The Body at Midgley Bridge Read online

  For the next twenty minutes, Tim Bernhardt and Mike hiked up the steep cliff to the Schnebly Hill Road trailhead behind the four men carrying the remains. Tim pushed his mountain bike up the trail as they hiked. After the remains were in the ME’s van, Mike helped Tim load his bike into his Explorer, and they headed up the very rough and rutted Schnebly Hill Road. It was a favorite route for the Jeep tours that were popular in Sedona, but it was a difficult road for Mike’s Sheriff’s Department Explorer even in four-wheel-drive.

  As they paused at a trail parking lot, Mike called June Rosetta in the Sheriff’s Research Department to find the license tag numbers of all vehicles registered to Mildred Riley, her husband Peter Barbour, or any of her companies. June was very good at her job, and he quickly had a list of seven tag numbers. None were parked at the Huckaby Trail, which led to the area along Oak Creek below Midgley Bridge and the Marge’s Draw Trail, which led past Snoopy Rock to the Broken Arrow Trailhead. Mike and Margaret were especially fond of Snoopy Rock because they could see it clearly from their hilltop home less than a mile away. It looked like the famous cartoon character lying on his back on top of his doghouse.

  They decided to proceed up Schnebly Hill Road. There were many informal places to park along the steep rocky road, but most people didn’t drive past the paved section. The route had astonishing views, but it was totally unsuited for normal passenger vehicles.

  Mike drove carefully up the challenging road. His Explorer had been modified for the rugged terrain with steel plates protecting important parts of the undercarriage, but he occasionally heard a grinding sound as the protection was put to the test. The shaking felt like they were on some sort of carnival ride, but Mike avoided damaging his Explorer’s tires and proceeded at about five miles an hour. They found no hikers’ cars parked along the route because it was still early on a weekday morning.

  They reached the trailhead where he thought Ms. Riley’s vehicle might be parked, but there were no vehicles at the Hangover and Cow Pies trailhead. It was twenty minutes later that he found a truck belonging to the Riley Ranch and Cattle Company parked at the dramatic panoramic viewpoint at the Schnebly Hill Overlook. He realized that rather than taking the Hangover Trail that he and Margaret had used to reach that same ridgeline, Ms. Riley had hiked down cross-country over the rough terrain on a faint game trail. There were footprints from medium sized hiking boots in the soft red dust leading from her vehicle to the game trail. He was fairly sure they were the same size as he’d seen on the victim. There were no signs that Ms. Riley had been followed. He carefully photographed the prints to make a record before the first of the tourists from the Jeep companies arrived at the lookout point. He called the Sheriff’s Department and asked a pair of deputies to come to the location with Jimmy Hendrix and a tow truck. Jimmy would dust the truck for prints before taking it to the Sheriff’s Impoundment Lot. He would also make impressions of the footprints to confirm they were from Ms. Riley.

  Mike knew that Ms. Riley had spent her whole life in Coconino County, so he wasn’t surprised that she knew an unofficial trail not marked on any map, but even with a full moon, she would not have taken this faint and very steep trail at night. He decided that she must have camped near the ridgeline overnight, and that he should inspect her campsite for evidence. He called into the dispatchers at the Sheriff’s Department to let them know exactly where he would be and what he would be doing.

  He turned to the young man who had found Ms. Riley’s remains. “Tim, I’m going to hike down this game trail and try and find where Ms. Riley spent the night. You’re welcome to hike with me or remain here.”

  “There’s a spectacular view from up here, but I’d enjoy a hike down to the ridge. I could use some vigorous exercise. In fact, I might come back and try my bike on this steep downhill, and a hike would be a good chance to scout it.”

  Mike was dreading the strenuous hike back up, but he welcomed the company. This was not a developed trail where he would be discovered by other hikers if he had an accident.

