by Cindi Myers
She gathered her purse and her keys. “I have to leave early today,” she told Brenda as she passed through her assistant’s office.
“Are you okay?” Brenda rose from the chair behind her desk, her expression filled with concern. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I just... I just need to get home.” She all but ran from the building to the safety of her car. On the way home, she stopped at a convenience store and bought a copy of each of the two papers for sale—the Denver Post and a local paper. She didn’t look at them until she was home, her door locked and her shades drawn. Then she sat at the kitchen table, took a deep breath and opened the local paper first. She stared at the bold black letters of the headline:
Holliday May Be Trask’s Latest Victim—Trask’s Daughter Last to See Reporter Alive.
CHAPTER NINE
Hud read the article that filled the front page of the Montrose paper, anger growing as he read. The piece reported how freelance reporter Roy Holliday had been found on public lands just outside Black Canyon of Gunnison National Park, a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. Holliday had been reporting on the Dane Trask disappearance, and Trask’s daughter, Audra Trask, had been the last person Holliday was known to have spoken to before he died.
The article went on to detail Trask’s disappearance and repeat the worst rumors about him—that he was accused of embezzling money from his former employer, TDC Enterprises, that he had been the chief suspect in the murder of a female hiker and was suspected in several other attacks on hikers, as well as theft from campers in the park. The writer concluded by alluding to unidentified “authorities” who “are not ruling out a link between Holliday’s visit with Audra Trask and his death.”
When he finished reading, Hud sat back in his chair, fury growing. He wanted to punch somebody for filling the public’s heads full of lies and speculation. Searching for a target, he spotted Faith Martin across the room. As the department’s liaison with both the press and the Montrose Sheriff’s Department, Martin would be most familiar with the players in this fiasco. He stalked to her desk and tossed the paper onto it. “How do reporters get away with lies like this?” he asked. “And who are the ‘authorities’ he’s quoting?”
Martin, a petite woman whose brown curls fought to escape the bun at the nape of her neck, removed her earbuds and looked up at him, then, registering his anger, studied the paper before her. Frown lines formed between her neatly shaped eyebrows. “The official statement I issued from this department said nothing about Dane Trask or Audra Trask.”
“Then someone leaked the information about Audra.”
“It could have been someone from the Montrose police,” she said. “They responded to the call at her house the day Holliday disappeared. Or maybe the reporter saw the item on the police report and put two and two together.”
“It’s all speculation and innuendo,” Hud said. “Dane Trask isn’t a suspect, and Audra didn’t have anything to do with Holliday’s death.”
Martin shrugged. “It’s the kind of thing that sells papers.”
“It’s wrong.”
Martin looked up at him, her brown eyes calm. “It’s upsetting, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We have more important things to focus on.”
Right. He returned to the desk but didn’t sit, still trying to calm down. He wanted to call Audra, but she’d still be at school. She wouldn’t appreciate the interruption, and clearly, when he talked to her earlier she hadn’t known about the article. He’d call later and break the news gently, just so she’d be prepared tomorrow.
He read the article again. The story didn’t say anything about Roy Holliday’s body being kept in cold storage before it was dumped. That was a heavy point in Trask’s favor. Not only had he had no motive to kill the reporter, it was doubtful he had access to anyplace to stash the body.
As Hud flipped through the rest of the paper, searching for any further mention of Trask or Audra, he began to calm down. Martin was right. The paper had been featuring the Dane Trask story at every opportunity for weeks now. Readers were obviously hungry for this local mystery.
On page six of the paper he focused on a small article near the bottom of the page. TDC Fined for Falsifying Reports.
The EPA has levied fines in the amount of $350,000 against TDC Enterprises in connection with the cleanup of the Mary Lee mine earlier this year. TDC, which was awarded the contract to mitigate heavy metals and other contaminants at the former gold and silver mine in the Curecanti Wilderness outside of Montrose, has been found guilty of falsifying some of its reports showing lower-than-actual levels of contaminants. Though TDC has since corrected the reports, and the mine site has been deemed satisfactorily mitigated, the EPA issued a statement saying, “It’s important that mistakes like this not go unpunished. The public is entitled to accurate data about the projects its tax dollars are funding.”
TDC vice president Mitchell Ruffino told reporters at a press conference Tuesday morning that the reports were falsified by former employee Dane Trask, who is himself subject to a massive manhunt in Black Canyon of Gunnison National Park since disappearing there six weeks ago. “TDC and its employees take pride in the work we have done to completely clean up the contamination at the Mary Lee mine,” Ruffino said. “We’re disappointed that the EPA sought to blame us for the actions of one clearly troubled man, but as good public citizens, we will pay the fines and continue to set the kind of environmental example we hope other corporations will follow.”
