Authors: Rick Mofina
22
Calgary, Alberta
I
t was a mistake to hang up on Reeka Beck.
Probably a fatal one given Newslead’s plan to cut staff, Kate thought while driving back to Calgary, still stinging from the call.
Damn, Reeka had a lot of gall. But it’s no surprise. She resents me.
Maybe it was Reeka’s queen-bee syndrome. Kate had encountered it before with women in other newsrooms. Or maybe it was because Reeka regarded her as a gutter-girl-slut, a lowly community college grad.
Well, to hell with her, calling the way she did to attack me. She had it coming and I’m too tired to think about her right now.
It was late.
Kate had driven across Alberta and halfway back in one day. She’d uncovered more about Vanessa’s case and relived a nightmare. She was exhausted, anguished and now that more human remains had been found in Rampart, even more fearful that the woods around the barn had become Vanessa’s grave.
Kate pushed the thought from her mind as she drove, noticing how fast the sky had darkened after the sun set in the mountains. Her loneliness grew in the twilight but it left her when she stopped at a diner in Banff. She’d managed to reach Grace before Nancy put her to bed. The sound of her daughter’s voice as she told Kate about her day was soothing.
“I hope you can get me a present from Canada, Mom.”
Later, while preparing to leave the diner, Kate received a text from Chuck, which launched a terse exchange.
We need to talk over the phone in the am.
OK. What time?
she responded.
Eight. We’ll call you.
We?
Reeka and Ben will be on the call.
This was serious. Ben Sussman was an executive editor.
I’m in Alberta. I’ll send you my hotel number.
Alberta?
Yes.
Fine. That’ll be 6 a.m. your time.
Kate drove the rest of the way to Calgary grappling with a million concerns.
You’re tired. You’re not thinking clearly.
Besides, so much was out of her control.
At the hotel she’d put in a wake-up call then went to bed plagued with terrifying dreams of a woman burning alive in a blazing barn; a hand rising from the river; all to the melody of
E-I-E-I-O
, until a phone started ringing and ringing.
Someone should answer it. Why doesn’t somebody get that phone?
Kate opened her eyes to a torpid fog and answered her wake-up call.
She showered, made strong coffee, got dressed, went online and scoured news sites for the latest on Rampart. The case was attracting national attention. Bloomberg, Reuters and the Associated Press had all moved new stories on the mystery surrounding the discovery in Rampart and speculation there were more victims.
Kate had checked the status of her morning return flight when her room phone rang.
It was Chuck, on speaker with Ben and Reeka.
They got right to it.
“There’s a major news conference in Rampart tomorrow morning,” Chuck said. “We’re getting beat on this story. We need to own it. We’d like you to send us all you know on the case ASAP. We need an exclusive hook. Ray Stone will write a setup piece today and Michelle Martin from our Syracuse bureau will go to Rampart and cover the conference.”
“No.”
“No?” Chuck muttered something, then said, “Are you refusing?”
“Yes.”
“Insubordination given your situation puts you on thin ice, Kate.”
“Kate, Ben Sussman here. Why are you refusing?”
“I want the story.”
“I understand your personal interest,” Sussman said, “concerning your sister’s tragedy, and our hearts go out to you. But, as you know, to put you on the story violates our policy. You’d be using your position for personal gain, which is what got you into trouble in the first place.”
“What personal gain? Our job as journalists is to seek the truth. As far as my sister’s concerned, that’s what I’m doing, seeking the truth about her. I’d be serving readers.”
“Kate, it’s not that simple,” Chuck said.
“Hear me out. You all know that we’ve had staff produce work, good work, in which they used their position for personal gain. Our feature writer in Atlanta wrote about her daughter’s terminal illness and cracks in the insurance system. One of our financial writers did a first-person series about how his relatives were victims of subprime mortgages. I could give you other examples.”
“You make a valid argument,” Sussman said. “But your case is a bit more complicated.”
“That’s right,” Reeka said. “Kate, the distinction with your case is that you broke the law and could still be charged for trespassing on a crime scene.”
They had her against the ropes and had hammered her with the truth.
She didn’t know what to say.
A long silence passed before Chuck said, “Kate?”
“It’s funny,” she said. “I’m nearly fired for using my position for what you deem ‘personal gain,’ when Newslead is leaning on me to use my position for its corporate gain. Do you see the irony in that?”
“The fact is, Kate,” Reeka said, “the police could bring those charges back on you at any time.”
