“Hayduke—Josh—knew Penelope; he helped her out with her work to protect the Southwest. My dad knows him.”
“And Dingwall?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, somehow they were all listed in this file that Kresge had on the Compact. They were all tied together somehow. Pearce, McFarland, and de Silva are all dead. Three people who were blackmailing a sitting US senator, one with his eye on the big ticket, have all been murdered, their bodies found within a stone’s throw of the Colorado River. All wanted to kill a bill that the same US senator was trying to move through Congress.”
“And that same senator is now starting to talk about water again, just a few weeks after Penelope’s body has been found. Out of curiosity, did you find anything in that file about Jacob Isaiah?”
“One thing. A letter. It was just a handwritten note, really. It looked like someone had made a photocopy. It said something to the effect of Keep your promise to refill Lake Powell or it won’t be the only thing that dries up.”
“Wow, everybody was blackmailing Smith—his enemies and his friends.”
“I guess the question is: Was this past tense, or present? Three of the people with the goods on Smith’s penis problems are dead, but you say this Josh Charleston is still in play, and we don’t know about Tabby Dingwall. And Jacob Isaiah is still alive and kicking, as are Barry and Love. So if all these people were blackmailing him then, who is still blackmailing him now?” asked the reporter.
“And if they are, was this something that he’d be willing to kill for?”
“I’m going to have to go and talk with our crime reporters about this. Like I said, we’ve all heard of your father, but I do politics, so I haven’t really paid too much attention to this angle. You know I’m going to want to write about this.”
“I figured you’d want to. I can’t stop you. I don’t have anything to offer. But can I ask you for a favor?”
“You mean another favor? Why not?”
“Wait. Just give my dad and me a week or so to try and use what we’ve got here and figure things out. Let me see if I can find any remaining photos, or whatever might be linked to this Colorado River story, and when I do, you’ve got the exclusive.”
“Same deal as Kresge.”
“Same deal.”
“But he’s dead.”
“That seems to be the theme here.”
“HEY DAD, IT’S Robbie. I guess you’re out of cell phone range right now. Listen, I just talked with that reporter from the Tribune again. You better call me. I think Senator Smith is mixed up in Penelope’s murder in a big way. It turns out he was, well, having an affair with Eleanor Barry and there were photos. I think Penelope, Kiel, Darcy, and maybe even Josh were blackmailing the senator in order to kill his Colorado River Compact bill. There’s more too. The reporter, the one who Penelope gave the original photos to, he was killed. Brakes failed. Sound familiar? I think Smith is dangerous, Dad. Oh, and there is another name that came up: Tabby Dingwall? According to the reporter, this guy knew Penelope. Keep a watch out for that name. Anyway, call me.”
28
HAYDUKE APPEARED THE NEXT MORNING while Silas was eating breakfast at a small café on Main Street. Silas looked around to see if anybody else noticed him slip into the booth.
“What’s with the sunglasses?” asked Silas.
“I’m trying to go incognito.”
“You should shave and get a haircut then.”
“No way, man. This is my identity.” Hayduke pretended to groom his beard. Something fell out of it onto the table. “Bet you wonder why I’m here.” Silas nodded, finishing his breakfast. “C. Thorn Smith. The senior senator for the great state of Utah will be in Boulder this afternoon. He’s holding a series of town hall meetings.”
“The same thing as in Blanding?”
“What else? The total destruction of the American Southwest.” Hayduke read from a printed page of text. “The Colorado River: Restoring the Promise of Water Security. This is what Penelope was fighting, Silas. This is what she died for.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Wake up, man! The guy who is responsible for your wife’s murder is going to be just down the road this afternoon. I think you might want to go ask him a few questions.”
IT WAS AGREED that Hayduke would not attend the town hall meeting.
“You’re afraid I’ll rock the boat, stir up the shit!”
“I’m afraid you’ll get arrested and get me thrown in jail with you.”
