Hanging Falls

by Margaret Mizushima

  Stella hesitated, and Mattie could understand why. They each had photos on their cell phones, but those were hard to look at. Stella glanced her way as she removed her cell phone from her pocket and started swiping the screen. “We think this young man had been in the water for a while, so this photograph is going to be hard to see, but I have a close-up of the birthmark on his neck.”

  Isaac squared his shoulders. “Let me look at it first, then. Perhaps the others won’t need to.”

  When Stella moved forward to show Isaac the picture, his face became grim. He drew a deep breath and stepped back, as if to put distance between himself and the image. “I’m afraid that looks like the mark on Luke’s neck. It might very well be him. God rest his soul.”

  Each of the others murmured the same words. Mattie could see various amounts of shock on their faces, Ruth’s holding the greatest. “Oh dear,” she said, looking at Isaac. “What should we do? Should we contact his parents?”

  “I can certainly do that,” Isaac responded, looking at Stella. “What do you think I should tell them?”

  “I prefer talking to them myself,” Stella said. “If you’ll give me their contact information, I’ll make the call.”

  “I’ll get it.” Ruth turned and hurried back toward the trailers.

  Mattie had an idea. “Could I see where Luke slept?”

  Ephraim looked at Isaac and, after receiving a slight nod, turned to his son. “Abel, take the lady to show her your room. Tell your mother I said it was okay.”

  “Just one moment, Abel.” Mattie went to the back of her unit while Robo pinned her with his eyes and danced in place. She felt bad telling him to stay, but after opening the hatch, that’s what she had to do. His look of disappointment made her feel even worse. She knew he wanted to work; it’s what he lived for. “Later,” she told him. “You’ll get a turn later today.”

  She grabbed her fingerprint kit and followed Abel down the row of trailers. As they passed the second one, Ruth stepped outside onto the wooden deck that had been built in front of the door. Another blond woman dressed like her stood at the doorway, a worried look on her face.

  Ruth came down the steps when she spotted Mattie. “Would you like this number?” she said, holding out a slip of paper.

  “If you’ll take that to Detective LoSasso, I’d appreciate it,” Mattie replied, eyeing the other woman and hoping for an introduction. She took a few steps closer, giving Ruth incentive to make it.

  “This is my sister, Mary,” Ruth said.

  Mary nodded and said hello while Mattie exchanged greetings and decided that she could see a family resemblance between the two sisters. Several young boys and girls, some blond and some brunet, stood clustered behind Mary, who obviously seemed set on blocking their way and keeping them inside the house. Mattie couldn’t get a head count, since some of the kids were peeking out from behind Mary’s skirts, but she thought there were six or seven. The kids appeared curious, and they looked clean and well dressed in their matching blue-and-white outfits.

  Mattie turned back to Abel, who’d waited politely, and followed him to the third trailer, where he mounted the steps of a wooden deck similar to the one at Ruth’s house.

  He opened the door and spoke to someone inside. “Mother? I’ve brought a guest.”

  Abel stood aside, holding the door for Mattie to enter. A short woman, her sandy hair wound in a bun at her nape underneath a white cap, turned from the sink, grabbed a dish towel, and dried her hands. Her eyes widened as she took in Mattie’s uniform, but she extended her hand, saying, “I’m Rachel.”

  Mattie introduced herself and shook Rachel’s still-damp fingers. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this, ma’am, but I need to see the bedroom where Luke Ferguson slept. I won’t take but a few minutes of your time.”

  Rachel looked at Abel, a question in her eyes, to which he responded, “Father said to allow it. The police think that Luke might be dead.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened. “Oh my dear heaven. How could that be?”

  “We’re in the process of trying to identify the person we found to confirm whether it’s Luke or not,” Mattie said. “If I could just see the bedroom, I won’t be long.”

  “Of course,” Rachel said. “Abel, show the officer your room.”