  Mike looked at the former Marine medic and decided that Tim was in outstanding physical shape and should have no trouble with the hike. He was not so confident about his own endurance. He got water bottles and fanny packs from the storage chest in the back of the Explorer. He also put on the crime scene backpack that he always carried in his department vehicle. It contained equipment for photographing, making shoe or tire impressions, and for taking samples. He also got out a pair of hiking sticks. Tim declined. He didn’t need a hiking stick, so Mike used both of them. He knew from experience how slippery Sedona’s loose rocks could be on steep downhill game trails. He had the scars to prove it from sliding into a prickly pear cactus two weeks earlier.

  “Captain, I could use the exercise. I’d be happy to carry the backpack for you.” Mike smiled and passed it over to him, and they started down.

  Half an hour later after connecting with the Hangover Loop Trail, they got their first sight of a blue one-person tent thirty yards ahead nestled between red boulders and mature junipers. Mike motioned for Tim to stay behind while he took the camera from the backpack and began to take photos of the undisturbed camp sight. It was typical of a short-term backpacker’s camp. A green internal frame pack was hanging from the largest juniper. Its rope support had a squirrel guard to protect the food inside from a nighttime visit from ground squirrels or other unwanted guests. There was no fire pit; only a single burner Blue Gas camp stove designed for minimum weight. It sat on a nearby flat sandstone rock. There was a small bottle of instant coffee next to the stove. An aluminum mug was the only other utensil visible on another nearby rock ledge.

  The only unusual thing visible at the camp was an eight-by-ten photo of a middle-aged gentleman in a dark suit. The photo was propped up against a rounded stone. The background of the photo was one of the original sandstone buildings on the campus of Northern Arizona University. In front of the photo was a quart jar with a candle that was still burning and filling the campsite with the smell of lemons.

  After completing his photos of the camping spot and making two boot impressions, Mike followed the trail of boot prints up to the ridge twenty feet above the sheltered campsite. Mike took photos of the trail to the ridge and the spray of blood that he found near the top. He could clearly see Midgley Bridge far below, but he could not see the area where Tim had discovered the body because of the forest that started below the sandstone ridge. Ms. Riley could not have been shot from down near the creek, but the view confirmed Tim’s report that the shot could have come from up near the bridge.

  Mike decided that he needed blood samples, but he had no doubt that he’d found the location where Ms. Riley had stood looking at the sunrise when a bullet from a military-style rifle pierced the back of her skull. Since she was shot from below, the through-and-through shot could have carried the round to anyplace in the miles of wilderness south of the ridgeline. He took samples of the blood and completed his review of the site. The process had taken about twenty minutes, and Tim had been exploring the area without approaching the actual campsite.

  Mike put on vinyl gloves and carefully packed everything into Ms. Riley’s backpack. It was all new gear. Mike knew that her family owned a sporting goods store in downtown Flagstaff. Since her equipment was new, he assumed that Ms. Riley didn’t backpack regularly and that she had gotten these items for this specific camping trip. He believed her visit to this remote spot had to do with the photo of the man and the candle burned to honor his memory. She had come on a specific day for a special purpose, and Mike wanted to find out how many people knew she would climb that ridgeline at dawn on March 30.

  Before he headed back up the trail to his vehicle, Mike climbed the ridge again and looked at the distant Midgley Bridge. Mike did not believe that a single accidental shot had killed Ms. Riley; striking her by chance from over a kilometer away seemed impossible. The shot was deliberate, but he was not certain whether Ms. Riley was the target or whether the shooter mi
ght have killed any stranger he saw that morning. Perhaps, Ms. Riley simply caught his eye.

  Mike and Tim spent an hour hiking back up the steep trail to Mike’s Explorer, over twice the time it had taken to hike down. Although Ms. Riley had the finest lightweight backpacking equipment, it was still a difficult hike for Mike who had not been backpacking in years. Tim Bernhardt, on the other hand, still had a spring in his step and a smile on his face when they reached the top. Mike had the fleeting wish to be twenty-five years younger. He loved his life in Sedona, he loved Margaret, and he loved his job, but time waits for no man, and his legs and his back ached as he seated himself for the drive to Flagstaff to record Tim’s official statement. The ride from the top of Schnebly Hill Road to Interstate 17 was uneventful except for the flock of wild turkeys that scattered at their approach. It was 11:30 when they reached the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department.