Silas drove north along the Hogsback, a narrow spine of rock with a two-lane highway laid down along its convoluted summit. The views from the road were dazzling, the vast expanse of the Escalante National Monument stretched out to the edge of the horizon. In the distance a collision of cumulus clouds was producing cloud-to-cloud lightning, the flashes coming every few seconds, while below the red earth was stippled in the perfect light of autumn.
As Silas drove he considered the town hall meeting in Boulder. What had prompted Senator Smith to restart discussions on refilling Lake Powell now? If this had been what Penelope had been fighting before she disappeared and was murdered, was the discovery of her remains somehow tied to the senator’s decision?
There was only one way to find out.
THE TOWN OF Boulder gave Escalante the air of a thriving metropolis. Its population of 180 hadn’t changed much in over one hundred years. He quickly found the town library where the community meeting was being held. There were two dozen cars and pickup trucks, each dusted with red earth, parked around the community hub. Silas checked his watch; the meeting would begin in fifteen minutes. As he parked, his cell phone buzzed. His reception was bad. He listened for messages. Dwight Taylor had called him back. He quickly returned the call.
“Dr. Pearson, thanks for getting back to me.”
Silas was walking around his rental in an effort to find the best cell signal. “I haven’t got very good reception, Agent Taylor. What have you learned?”
“About what?”
“About Josh Charleston; isn’t that why you called me back?”
“I’m afraid not. Where are you, Dr. Pearson?”
“I’m in Boulder. Why?”
“You’re not by any chance there to talk with Senator Smith, are you?”
“How do you know that Senator Smith is in town?”
“Special Agent Nielsen happened to talk with Mr. Charleston in the last hour. Dr. Pearson, I think it would be in your best interest if you didn’t confront Senator Smith this afternoon.”
Silas had wandered into a dusty field adjacent to the library. “Are you investigating Senator Smith for the murder of my wife, Agent Taylor?”
“I am asking—and, if I have to, ordering you—to stay away from Smith.”
“Ordering? I don’t see how you can do that, Taylor.” Silas was gritting his teeth as he spoke.
“I can ask the Garfield County Sheriff’s Department to detain you for interfering in a federal investigation.”
“So you are investigating Smith for Penny’s murder.”
Taylor’s voice had a growing edge to it. “I am not saying that. Penelope de Silva’s murder is not the only case that the FBI is investigating in this Field Unit. Now, I am asking you for the last time, do not interfere with our investigation. You need to leave Boulder.”
“No way. I’m heading into the meeting right now.” He hung up and noticed there was another message as he did. It was from Robbie.
THE TEMPERATURE IN the Boulder Library was in the eighties; the room was full when Silas stepped in and found a place to stand at the back.
After he was introduced, Smith said, “Thanks, everybody. I really appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to come and tell me what’s on your mind. As you know, Washington is gridlocked over partisan feuding and the president isn’t likely to demonstrate leadership on anything important to people outside of Hollywood or New York City. I’ve decided to spend some time with real folks, folks with charact
er, good folks who remember what it means to be American.”
The people applauded. “I want to hear from you today. What’s important to you?”
“Lower taxes!” someone in the room shouted.
“The second amendment!”
“That’s important to me too, friends. That’s why I keep standing up in the Senate for Utah. I want to talk with you about something else that’s important: water. We don’t have much of it here in the West, and we don’t have much of it in Utah. Nearly fifty years ago now, we spent a lot of time and money to build a dam that would help keep what little water we have in Utah from running off to Mexico and the Sea of Cortez. Those of us in the upper basin states agreed to allow a certain amount of water to continue on down to Arizona, Nevada, California, and to Mexico. Friends, that agreement isn’t working anymore. Lake Powell is at its lowest level in twenty years, and what for? So Las Vegas can have fountains and California can grow avocados? Don’t get me wrong; everybody should get to use their water however they want. But folks, Utah, along with Colorado and Wyoming, are getting a bum deal out of this. We need to fill up Lake Powell again, and we need to renegotiate our deal with the lower basin states so that we get our fair share. That way Utah can once again use our water to fuel our industry, tourism, and agriculture.
