles in total. And in addition to hiking, we offer opportunities for horseback riding, camping, fishing, and canoeing. Lots of activities here.”
Then he continued less enthusiastically and more seriously. “But some of the facilities are closed due to reduced manpower, and a lot of it is pretty remote country. So unless you are an experienced hiker, I suggest staying to the marked trails. It’s easy to get lost out there. And then some of it is restricted wilderness area.”
“Restricted?”
“For some of the more remote areas, you need to get a permit, so we know who is out there and for how long.” Then he added, “In case someone does not return on schedule, at least we know where to start looking. People do get lost out there from time to time.” He paused before continuing. “Then there are some areas that are off limits entirely.”
I raised my eyebrows as if to ask a question, but he continued without further prompting.
“Those areas have been used too heavily so are closed for natural healing. We have one area where there was a big fire last year. We think it was caused by a careless hiker or back packer. His fire burned hundreds of acres. To protect it from further erosion, we have closed the entire area. Healing could take years.”
I nodded. He was talking freely, which is what I’d hoped for. Since he did not immediately continue the conversation, I asked, “Sounds like it was bad.”
He nodded sternly.
“So, if you are understaffed, who fought the fire?” I asked.
Ranger Pine seemed uncertain why I was asking, but after a few beats answered. “Well, just about everybody. Me, our own fire squad, though that’s not many people. And the volunteer fire department from Willow Run. That’s the small town not far from here. Everybody. Fortunately, it was remote enough that no one was hurt, not even the careless camper. We never did find him. Whoever he was, he did not have a permit to be camped there.”
“Where was the fire? Can you show me on the map?” He looked at me a bit quizzically, so I added, “I just want to know where I shouldn’t be hiking.”
He hesitated briefly, glancing at his other patrons. But seeing that they were occupied and did not need his attention, he moved from behind the counter to one of the maps on the wall.
“The fire was in this area, Spring Valley. It got that name from the first settlers here since there are some natural springs in there. Keeps a small creek flowing all year, regardless of rainfall.”
I couldn’t determine with a quick glance of the map how distant this valley was from the highway. I would need to consult the scale to do that. Since I already had a copy of the map he was pointing to, I could do that later. Regardless, it seemed this valley was at least a couple of miles into the forest. This ranger station and the road running past it were the closest points to the site of the fire. So this was where a fire-fighting crew would have entered to battle the blaze.
Ranger Pine continued. “We’ve sealed off the entire area for healing.”
He did not seem to mind me asking questions. This was probably a lonely post much of the time, and he might enjoy the opportunity to socialize. He seemed eager to be of assistance. So I continued.
“What do you do to help the area recover, other than keep people out?”
“We fenced it off to warn people not to enter. And we have replanted a lot of trees in there since the fire to give it a jump-start. Planting is still going on. But it’s a big area, and replanting so many trees is expensive.”
“Yes, I imagine it is expensive. Who does the planting?”
He looked a bit puzzled, like he wanted to ask why I cared about such a mundane task. But he also did not seem ready to let a conversation opportunity pass him by. “We don’t have the manpower to do it ourselves, so it’s all done by a contract crew.”
Bingo. It was a thin thread, but it connected the dots. This might be where my dead guy came from. He was dirty and clearly had been doing manual labor. If he was part of the contract crew doing the job, the bounty hunters must have tracked him to here. They went in to get him. The guy ran and died when he launched himself off the cliff on Monarch Trail in the darkness. The rest I already knew. This gave me a new starting point for further investigation.
“Are there any Hispanics in the crew?”
He looked at me for several long moments, uncertain where this questioning was going and whether he should even be discussing this at all. But he finally answered. “I really don’t know. But probably. There are some migrant workers in the area. Many of them work in landscaping and gardening. So, sure, there probably are some in the crew.”
“Any of them go missing?”
“Missing?” he asked with a bit of puzzlement. “These are strange questions. I don’t expect them from a tourist. Why are you asking?”