Hud sat back, digesting this information. From the very first, Dane Trask had tried to focus attention on the work TDC was doing at the Mary Lee mine. The day his truck was found at the bottom of Gunnison Gorge in the national park, he had left a flash drive for his former administrative assistant. Hud himself had analyzed the contents of that flash drive, which contained parts of environmental assessments from the Mary Lee—reports showing much higher levels of contaminants than TDC had reported.
Later, Trask had mailed a press release to his former girlfriend, asking her to give it to reporters she knew. The press release—which had never been published—alleged that TDC had falsified the reports about the mine. Samples Trask’s former admin collected from the site seemed to back up this assertion, but only a short while later, TDC held a ceremony to announce the mine was “fully mitigated”—and that appeared to be the case. So who was lying? Or was everyone shading the truth?
“What are you scowling about?”
Hud looked up to see Jason Beck standing at the corner of his desk. He straightened. “What’s up?” he asked, ignoring his friend’s question.
Beck sat on the corner of the desk. “I’ve been reinterviewing construction people, trying to establish some kind of connection to that dump site or Roy Holliday, but getting nowhere. What about you?”
“I talked to Holliday’s girlfriend this morning. She said he was working on something big to do with the Dane Trask story. He’d been talking to everyone who knew Dane, searching for new angles to report, since the local paper was hungry for more stories from him. The girlfriend said Holliday had a ‘hot tip’ he wanted to talk to Audra about.”
“No idea what the tip was?” Beck asked.
“None.”
“Then we need to talk to the people Holliday talked to,” Beck said. “One of them must have given him this tip—and it may be what got him killed.”
Hud blew out a breath. “You’re right. And I did get some names from her. We can get others from the stories he filed.”
“Let’s divide the list,” Beck said. “I’d like to solve a case for a change, instead of beating ourselves up chasing Dane Trask.”
“Did you see the latest edition of the local paper?” Hud asked.
“No, why?”
Hud showed him the articles about Roy Holliday’s murder and the EPA fine against TDC Enterprises. “I
t doesn’t really help us, does it?” Beck said. “You don’t think there’s really a link between Audra and Holliday’s death—other than he wanted to ask her about something that might be related to his killer.”
“I don’t think that, but the public might,” Hud said. “I guess I worry about how this might affect her. She’s having a hard enough time, with her dad constantly in the news.”
“So—something going on between you two?” Beck asked.
Hud shrugged. “Something.” He wasn’t ready to define his feelings for Audra. Not yet. Better to keep things loose and see what developed. Maybe it was a cop-out. Or maybe it was good protective instincts.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to answer. His heart sped up when he saw Audra’s name on the screen. Beck waved and walked away, and Hud turned his back on the room and answered the call. “I was going to call you later,” he said.
“Do you think you could come over to my house? Now.” No missing the strain in her voice.
He headed for the door, digging out his keys as he walked. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I mean, I’m not in any danger or anything. There are just a bunch of reporters here and I’d feel better if I wasn’t alone.”
“I’m on my way.”
* * *
AUDRA HAD TRIED to be polite with the reporters. That was her first mistake. There were three of them—two women and a man. They had identified themselves and who they worked for, knocking on her door only minutes after she finished reading the article about Roy Holliday’s death. She immediately forgot everything they told her in the shock of seeing them there, as if they had been waiting out of sight to pounce when she was most vulnerable.
Perhaps they had. She tried to tell them she had no comment, but they continued to fire questions at her, the words as stinging as gravel thrown at her. Finally, on the verge of tears, she had retreated into the house, where she sat now, huddled in the darkness, feeling foolish and ashamed. She hated cowering in here, as if she truly had something to hide. Her father, she was sure, would not have put up with such behavior. But she wasn’t as strong as Dane was. All she wanted was to go to sleep and to wake up tomorrow to find her life was back to normal, with her father home and plans for her new school moving forward.
Voices rose, and she moved to the front door and risked a peek outside. Hud was making his way up the walkway, shoving past the reporters—who had been joined by two more people now. They shouted questions at Hud, who moved past them, stone-faced.
She opened the door and stepped outside. As one, the group around Hud left him and surged toward her. “Why are the police here?” one of the women demanded. “Does this have anything to do with Roy Holliday’s death?”
Hud reached her and took her arm. “Let’s go back inside,” he said, speaking softly but firmly.
She shrugged out of his grasp. “No,” she said. “Maybe if I say something they’ll leave.”
“I don’t think—”
But the reporters had moved in. “What was your relationship to Roy Holliday?” one asked.
“I didn’t know Roy Holliday,” she said. “He came to my house pretending to be the parent of one of my students and after I let him in he questioned me. I refused to talk to him and called the police. When the police arrived, he was gone. That’s the whole story and that’s all there is to it.”
“Do you think your father killed him?” another reporter asked.
“No. Why would my father kill him?”
“To protect you from being harassed,” someone said.
