Deadfall

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Sure thing, Mrs. Gaynes.” His mouth curved into a tentative smile. Relief flickered in his eyes, but only for a moment.

  SAM DUCKED BACK INSIDE, grabbed an empty cup, and filled it from the insulated carafe on the counter next to the small sink. He didn’t want to give Mrs. Gaynes a report any more than she wanted to hear it. The morning’s search had yielded nothing but a few articles of clothing and some trash; none of it belonged to the missing man. Brad’s mother took her coffee black and strong. That request he could handle.

  Sam grasped the mug and stepped back outside, feeling helpless and wishing he could give the woman a modicum of hope along with the hot drink. Sam wanted to be out there searching, but someone had to stay at the command post; and he’d been assigned that duty. Besides, he doubted his arthritic knee would let him hike for long. So for now, at least, it was up to him to keep the family informed and the troops in line.

  Brad’s mother stood there shivering, her lips almost blue. She barely reached his chest, maybe five feet at the most. Her blonde hair, partly caught up in a ponytail and covered with a baseball cap, hung straight and dripping onto her back and shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She took the steaming mug from him, wrapping her hands around it for heat. Mrs. Gaynes had been vigilant since the night before, waiting and watching, pain etched in her blue eyes and expressive face.

  Sam knew what it was like to lose a son. His had been killed by a drunk driver three years ago. He hoped with all he had in him that Brad had just wandered off the trail and become lost in the woods. He offered up a prayer that Vicki Gaynes’s son would be found alive and that the family could go home happy and relieved.

  Removing his weathered baseball cap, Sam snapped it in midair to rid the bill of excess water. A useless gesture in this weather. He turned away from the distraught mother and tipped back his head to look up at the awesome sight Wah-kella Falls made with its thick wall of water cascading over the top of the sheer cliff. Rain relentlessly drizzled from the heavy, sunless sky. Clouds merged with water and mist, turning everything that hazy battleship gray so prevalent in the Northwest during November.

  The Pavehawk dipped in again, churning up the waters. Although constructed for peacetime rescues, with winches and wire baskets within her hull, the helicopter was no less menacing looking than its military sister, the Army Blackhawk. How ironic that the plain helicopter was on a search-and-rescue mission in Oregon while in other parts of the world, its heavily armed relatives were on search-and-destroy missions.

  Truth be told, Sam’s hope for finding the missing man had faded as soon as he’d heard the location. The place had a reputation most people had never heard about. Sam and his law enforcement buddies referred to Wah-kella Falls as Suicide Point. Over the years it had earned its name.

  An ancient Native American legend told of an Indian maiden who loved a young man even though her father had promised her to another. The young man attempted to prove his bravery to the maiden’s father, but the father did not deem him worthy. So great was the young man’s grief that he threw himself over the cliff, ending his life and his pain forever.

  According to the legend, the maiden was so heartbroken, she sat on the side of the cliff and wept for days, her tears eventually becoming the massive waterfall that cascaded over the three-hundred-foot cliff and wound its way down to the Columbia River.

  Deputy Wyatt was all too familiar with the legend, and even more familiar with the real-life tragedies that had occurred at Wah-kella Falls over the years.

  The scenic waterfall was located close to the heavily traveled Interstate 84, only about forty-five miles east of Portland. The waterfall was easily accessed from the parking lot where they waited. Visitors could enjoy the haunting beauty of the waterfall from its base or, for the more adventurous, from the top. A mile-long trail switchbacked and meandered through the woods, eventually ending up at the fenced-off viewpoint. The trail went on from there, through the Mount Hood National Forest and up into the hills.

  Most people knew only the beauty of the falls and came to capture its grandeur with their cameras and canvases. A few, however, came to the waterfall to end their lives. Four suicides had been documented at Wah-kella Falls in the past fifteen years—the last one, only eight months ago.