  As Mattie followed Abel through the kitchen and into the living room, she found it awash with children of all ages, all dressed alike and occupied with various activities. A towheaded teenage girl in a chair read aloud quietly to a dark-haired boy, two other dark-haired youngsters worked on activity books, and a bright-eyed and smiling toddler with sandy hair fiddled with building blocks inside a playpen. All eyes turned Mattie’s way as she entered the room.

  A woman with brunet hair streaked with gray beneath her white cap looked up from her sewing machine, where she appeared to be working on pants made of blue denim. “Oh,” she said, as if startled. “Hello.”

  From behind Mattie, Rachel made the introduction. “Deputy, this is Naomi, my sister.”

  Naomi raised her eyebrows, sending a questioning look Rachel’s way, but she murmured a polite greeting.

  “Go ahead and take the deputy on through to your room, Abel,” Rachel prompted, before giving a quiet explanation to Naomi.

  Naomi gasped as Mattie followed Abel’s stalwart form down a narrow hallway and into a tiny bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the light dim, so she touched the overhead light switch with the tip of one finger. A quick glance told her she was in luck. Twin beds with polished wooden headboards had been placed against opposing walls, with small bedside dressers in between. And on each dresser stood a table lamp.

  “Which bed was Luke’s?” she asked.

  Abel pointed to the one on the far wall, and Mattie crossed the room to inspect the lamp’s switch, growing more excited as she peered under the lampshade. She’d found what she’d hoped for: a toggle switch that needed to be pressed back and forth to operate. The perfect spot to dust for prints. And in addition to that, the slick surfaces of the dresser and headboard offered a secondary source.

  “Has anyone else moved into this bedroom since Luke left?”

  “Not yet. I’ve had it to myself.”

  Rachel appeared in the doorway, and Mattie addressed her directly. “I want to look for prints on the lamp, the dresser, the headboard, and on the wall beside the light switch, if I could. If I can get a clear print from here, we could see if they match the person we found. Is it all right if I do that?”

  Rachel’s face showed concern, but she said, “If it will help you, go right ahead.”

  Mattie looked at Abel. “I need to take your prints too, so that we can eliminate you from the ones I recover. Is that all right?”

  Abel nodded his agreement. “Sure.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll need for you both to sign release forms.”

  Since neither of the two indicated that this was a problem, Mattie opened her kit, gave them the forms to sign, and then set to work.

  * * *

  After leaving the property, Mattie turned onto the highway and headed back to the station, eager to drop Stella off so she and Brody could head up to Hanging Falls.

  “Good job finding a source for prints,” Stella said. “We’ll get them to the lab as soon as possible and see if we have a match.”

  “Most of them were partials or smudged, but there was one good one on the back side of the lamp and a few on the back side of the headboard that look complete.” Mattie hoped they would soon have a definitive ID on their victim.

  “What was your overall impression of the people we met?” Stella asked.

  Stella was a great one for lecturing about not jumping to conclusions, so Mattie proceeded with caution. “I thought their reactions were genuine when we broke the news, and I didn’t see any obvious signs of deception that rang any alarm bells.”

  Stella was nodding, which Mattie took as agreement.

  She continued. “The
style of dress, hair, and beards along with Isaac’s comments about prayers led me to believe they’re a group that practices the same religion, and Isaac King appears to be their leader.”

  Stella gazed out the windshield, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed, the posture Mattie recognized as the detective’s thinking mode. “I had the same impression.”

  “When I went into their homes, I met three other women—Ruth’s sister, Ephraim Grayson’s wife, and her sister. There had to be at least ten or twelve children inside the two homes, all dressed alike. From what I could tell, things within the Grayson home were clean and tidy, and Rachel’s sister was sewing a pair of denim trousers.”

  “What did you make of all that?”

  “The pants were similar to those worn by the men and our victim.” Mattie looked at Stella and gave her a thin smile. “There are lots of children living there, and I don’t think we’ve even met all the adults yet. But I can’t help but compare what I observed here today with photos and videos I’ve seen of different polygamist groups from Colorado City and other places across the nation. They look similar.”