  Chapter 3

  Mike, with the assistance of Sue Boyd of the county prosecutor’s office, interviewed Tim in a conference room set up for video recording. Tim’s account was similar to what he had told Mike at the location of Ms. Riley’s remains. Tim was concise and specific, but he didn’t really have anything else to add. He’d established the exact time of death and repeated his observation that the shot came from the general area of the Midgley Bridge parking lot. After recording his account, Tim asked if it was OK for him to get his bike out of Mike’s vehicle and explore Flagstaff until 5:00 PM when Mike would leave for Sedona. Mike went to his office and retrieved a hiking and biking guide to Flagstaff and gave it to the former Marine medic who decided to ride his bike up to the Snow Bowl Ski Area, over three thousand feet of elevation gain. Mike warned him that it was among the toughest bike route in the area, but the views would be spectacular.

  “Tim, that route is fairly safe on a bike, but I’m asking you to please not ride your bike down the switchbacks on 89A toward Sedona. Come back here by five PM and let me drive you down to a campsite nearer Sedona since you want more time to explore the bike trails in that area. I had another witness die on that stretch of road when his bike went over the side and down a six hundred foot drop into Pumphouse Wash.”

  Mike didn’t mention that the previous fatality had not been an accident. It had been a homicide by motor vehicle to silence a witness to a horrendous crime. Mike didn’t think that Tim was in actual danger from the sniper who had killed Ms. Riley, at least not in more danger than the average person. If the shooter had not specifically targeted Ms. Riley, it would be difficult for Mike to imagine a more dangerous murderer on the loose in Coconino County. The county was filled with high mountains, deep canyons, and empty places where an assassin could hide and wait for a target. Coconino County was the second largest county in the United State at over 18,600 square miles, but it contained less than one hundred and fifty thousand residents.

  Mike went to his 2:30 meeting with Sheriff Taylor. It was the weekly meeting of senior staff, which included the head of the county jail, the head of the patrol units, and Mike, the head of criminal investigations. The meeting was always held in the Sheriff’s conference room, which could seat twenty and which seemed empty with only four people clustered at one end of the table. Mike had an assistant upload his photos of Ms. Riley’s remains and her campsite so he could show them on the big screen in the conference room. He knew how to work the projector but not how to get the photos onto the laptop that drove the screen shots.

  Sheriff Greg Taylor began with an announcement. “It’s not public yet because I have one family member who I have not yet notified, but it’s my sad duty to report that Mildred Riley was assassinated with a single shot to the back of her head using a sniper rifle. It happened down near Sedona, and Mike was quickly on the scene. Mike, please update us on the latest news of the case.”

  “That asshole husband of hers must be involved,” Howard Spencer, the head of the patrol units, said. “We’ve arrested that perp at least a dozen times since they got married three years ago; mostly drunk and disorderly and unwanted sexual advances in bars. He gropes women when he’s drunk, which is most of the time. We’ve never charged him with shoplifting only because the merchant all know Mildred, and they simply send her a bill for whatever he steals.”

  Sheriff Taylor said, “Derrick, her oldest boy, told me Peter would have no motive because he will inherit only enough as he said ‘to pay for a Greyhound ticket to LA’. She was his meal ticket, but she left him only $250. Seth called and cancelled Mildred’s credit cards while I was still in his office, and he sent a locksmith to her big house out at the country club. By now he will have frozen all of her accounts. Mike, please give us an update of what you’ve learned at the crime scene.”

  Mike began by projecting a photo of the remains of Ms. Riley from a substantial distance away. The photo showed her position in relation to Midgley Bridge and the sandstone cliff from which she’d fallen. He briefly showed a photo of her head before moving on to a photo of Tim Bernhardt who was first on the scene. “He’s a former Marine medic, but with that massive trauma to the head, she was dead most instantly. I suspect the medical examiner will determine she died even before falling from this four hundred foot cliff.”