Kate shut her eyes and felt Vanessa’s hand slip from hers, saw it shooting up from the river, saw it disappearing.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m guilty of trespassing on a crime scene and taking pictures, but I’ll give you some context. For twenty years I’ve lived with the guilt of my sister’s death. For twenty years I’ve lived with the fact that her body was never found. Then Rampart police call me, telling me they’ve found a necklace at a crime scene identical to one my sister had. Can you imagine for one second what goes through your mind? Yes, I was overwhelmed, yes, I broke the law. I’m human and that was my mistake, but keeping me off this story, especially now, will be your mistake, because no one is going to give more to it than me. I’ll go full tilt for you. So you can keep me off the story, you can fire me for insubordination. I’ll go to AP, Bloomberg and Reuters. Maybe they’ll be interested in what I’ve found out on my own up here. Being journalists, I’m surprised you didn’t ask.”
Now it was the editors who went silent for a long moment.
“Stay near your phone,” Chuck said. “We’ll get back to you.”
Kate hung up, cupped her hands to her face, then got busy. She went online and sent Grace an email of a picture of bighorn sheep she’d seen in the mountains. She checked flights again. After she’d started packing, her room phone rang.
It was Chuck.
“You’re on the story. Get to Syracuse tonight and touch base with the bureau and go with our bureau photographer to Rampart in the morning for the news conference.”
“Okay.”
“What can you give us that’s exclusive?”
“That it appears that my sister may have survived her crash and was abducted from Canada to become a victim in Rampart. I have elements that point to that scenario.”
Chuck took a second to absorb that.
“All right, I want you to file a setup piece that includes that exclusive angle.”
“Do you want it first person?”
“No, write it news style and we’ll attach a disclosure disclaimer to your piece, clearly stating your relationship. We’ll do it with anything you write that’s relevant to the case.”
“All right.”
“I want it by 5:00 p.m., New York time, today. Looks like you can fly from Calgary to Chicago with a connection to Syracuse. You can write on the plane and file from O’Hare, if you don’t have Wi-Fi in the air. We’ll cover all costs as you now are officially on assignment.”
“Thank you, Chuck.”
“If you screw up, Kate, it’s your job.”
“I know.”
“And mine.”
23
Rampart, New York
“I
just finished reading your story, Kate. It’s incredible.”
Jay Raney, Newslead’s chief photographer at the Syracuse bureau, pocketed his phone and introduced himself to Kate in her motel lobby. He was a soft-spoken man in his late thirties with a few-days-growth beard. As he helped her with her bags and led her to his Ford Escape, she contended with her overriding fear about her sister.
Were the newly discovered human remains Vanessa’s?
Was today the day she’d find the truth?
They headed north on Interstate 81 for Rampart and that morning’s news conference. After some small talk—they’d discovered they had mutual news friends in Ohio and California—things fell quiet and Kate worked as the miles rushed under them.
Her flight back had been smooth. She’d slept well and was energized after talking with Grace on the phone earlier, before Raney arrived. Now, with farmland flashing by her window, Kate concentrated on her laptop, starting with a message from Chuck.
Pickup of your story was very strong,
he had said.
Keep us out front.
Scrolling through the rest of her messages, Kate came to a new one from Elliott Searle, the retired Mountie.
With regard to the partial plate, look for an article in one of the Denver papers, within a month of TDM’s disappearance. It mentions the plate.
Kate began searching the databases for the
Denver Post
and
Rocky Mountain News
. The
Rocky
had folded in 2009, but its stories were archived. Each paper had small wire items about Tara Dawn Mae and the search for a missing Canadian girl, but none mentioned the plate.
She responded to Searle.
Can’t find it. Maybe you’re unclear. If you have the article, why not just give it to me?
At the time, the information in the article was leaked by US law enforcement and ruffled some feathers up here. The story’s there. Keep looking. You have to find it.
It was frustrating that some cops were so weird that way. Kate knew they didn’t want to be accused of giving out anything contained in case files but would point you to public information. She continued searching before asking Newslead’s news library for help, just as her phone chimed with a text from Reeka
. We’ll need to see your story within an hour of the news conference ending. The sooner the better.
Kate rolled her eyes, replying with,
Okay. Thank you.
* * *
After they’d arrived in Rampart, Raney drove them to the town hall where the news conference was to be held.
They got there twenty minutes before things were to start. The parking lot and street were filled with TV trucks and news cars from Watertown, Rochester and Syracuse; radio stations from Plattsburgh and Potsdam; newspapers from Ogdensburg and Massena.
“I bet AP, Reuters and Bloomberg have people here, maybe even the
Post
and
Daily News
, too.” Raney grabbed his gear from the back.
Inside, they showed their credentials to a man at the reception area. He slid a clipboard to them.
“Sign in, then go to the right, end of the hall.”