“Here’s what I’d like to do: I want to bring forward a bill in the Senate that would mandate the Department of the Interior to renegotiate the Colorado River Compact. Did you know that this so-called Law of the River is coming up on one hundred years old? Can you believe that a deal written before any of us in this room were born is dictating what’s what with Utah’s water?
“Now, I’d like to hear from you.”
A few hands went up from the fifty or so people gathered in the heat. The senator answered questions about taxes, big government, and gun control. One woman who owned a popular restaurant in town asked about incentives for tourism in the area.
“I’m glad you asked that. People come here to see the canyons and the desert. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want to enjoy the water as well. Houseboating on Lake Powell is still one of the most popular activities in this state. But that form of good clean family recreation is in trouble. If the environmentalists had their way, they’d drain Lake Powell and make it inaccessible to regular people once again. I don’t want to let that happen. I want Lake Powell filled to the brim once more. And I’d like to see more access to the lake’s magnificent waters; that’s why I’m getting behind the plan to build a resort and marina at the end of the Hole in the Rock Road. I know that won’t help Boulder as much as it would a resort along the Burr Trail, but we’ll get one of these done and then I’ll get behind another.”
There were a few more questions from the group and then Silas couldn’t hold back any longer. He raised his hand. The senator didn’t seem to recognize him and called on him.
“Senator, I wonder if you might tell us why your first effort to pass this legislation failed?”
“Ah, Mr. Pearson, I didn’t recognize you back there. Are you a resident of Boulder now?” A few ball-cap-wearing heads turned to look at Silas.
“I’m not. Just here to enjoy the scenery. One of those tourists you were talking about. Can you answer the question?”
“The Democrats in Congress wouldn’t get behind my bill. So much for the spirit of bipartisanship!” Smith smiled congenially at the small group.
“But your bill never got to the floor of the Senate. As far as I can tell, neither the Democrats or Republicans got a chance to see it. Why did you kill your own bill? You would have had a better chance to pass it six years ago with a president from your own party.”
A few people in the room turned and looked distastefully at Silas. At least one or two seemed to agree with his line of questioning.
“We did the calculus and decided that it just wasn’t the time.”
“And now it is? Why is that? Is it because six years ago someone else was threatening the bill?”
The county commissioner stepped next to the senator and spoke. “Alright, let’s move on to the next question. Ted, I think you wanted to ask about agricultural subsidies, didn’t you?”
Silas spoke over the commissioner. “Isn’t it true that six years ago you had every intention of pushing your bill forward, but my wife and her friends—those environmentalists you seem to hate so much—had evidence that you were having an affair, and you pulled the bill to keep them quiet?”
The room’s decibel level rose dramatically. Silas watched as people turned to one another. He heard an older man ask the woman sitting next to him, “Did he just say what I think he said?”
The commissioner took the microphone. “There’s no call for that sort of accusation—”
Silas could see the senator’s security moving toward him. Smith stood smiling at the front of the room; he was shaking his head in an almost apologetic way.
“There’s proof. You thought you got rid of it all, didn’t you? You thought you had cleaned up all the loose ends, but there’s still proof.” Silas wasn’t shouting but in the small room his voice, edged with desperation, filled the space.
“Come with us, sir.” Two men in suits were standing next to him now. One put a hand on his arm. Silas shook it off.
“What are you going to do, Senator? Have me killed too?”
The room was in chaos now, with people standing and asking questions and expressing both shock and anger toward the stranger in their midst. The two security guards took a more forceful hold on Silas and moved him toward the door. Silas made eye contact with Smith. He saw nothing but the calm veneer that was painted over any vestige of emotion.
Then he was outside the library. The afternoon had grown cool; there was a wind blowing across the dusty field next to the building and grit got into Silas’s eyes. “You guys going to take me for a long walk in the desert?” Silas rubbed his eyes.