  Mike switched to a photo of the ridgeline he’d taken from the crime scene followed by a photo of Mitten Ridge. “I believe she was standing on this ridge watching the sunrise when she was shot in the back of the skull from this parking lot. It’s slightly over one kilometer.”

  “Shit man, that’s an impossible shot in the dim light of dawn,” Lucas Blackman said. Mike knew he was an avid hunter who always took his vacation from his management of the county jail during hunting season.

  Mike explained, “Our witness, Tim Bernhardt, saw a flash from up near the Midgley Bridge parking lot.” Mike advanced the photo to show the blood spatter at the campsite.

  “I took this photo at her camping spot below that ridge. It may seem like an impossible shot, but military snipers hit targets at that distance regularly. It was a windless morning and the perp might have used a tripod mount or other method of steadying his weapon. A laser rangefinder could have helped with judging the exact distance, and Ms. Riley would be silhouetted against the dawn sky.”

  “But do we know for sure that Ms. Riley was the target?” Howard asked.

  “I wish I did actually know that for certain. She might have been a target of opportunity for a madman testing his sniper skills. We’ll be investigating the possibility that it was a professional hit by a man specifically targeting her. Currently, I have no proof either way. We also have no brass at Midgley Bridge parking lot and no bullet from the through-and-through. In fact, if her husband had no motive, I’ll be starting the investigation with almost nothing to work with.

  Mike advanced the photos to show the small shrine with the candle and photo of the man in a dark suit. “I found this at the campsite.”

  Sheriff Taylor said, “That was Millie’s father, Professor Edgar Riley. He taught anthropology at NAU for over thirty year, but he passed away more than a decade ago.”

  The sheriff took out his cell phone and entered information in a Google search. A moment later, he said. “Today is the fifteenth anniversary of Professor Riley’s death.”

  To Mike, that was good news. He said, “Probably only close friends or immediate family members would know that she would go to that remote site to honor her father. If she was an assassin’s target, then someone must have known she would climb that ridge to watch the sunrise.” At least, Mike now had a place to start.

  The meeting continued with other matters. After it was over, Sheriff Taylor asked Mike to stay for a few minutes. “Mike, just to update you on my meeting with the four Riley sons. None of them can think of any reason for Millie to be assassinated by a professional hit man. Although she’s always been a wealthy woman, in the past five years she’s divided ninety percent of her assets among her four sons. The sons estimated that she was worth about a hundred million dollars before she tra
nsferred the businesses and other assets. She also set up a five million endowment for a chair of anthropology at NAU in memory of her father. None of the sons think the motive could have been financial because her remaining assets will all go to various local charities.”

  “Did her husband know that?”

  “Yes. The sons say she paid Peter Barbour a weekly allowance of $500, but everyone assumed their marriage was temporary. Millie had physical needs, which Peter met, but she never adopted his last name or transferred any assets to him. Her oldest son Derrick, the one who owns the hiking store downtown, was certain Peter knew that he was not in her will. They had a prenuptial agreement. I’m sill looking for Peter for the notification. Derrick said he’s probably shacked up with some coed from NAU and will turn up when he doesn’t get his five hundred dollar weekly allowance tomorrow.”

  Mike considered the relationship. It would not have seemed strange for a very wealthy man to have a young wife. “Sheriff, I’d like to talk with each of the sons, but probably not until after the funeral. Doctor Sumter will perform the autopsy tomorrow at 9:00 AM, but I don’t expect to learn much. There is no chance of recovering the round, but Doctor Sumter might have an ideal of the weapon that was used. If it’s not about the money, I know of no other motives to consider. Where do I begin?”

  The sheriff paused before answering. “Millie was very involved in local and state politics. She ramrodded that Women’s March group in town. They turned out over a thousand protestors at their environmental march last Sunday. You might want to review her blog, Facebook posts, and twitter account. I know from threats posted to my own accounts that there are some very angry people in Coconino County.”