Chapter 5
Five
Sloane
“Eckhart, line two!”
Betty’s voice carries clear down the hallway from her office, which is right behind the front desk. It’s one of three private offices, the other two house dispatch and, of course, Sheriff Junior Ewing. The rest of us are in an open space at the far end of the hallway, where I have a cubicle with a desk, a chair, a computer, and the ancient telephone which currently has a light blinking.
I pick up the handset and press the lit button.
“Lincoln Sheriff’s Office, this is Detective Eckhart.”
“Detective, this is Donna. Donna Littleton, Chelsea’s mom.”
“Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mrs. Littleton?”
I just checked in on Chelsea yesterday, unfortunately the girl still wasn’t talking. Mrs. Littleton had given permission for the girl’s doctor to speak with me, but she wasn’t able to provide much useful information either, other than to confirm some type of sexual interference had taken place. Blood analysis did not show anything remarkable, but as the doctor pointed out, there are plenty of drugs, which process out of the body quickly, that could’ve been used to control her.
“It’s Chelsea…she was restless last night. Talking in her sleep. A nightmare, I guess.”
I immediately sit up straight and pull a pad of paper toward me, ready to make notes.
“It wasn’t very coherent though. From what I was able to piece together, she was running from someone or something. She mentioned they were big, and I’m positive she said she was being pushed. Then she started screaming she was falling and something about dead eyes staring up at her.” The poor woman stifles a sob. “I feel so damn helpless.”
I can only imagine, knowing something horrific has happened to your child outside of your control must be devastating.
“Mrs. Littleton, why don’t I drop by, try talking to her again? Perhaps the dream triggered her memories of her ordeal.”
“It’s Donna, and I already tried that, but the only thing she mentioned again was the dead eyes staring up.”
It’s not much to go on, but it seems to imply last night’s episode may not have been merely a dream, but rather an actual recollection of events. It certainly is more than I had before and would suggest she did not end up going over the edge of the cliff under her own steam.
Maybe I should head back up Kenelty Mountain, have a good look around the area where the girl was found.
“Donna, your call was helpful. It gives me something to work with. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if there is anything else. Is there any word on when Chelsea may be able to come home with you?”
Home for them would mean Columbia Falls, which is a bit out of the way, but we’ll make it work. It may be good for the girl’s recovery to be in familiar surroundings.
“They tell me it could be as soon as tomorrow.”
“That’s good. I’ll try to pop by tonight or tomorrow morning to touch base with you,” I promise.
After ending the call, I go in search of Junior, finding his office empty. Next, I poke my head around the door of Betty’s office.
“Is Sheriff Ewing around?”
Betty turns around and scrutinizes me over the rim of the reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. The five-foot-nothing, silver-haired woman is no less intimidating now than she was all those years ago when I was a fresh new deputy.
She’s a permanent fixture here at the sheriff’s office. I think she’s worked here most of her adult life and knows everything there is to know. Including the whereabouts of our sheriff.
“Gettin’ a haircut. What do you need him for?”
I tell her I want to see if I can retrace the girl’s steps up on that mountain.
“So? You need to do it, do it.”
“Fair enough, but do we have an ATV or something I can use to get up there?”
“In the shop getting serviced, but if you don’t want to wait, you can always borrow a ride at High Meadow. Better yet,” she adds, turning back to her computer screen. “Get one of those boys to take you, they’re the ones who found her.”
That gives me pause for a moment. What she says makes sense, but it would mean stopping by the ranch, when I thought I was safe from encountering Dan today since I left Aspen home with Pippa.
Seeing him yesterday, my daughter in his arms, had been a jolt to the system in more ways than one. It definitely was a dramatic change from our first encounter. Driving home, I couldn’t help but replay how natural he looked handling Aspen. I remember Dan being pretty hands-on when my cousin, Carmi, was born.
I think it might have been what made me aware my attraction to him was more than a temporary crush. That appeal still packs a wallop. Handsome, rugged man with a baby, who could resist?
I’d better fortify that shield around my heart. I’ve made the mistake of following it once before with a painful outcome.
I can’t afford to do it again; I have a child now.
Of course, the first person I see when I drive past the corral is Dan, working a large black horse on a lunge line.
Instead of heading toward the house, I pull the Jeep in next to a couple of trailers parked beside the barn.
“Hey,” he calls out when he sees me walking up.
I rest my arms on the top of the fence.
“Hey,” I return. “Nice animal.”
“Yeah, a bit unruly though. It’s the horse your uncle picked up from Coeur d’Alene yesterday. This guy was stuck in the trailer on the side of the road for five hours. Apparently, he’s not a fan.”
“I see.”
I note the flared nostrils and darting eyes, as the horse’s ears flit back and forth. I know enough to recognize high anxiety.
