“Mike, I think Millie’s assassin is long gone. A hired hit man wouldn’t still be in the area. By now he’s probably a thousand miles from Flagstaff.”
That was the core of his uncertainty. If Ms. Riley was the sole target, the sheriff was almost certainly correct, but if the Park Sniper was in Coconino County, his MO was to kill again in the same general area.
After reviewing the most recent data turned in by the deputies conducting the campsite searches, Mike was even less confident of a quick apprehension. He’d been reluctant to give the information about the van to the press because making the information public might cause the sniper to move on to another state or get rid of his identifiable vehicle. If this killer was the Park Sniper, Mike’s best hope was for a quick apprehension before the gunman realized they were looking for his specific vehicle. Agent Goldman had said that the sniper waited less than a week between each shooting, and five more days represented Mike’s deadline to prevent another murder. At 5:35, Mike drove back home to Sedona.
After a delicious lamb stew with a French name Mike couldn’t pronounce, Margaret and Mike sat on the deck to watch the sunset turn Wilson Mountain and Snoopy Rock purple with twilight. Mike filled Margaret in on the case. He was anxious to hear any suggestions she might have.
“Mike, that is truly a diabolical type of murder. The bastard has a portable sniper’s nest. I think he targets national parks and scenic recreational areas because his camper vehicle will not seem unusual.”
“Agent Goldman was going to see if there had been reports of a similar vehicle at other Park Sniper kills. So Sweetie, it sounds like you’re now convinced Ms. Riley was a random target?” Mike asked.
Margaret thought that over for a few seconds before she explained, “Even her family didn’t know the exact site where she’d spread her father’s ashes fifteen years ago. I can’t see how anyone would have targeted her that way. If someone wanted her dead because of some political or financial motive, Millie Riley was a public person who was very active in Flagstaff. She was a leader of the Women’s March and attended many public demonstrations. The only time I met her was when she joined us in Sedona to help plan our first Women’s March for the day after the Trump inauguration. She probably went to several public meetings a week. I believe she also spent many afternoons at the Democratic Party Headquarters in Flagstaff; the rent was free because she owned the building. There must have been a hundred easier ways to kill her in her regular daily routine. Either the Park Sniper or an imitator is here in Arizona, but there is no certainty that he stayed in Coconino County. It’s a big state, and the next death could be far from here. If you look at the three cases in New Mexico, they were all in different counties.”
Margaret was so often correct about her suggestions, that Mike was inclined to agree. His real dilemma was whether to inform the news in the two major markets, Phoenix and Tucson, about the vehicle sighted at the Midgley Bridge parking lot. The press might publish the photo of a similar van, but since he was sworn not to give information about the dozens of Park Sniper homicides, it would not be a big story that attracted substantial statewide attention. On the other hand, revealing that we knew the type of vehicle might attract the sniper’s attention, in which case he might just move on or dump the van and find another ride.
“Sweetie, do you think we should publicize the type of van that was seen at Midgley Bridge? It might cause him to flee the state or dump the vehicle and get another. The description of that van is really our only lead.”
“Your job is to catch him, not to run him out of Arizona into someone else’s jurisdiction. I suggest that you keep the vehicle information with law enforcement for now. I think the FBI will be taking over your case in the next week because they’ll find the van your witnesses described was also near some of the other Park Sniper crime scenes. When they take over, they can decide to publicize it or not.”
“You think I’m about to lose the case to the Bureau?”
“It’s already their case; they just don’t realize it yet.”
Mike was used to the big city pace of homicide cases. He’d been a homicide detective with the LA Police Department for two decades before a gunshot wound to the leg forced him into early retirement. While in Arizona, he’d had only a couple of homicides a year, and he disliked the idea that he might be excluded from this investigation within a few days. However, if this was truly the Park Sniper, only the FBI could coordinate the homicides cases that had occurred in ten or more states.
“Margaret, one thing still bothers me about the Park Sniper angle. How did the sniper know anyone would be standing on the ridge for him to target?”