  “Fair enough,” Stella said. “Matches my opinion. Did you have any impressions that would make you concerned about the welfare of the children?”

  Mattie remembered the children’s curiosity, and though many of them appeared shy, she hadn’t observed anything outside the norm. “Not at first glance. They were clean, looked healthy and engaged, seemed happy enough, but that’s a hard judgment to make, since I haven’t had a chance to talk to any of them.”

  “I have a feeling we’ll be visiting these folks again with more bad news very soon,” Stella said with a grimace. “And if so, we’ll need to set up interviews with all of the adults and older children. We can assess their welfare during that process.”

  It all sounded to Mattie like a monumental task, and one that might not be completed by tomorrow afternoon. Wrapping up this investigation before her family arrived didn’t seem possible at the moment. “So … polygamy is illegal in the state of Colorado,” she said, thinking aloud. “How do these groups get away with it?”

  Stella raised a brow. “By not using legal means for marriage. The men might have a marriage license and legal ceremony with one wife, typically the first, and then they form spiritual unions with the others. Unless there’s proof of someone breaking the law, we pretty much have to leave them alone. At least, that’s how it works here in Colorado.”

  “Key words: unless someone breaks the law. Murder factors strongly into that guideline.” Mattie held Stella’s gaze for a few beats before looking back to the road.

  “Yes,” Stella said, settling back into her seat and looking out the window to brood, something Mattie expected from the detective at this stage in the case. “Yes, it certainly does.”

  TEN

  Cole received a call on his cell phone that had been forwarded from his clinic line, and he answered with his official greeting. “Timber Creek Veterinary Clinic.”

  “Is this Dr. Walker?”

  The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Speaking.”

  “Oh, hello. This is Ruth Vaughn.”

  “Hello, Ruth. I won’t have Sassy’s results until at least midweek.”

  “Oh, yes … you told me that. But that’s not why I’m calling. I wondered if you were working today.”

  “I am, but I’m not at the clinic.” Cole didn’t typically keep his clinic open on Saturdays but reserved the morning for catch-up from the week. He’d just driven up the lane from his clinic to his house and hoped to visit with his daughters before leaving on a farm call. They’d been asleep when he left early this morning, and he wanted to see them before the morning got away from him. “I had to reschedule some folks yesterday afternoon, so I’m running ambulatory.”

  “Oh …” Ruth sounded disappointed.

  In a hurry, Cole parked in the driveway, hit the button to open his garage door and exited the truck, heading for the inside door to the kitchen. “How can I help, Ruth?”

  “We have a gelding with a split hoof, and this morning he’s turned up lame. Our farrier is coming to work on him, but we hoped you could take a look to see what you’d recommend.”

  “I can work you in right after my next appointment. Say, in about an hour; would that be okay?”

  “Oh yes,” Ruth said, sounding relieved. “And thank you so much. Do you need directions?”

  “No, I drove past your place yesterday. I know where you are.” Cole entered the kitchen, found it empty, and walked on, seeking his kids. He said good-bye and disconnected the call as he made it to the den, where he found Sophie watching television, snuggled up against Belle on the Bernese mountain dog’s cushion.

  “Hey, Sophie-bug.” Cole perched on the edge of a chair near her. “What ya watching?”

  “My show.” His nine-year-old didn’t even look at him but stroked Belle’s head absently, her eyes glued to the TV. While her older sister resembled their mother, Sophie took more after him with her brunet curls, brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. Her once-stocky child’s body had lengthened and thinned this summer, as she’d been growing like a four-week-old puppy.

  “What’s your show?” Cole asked, looking at the screen filled with a bunch of cartoon dog characters.

  “PAW Patrol.”

  “Do you want to record it and come ride with me?”

  “No thanks, Dad.”

  He could tell he was up against a better opponent and had no hope of gaining her attention. “Where’s your sister?”

  “In her room.”

  “Mrs. Gibbs?”

  “Don’t know.”