  Sam and two Oregon State Police troopers had responded to the call, discovering that a despondent computer engineer accused of molesting a child at a swimming pool had leaped to his death rather than face arrest and humiliation. The officers found the lifeless body facedown at the base of the waterfall. The suicide note in the man’s car indicated his intent to end his life and proclaimed his innocence. He’d eventually been cleared of the offense, but the vindication came too late.

  Sam, aware of movement beside him, snapped back to the present, breaking the spell the misty waterfall seemed to cast on him. He turned his attention back to the anxious mother.

  “What are Brad’s chances?” she asked. “When you came out of the trailer earlier, you looked like you were about to tell me something.”

  “Just wanted to bring you up to speed on our progress.” Sam tried to sound enthusiastic. “We have two birds in the air, one flying with forward-looking infrared to look for body heat and the other with a spotter.”

  “Any sign of him yet?” Vicki asked without making eye contact. Her gaze scanned the rock-faced cliff to the top of the waterfall, as if knowing the answer yet needing to ask.

  “No, nothing. But it’s still early in the game.” Sam zipped up his Gore-tex jacket. The mist from the waterfall and the low-hanging clouds could soak through the best of raincoats in no time at all.

  A GAME? He thinks this is a game? The comment irritated Vicki. My son has been missing for eighteen hours and he thinks “it’s still early in the game”? She bit into her lower lip to keep from voicing her anger aloud. It wasn’t Deputy Wyatt’s fault, or any of the people out there searching.

  “In addition to the birds . . .” Sam paused while the Pavehawk flew overhead. “We now have almost sixty officers and explorer scouts working the trails and the riverbanks. We still have Clovis and his hounds working the area. If your son is out there, Mrs. Gaynes, we’ll find him.”

  Vicki was not convinced. She shivered from the downdraft of the helicopter as it churned up the air and the water in and around the giant pool at the base of the waterfall that fed the creek. “Why does that helicopter keep hovering over the pool?” Vicki turned back to Sam.

  The deputy cleared his throat. “The helicopter rotors try to stir up the water and . . .” Sam hesitated, taking off his cap again to adjust the brim. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  She nodded. “I need to know everything.”

  He frowned, pulling his gaze from hers and fastening it on the chopper. “They’re displacing the water. In the event there’s a body floating under the surface, they should be able to spot it.”

  Vicki nodded, unable to speak. The familiar lump clogged her throat as unbidden tears filled her eyes.

  “If he was in there, they probably would have found him by now,” Sam said. “It’s just routine; we want to make sure. Cover all the bases.” Sam planted the damp hat back on his head. “We’re still planning on finding him alive.”

  Vicki’s watery gaze met his. “He didn’t jump, if that’s what they’re thinking.”

  Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Are you sure, ma’am? It wouldn’t be the first time . . .”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Vicki snapped. “Brad would never take his own life, no matter what anyone may have told you.” She turned to glare at the young woman huddled on top of the picnic table next to the motor home. If anyone could be blamed for Brad’s disappearance, it was Jessica.

  Voices from a radio inside the motor home sent Sam rushing back inside.

  “No matter what she may have told you,” Vicki muttered, more to herself than Sam.

  Moments later, Sam leaned out of the motor home’s door. “It’s getting on noon,
Mrs. Gaynes. I’m going to call the troops in for lunch. Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks. I’ll probably grab something when my husband and daughter get back.” Vicki walked over to the trailhead and peered up the trail. She couldn’t see far, only about twenty feet, before it disappeared into the woods. She wondered what was taking Todd and Rachael so long. They had been searching the trails since sunup, if you wanted to call it that. She hadn’t seen the sun all day. Waiting at base camp, Vicki decided, was far more difficult a task than searching.

  Vicki turned her attention back to Brad’s girlfriend. Jessica should have been helping with the search. Instead, she just sat there, staring into space. Sitting at the table she’d been sitting at all morning except for brief trips to the car or to the bathroom. Vicki wanted to shake her, to batter her with questions.Why aren’t you helping the others search? Where is Brad? What have you done to him?

