“I suppose I could meet you. Are you in town?”
“I am.”
“Why don’t you come to my office? I’m on Main Street.”
“Can I bring you a coffee?”
“That would be nice.”
ELEANOR BARRY WAS a real estate agent who operated an independent brokerage out of a restored farm house on Main Street. She greeted Silas at the door. “Welcome to Escalante, population eight hundred, including dogs and pickup trucks.” He offered her hand and Silas shook it.
The inside of her office was warm and decorated with local artifacts and regional artwork. Silas had to admit that the collection of pottery and paintings of skyscapes over the national monument was very tasteful.
Silas handed her a cup of coffee and gave her creamers and sugar in a small bag. They sat down in club chairs in her office.
Barry smiled. She was middle-aged; Silas guessed that she was just little younger than he was; she was fit and attractive and had a gleaming smile. “I knew your wife alright. Not well, but we certainly had our run-ins. The last time I saw Ms. de Silva was at a town hall meeting. This would be five years ago. She walked into a room of local business supporters and, well, ripped us a new one, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t. Are you saying that Penelope attacked you?”
“Not personally; that wasn’t her style. But we had a little project on the books with the BLM, and Penelope shot it so full of holes it’s taken us five years to patch them up.”
“Tell me about this project.”
“Bill Clinton created the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument way back in 1996. He didn’t even come here to do it; he went to the Grand Canyon. That’s how out of the way this place is. We’ve been trying to attract some visitors here ever since, but really, except for this little town, and the town of Boulder down the road, there’s not much in the way of attractions—”
“Except for the Monument itself.”
Barry smiled. “Yes, of course, but our town needs a few tourists each year in order to survive. The environmentalists have chased away all the loggers and miners and oil and gas companies, so we need something to build our economy on, and tourism is it.”
“Really?” asked Silas sardonically. He’d heard this so many times over the years he’d been searching for his wife that he was growing tired of the rhetoric. “There’s still lots of petroleum exploration in the Monument.”
Barry conceded: “There’s still some. But it’s not like it used to be. And every time someone proposes a new well, those hard-nosers over at the Southern Utah Wilderness Association jump up and down on their heads. So, you know, some of us just thought we’d try something different. A green eco-resort. It’s going to be a modest vacation spot in the Monument, something that would provide people with a destination for themselves and their families. A hotel, a few condos, a place to moor their boats on Lake Powell.”
“That sounds audacious. The only way to get down to Lake Powell from anywhere in the Monument is a two-mile hike after a seventy-mile drive on a bone-rattling road.”
“We had an engineering solution to that.”
Things came together for Silas. “You wanted to build a road down the Hole in the Rock.”
“Not so much a road.”
“Then what?”
“A cable car. Like in the Swiss Alps.”
Where had he heard this before, Silas thought. “It really is all about water out here, isn’t it?”
“We need it to survive, and we need it to make money. There’s nothing wrong with that, Mr. Pearson.”
“It’s Doctor. I’m a university professor. So Penny found out about this and raised some objections.”
“Yes, and the BLM took her seriously and sent us back to the drawing board.”
“Why five years?”
“We had some homework to do. Our investors had to consider their options. And it’s not like this project is the only one we’ve got on the go right now. We’re building in Cedar City, over in St. George, and even in your neck of the woods, in Moab.”
“Really, in Moab? I haven’t heard your name around town.”
“We have other partners. Local businesses people who are the face of our business there.”
“Why are you in Escalante?”
“Why not? I like this little town. Plus—” She leaned closer to Silas. “My dad did some of the early geological work out here. We lived in town for a few years when I was a kid. I almost qualify as a local.” She smiled.
“Do you know where Penelope’s body was found?”
“I don’t.”
He explained.
“That is tragic. I am so sorry.”
“You don’t find it ironic that she was found in the very place that you hoped to turn into a commercial theme park.”
Barry shook her head. “That’s what Penelope called it. A theme park.”
“You don’t find it ironic?”
“Dr. Pearson, there is nothing ironic about it. Your wife’s death was a tragedy and I am truly sorry for your loss. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. I think that had circumstances been different, Penelope and I might have been friends. I love to get out in the Monument and explore; I’ve been doing it all my life. I’m even a fan of Edward Abbey, believe it or not. I know your wife was; she quoted him several times at our hearing. Just because I want to provide opportunities for local businesses to succeed doesn’t make me a monster.”
ROBBIE WAS WAITING for him in front of the Devil’s Garden. “What did you learn?” Robbie started.
“Oh boy, Ms. Barry has quite the set of plans for this region.”
“You can say that again! I went over to the BLM office and looked at what they had on file.”
“She told me it was a modest proposal. Funny definition of modest.”
“Dad, they want to build a city in the desert. It’s a thousand condos, five hundred hotel rooms, and a paved road to get to it.”
“Let me guess: they want to pipe water in from Lake Powell.”
