Cold Fear (26 page)

FORTY-THREE

Maleena Crow
arrived early at her
law office on South Main in downtown Kalispell to await an expected referral
call from Philadelphia. She went over a file while sipping herbal tea, stopping
to consult ‘the partners’, the exotic fish gliding in the aquarium that bubbled
and hummed in the corner of her red brick storefront office.

At twenty-nine, the University of San Diego grad was
living her dream as a criminal attorney, operating her one-lawyer practice in
what she told her law school friends were “the mystical Rockies.” She recently
won back-to-back acquittals for clients in two separate assault cases: a
stabbing that was self-defense; a shooting, ruled accidental. Crow smiled at
her aquarium. The partners seemed pleased. She was pondering booking a vacation
on the luxury train that traveled through the Canadian Rockies between Vancouver and Banff when her call came.

“Maleena? I’m so glad you’re there. It’s Legal Services.
We just took a call from the county attorney’s office--”

“Can this wait? I’m expecting a call.”

“I am passing this to you. You’re to call a Ms. Nora Lam
from the U.S. Justice Department. It’s urgent.”

“Justice? What is this about?”

“Someone in Glacier National Park needs a lawyer right
away and I guess you’ve been designated for the area.”

Glacier?
Crow was up on
the news. She called Lam, connecting with the first ring on her cell phone.

“Nora Lam.” Very professional. Authoritative.

“Maleena Crow. Criminal defense attorney in Kalispell.

Lam was to the point, underscoring the severity and
confidentiality of Doug Baker’s circumstances. Crow agreed to represent him.

She changed to jeans, T-shirt and a blazer, grabbed her
Penal Code, brief case, sunglasses. Within a half hour, a Montana Highway Patrol
Officer was waving her new silver VW Jetta to park behind the virtual army of
TV satellite trucks, scores of news crews and the growing press contingent.

“Press over there, please.”

“Uh-uh. I was summoned.” Crow held out her card.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” the officer reached for his radio.
“Follow me.”

He trotted, leading Crow to a parking spot among the
park, forestry and FBI vehicles at the community center. She was whisked inside
to the small paneled room where she met Nora Lam, Frank Zander and Lloyd Turner.

“Doug’s been Mirandized. He’s agreed to be polygraphed
to be cleared as a possible suspect in his daughter’s disappearance,” Zander
said.

Crow produced a legal pad, noting everyone’s name, their
positions and time.

“Is he a suspect? You got a case? You going to charge
him?”

Zander listed the domestic call, the school complaint,
the argument in the mountains witnessed by a vacationing NYPD detective.

“Circumstantial and hearsay,” Crow said. “Continue.”

The bloodied T-shirt, the bloodied ax, his wounded hand,
the opportunity when Doug and Emily were separated.

Crow absorbed it. “You find the little girl, or any part
of her?”

“Not yet.”

“This is what you want to polygraph him on?”

Zander nodded. “Right away.”

“What about the mother?”

“She’s not your client,” Zander said. “This is all you
get.”

“Where is Mr. Baker? I’d like to speak with him.”

Zander took Crow to the paneled storage room where Doug
Baker was standing at the small window, watching a helicopter disappear.

“Doug Baker?” He turned.

“Maleena Crow. I’ve been appointed to be your attorney.”

“Yes, sit down.”

Crow put her briefcase on the small table and sat in one
of the chairs.

“You were given your rights and understand them?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you ask for a lawyer?”

“I figured it was best, under the circumstances.”

“You agreed to be polygraphed?”

“Yes, whatever it takes.”

“Doug, you understand that whatever they tell you, the
fact is they are trying to build a case against you. They want to charge you.”

“I know from the start. I would do the same thing…because
I am guilty.”

“No. You do not determine that. A court determines
that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Doug, they are working to build a case against you,
probably against your wife too. In this state, the penalty is death. You are
not guilty of anything at this time.”

“No, Maleena. It’s not like that,” Doug said. “I did not
harm Paige. God, no. I am guilty of making it look like I did in every way,
through my own action, my own selfish stupidity.”