“That’s ridiculous. My father didn’t have anything to do with Roy Holliday or his death. In fact, he hasn’t done half the things you people insinuate he’s done. For you to try to make him out as a murderer is disgraceful.”
She probably could have said more, but Hud succeeded in pushing her inside and closing the door behind her. She pressed her back to the wall and closed her eyes, fighting tears, waiting for her heart to slow. When she opened her eyes again, Hud was watching her. “I imagine that will all be in the paper tomorrow, with some sensational headline,” she said.
“Probably.” He held out his arms. “Come here.”
She sighed as he wrapped her in an embrace, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t have talked to them, but I couldn’t listen to them say those things about my father. He doesn’t have anyone else to defend him.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Maybe it helped to get some things off your chest.”
“It did help, some.” She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. “Thanks for coming over. Part of me wishes I were strong enough to stand up to this myself, but the rest of me is really glad you’re here.”
“There’s no weakness in relying on your friends,” he said, but the tenderness in his eyes made her wonder if he was thinking of himself as more than a friend. Was she?
She pulled away and walked into the kitchen, where she poured a glass of water. He followed. “How did it go after I left the school this afternoon?” he asked. “With the little girls?”
“Not good.” She took a long drink of water, then set the glass on the counter. “April’s mother withdrew her from school. She’s furious that this happened with a bunch of adults standing around, supposedly watching. I guess in her shoes I’d feel the same. But the worst of it was, as she was leaving, she said something about how, though she didn’t believe the things the papers were saying about me, it didn’t look good, did it? I rushed right out and bought a paper, then came home. I had just read the article in the Daily Press about Roy Holliday and my and my dad’s supposed role in the murder when those reporters showed up.”
“Did you see the other article in the paper?” he asked. “About TDC?”
She groaned. “There were others? What did they say?”
“The EPA is fining TDC for falsifying environmental reports about the Mary Lee mine—the very thing your father was accusing them of.”
“That’s something, I guess,” she said. “I hope Dad sees it, whatever he’s up to.”
“Except TDC places the blame on him,” Hud said. “They say he falsified the reports.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t. The thing people don’t realize—can’t realize unless they know him—is that my father doesn’t lie. He just doesn’t. And he’d have no reason to do so in this case.” Agitation bubbled up again. “I can’t stand people saying all these bad things about him and there’s no way to defend him. It’s not just what they say—it’s how it feels. Like I’m a little girl, being bullied all over again. The name-calling and lying—it feels the same.”
“Words can hurt as much as blows,” he said. “We don’t always think about it, but they can.”
“I hate bullies!”
She wanted him to pull her to him once more. Instead, he took a step back, mouth tight. A chill settled between them. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. But if you think you’ll be okay now, I have to go.”
“Oh. Of course. But I don’t understand. Did I say something to upset you?”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, but it wasn’t convincing. “If you need anything later, just call.”
Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. She followed and locked the door, listening to the reporters outside calling out questions, which he didn’t answer. Something had happened just now to change the whole mood between them. She had said she hated bullies—but why would that upset him? Of course she didn’t really hate a little girl like Mia—she hated the child’s behavior. If Hud didn’t like her word choice, why didn’t he say so?
That moment when she had been in his arms had felt so warm and comforting. Now she felt more desolate and alone than before.
* * *
“WHAT AN IDIOT!” Hud cursed hims
elf as he drove away from Audra’s home. The look on her face when he’d left her made him feel like more of a jerk than ever. He’d overreacted to her declaration that she hated bullies—as if she had declared she hated him. But what would she think if she knew he’d once been the number one bully in his high school—a boy so cruel and relentless he had driven a fellow classmate to attempt suicide?
His stomach still knotted at the memory. He had come a long way since his mixed-up childhood, but would Audra believe that? Would her history as the object of a bully’s taunts allow her to see past how truly awful he had once been?
He was still preoccupied with these thoughts when he returned to Ranger headquarters. “There’s someone here to see you,” Officer Reynolds said as he walked in. He nodded toward Hud’s desk, where Renee Delaware sat, focused on the phone in her hand.
“Ms. Delaware, how can I help you?” he asked, approaching her.
She looked up and slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then dug a piece of paper from the front pocket. “I found this when I was going through the drawer of the nightstand on Roy’s side of the bed,” she said. “I think it might be his log-in username and password.”
Hud studied the series and numbers and letters scribbled in blue felt-tip pen on the paper. H0liday95 and 164951225. “What makes you think this is his log-in and password?” he asked.
“His birthday is...was... April 16 and he was born in 1995. Christmas is 12-25—his favorite holiday and a play on his last name.” She pressed her lips together, clearly reining in her emotions.
Hud nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “And thank you for stopping by. This could be a big help.”
“Nothing can bring him back,” she said. “But I think it really would help if you could find out who killed him. I know people didn’t always like him asking questions, but that was his job, and he was good at it. He didn’t deserve to die because of it.”