“You’re getting more cynical as you get older, you know.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and here’s the kicker. The clerk who I got the plans from told me that the reason they’ve been delaying this for the last five years has nothing to do with the environmentalists, Penelope among them. It’s because of the drought. They need Lake Powell full in order to build this floating marina at the base of the Hole in the Rock. It’s less than half full now. We have climate change to thank for the delay, he told me.”
“You know, I didn’t buy the line that the environmentalists had poked it so full of holes that they had to start over. This is Utah, after all. I think we need to find out who else had a stake in this project.”
“Does the name Jacob Isaiah ring a bell?”
12
ROBBIE AND SILAS WERE STILL standing on Main Street discussing the Escalante Resort proposal when a black GMC Yukon pulled to a stop behind them. Special Agent Eugene Nielsen stepped from the vehicle. He was wearing what Silas had come to think of as his Utah camouflage: a checkered shirt and blue jeans with cowboy boots. He wore his sidearm in full view.
“Agent Taylor mentioned that you were in the region.” Nielsen asked what Silas was up to and Silas gave him his perfunctory elusive answer. Nielsen said, “One thing you should keep in mind. Even if this is your wife’s murder, Dr. Pearson, you can still be charged with obstruction of justice. I’m certain you have the best of intentions, but if I find out you’re withholding evidence, or impeding our investigation in any way, I’ll have you charged. That would lead to your deportation. We’re clear on that, right?”
Silas didn’t answer.
THEY RENTED A room at a hotel on Main Street and moved some of their gear and clothing in.
Silas was standing by the window looking out at the parking lot. “You’re pretty good at following the paper trail, aren’t you?”
“Yeah—more like the
trail of electrons, though.”
“You want to get our your electronic shovel?”
OVER BREAKFAST ROBBIE said, “The Escalante Resort is what you might call a mega-project. Five hundred million to start. It involves every conceivable form of summer recreation. The kicker is the water, however. They need to draw water from Lake Powell, so that requires a whole new scale of federal approvals. And they need the reservoir full if they are going to do it, and it hasn’t been full in fifteen years. In fact, it’s so low right now that a lot of the places people thought were lost forever are above the water now. Maybe you’ve heard of them: Music Temple, Cathedral in the Desert?”
“Those are supposed to be some of the loveliest places in all the Southwest. Penelope always mourned the fact that she never got to see them. She told me that if they were ever above water again she was going to drag me there, even if she had to tie me up to get me out of the office.”
“Well, they’re above water now, at least parts of them. And that apparently poses a major problem for the development group. The water level is too low to build this floating marina they have on the books, so they’ve been advocating for raising the water level. The trouble is, there’s something called the Colorado River Compact—”
“The Law of the River.”
“This so-called Law of the River says that a certain amount of water has to be discharged downriver, and there doesn’t seem to be enough to go around.”
“There never has been. The Compact is based on two years of peak flows in the 1920s and the water has literally never been that high again. The deal between all of the States the Colorado and its tributaries—especially the Green—flow through divvies up water that is no longer there.”
“This group proposing the Escalante Resort want the Compact changed. They say it’s unfair to what they call the Upper Basin States and want it rewritten.”
“Where did you find all this?”
“It was filed as a brief to a Senate Natural Resources Committee in DC. One of the senior members of the committee is a Republican senator from right here in Utah—”
“I should have known,” Silas interrupted. “C. Thorn Smith. And Jacob Isaiah is backing this?”
“He’s one of the backers. There are others.”
“What’s the marina all about?”
“The idea is to have a marina that floats off the shoreline of Lake Powell with moorages accessible via a tram car that descends down the Hole in the Rock.”
“That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe, but it’s part of the proposal. Paul Love is the lead partner for that part of the project.”
“He’s part of this?”
“His name is still on the development application.”
“What a can of worms. We’ve got Paul Love, who already owns one marina on Lake Powell, and we have Jacob Isaiah, who owns most of the commercial real estate in Moab, both of whom I kept tripping over while I was looking for Penelope. And we have C. Thorn Smith, Utah’s favorite son. He was involved in the Darla Wisechild case last year, and his name is on every conceivable development proposal that comes out of the state of Utah. It’s no surprise he’s backing this.”
“It’s funny; he is and he isn’t. He’s in favor of the project, but on the critical issue of water levels in Lake Powell, he’s silent. I read through a mile of online testimony on this, as well as everything he’s written for the public record, and while he extols the virtue of this resort, when asked about Lake Powell he clams up or changes the subject. That hearing in the Senate: the briefs were prepared and posted, but the committee chair canceled the public testimony into the Compact. I have no idea why.”
“Maybe Smith has a soft spot for Glen Canyon.”
“I don’t think so, Dad. I mean, you might know this senator better than I do, but the only thing he seems to have a soft spot for is relentless boosterism of Utah business.”
“So why is he mum on one of the biggest business development projects in the state’s history?”
“You want me to dig some more on this?”
“Can you? This is great stuff, Robbie. Really great. What else is there?”