“You’re back,” Dan observes, reeling the horse in slowly. “No Aspen today?”
“No, she’s with Pippa.”
When the animal is within reach, he gently rubs its nose before taking a firm hold of the halter. Then he starts walking to the gate, which I quickly go to hold open. Then I fall in step beside him as he leads the horse into the barn.
“I’m actually here for work,” I explain. “I need to have a look at the trail up on Kenelty Mountain, and I figured it would probably be easiest to do it on horseback. That is, if I could borrow one.”
Dan opens the half-door to one of the empty stalls and guides the horse in, before slipping out again and sliding the latch shut. Then he leans his back against it, crosses his ankles, and folds his arms in front of him.
“How long since you’ve ridden?”
I guess it’s a fair question, considering I’m asking to borrow a horse. I’m just not sure the answer will be satisfactory.
“About eight years, I’d say. Give or take,” I admit.
Dan
No way I was going to let her go up by herself.
Good thing it’s quiet today. No active searches, which is almost unheard of this time of year, meaning plenty of manpower to cover the ranch.
The only ones who aren’t around are Jonas, Alex, and Fletch. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I was just coming out of the barn around four—I’d been checking on one of our mares who’s about to pop—when I noticed Fletch’s truck pulling up to the house. Then I noticed Alex and Jonas coming down the porch steps with suitcases, and getting in before the truck disappeared down the driveway again.
I’m not sure what that was about, but I figure if it’s important for me to know, somebody will tell me.
I shift in my saddle to look behind me. It may have been a long time, but Sloane still looks pretty comfortable on a horse. Of course, I saddled Pudding for her, who is one of our most even-tempered mounts. Sloane always was a good rider and doesn’t seem to have an issue urging her horse across the river.
“Watch for low branches,” I remind her when we get up on the other bank and make our way into the trees.
Wouldn’t be the first time someone gets knocked out of the saddle.
When we reach the trailhead, there are no vehicles parked in the small lot, and Sloane pulls up level with me.
“Do you know the exact location where the hikers found the backpack? I’d like to start there.”
“Yep. That’s where we started our search for her.”
It doesn’t take long to get from the trailhead to where the backpack had been found. It’s not far off the hiking path on the other side of a large, fallen tree that looked to have been hit by lightning.
“Can you hold her?” Sloane asks, dismounting and handing over Pudding’s reins.
Then she slips the small backpack from her shoulders and digs out a digital camera.
“What direction is the ledge you found her on?”
I point northeast, past the exposed clump of roots to where the first of the orange marks we left is visible. When tracking in these mountains, we always carry a can or two of spray paint to mark our way. It has a dual purpose, it eliminates the risk of going around in circles, and it makes retracing our steps a piece of cake.
“What made you head in that direction?” she wants to know.
“See the snapped branch on that young pine? JD found a few strands of hair snagged on it.”
She slowly walks toward the tree I indicate, scanning the ground around her. She’s clearly looking for something. When she gets to the broken branch, she starts snapping pictures. Then she swings around.
“I have to look up to see the hair and I’m five seven. Chelsea is only five foot one. Also, her hair is medium blond, this is dark brown.”
Taken aback, I loop Pudding’s lead around my saddle horn and dismount Will.
“Stay,” I tell him as I walk over to Sloane.
I glance at the lock of hair, which is at about eye level for me. She’s right, even if the color wasn’t off, there’s no way the little girl I plucked off that ledge could’ve gotten her hair tangled on a branch that would’ve been about a foot over her head.
When we look for clues when we’re tracking, we look for anything that stands out. The hair on that branch pointed us in a certain direction. I realize it carries a different value for Sloane. To her, it’s evidence.
“Could you take a few pictures of me collecting this?” she asks, handing me the camera. “Just point and click.”
I start taking pictures as she unzips her backpack and removes a black plastic bin. When she opens the lid, it looks like an evidence collection kit. She pulls on a pair of blue gloves and grabs a small brown evidence envelope as well as a pair of disposable tweezers.
I keep snapping until she’s collected the hair from the branch, and signed and dated the small, brown envelope.
“You’re thinking someone was after her?”
Sloane nods as she tucks the envelope away and snaps off the gloves.
“Yes. The girl’s been talking in her sleep and it seems she may be starting to remember things.”
She slips the backpack over her shoulders. When she holds out her hand, I return the camera, which she loops around her neck.
“How far are we from the location?”
“Knowing where we’re going, I’d say twenty minutes, half an hour.”
“Okay, don’t go too fast, I want to keep an eye out for possible evidence.”
I nod and walk back to where Will is still waiting patiently, Pudding by his side. I hold on to Sloane’s mount as she grabs on to the horn, puts her left foot in the stirrup, and swings up in the saddle. Then I mount up as well, and lead us through the trees.