“Well, if I was going to honor my father at dawn, I’d probably stand on that ridge well before actual sunrise. How long can it take to raise the popup and prepare the rifle to fire? Certainly not more than four or five minutes, there would have been time to get setup and fire before she was finished with her dawn prayer.”
When Mike got to his office the following morning, he decided to phone his counterparts at each of the fourteen other counties in the State of Arizona. He wanted them all to be on the lookout for the van with a popup. He began with the other northern Arizona counties, Apache, Navajo, Yavapai, and Mohave. It was from his counterpart in Mohave County, located along the border of Utah, Nevada, and California, that he received new information. The captain in charge of criminal investigations for Mohave County was Captain Bill Ponder, a crusty old fellow long past normal retirement who had worked in Mohave County Arizona for fifty years.
“Mike, we’ll keep on the lookout for a van like you described. We haven’t made it public yet, but we’re also working on a sniper-style murder that occurred near sunset yesterday evening. A Kansas woman was standing in the parking lot on the Arizona side of Hoover Damn. She was shot through the back of the skull by a single shot from a high-powered rifle. The round passed through and probably ended up in Lake Mead where there is no hope of recovering it. We think the shot was fired from an informal and undeveloped observation spot on the Arizona side of the O’Callaghan-Tillman Bridge. That’s more than half a mile away. The woman was standing on federal property in the Lake Powell National Recreation Area, but the shot was fired from rural Mohave County. I’ll be calling the FBI in Phoenix this morning to determine if they want to assign someone to the case.”
“Bill, we may be looking for the same shooter. I suggest that you call Special Agent Adam Goldman. His cell is 202 555 6867. This may be a serial killer case that his team has been working on for months.”
“The damn FBI, how many victims are there if they’ve set up a whole task force and why haven’t I heard about this case before now?”
“Probably two dozen, maybe more. They’re keeping this very quiet and not allowed me to mention anything to the press, but they call the shooter the Park Sniper. Don’t mention that name, or they’ll really be pissed at me. Look for a van with a popup. That’s our only lead on the Midgley Bridge shooting.”
Chapter 10
Fifteen minutes after his conversation with Bill Ponder, Mike received the call he’d expected from Adam Goldman. “Captain Damson, we’ll be at the Flagstaff airport in six hours, about three o’clock your time. Our local office on Plaza Way is too small for the ten of us to set up shop there. Can the county spare a conference room in the Law Enforcement Building for our group of ten for the next week or two?”
“Yes. I’ll reserve a large one for you. I assume you heard from Bill Ponder over in Kingman.”
“That’s right. Captain Damson, I’d like you to be our liaison with local Arizona law enforcement. I expect more deaths before the sniper leaves your state, but these cases could become a jurisdictional nightmare. Captain Ponder suggested that you’re among the best-regarded law enforcement officers in your state. He said that you would know senior people in every jurisdiction.”
“Well, I have at least met all my counterparts in the other fourteen counties and most of the police chiefs.
I’d be happy to assist, assuming Sheriff Taylor has no objections. Do you need us to pick you up at the airport?”
“No, we’ve reserved two SUVs at Pulliam Airport. We should be in your office by four this afternoon. Thank you.” He hung up without allowing time for Mike to ask more questions. He was not certain if they wanted him as a go-for or if he would actually be a part of their taskforce for the time they were in Arizona.
Mike spent the rest of the morning contacting his counterparts in other Arizona jurisdictions. He stressed the importance of confidentiality regarding the investigation. He let each contact know that there might be a serial killer using a powerful sniper rifle at large in Arizona. He explained that an FBI task force would soon be working out of the Law Enforcement Building in Flagstaff and that they had asked him to be the liaison with local law enforcement.