  Instead, Vicki ducked into the trailer and refilled her cup; then she helped herself to a second cup, filling it with hot water and dumping in a package of cocoa mix. She drew in a deep breath and took the hot chocolate out to Jessica. Her upbringing superseded her desire to confront. She’d remain civil—at least for now. Besides, the mother in her had a shred of compassion for the girl.

  Jessica acknowledged Vicki with wariness in her brown eyes. Undoubtedly Jessica could sense Vicki’s animosity. She and Todd and Rachael had been rude, to say the least. Jessica had dark brown hair and smooth, clear skin. Even now, with no makeup and rain plastering her hair to her head, she was attractive. Vicki could see why Brad had fallen for her. But looks could be deceiving.

  Handing Jessica the steaming mug, Vicki said, “Thought you might like something warm.”

  Their hands brushed as Jessica took the cup. “Thanks.” Jessica didn’t smile; she just turned her gaze to the marshmallows Vicki had tossed in the drink at the last minute.

  Vicki climbed up on the table and sat next to the tall, shapely brunette, sipping her own drink, feeling the need to talk yet not knowing what to say. The questions damming up behind her inner control panel seemed too harsh, and Vicki didn’t trust herself to ask them.

  Jessica had grown up near Fresno, California, and moved to Oregon two years ago to work at the ski resorts on Mount Hood. That’s where she and Brad met. He, a fun-loving snowboarder and accomplished downhill racer, had come up to Timberline Lodge to wet his whistle after a day of snowboarding with friends. Brad and Jessica had told her bits and pieces of how they’d gotten together, and Vicki let her imagination supply the rest. Her tall, handsome Brad had removed his ski cap in the entryway to the lodge and shook out the wet cap, running his hand through his long, matted blond hair.

  Water from the hat sprayed several feet, landing on a waitress who stood near the giant stone fireplace taking drink orders. She turned and complained about the unwanted shower. “The minute I looked into Brad’s eyes I knew we were meant to be together,” Jessica had told her. That had been a year ago.

  The two began dating soon after their chance meeting and, six months later, moved in together. They shared a small cabin in Brightwood, just a half-hour’s drive from Mount Hood. The arrangement made Vicki uncomfortable. She was from the old school where people married first and then lived together. Still, she’d never encouraged Brad to marry Jess, which was what Brad called her.

  She’d had reservations from the very beginning. It didn’t take long for Vicki to discover that her reservations were well-founded. Jessica was not the wholesome young woman she’d pretended to be when Brad first brought her home. She drank and smoked and used marijuana and probably other drugs. She tried to keep that side of her personality secret, but Vicki knew. Vicki also knew that Brad was involved in the drug and alcohol use, and she blamed Jessica for bringing him down to that level.

  Oh, Brad, why didn’t you break things off months ago?

  “You blame me for Brad’s disappearance, don’t you?” Jessica’s question startled her.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to think.” Vicki cast a sidelong look toward Jessica then turned back to the waterfall. “Is there a reason I should blame you?”

  “I feel bad. I guess I should have called the police sooner.”

  “Yes, you should have.” Vicki stiffened. That was one of the disturbing things about all of this. Brad had been missing for more than four hours before Jessica finally called the police.

  “Like I told the police, Brad went for a walk up the trail and I took a nap. We’d been arguing, and I was tired. When I woke up, it was dark and Brad was still gone. I took a flashlight and went up the trail to try to find him, but I got scared and came back to the truck. I locked the doors and waited and waited.” She took a sip of hot chocolate, leaving a ring of foam on her upper lip. She licked it off.

  “After a while, I began to think maybe something bad might have happened to him.” Jessica’s gaze met Vicki’s and for a moment, Vicki felt they shared a common bond—love for Brad and fear for his safety. Jessica tore her gaze away. “Anyway, I tried to use the cell phone, but the battery was dead. Brad is terrible about charging it. I didn’t know what to do, so I went home and called the police from there.”

  Vicki tried to drum up some empathy for Jessica but felt only numbness. “Had you and Brad been drinking?”