About two dozen news people, along with a dozen or so police types were in a large meeting room. TV cameras on tripods lined the back like a firing squad as operators made adjustments. Local reporters in folding chairs gossiped; others talked on phones or were making notes.
At the front of the room, four solemn-faced men took their places at a table heaped with recorders and microphones with station flags. To the right was a tack board bearing enlarged photographs of Carl Nelson, John Charles Pollard, Bethany Ann Wynn and Tara Dawn Mae, from the time she’d vanished.
Staring into Tara Dawn’s face jolted Kate.
That’s Vanessa up there. Now, after what I’ve learned, I believe in my heart that’s her. All these years...stop...you don’t know that she died here...
As Kate grappled with her anguish and anger she spotted Detective Ed Brennan standing against the wall with his partner. Brennan gave her a slight nod and she tightened her hold on her pen.
“Is everybody ready?” One of the men at the table spoke, allowing for several reporters to approach them and switch on their recorders.
“Thank you for coming, especially those from out of town. I’m Captain Dan Kennedy, with the Rampart PD. We lead this investigation and we’re supported by a number of agencies, some of which are here. To my far right, Lorne Baker, Riverview County Sheriff’s Office, Max Insley, the New York State Police and to my left, Emmett Lang, with the FBI out of Syracuse. I’ll read you a summary of the case, then we’ll take a few questions.”
“At this time, our investigation into the deaths at the state property known as the old burial grounds leads us to conclude that the individual known as Carl Nelson did not die in the fire at an abandoned barn, as first suspected. We believe that Nelson murdered Bethany Ann Wynn, after keeping her in captivity for three years. Nelson also murdered John Charles Pollard and staged the scene to make it appear as though he had taken his own life.
“Additional human remains have been found within proximity of the barn leading us to believe that Nelson may have killed other people. Work is under way to confirm the identity of those remains, and we’re expanding the scene and bringing in more people for an extensive search of the area. We’re going to scour every square inch of the property. Now, based on evidence found at the scene, we’ve reason to suspect that the case is linked to the disappearance of Tara Dawn Mae, who’s been missing from Brooks, Alberta, Canada, for over fifteen years.”
Soft gasps rippled among the reporters along with the hurried turning of notebook pages. Kate glanced at Tara Dawn’s face, then at Brennan. It was more real, for now they were closer to talking officially about a link to Vanessa. Kate regained her concentration as Kennedy continued.
“We’re working with the RCMP on this part of the investigation. Finally, we believe Carl Nelson is alive and at large using an assumed name. A warrant has been issued for his arrest for the murders of John Charles Pollard and Bethany Ann Wynn. Today, the FBI will place him on its Most Wanted list. Nelson should be considered dangerous. He should not be approached by the public. We’re also appealing to anyone with any information concerning this case to call our tip line or their local police. Okay, we’ll take a few questions.”
Hands went up.
“Yes,” Kennedy said, “Marissa, from the
Rampart Examiner
.”
“Are you telling us that Nelson held one of his victims in captivity in that barn for fifteen years?”
“We know that, in the Canadian case, Tara Dawn Mae’s been missing for that time. We know that Nelson’s been in Rampart for ten years.”
Kate’s hand shot up, but she was passed over for a newspaper reporter from Rochester.
“Where was Nelson before that time?”
“That’s under investigation.”
Kate raised her hand, but Kennedy went to a reporter from Plattsburgh.
“Is the case connected to the abandoned insane asylum?”
“We’re looking into that. I see lots of hands—next.”
Again Kate tried but lost out to a TV reporter from Syracuse.
“Captain, how is it that Nelson, a computer technician and recluse, was able to keep prisoners at that barn for as long as a decade without anyone noticing?”
“The property was abandoned. We found evidence of confinement rooms concealed in a lower level. He stole small amounts of electricity undetected from the grid. Few people traveled that deep into the wooded area—in fact none to our knowledge, until the discovery of the fire. Next.”
Kate’s hand went up again, but the Bloomberg reporter got the question.
“You said you found confinement rooms. What was going on out there?”
“We don’t know.”
“It’s rumored there was bondage, perhaps torture?”
“We don’t know. We can only speculate that it was horrible. Next.”
Kennedy looked directly at Kate and she started to speak, but he shifted his attention, taking another reporter’s question. She knew what was happening and was tempted to raise her middle finger.
“Given that Nelson worked at the MRKT DataFlow Call Center, did you find Bethany Ann Wynn’s financial records there?” a radio reporter from Ogdensburg asked. “And did Nelson have access to them? Is that how he selected his victims?”
“We’re investigating that aspect.”
Kate waved her notebook, tried to raise a question, but Moore continued.
“And, given Nelson’s work, isn’t it possible he could assume or steal anyone’s identity?”