He slammed his back against the wall and slid to the floor,
placing his elbows on his knees, and over the next hour, he recounted
everything while Crow took notes.

“I am the reason Paige fled. Sure, it was easy for me to
blame Emily. We were arguing over her refusal to tell me about the problems of
her childhood growing up here.”

“Which are…?”

“She never got over the death of her parents. It
destroyed her family. The whole time I’ve known her she refused to talk about
it. We came here so she could deal with her ghosts. The night before Paige
vanished, Emily told me she has a sister. I never knew this. If we live through
this, I’m hoping we can rebuild the remnants of her family.”

“Doug you do not need to take a polygraph--”

“After we realized Paige had disappeared, we searched
into the night, just Emily and me. Nothing. Emily withdraws and I decide to
hike out for help at daybreak. During my hike, all I can think of is how I
caused this, how ashamed I am. Her T-shirt on my hurt hand reminds me. So I
toss it. Then my ax banging from my pack reminds me, so I toss it.”

“But Doug, how will a taking a polygraph help? If Paige
is lost, the searchers will find her.”

He shook his head.

“I pray for that to happen. But if she doesn’t come
back. If they don’t find her. If she’s already dead out there, then I killed
her. I am guilty because I forced her out there. And I will have live with it
for the rest of my life. Can you understand? I want to take that polygraph to
let them know I have nothing to hide. To let them know I am ashamed, to let
them know exactly what I am guilty of. Because if my daughter is dead, then I
might as well be dead, too. And there is nothing the FBI can do to hurt me
anymore than I am already hurting.”

Crow swallowed hard, finishing her notes, touching the
back of her hand to her nose and nodding.

“Okay, Doug.”

“Will you help me?”

“Yes.”

FORTY-FOUR

About an hour
after his call from
David Cohen, Tom Reed arrived in Deer Lodge, pulling into the lot of the Four
Bs Restaurant, parking among the pickups, Macks, Peterbilts and Freightliners.
Inside he spotted a man in his thirties, alone at a booth with an open
briefcase that had erupted with files and papers. He was wearing jeans and a
navy shirt. An intelligent-looking man; neat, dark hair, serious face behind
rimless glasses.

“David Cohen?”

Cohen lifted his attention from his work, nodding.

“You must be Tom Reed.” They shook hands. “Thanks for
coming.”

A waitress freshened Cohen's coffee and poured a cup for
Reed. She took his order of a toasted BLT on white. Cohen came to the point.

“Your interview is in one hour. I talked to the prison.
Your background check has been cleared. I'll be present.”

"What's the deal here, David?"

"You're obviously familiar with the case of Emily
Baker, the mother of the little girl missing in Glacier?"

"Of course."

“Emily is the sister of the girl my client, Isaiah Hood,
is accused of killing twenty-two years ago.”

“Yes. I just discovered this myself. A friend, expert on
state criminal history, pointed out the similarity with the old news
photos."

"Why didn't you report it?"

“I intend to. I just learned about Isaiah's connection
to Emily Baker--literally--a few hours ago. It's a compelling story.”

“How much of it do you know?”

“That he killed her sister, Rachel Ross. And now,
twenty-two years later, on the eve of his execution, Emily’s daughter is
missing in the same remote area. It's an epic tragedy.” Reed sipped his coffee.

“It’s a miscarriage of justice.” Cohen looked out the
window. “You have just scratched the surface.”

“I know Emily's name was Natalie Ross. Since then it’s
been changed. Likely the reason nobody else has reported the link yet.”

"And why do think her name was changed?"

Reed shrugged.

"You're a reporter. You should be digging into
this."

"Don't have to."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're going to tell me."

Cohen liked Reed for being right.

"Her name was changed because she killed her
sister. Isaiah is innocent of murder and this state is going to execute him.”

Dawning. It suddenly made more sense to Reed. Sydowski's
presence. Emily's aunt telling Molly Wilson that Emily was undergoing
counseling for the death of a child years ago.

"You can prove she killed her sister?”