This might make our further discussion more difficult, but I had to reset his thinking about who I was so he might continue to openly talk to me. “Sorry. Old habit. I used to be a cop. I’m on vacation, but also doing some private investigative work. I’m looking for a missing person. So trying to connect some pieces of information I’ve collected.” This was quite a stretch of the truth, of course. And I had no credentials to show him. I quickly continued talking so that he might not think to ask. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He loosened up a bit, then nodded in apparent understanding and smiled. “Well, glad to help if I can.” He kept the smile frozen on his face, as if waiting for me to pick up the conversation.
“So, have any guys in the planting crew gone missing?” I repeated.
“Oh, sorry. Forgot you had asked that question.” He gazed upward toward the ceiling, as if searching his memory for an answer. “Well, I don’t recall any Hispanic reported missing. But then I don’t have much contact with the tree planters. Like I said, it’s a contract crew. I don’t count heads as they come and go. And we haven’t been asked to help find any missing men from the crew.”
It bothered me that no one would report the guy missing. It would seem to me a guy who goes missing would warrant a search and a request for help from the National Forest personnel. But then maybe the bounty hunters were more discrete about their activities, waiting until the guy was alone to make their move. And then at the end of the day, the crew boss miscounted his charges or didn’t even bother with a head count. And it could be that a guy simply walking off the job is something that happens. Perhaps the work was too hard, the pay was too low, or the boss was too demanding. People leave jobs all the time, even in a bad economy, if the situation is dire enough.
And certainly migrant workers, especially those who are here illegally, are in precarious and unstable positions. Maybe if they get spooked about being caught and deported, they just wander off, and nobody notices or cares. The sight of a symbol of government authority, like a Forest Ranger uniform, might set off warning bells to run away.
“I would like to talk with the tree crew boss or the company he works for. Any way you can put me in touch with them?
”
Andrew Pine seemed to consider this for a long moment. He walked from the wall-mounted maps back to his position behind the counter before answering. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that. It’s just not something I can freely discuss. Confidentiality, you know.”
“I understand,” I said with disappointment. I really hadn’t expected him to give me that information anyway. If I were a cop, it might be a different situation. Yet I needed to talk to someone on that crew, preferably the crew boss.
I could park at the entrance to the park in the afternoon and wait for them to come out. They had to leave some time. They certainly aren’t camping out in a burned over valley. Even if I did not talk to anyone right away, I could probably get a company name off the vehicle as it departed the National Forest for the day. I could follow the vehicle to its final destination and talk to the driver or the crew boss if he was in the truck. Either way, then I would have a solid contact, or at least a company name, to give me a lead of where to look next.
After a pause, he added, “Anything else I can help you with?”
“Actually there is. What happens when you have an emergency in the forest?”
“Emergency?”
“Like a 9-1-1 call. If there was an emergency in the National Forest, would a 9-1-1 Operator transfer that call to your phone?” I then added, “And are there circumstances when you might transfer jurisdiction to the local police?”
His face remained stoic, but there was a faint hint of recognition in his eyes, which widened just a fraction and only for an instant before he returned to being the same rigid figure as before. But that was enough to tell me he indeed was the one who took my call, though I never spoke to him since the call was then transferred to Deputy Powell. There was, of course, no wrongdoing in that. For me, it was just connecting more of the dots.
He deflected my questions, stating with a bit of confusion on his face, “These are very odd questions.”
I continued to stare at him, and he seemed to get uncomfortable with my focused attention. He glanced nervously toward the other tourists in the building, but they seemed to be doing fine without him. He remained frozen to the spot behind the counter. I anticipated that this talkative fellow would say more under my intense stare. And he finally did.
“We are under-staffed to respond to emergencies. So, yes, we might transfer jurisdiction.” He seemed satisfied that his answer would suffice, but added, “Why are you asking?”