  “He had a couple of beers. He wanted to quit. We talked about getting into some kind of recovery program.” She paused again to sip her hot chocolate.

  “I’d like to believe that, Jess. I really would. You told Deputy Wyatt that you broke up with Brad and that he got angry.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But Brad told me he was thinking about breaking up with you. He wanted to get straight, and you were dragging him down, wanting to go to parties and do drugs.”

  Jessica set her cup beside her. “I don’t expect you to believe me, Mrs. Gaynes, but I wasn’t the one keeping Brad down. He did that to himself.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe you. Brad wanted more than anything to get back to his Christian values and back to church, but you didn’t want to go.”

  “You’re right about that. I don’t go to church, and I probably never will. But that isn’t what we were fighting about.” Jessica tipped her head down.

  “What were you fighting about?”

  Jessica pursed her lips and scooted off the table. “What’s the point in my even talking to you? You have your mind made up that I’m a bad influence on your precious son. Nothing I say is going to change that.” She left her cup on the table and headed for Brad’s Subaru.

  Vicki watched Jessica climb into the car and start the engine.

  Was she leaving? Apparently not, she decided after a few minutes.

  Maybe Jessica just needed to warm up. Humph. It would take a lot of heat to melt that cube of ice.

  Vicki still couldn’t understand why Jessica wasn’t out with the rest of the searchers, even if she’d had a fight with Brad. Something was wrong with that girl. Vicki had heard Jessica’s account of what had happened several times and was more convinced than ever that Jessica was not telling the truth.

  6

  VICKI HUGGED HERSELF, shivering from the damp cold as she listened intently for the hounds to start barking or howling. Four hours of wanting, hoping, and praying hadn’t yielded the results she longed for. The hounds never howled. Besides freeway traffic, the waterfall, and the constant November rain, all she heard was the occasional crack of the police radio back at the command post.

  The searchers drifted in and out now—getting food, warming up, and giving reports before heading out again.

  After most of the searchers had gone back out, Wyatt invited Vicki and Jessica into the motor home for turkey sandwiches and coffee. Jessica declined, saying she wasn’t hungry. Vicki thought it was probably because she didn’t want to be in such close proximity to a police officer—or to her.

  “Wish we had some good news, Mrs. Gaynes.” Deputy Wyatt gestured toward a booth and plac
ed a paper plate with a sandwich and some grapes in front of her. “But there’s been no sign of Brad.”

  She glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. Todd and Rachael hadn’t come back in yet. What was taking them so long?

  “I haven’t heard or seen the helicopter for a while,” Vicki said.

  “They’re still up there. The Pavehawk is scanning the forested areas now, and the Coast Guard chopper is working the river.”

  Vicki nodded, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “No problem.” Sam poured himself a cup of milk from the container in the fridge and offered her some. She shook her head.

  “I’ve had too much coffee,” he said. “It’s hard to hang around here and wait.”

  “That’s for sure.” The sandwich and coffee settled like a giant lump in Vicki’s stomach and stayed there long after she’d finished eating. She and Sam talked for a while about the weather and the latest news happenings. He offered her a couple magazines from the rack in the motor home. She took an old copy of Sunset and scanned it, not really reading anything. Eventually, she tossed the magazine on the seat and went back outside, where she paced back and forth from the trailhead to the car, praying and going crazy with worry.

  Finally, at four-thirty, she spotted Todd and Rachael coming down the trail.

  She recognized Todd and Rachael’s raincoats from a distance, even if her eyesight prohibited her from seeing their faces clearly.

  The steady rain made it impossible to wear glasses; she tired of cleaning them and left them in the Ford hours ago. Even without her glasses, she could read Todd’s grim expression as he got closer. Still no sign of Brad.

  Todd hugged her and draped an arm around her shoulders as he led her to the command post, where he opened a cooler and pulled out a bottle of water.

  Rachael glared at the Subaru. “Jessica is responsible for this. I know it.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Todd twisted open the lid to the water and handed it to his daughter; then he grabbed another for himself.