“Yes, it’s possible, next question.”
Kate waved her hand and again she was ignored.
“Did Nelson act alone?” the reporter from the Associated Press asked.
“It appears so, but we’re early in the investigation.”
Again, Kate raised her hand, and again Kennedy looked directly at her as he took a question from the reporter behind her from Reuters.
“To be clear on the victims, we have Bethany Ann Wynn and John Charles Pollard. So, two confirmed at this time, but you’re confident that number will rise?”
“Correct.”
“One more question,” the Reuters guy said. “Any idea on Nelson’s whereabouts?”
“Finding him is our priority, Jim.” Kennedy shifted the subject. “You all know that the site remains closed, but because most of you asked about getting pictures of the scene we’re arranging pool coverage, drawing names from the sign-in sheet. Okay, thank you, everyone, I think we’ll wrap this—”
“Excuse me!” Kate stood. “Kate Page, Newslead. Captain, I think we need more than just five minutes here.”
Kennedy’s face tightened.
“What’s your question?”
“Captain, how close are you to determining the identity of the recently discovered remains?”
“As I indicated at the outset, they’re with the pathologist. These matters take time.”
“Sir,” Kate continued. “What factors led you to connect this case to the cold case of Tara Dawn Mae in Canada?”
“We’re not prepared to discuss that at this time.”
“Did you find evidence at the scene to make the connection?”
“We’re not going to discuss evidence.” Kennedy stared at Kate.
“What about Nelson? Can you put him in Canada at the time of Tara Dawn’s disappearance?”
“We’re not going to discuss that part of our investigation at this time. That’s it for now, thank you, everyone.”
As Kennedy stood to leave, Kate raised her voice above the shuffle of the closing press conference and news cameras were directed at her.
“Captain Kennedy, can you elaborate on how Tara Dawn Mae’s case is tied to that of Vanessa Page of Chicago, who went missing after a car accident in Canada twenty years ago?”
Kennedy and the others halted. He took stock of the other investigators before answering.
“Ms. Page, we’re aware of your interest and your story. I say, with the greatest respect and understanding, that we’re not in a position to discuss all aspects of our investigation at this time. Thank you.”
Reporters tried to get in last questions, but Kennedy waved them off as police officials gathered folders and left the room for a smaller glass-walled office adjoining it. The reporters immediately surrounded Kate and peppered her with questions under the glare of the TV cameras as the still photographers fired shot after shot.
“We read your story, Kate. Will you tell our listeners why you’re convinced your sister’s a victim here?”
“How did you learn your sister’s case was tied to this one?”
“What did you discover in Canada about your sister’s cold case and this one? Your story never said what Canadian authorities told you.”
“How have the past twenty years been for you, Kate?”
She looked at Anita Moore, the reporter who’d asked the last one.
“They’ve been hard and I’d give anything to see my sister again.”
At that point, Kate saw Brennan nodding at her from the doorway to the other officials in the glass-walled office. He mouthed the word
now
. She extricated herself from the press pack. Some reporters objected when Kate alone joined the cops in the office, for it appeared she was given journalistic preference.
“What’s going on, Ed?” the reporter for the
Examiner
asked.
Brennan dismissed them and closed the door after he and Kate entered the office where Kennedy, who’d loosened his tie, was waiting with the others.
“Our hearts go out to you, Kate,” Kennedy said. “We’re sympathetic to your situation. We appreciate that you’ve helped us, but our hands are tied.”
Kate said nothing, letting her resentment bubble as Kennedy continued.
“You have to let us do our job.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“Kate, we know—” Kennedy stopped to see news cameras recording them on the other side of the glass. “Would someone shut the blinds? Now, Kate, we know where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to and what you’ve been doing.”
“You’re stating the obvious, since I wrote about it for Newslead.”
“Yes, and I will thank you for keeping evidentiary details out of your story. That was important.”
“I’m not stupid, Captain.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that, Kate. We’re concerned about tipping off the suspect to everything we know. Our focus is finding Nelson and arresting him while we determine the scope of his crimes and identify the victims.”
“And everything points to my sister being one of them.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s possible. We haven’t identified the remains yet. Kate, you have to brace yourself for the possibility that she’s a victim.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing all of my life, Captain. But if you know something that I don’t, if those are Vanessa’s remains that you found, then you tell me right now!”
“At this point, we don’t know who the deceased is. But when the pathologist confirms the identity, we’ll release the information.” Kennedy paused. “Kate, we’re urging you not to interfere, to back off.”
“No. I’m not going to be the docile, grieving family member on the sidelines. I have a constitutional right to ask questions. I’ve lived with this all of my life. I’ve got a blood right to the truth. I’ll never back off.”