by Blake Pierce
The two women let themselves out, Mrs. Evans remaining in her chair as they exited the living room. When they were out on the porch, Mackenzie looked to the north. Although the mountains were not visible from where they currently stood, she knew they were there. She hated the cheesy feeling, but she couldn’t help but feel as if they were calling to her—and not just because she had enjoyed her surprise scaling of the bottom portion of Exum Ridge earlier in the day.
“Was she that docile the first time you spoke to her?” Mackenzie asked.
“No. She was more in shock when I spoke to her. Also sort of in denial. But…yeah, I’m afraid she’s going to snap soon. Bryce was her only kid, and her husband passing away just one year ago…”
“Well, I think she might have given us at least one place to start looking.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. She said he was still learning new skills—that he was always learning. It makes me think that if he was still climbing, he was likely involved in some sort of class, or with an instructor.”
“Maybe the one his father hired?”
“Maybe. I think that’s where we need to look next. You think Petry would be willing to point us in the right direction?”
Timbrook only smirked as they neared the car. “I think you and I can handle that on our own.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thanks to Waverly, Mackenzie had a list of potential instructors before she and Timbrook made it back to the station. All it took was a call to the Grand Teton recreational office, a quick transfer of lines, and a conversation with a very helpful man at the park. When she and Timbrook walked back into the station, Mackenzie noticed almost right away that the mood in the place was different. She tried to gauge why, exactly, but found out pretty quickly.
An older man was walking toward her, dressed in a well-preserved police uniform. The star over his left breast looked almost like some sort of stage dressing, a prop in a child’s grade school play.
The sheriff, she thought.
As if to confirm this thought, she heard Timbrook groan from beside her.
“You Agent White?” he asked.
“I am,” Mackenzie said. She stopped and offered her hand.
He looked at her hand for a few moments, as if he wasn’t sure what it was, and then finally accepted it and shook it.
“I’m Sheriff Albert Duncan,” he said. “And I’m not quite sure why you’re so set on saying that there’s a killer on the loose when both of these recent deaths could just as easily been simple accidents.”
“I wasn’t sent out here to just smile and nod and agree with the most popular theory,” Mackenzie said. “I have more than enough reason to believe that these so-called accidents were plotted and planned by someone.” She looked around and saw that they were drawing quite a crowd, as several other officers started to gather around. She wasn’t sure if this was Duncan’s intention or not. Either way, she wasn’t about to fall into it.
“Would you care to share your evidence in that regard?” Duncan asked, his tone condescending.
Timbrook spoke up from behind her, apparently having spotted Waverly on the edge of the gathered crowd. “Officer Waverly, did you update the files with Agent White’s notes and details?”
“I did, Sergeant.”
“That’s great,” Mackenzie said. “Sheriff, you can have a look at all of my evidence in the newly updated files. Any questions, just come find me.”
And with that, she continued on her way back toward the little office she had been using earlier with Timbrook and Waverly. When the door was closed behind them, Mackenzie took a seat, a little ashamed that it had felt so good to put the sheriff in his place.
Timbrook, meanwhile, was hiding a little smile behind her hand. “I won’t even lie,” she said. “I sort of love you right now.”
Mackenzie couldn’t deny that it felt good to have Timbrook flatter her in such a way, but she was more riled up at the attitude of the sheriff than anything. There could be all the progress and movements in the world, but at the end of the day, the older and seasoned men within the job would always look down on the smaller, often smarter, females…or so it seemed.
“Let’s just look past all of that for now,” Mackenzie said. “Let’s get started on this list.” She grabbed the old envelope she had written the names on while sitting in the passenger seat of Timbrook’s car. There were only six names, one of which had a question mark by it because the man on the phone indicated that this potential instructor had recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer and hadn’t been active in a year or so.
The elimination process was eerily simple. Mackenzie and Timbrook got the contact information for each of the five remaining instructors—four men and one woman. Mackenzie caught a break on her first call, to a place called Rise Up Rock Climbing. The woman who answered the phone sounded monotone and almost robotic…just the type of person Mackenzie preferred to speak to when getting this sort of information.
After giving her name, reason for calling, and badge number for identification, the monotone quality dropped out of the woman’s voice.
“I’m trying to find a specific instructor,” Mackenzie said. “And I need to identify them by the students they might have had. Do you have that sort of information?”
“Well, we only have our employees here at Rise Up and none of them are instructors, per se. The instructors we use come and go on a freelance basis. But we do keep records of every student they take on if the arrangement is made through Rise Up.”
“Great. How long would it take you to make a match if I gave you the name of someone that might have worked with an instructor there?”
“Oh, it’s all in a spreadsheet we keep. I can figure it out for you in a matter of seconds.”
“Wonderful. I’m trying to find an instructor who might have worked with Bryce Evans. I don’t know how long ago he would have started…but if you can prove that he took lessons in the last year or so, that would be great.”
“Do you know for a fact he went through Rise Up to get an instructor?”