Mike asked each of his counterparts to contact him immediately if there were any sniper-type shootings in their jurisdiction. He gave each person his personal cellphone number and wanted to be informed night or day. He never mentioned the name Park Sniper or the suspicion that there had already been over two-dozen victims in other states. If there was a third shooting, he wanted to be among the first to know. Everyone he called, Mike had at least met, and they knew about several of his successful high profile cases. His contacts in other jurisdictions were all very cooperative even though several had very negative comments about the FBI. Many people in Arizona law enforcement had become suspicious of the political motivations of the Bureau in the past two years, but these homicide cases seemed to have no political component. It was the type of interstate crime the FBI was best equipped to deal with.
Mike went to Wildflower Bakery for lunch with Sean Mark to update him on what was going on with the Park Sniper serial killer. Mike wanted Sean to continue to be involved in the case. The Coconino County Sheriff’s Department was still were working on the Mildred Riley murder, and Mike was determined that the FBI involvement would not shut down the Sheriff’s Department inquiry.
After listening to the update, Sean explained, “I’ve never worked with the FBI, but from what other deputies have said, they’ll mostly be sending me out for lunch or coffee. I heard they aren’t willing to share much especially with someone at my level.”
“Sean, you’ll still be reporting to me and I promise to never send you out for a Starbucks coffee. I’ll keep you informed, but you won’t actually be reporting to the FBI task force, just to me. Today, I’d like you to visit all four of Ms. Riley’s sons and let them know there was a similar shooting at Hoover Dam yesterday evening. Tell them that we suspect that Ms. Riley’s murder is connected to the murder of the Kansas tourist at the dam. We suspect the victims were chosen at random, but we now have a description of a vehicle the suspect was driving. Ask them to keep this information confidential.”
The last thing Mike wanted was for four prominent businessmen in the modest sized town of Flagstaff to think the Sheriff’s Department was not aggressively investigating the murder of their mother. Mike was not political but also not stupid.
At 3:50, Mike was called to the reception desk in the Law Enforcement Building. He shook hands as Special Agent Adam Goldman introduced him to the nine other task force members. Goldman was short and stocky with coal black hair and black-framed glasses. He looked like an accountant. Of course, he and the rest of the team wore conservative business suits. There were four women and six men in the group, but at this point Mike had no idea of what their individual roles were. He assumed at least one was a profiler and another was probably a research specialist, but no one’s job was described and they were introduced only by title and last name. Mike conducted them to the large conference room he’d reserved. They all referred to him as Captain Damson, so he assumed that they expected the relationship to be formal.
Agent Goldman said, “We’ve had a long flight. I for one could use some coffee.”
Mike smiled. He had no intention of fetching stuff for the feds. “The break room is three doors down on your left. We use the honor system. If you take a pot of coffee, put a few dollars in the jar for supplies. The county doesn’t furnish the coffee. The restrooms are across from the break room. My office is at the end of this hall if you need me.”
Agent Goldman nodded, understanding of his do-it-yourself nature of his comment, and said, “We’ll contact you if we need to liaison with the locals. We plan to drive to Kingman and the Hoover Dam shooting site tomorrow morning. Perhaps later today, you could show us the sight of Ms. Riley’s murder.”
“The site where she was standing when shot is a difficult hike. There’s not time before dark to retrace her hike and get to her wilderness campsite, but it’s easy to show you the location of the Midgley Bridge parking lot from which the shot was fired. When you’re ready, come to my office and you can follow me down to Sedona. I live down there and drive across Midgley Bridge twice a day.”
“Good enough. We probably don’t need to see the victim’s campsite. We have reservations at the Drury Inn & Suites. Perhaps we could follow you there and check in and then we’ll follow you to Sedona. First, I have some calls to make.”
“Good. Come to my office when you’re ready.”
The suites at the Drury Inn on the south end of the Northern Arizona University Campus were among the most expensive hotel rooms in Flagstaff. Mike wasn’t surprised that the feds traveled in style. Back in his office, Mike returned several calls and asked the research assistants to review the online newspapers for all of Arizona and surrounding state for any information about homicides by gunshots in which a scoped rifle was suspected as the murder weapon. There are many remote areas in the western United States where a victim might not be found for weeks or months. There could be other undiscovered victims in Arizona or New Mexico, and Mike suggested that they also review missing persons reports as well.