For a while there’s only the sounds of the woods and, normally, I would enjoy the quiet ride, but knowing Sloane is behind me, the silence has my thoughts spinning.
Then suddenly I find myself asking, “What happened in Billings?”
The pause drags on so long, I resist turning around.
“I fucked up,” she finally responds in a soft voice.
I have to strain to hear and I’m about to prompt her for more when she starts talking again.
“There’s really nothing else to say. I messed up, trusted the wrong person, and was left holding the bag. Trying to work a job that sometimes requires fourteen- or sixteen-hour days while single-handedly taking care of a baby, who wakes up at all hours of the night, is impossible.”
It’s been on my tongue a few times, and I’ve resisted asking Ama or even Sully what the deal is, but I feel I can finally justify asking the question.
“Where is Aspen’s father?”
She waits a beat and then answers, “Did I mention I fucked up?”
At that, I glance over my shoulder and catch her shrug, but she doesn’t look away.
“Let’s just say he’s not in the picture. Not anymore. It took him a month to figure out he wasn’t cut out for parenthood and took off.”
“What a fucking loser,” I burst out.
What piece of shit man walks away from his child?
I mean, my own parents weren’t exactly perfect, I didn’t even know my father existed until I was almost thirty and he showed up on my doorstep. Although, in his defense, he didn’t actually know of my existence either. My mother had kept that a secret from both of us for as long as she was alive.
But walking away from a little baby?
“I sure know how to pick ’em, don’t I?” Sloane scoffs.
Frankly, I don’t really know much about her life. At least, not the one she led in Billings. I don’t have any idea who she was seeing, but there’s one thing I do know.
“It’s his loss.”
There is no more conversation until we reach the rockier terrain leading to the edge of the gorge. I dismount and encourage Sloane to do the same. Then I tie the horses to a tree so they have some shade, before leading Sloane to the edge of the drop off.
The narrow ledge is visible below and beyond that, the sheer rock face continues down until it reaches the tops of the trees in the valley below. It’s an absolute miracle that girl managed to cling on to that barely three-inch ridge for however long she was there.
“Did you see anything when you were down there?” Sloane asks, peering over the edge.
“See anything…on the ledge? Like what?”
She lifts the camera and as she begins to take pictures of the gorge below, she inches a little too close to the edge to my liking. To anchor her, I hook a finger in a loop on the waistband of her jeans and use my weight to balance her.
“I don’t know. The girl mentioned dead eyes staring up in her sleep and, apparently, repeated it after she woke up.”
I tug her back from the edge and take her place to get a better look. It’s a fair way down and, other than an occasional silver glimmer of the creek through the canopy of the trees, it’s virtually impossible to distinguish any details.
“Didn’t notice anything at the time, I was focused on the girl, and I can’t really see much of anything now.”
“Do you think you can get me down there?”
“To the bottom of the gorge? Not easily. We’d have to follow the creek upriver from where it merges into the Fisher River, which is miles north of where we crossed. I’d have to look at satellite images, but finding our way to this spot could take the better part of a day, if not more.”
I don’t miss the muffled curse under her breath.
“What about to the ledge?”
I swing around, my eyebrows raised.
“That ledge?” I point back to the narrow ridge that somehow saved that girl’s life. “Hell no,” I tell her emphatically. “Even if we had the team here and all the proper gear, it would be a hell no. This isn’t some recreational rock wall for amateurs to play around on.”
She narrows her eyes on me and jerks that stubborn chin up.
“Amateur? I’m here investigating the possible abduction of and sexual assault on a young girl. I’m hardly playing.”
Sexual assault?
A sick feeling twists in my stomach at the memory of her small body trembling uncontrollably against me. The thought of someone violating her like that has me see red.
I take her point, she’s doing her job, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to play fast and loose with her safety. Even if I had the proper equipment with me, letting someone without experience rappel down that cliff would be irresponsible.
“Do you have a long lens for that camera?” I ask her. “If she saw something with the naked eye from that ledge, you should be able to pick it up from up here with a zoom.”
It takes her a moment to react, but then she dives into her backpack and triumphantly pulls out a padded pouch. While she changes out the lens on her camera, I grab a spray can from my saddle bag. Then I walk back to the spot directly above where we first spotted the girl clinging to the cliff, and drop down to my stomach, inching part of my upper body out over the edge.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hear Sloane behind me.
Instead of answering, I give the can a few shakes before aiming it at the rock face below and marking it with a downward arrow.
“Making sure we can find the spot from below, if need be,” I tell her as I scramble back and get to my feet. “Start taking your pictures.”
She rewards me with the flash of a smile before lifting her camera.