I leaned over the counter a bit and spoke softly so the other tourists in the building would not hear. “What if the call was about a dead body?”
He showed no emotion at the question. He was probably already steeled against surprise no matter what I said. That previous one brief change in his eyes was all there would be. Yet I could see he was still feeling uncomfortable. A dead body wasn’t a topic he liked to discuss openly. It’s bad for business to admit someone died in your back yard. And there were other patrons in the building at the moment, so he wouldn’t want to alarm them. He started organizing materials on the counter top, restacking pamphlets and postcards, even though the stacks had been neat and tidy to begin with. “That is not something I can discuss. Why are you asking?”
“I was hiking on Monarch Trail and….”
“That trail is closed!” he blurted, forcefully cutting me off. One of the tourists turned in surprise in our direction at his brief outburst. Ranger Pine smiled at the man and nodded his head, as if in greeting, to assure him everything was fine. Then he turned back toward me. “That trail is closed,” he repeated calmly and quietly. “You shouldn’t be out there.” His manner had become very stiff and much less accommodating.
“I know it’s closed now. I was on it before then. I made the 9-1-1 call to report finding a body. I’m just trying to find out what happened and where the guy came from.”
He went rigid, and gave stern advice that sounded more like a warning, his voice forceful but controlled. “Stay out of that area. The trail is closed, and a lot of the surrounding forest is off limits while healing continues.”
His voice had gotten loud enough that all the adult tourists in the building looked over nervously. He sealed his lips and took his turn glaring at me. He wasn’t going to volunteer any more information. Our conversation had come to its end. When I was officially the law, his discomfort would be an invitation to push harder. But now, with my lack of credentials, I needed to break it off. I would get back to Ranger Pine when I knew more.
I smiled. “Thanks for your time. And thanks for the maps.”
I exited the building into the bright sunlight, slipping on my sunglasses to shield my eyes. OK, so maybe the dead guy I found was from the tree-planting crew. The bounty hunters went in there to get him. He ran away from the work crew. It must have been late in the day, and he ran through the night to escape them. He ran right off the cliff in the darkness and died. That was my speculation, but it was feeling more solid all the time.
Ranger Pine’s reactions to my probing questions were a bit over the top, but then I didn’t know the man. People are not all alike in their reactions to stress situations. At least I could feel fairly certain now that the 9-1-1 call had been transferred to this ranger station, and to Ranger Pine specifically, before going to Deputy Powell. And the call had probably been transferred because Pine did not have the resources to handle a dead body. But I had a feeling there was more that I could learn from Andrew Pine.
Before driving away, I noted a gated road leading off into the forest to the west. Three horizontal strands of barbed wire ran from the gateposts on either side of the entry toward the trees. Signs on the fence read No Trespassing, Wilderness Area, Healing in Progress. The locked swinging gate had a sign reading Official Use Only. This was probably the access road to Spring Valley where the fire had been. I looked down the road, but it wound slightly in the woods and disappeared from view into the darkness of the thick growth of trees lining both sides of the tract.
Behind the ranger station, a small creek emerged from those trees. This must flow from Spring Valley. Yet more reason to believe this road was the route to where the tree-planting crew was working.
I wanted to dig into the maps, to get the lay of the land, such as the positions of the ranger station relative to Spring Valley and Monarch Trail. That would help determine if the dead guy could reasonably have come from the valley. I was just being thorough, connecting all the dots. Those maps were lying on the passenger seat of my car, beckoning me. But they would have to wait. Now I needed to learn more about this fire. That meant a return to the library.
I hoped that Allison Wells, Willow Run Librarian, was working there today. I thought about seeing her with some anticipation. It had been so long since I had a relationship, any kind of closeness, with a woman. That left a hollowness inside me that had me searching for a connection, for human companionship. I sensed there might be some attraction between Allison Wells and me, though I had really botched things yesterday. All I could advise myself was to give it time, don’t force it. Let the connection happen, if it would.