The two men stood in front of the door, expressionless.
Silas tried to walk past them but one of the men put a hand on his chest. The man smiled. “Quit while you’re ahead, Dr. Pearson. If we have to call Garfield County Sheriff’s you’ll be arrested for trespassing.”
Silas looked past the men into the library. He could hear Senator Smith back at the podium, answering more awkward questions. Silas walked to his rental and drove away.
29
“I’M WORRIED ABOUT MY DAD,” said Robbie.
“I’m worried about him too.” Katie Rain sat across from Robbie in a well-appointed restaurant in Salt Lake’s downtown. “Things have been pretty busy since I got back from Escalante. There are only three forensic anthropologists working for the FBI. I’ve had quite the backlog. But I’m glad we were able to get together.”
“Like I said, I’m worried about him. He’s … he’s not taking this well.”
“I think it’s to be expected. My guess is that Silas is in shock. After five years of searching, hoping, preparing, now he’s come face to face with the fact that his wife is dead.”
They had ordered sandwiches and Robbie took a bite. “Is there anything you can do?” he asked after he’d taken a drink of water.
“No. I’m just part of the Evidence Recovery Team. Taylor is in charge. Like everything else, the FBI is very political, and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Taylor is in line to move up the ladder. The next Special Agent in Charge posting that opens up is likely to be his for the asking. He’s not going to compromise that by letting a civilian—especially a foreign national—get in the way of an investigation.”
“What about you? You seem to be walking a pretty fine line.”
Katie shrugged. “I don’t worry about these things too much. My job is to help the bureau solve crimes and to bring closure to grieving families. I guess I look at Silas and think, Here’s someone who needs closure.”
“I think my dad likes you.”
Katie laughed and then took a bite of her lunch. She finished chewing and said, “That sounds so hig
h school.” It was Robbie’s turn to shrug. He blushed. Katie touched his hand. “I don’t mean that in a condescending way. It’s sweet. I like Silas too. He’s kind and generous and I really feel for him.”
“He told me that you went out and searched the Island in the Sky with him. You took a few days off work and everything.”
“Yeah, it was last fall. A year ago. It’s hard to believe; so much has happened since then. I sometimes wonder what it’s like being inside your father’s head. It must be a very busy place. A very frightening experience.”
“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be inside his head too. He never let on much when we were kids, and then, well, and then he was gone.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“For me, it wasn’t so hard. I was already older. I was twelve. But Jamie was just seven when Dad got the job at UNA. And then he met Penelope. They tried; every year they’d come up and we’d go down for a few weeks. We didn’t make it easy on them, especially on Penelope. Jamie hated her; he blamed her for the end of my dad’s marriage to my mom, even though Dad didn’t meet Penny until after he’d taken the job in Flagstaff.”
“It likely didn’t matter. All a seven-year-old would see is the consequences. But you seem to be patching things up?”
“I am. The verdict is still out for Jamie. He’s angry. Maybe always will be. I just want to get on with things; I want my father back, and if that means I have to make the moves, then I will. The Green River trip, even though it was morbid searching for a body every day, was pretty good, you know?”
“I know.”
“Can I ask you something? It’s about the case. If it means you’re going to throw me in jail …”
She swatted him on the arm. “You can ask. I might not be able to answer.”
“Dad has got it in for this Senator Smith, and I think with good reason. What I’m trying to figure out, however, isn’t motive but means. It seems like there was a different MO in all three cases. To me, there doesn’t seem to be any pattern between the three.”
“The chloroform might be the pattern. Darcy’s lungs were full of highly corrosive potash solution but we did find a trace of chloroform. With Penelope, however, there wasn’t any lung tissue left to sample. So we don’t know for sure. When our behavioral analysis unit did some work for us last spring they linked the McFarland and Pearce murders. They concluded that the intimacy of the crimes could be a connection between them. That and the fact that Pearce and McFarland knew one another.”
The Same River Twice Page 11