“Well, I just dug around online but I can go deeper if I go to the source. There are a few reporters for the Salt Lake Tribune that seem to be following this closely. There’s also an archive at the paper that I could access if I was there.”
“You want to go to Salt Lake?”
“Yeah. Maybe we divide and conquer. I’ll head to Salt Lake for a few days; you stick around here and see what you can learn and we’ll rendezvous and compare notes.”
Silas sat back and looked at his son. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m hungry. I thought I’d better eat breakfast—”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, Dad. Listen, this is fun. I like digging and I’m good at it. And more than that, it’s important. It means a lot to you, so it means a lot to me. Look, don’t tear up in here. Some of these cowboys might think you’re a pansy.”
“Why don’t we do this: I want to talk with Eleanor Barry again. Now that I know the scope of this thing, I want to get some answers. I also think it’s time to pay a visit to some old friends: Paul Love and Jacob Isaiah. We’ll swing through Page and then head to Moab. You can get your car and head to Salt Lake for a few days and then we’ll decide where to meet. Sound good?”
“Sounds like we’re going to ruffle some feathers.”
“I’d say that the feathers are already ruffled.”
13
ROBBIE HEADED BACK TO THE hotel to pack while Silas walked down Escalante’s main street to Eleanor Barry’s office. There was a strong wind that blew Russian thistle, big puffs of tangled tumbleweed, across the road. As Silas walked up the steps to Barry’s office he felt like he was headed for a showdown in a spaghetti western.
“Dr. Pearson, how nice to see you again.” Barry was standing by the door watching the sky.
“Ms. Barry. I wonder if you would mind me asking you a few more questions.”
“I don’t mind. Would you like to come in?”
“Why don’t we just sit on the porch?” They sat down on rattan chairs. “Ms. Barry, I don’t think you were totally honest with me about your project. The scale is massive. You want to build a tram way down the Hole in the Rock.”
“It’s all a matter of public record. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you when we spoke.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of debate, but it’s not really why I’m here. What’s Jacob Isaiah’s involvement in this?”
“He’s a partner on the project; has been since day one. He has a great deal of experience in this sort of thing and I sought him out both for his deep pockets and for his long history of successful developments around the Southwest.”
“Jacob and my wife had crossed swords more than once.”
“Dr. Pearson, I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, and certainly not your beautiful wife, but I think if you were to look around you’d be hard pressed to find anybody who proposed any development in the Southwest who didn’t cross swords with Ms. de Silva.”
“I think her relationship with Mr. Isaiah was particularly adversarial. There was more going on than just developer-environmentalist antagonism.”
“How well do you know Mr. Isaiah?” asked Barry.
“He’s a frequent customer at my bookstore.”
“Come now, Dr. Pearson,” Barry laughed, “we both know Mr. Isaiah is no lover of literature. He’s a mean, hard-headed man whose only interest is making money and getting his way. Anybody who gets between him and what he wants is bound to suffer the consequences. Jacob doesn’t tolerate being obstructed in any way.”
“And my wife was an … obstruction?”
“She was pretty good at getting in people’s way, so yes, I’d say she was.”
“And yet, knowing what you do about Mr. Isaiah, you still do business with him.”
>
“I do. And I know how to handle him. He’s an old man who lives alone with all his money but with no real friends or family. I provide him with something that he needs more than a bigger bank roll. No, Dr. Pearson, not that. I give him vitality, and a sense of direction. I suspect that your Penelope stood in the way of that.”
Silas decided to change tack. “What about Paul Love?”
“Ah, Mr. Love. I do believe that it was you, and that hairy friend of yours, who finally pushed him over the edge last spring, wasn’t it?”
“He held us at gunpoint. He’s involved in your project too.”
“Nobody knows the marina business better than Paul Love.”
“So here we have two people involved in your project who had plenty of history with my wife, both of whom had more than one reason for wanting her out of the way.”
“Dr. Pearson, really? Are you seriously suggesting that either of these men could have committed murder over something as trivial as a resort development?”
“It’s not just any resort, Ms. Barry. This is a half-billion-dollar enterprise. For people like Jacob Isaiah and Paul Love, that’s more than enough reason to kill someone.”
“I’ve read about you, Dr. Pearson. All those bodies. All those murders. I wonder if you’re not starting to look at the world through a very particular lens?”
“Ms. Barry, my wife was killed. Her body was dumped below the water line of Lake Powell, where you and your partners want to build a mega-resort, one that has the backing of many of this state’s most powerful people, including Senator Smith.”
“Smith is no supporter, Dr. Pearson. Sure, he’s written some letters and made statements in the press, but what good is all of that without his pull with the Bureau of Reclamation? They control the water in Lake Powell.”
“He’s been unusually quiet on that matter.”
“When we needed him the most, he got cold feet. He’s been useless. He’s set us back, to be honest. I don’t know what argument your Penelope and her band of crusaders made when they met with him, but whatever it was, he clammed up on our proposal, as well as anything that had to do with Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell.”
The Same River Twice Page 5