Cohen slid legal-sized pages of court transcripts across
the table.

“Look at this.”

It was an excerpt of her testimony of what had happened
that day. The girls were on a camping trip with other girls. They had wandered
from the campsite collecting butterflies when they had come upon Isaiah Hood.

Q: Did you feel threatened?

A: Yes.

Q: How?

A: He was bigger. Creepy.

Q: Why didn't you run away?

A: I tried. I said we better go back but--

WITNESS: (sobbing)

COURT: Would you like a short recess?

WITNESS: (shakes head)

Q: You have to speak.

A: No.

Q: What prevented you from running away?

A: She let go of my hand and went to him, and then--

Q: Take your time.

A: And then he picked her up and held her over the edge.
I begged him and fought with him to stop. “Please stop.” I grabbed at his arms.
He was bigger and so strong. He wouldn't stop. He said, “Guess what I'm going
to do. I am going to see if she can fly.” And then--

WITNESS: (sobbing)

Q: Go ahead.

WITNESS: (sobbing)

A: He let her drop.

WITNESS: (sobbing)

Reed saw a handwritten notation on the photocopied
transcript. The distance of the fall was measured at 540 feet. Cause of death
was cranial trauma, massive internal injuries. Her neck was broken. She was
five years old. Reed thought of his son, Zach, then chased it from his mind.
The transcript was a straightforward accounting of how Hood murdered her,
consistent with the old material Chester Murdon dug up for him. He slid the
papers back to Cohen.

“This proves nothing, David. There's nothing new there.”

Reed sipped some coffee.

“Bear with me. This testimony essentially convicted him
on her say-so. She was not cross-examined effectively.”

“So? That’s the loser’s mantra in every capital case.”

“She later recanted her testimony.”

“What?”

“Her father died about a year after the trial. Her
mother sold their ranch and they moved away. When I took on the case a few
years ago to work on Isaiah’s appeals, we hired a PI to find her. No luck. He
did learn Emily’s mother had changed their names frequently. At one point, we
believed they moved to Canada, even sought citizenship there.”

"You said she recanted."

"After the trial, Emily confided to a little
girlfriend in Buckhorn that she felt confused, sad and guilty over her sister's
death.”

“Seems only natural, if she witnessed it.” Reed nodded
at the court transcript.

"Yes but after her father died and her mother took
her away, Emily resumed her confidential revelations in a series of letters
from Kansas City to the friend in Montana. She discusses her guilt in her
letters."

"You got the letters?”

Cohen shook his head.

"How about the friend?"

"Killed five years ago. Car accident in France."

Reed's food arrived. “No proof then?”

"I have proof. When the little girl first told her
father about the conversations, he was unconcerned. Later, when he saw Emily's
letter to his daughter he had a change of heart and quietly informed the county
attorney, who kept copies, producing a summarized report of their contents. At
the time, the county attorney did not regard the letters as enough to warrant
reopening the case. He categorized them the manifestation of young Emily's
shock, trauma and grief at having witnessed her sister's death, which was
followed by her father’s death. He considered questioning her, but the state
could not locate her. So it faded.”

“Have you talked to the county attorney?" Reed bit
into his sandwich.

“Deceased. Last winter. Cancer."

“No letters. No one alive to confirm them. Where's your
proof?"

“Last week, I made another routine request to the state
for a departmental-wide records search. A piece of the case had fallen through
the cracks. This came this morning.”

Cohen slid several pages to Reed.

A fax with a cover page, dated that day, from the
state’s legal library research branch in Helena. The attached documents were
some twenty years old with the letterhead GOLIATH COUNTY ATTORNEY. Reed flipped
through the pages, reading snatches of Emily's words quoted in the report:

I am guilty of her death. She begged me to save her. I
don't know what happened. She pleaded and screamed. I had her hand but I don't
know what happened that day. I will never forget her eyes staring into mine as
she fell. God, please forgive me.

Reed swallowed and stared at Cohen who was returning
from the counter after paying the tab.

“Let’s go, Tom. Isaiah will tell you the truth about
what happened that day.”