“No. I don’t even know if he was using an instructor.”
“Oh, I see. Well, let me pull of the spreadsheet here and see…”
Mackenzie heard the woman clacking on a keyboard, but not for very long. She was back on the phone again less than ten seconds later.
“Well, I do have a Bryce Evans here. Seems he was seeing Lance Tyree a few months ago.”
“Is Lance Tyree a regular? Does Rise Up do much work with him?”
“A pretty fair amount. He’s good at what he does but he has a firm personality, you know?”
“Have you had complaints about him?”
“A few, but nothing serious.”
“Can you see how many other students he’s had over the last few years?”
“Yeah, it looks like…fourteen over the last three years.”
“By any chance would one of those students be a woman by the name of Mandy Yorke?”
“Yes, actually.”
Links started clicking in Mackenzie’s head as she felt a lead being formed. “How long ago?”
“Looks like lessons started last year and ended earlier this year. It looks like it was right around the same time Mr. Evans was seeing him.”
Mackenzie waved to Timbrook and then pointed to the first name on the list: Lance Tyree. Seeing Mackenzie’s certainty, Timbrook quickly started to wrap up her call while heading out of the room.
“Can you tell me when Mr. Tyree last worked with someone as an instructor?”
“Looks like about two weeks ago. A woman named Sarah Leinhart.”
“And could I please have Mr. Tyree’s contact information?”
“Of course,” the woman said, though she sounded a bit hesitant. She gave his phone number and home address before Mackenzie ended the call.
As she pocketed her phone, the door to the room opened. She was expecting to see Timbrook but instead saw Sheriff Duncan. He was holding
two different file folders. She saw that the label to the one on top read Bryce Evans.
“Can I help you, Sheriff?” she asked.
“Look…these are some great insights,” he said, plopping the folders down on the table. “No one in the whole damned office pointed out this knot you noticed…the Munter hitch. And after I really looked at that indentation on the front of Bryce Evans’s head…maybe you’re right.”
“Thanks for the acknowledgment.”
“But you have to understand...we can’t just shout this from the rooftops. Something like this could have a vast effect on locals, tourism, public safety.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Mackenzie said. “I plan to keep things as discreet as possible. It’s one of the reasons I’m solo on this, I believe.”
“Anyway,” Duncan said, as if it hurt to say it, “you have my full support. Just let me know what you need.”
“I think I’m good for now. I’d like to continue to have the assistance of Sergeant Timbrook and Officer Waverly if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely.”
As if summoned by her name, Timbrook came back into the room. There was a flair of excitement in her eyes when she looked right past the sheriff and to Mackenzie.
“I just ran a search for Lance Tyree. He’s a thirty-seven-year-old local with a record.”
“What’s on it?”
“Domestic violence. Two counts.”
“Well then,” Mackenzie said, instantly heading for the door, “let’s go pay him a visit.”
“Wait, hold on,” Sheriff Duncan said. “Who the hell is Lance Tyree?”
“If all goes the way it seems to be pointing,” Mackenzie said, “I believe he might very well be our first suspect.”
***
The address Mackenzie had gotten from the woman at Rise Up Rock Climbing led them into Jackson Hole’s downtown district. Timbrook was at the wheel, taking each turn with the confidence of a woman who knew the town inside and out. They ended up venturing down a thin side street with a series of nice-but-not-too-nice homes sprinkled here and there.
Timbrook parked in front of the address and the two women got out of the car. As they walked up the small sidewalk to Lance Tyree’s front door, a depressed look seemed to slide across Timbrook’s face.
“Everything okay?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yeah. It’s just…this is usually a quiet part of town. It feels weird to be here while trying to solve a pair of murders.”
“You know Tyree at all?”
“No. And what I saw in his record didn’t ring any bells, either.”
As they reached the front door, Mackenzie raised her hand to knock. Before she could, though, the sound of music greeted them. It was faint, coming from somewhere behind the house. Mackenzie realized she recognized the song, as it was something Ellington enjoyed from time to time: “Do the Evolution” by Pearl Jam.
They shared a look, and then a shrug that was almost in unison. Mackenzie ignored the door and, instead, stepped out into the yard. As she reached the edge of the house, the music grew louder. She waved Timbrook on and they walked around the side of the house to a fenced-in backyard. As they approached the small gate at the start of the fence, Mackenzie peered over and saw a man kneeling in the yard, unspooling a length of rope. As he worked at it, the music changed, switching over to something by Soundgarden. The man was lost in his own little alternative playlist while working on his ropes. It was quite clear that the ropes were lengthy climbing ropes, making it quite easy to assume that the man working on them was indeed Lance Tyree.
Mackenzie knocked very loudly on the gate, to be heard over the grungy sounds coming from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the edge of the back porch. Tyree looked up right away. A look of surprise and confusion came over his face as he got to his feet and started walking toward the gate. He pulled his phone from his pocket, working the controls to the speaker to lower the volume as he approached the gate. He did not open it, but stopped short of the latch, looking to the women on the other side.