  This conversation was going nowhere, and Cole felt pressed to move on. “Okay, little bit. I’m going to see if Angie wants to go with me. If you change your mind, I’ll be leaving in about three minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay here.”

  All this without her looking at him even once. Usually she was more engaged than that, but Cole took consolation in the fact that you couldn’t fight PAW Patrol. He headed for the stairway and met Mrs. Gibbs coming down.

  His resident housekeeper had been a lifesaver ever since his sister Jessie found her. Cole had been at his wits’ end, trying to run his practice and take care of the kids right after Olivia left. But the kind lady, a transplant from Dublin, had moved from her daughter’s home in Denver and taken them all under her wing, Cole included. She governed them with a great deal of wisdom and humor, having had years of experience raising her own daughters.

  “Hello, Dr. Walker,” she said, her Irish brogue always a pleasure to his ear. “I was tidying me room and didn’t hear you come in. Do you need something to eat?”

  “No, I’m fine until lunch. Just looking for Angie.”

  “Young Miss Angela has been in her room most of the morning. I think you’ll find her there,” she said, one eyebrow raised as she moved past him and headed for the kitchen.

  Cole knew she was privy to the problems he was having with Angie, and he also knew that the lady was one of Mattie’s biggest fans. But he doubted if she would get into the middle of things unless he asked her to, and he hoped he could manage this on his own without calling in the second-string quarterback.

  He knocked on Angie’s door. When there was no answer, he knocked louder. “Yeah?” he heard her say, so he opened the door and peeked inside. She was lying on her bed with a book, plugged into her iPod with earbuds, one of which she’d removed and was holding between her fingers.

  “Hi, Angel. I’m looking for company while I make my calls. Want to go with me?”

  She eyed him. “Do you need my help?”

  “Nope. Just want your companionship.”

  “How long will this take?”

  Surprised that she actually seemed interested, Cole dared to hope. “Only a couple hours. We’ll be back in time for lunch.”

  “Is Sophie going?”

  “She says not. Does that matter?”<
br />
  “Just wondered.” Angie turned off her music and removed the other earbud. “I guess I’ll go. Let me change.” She was still wearing the tank top and boxers she used for pajamas.

  Cole grinned, letting his pleasure show. “Can you be ready in a few?”

  “Sure.”

  Cole closed the door, hurried down the steps, and joined his housekeeper in the kitchen.

  Mrs. Gibbs was zipping the lid on a soft-sided cooler. “I packed you a snack.”

  “You’re the best.” He checked the cooler’s contents while giving Mrs. Gibbs a quick one-armed squeeze. Bottles of juice, a baggie full of grapes, a small sack of pretzels, and individually wrapped cheese sticks. Very healthy—Angie would like it.

  Angie came downstairs carrying a backpack and wearing jeans and a pink tee. She had pulled her blond hair into a ponytail. “Ready to go,” she said.

  “Excellent.” Cole picked up the cooler. “Thank you, Mrs. Gibbs. We should be home about noon.”

  Once they were situated inside his truck, Cole drove down the lane toward the highway. He didn’t want Angie to think this was another of his attempts to hold her hostage while he talked to her about Mattie. He’d been honest about his agenda and truly did want to spend time with her on a busy day. “Music or no music?” he asked, his finger hovering over the button for the sound system.

  “My music,” she replied, unzipping her backpack and taking out her iPod.

  “Go for it,” he said, thinking, Geez, I hope I can handle this.

  After she hooked it up, the jolting rhythm of some type of rap or hip-hop or whatever that Cole could barely stomach filled the truck’s cab. He gave Angie a tight smile as he turned onto the road and headed for his first appointment.

  * * *

  An hour later, they turned onto the dirt track that led to the cluster of buildings that made up the Vaughn place. “This is where Hannah lives,” Cole said to Angie as he turned down her music, which she’d started again when they left the last place.

  “Looks like a bunch of trailer homes.” Angie switched off the music. “I wonder who else lives out here.”