It was about 4:45 when Adam Goldman came to his office and said they were ready to go to Sedona. Mike suggested that Agent Goldman ride with him in his Sheriff’s Department Explorer while the other agents followed in their rented SUVs.
Once in his vehicle, Mike talked about moving to Sedona from LA five years earlier, and Adam Goldman explained that he lived in a Virginia suburb of Washington without being specific about which one. The exchange was pleasant enough, but Goldman’s tone indicated that he had no interest in personal discussions so they turned to the subject of the Riley murder. In ten minutes, they pulled up to the front of the Drury Inn. After fifteen minutes to check in and put their bags in their rooms, Mike headed south on Milton until it merged with I-17. He took the Sedona exit onto on Arizona 89A and drove through scenic Oak Creek Canyon.
Mike continued to discuss the Riley case as they drove through one of the most dramatic places in Arizona. If Agent Goldman even noticed the clear mountain creek dancing along the rocks in the thousand-foot-deep red rock canyon, he never mentioned it. He asked questions about Ms. Riley’s sons and husband. When Mike mentioned the local minister, Reverend Doctor Paul John McIntyre of the Pentecostal Flame Mission of the All-knowing God, Goldman asked many questions. It was obvious that Goldman was trying to exclude every motive other than the perverse desire to commit a random murder. Goldman had not officially claimed the Riley case for the FBI, but the discussion seemed to be creating a basis for including this murder in the Park Sniper file. Since the murder victim near Hoover Dam was on federal property, that case was already the purview of the FBI.
After forty minutes of driving, Mike pulled off into the Midgley Bridge parking lot. The sheer two-thousand-foot-high cliffs of Wilson Mountain rose above the Steamboat Rock sandstone formation. Mike pointed out where witnesses said the camper van was parked and where Ms. Riley was standing a kilometer away on a ridgeline to the south when she was shot. He described her campsite and gave Special Agent Goldman the access code to the Riley case file, which contained photos of the campsite, blood spatter, and items found at the location of the remains.
“
Thank you Captain Damson,” Agent Goldman said in a formal tone. “We’re going to the Hoover Dam homicide site tomorrow. It will probably take all day. Please call me if you have other relevant news.”
As the two white SUVs headed back up the canyon to Flagstaff, Mike reflected on how sad a life Adam Goldman must lead. He didn’t even seem to notice the spectacular beauty around him. Mike assumed he was very good at his prestigious job, but he certainly didn’t envy the man. Mike drove the three miles to his home on a hill above Oak Creek to have dinner with Margaret and watch the sunset from the deck.
At home, he found Margaret had made the most spectacular dish yet. It looked like a whole fish made from pastry. “It’s sea bass mousse in pastry with sauce choron. It was invented by the famous chef Paul Bocuse, and it’s among the most difficult things I’ve ever made.”
“It’s also the most dramatic looking, and it smells great.” Mike could only admire the amount of work it took to make the pastry dough look exactly like a fish even to the scales, fins, and tail.
“I found the fresh sea bass yesterday at Safeway and did most of the work except final cooking before I went to work. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Mike was surprised at the wonderful flavor as well as the elegant appearance of the sea bass. Margaret served it with white asparagus in a creamy sauce. Mike thought he might need more time on the treadmill in the basement. As they ate pistachio ice cream for dessert, Mike described his day including the detail of his meetings with the FBI. Margaret laughed when he repeated what he’d said about adding to the donation jar if they took coffee. The setting sun was only illuminating the very top of Wilson Mountain at the end of his story. The almost full moon was rising over Snoopy Rock. Orange and pink clouds dominated the sky, and the lights of Sedona could be seen below their hilltop.
The Body at Midgley Bridge Page 7