“Can I help you?” he asked. “Was the music too loud?”
“No you’re fine,” Mackenzie said, readying her badge and ID. “However, my name is Agent Mackenzie White, with the FBI. This is Sergeant Timbrook with the Jackson Hole PD. We were hoping to speak with you if you had a moment.”
“Can I ask what this is about?”
“We were hoping to get some information on two climbing students you have worked with over the past few years.”
Still looking rather confused, Tyree unlatched the gate and allowed them into the backyard. “I suppose this is about Mandy Yorke?”
“You heard about what happened?” Timbrook asked.
“Yeah. There were a lot of people on a few of the Facebook groups I follow talking about it. God…it’s terrible, huh?”
“It is,” Mackenzie said. “What can you tell us about Mandy? She doesn’t have family around here and the only information we’re getting is from a fairly unreliable roommate.”
The ropes forgotten for now, Tyree took a seat on the edge of his back porch. “She was a sweet girl, you know? Always good for a laugh…always joking. But I got the vibe that she’s sort of an introvert. She didn’t like being around people. It’s a trait that’s pretty common among climbers.”
“Was she any good at rock climbing?”
“She was. Yeah. Really agile and determined. Very gutsy, too. She’d make some moves from handhold to handhold in a blink that others might be nervous about.”
“What about safety?” Mackenzie asked. She was softly baiting him, making him think they were here just to learn about Mandy. Really, though, she was studying him as he answered her questions.
“Well, in terms of my lessons, she was always very safe. But I make all of my students respect safety precautions. In terms of how she upheld that when she wasn’t under my guidance, I just can’t say.”
“How about a guy named Bryce Evans? What can you tell me about him?”
At this, Tyree cocked his head at an angle and scrutinized her. “What about him?”
“I guess you haven’t heard about him yet,” Mackenzie said. “He also died of what looks to be a tragic rock-climbing accident.”
“Jesus…for real?”
“Yes, for real. Do you recall working with him?”
“Yeah…him and his old man. I think his dad died a few years back. Nah…maybe sooner than that. It might just be a year or so. Pretty recent.”
“Mr. Tyree, how long have you been working as a climbing instructor?”
He slowly got to his feet, removing himself from the perch on the edge of the back porch. He sensed that something was up, that this agent and cop were here for more than just random questions about former students.
“I’ve been at it full time for about a year and a half. Before that, I got a few hours in here and there for a few years.”
“Mr. Tyree,” Timbrook said, “would you care to tell us about the two counts of domestic violence on your record?”
Tyree rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all.”
He looked to the two women and shook his head. He wore an expression that told Mackenzie he felt like the victim here—that he was trapped no matter what he said.
“Whatever,” he finally said. “It’s in the past. Three years behind me now. My ex-wife and I got into a drunken argument one night and I lost control of myself. I hit her twice and she reported it the next day.”
“And the second time?”
He didn’t appear so willing to explain himself on that particular account. Instead, he went back to work on his ropes. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re eyeing me as a suspect just because of my unfortunate past?”
“No. I’m telling you that you’re directly linked to both of the victims. And so far, you’re the only person with such a link. The marks on your record simply made it an easier decision to come question you.”
�
�That seems like some back-breaking detective work for sure,” he said sarcastically.
Mackenzie stepped forward as his back was turned. “Why don’t you tell us about that second domestic abuse charge? I can find out quite easily, you know. By making me go back and dig it up myself, you’re only going to piss me off.”
“I’ve wrestled my demons,” he spat. “I don’t need to revisit it.”
“If you want to be cleared of our suspicion, you might want to.”
He was quiet for a moment and then, almost out of nowhere, bundled up some of the rope he was tidying up and tossed it across the yard.
“It was my sister. She was over to visit me after my wife left. She got a little too personal with me—told me some truths I didn’t want to hear. I punched her and broke her jaw. She later dropped charges when she heard there could be some jail time involved. I haven’t spoken to her since. Now…is there anything else you’d like for me to painfully dredge up?”
“I’d like to know how things went the last time you saw both Bryce Evans and Mandy Yorke,” Mackenzie said.
“I had a session with Mandy about three months ago. She was never really a regular. She’d save up some money, I think, and then just take classes when she could. I honestly didn’t see or notice anything different about her the last time I met with her.”
“And what about Bryce?” Timbrook asked.
“I hadn’t had any classes with him in a pretty long time. Over a year…probably as much as two years.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you keep receipts and things of that nature from each session?”
He again rolled his eyes, making no effort to hide his irritation. “I’m not diligent about it but if it’s something you absolutely have to have for the investigation, I could probably go back and pull whatever information you need from my tax records.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” She stared him down for a moment and saw that she had clearly gotten under his skin. But she knew right then and there that Lance Tyree was not the killer. She nodded to him and said: “Thank you for your time, Mr. Tyree.”
