Scene of the Climb (10 page)

Hopefully Greg wouldn't get his hands on the footage, I thought as I headed for the supply room. It was time to focus on my assignment anyway. File folders. That's what I needed. And to impress Greg with my writing skills.

The office was a flurry of noise and activity. Ad sales reps negotiated rate cards over the phone, a product demo had torn a couple writers from their desks to catch a glimpse of the latest in sub-zero sleeping bags and the rest of the
Northwest Extreme
writing team were on deadline—headphones on, fingers flying across keyboards. The magazine boasted the largest circulation of any publication in Western America with over a million subscribers.

I shoved piles of notes to the corner of my desk. My stomach growled.

Right, I skipped breakfast. Pulling the Luna Bar and my iPod out of my purse, I crunched the zesty “health” bar and plugged in to Ella Fitzgerald's “A Fine Romance.” I tapped my feet to the beat. I had to concentrate on not singing the lyrics aloud. This seemed to annoy my coworkers.

Now for my notes. Where to start?

Lenny. Who knew? Maybe Greg would want me to pull together an obituary of sorts. I labeled the file with a black Sharpie pen and wrote “Lenny Ray” on the tab. Digging through my stack of notes, I found a bio on Lenny that Krissy had provided.

Here's what I had on Lenny:

Lenny Ray, originally from New Jersey. A self-described jock and adrenaline junkie. Age twenty-seven. Claims to be a professional bodybuilder. His Race the States bio included a lengthy list of awards from various bodybuilding and wrestling competitions around the United States.

Again I wondered how a bodybuilder ended up in an adventure race? And how did Lenny make enough to take three months off to compete? Was Dave paying the contestants? Everything I'd read in prepping to cover the events, asserted the contestants weren't being paid. I'm sure winning a nationally aired television race could lend itself to endorsement money. And of course there was the million-dollar prize to claim at the end of the race, but the winner took it all. How could Lenny (or Alicia and Leaf) afford to not work for three months? Could Alicia or Leaf have killed Lenny in order to narrow their odds of winning the prize money?

I clicked open a browser window and typed Lenny's name into a Google search. Immediately a photo of an overly tanned and greased Lenny appeared. The caption below the photo read, “Len the Con, aka Sweet Nostrils, wins again.” I printed the article and hustled over to the copy machine to pick it up before anyone else had a chance to read it.

The piece ran in the
New Jersey Herald
six months ago. It was a fluff story about local boy Lenny's rise from regional competitions to placing second in the International Federation of BodyBuilding and Fitness Mr. Europe Grand Prix and a win at the New York Pro. Again, it didn't make sense this beefcake would have any interest in an adventure race. No wonder he'd been huffing up the trail. Bodybuilders and pro wrestlers aren't exactly known for their superior cardio abilities.

I skimmed the rest of the article. My eyes honed in on the final paragraph hinting the Ray family might have mob ties. Their Italian diner had been the site of two shootings and a hotbed for mob activity. I highlighted the last paragraph, circled Lenny's mob name in red pen and made a note on the side to contact the reporter who'd written the story. I shoved the article and all the notes I'd collected on Lenny into the folder and stacked it on the corner of my desk.

Next up, Alicia Abbott.

Alicia Abbott, originally from Atlanta, Georgia. Her bio didn't list an age, but I suspected she was in her early thirties. She spent her high school and collegiate years skiing competitively. As a professional skier she bounced around the globe, with stints in Canada and Switzerland working as a ski instructor, and three years training for the Olympic ski team—she didn't make the cut. Next week she planned to travel to Utah to resume her training.

The glossy photo attached to her Race the States bio reminded me of a CIA agent. Alicia's long torso and shorter legs exuded strength. In the photo, her hair—the color of black leather—was pulled into a long ponytail, her arms swinging stiffly at her sides and her eyes hiding behind pilot sunglasses. I sensed she held an innate ability to shape-shift.

Could Alicia have had something to do with Lenny's demise? How had she gotten the scratches on her arm? What motive could she possibly have, other than the fact that Lenny was a jackass? That didn't seem like motive for murder. Maybe a cold shoulder, but pushing someone off a cliff? No way.

I couldn't find much more on Alicia, other than a few articles about her skiing accolades. For the sake of thorough research I went ahead and printed them out too. Adding those to my notes and Alicia's bio, I rested her neatly packaged file folder on top of Lenny's.

Next, Leaf Green.

Leaf's straggly hair and aging doped-up eyes greeted me from the clutter pile I was slowly making my way through. Now here was a contestant whose involvement with Race the States intrigued me for entirely different reasons. At age thirty-seven, Leaf was the only contestant from Oregon and he certainly fit the part of organic hippie. What I didn't understand is how this pot-smoking anarchist had the drive to sign up to race around the country. Every movement Leaf made appeared to be in slow motion. Obviously, he possessed an enviable talent to scamper trees and scale cliffs, but I didn't see him as a fierce competitor.

His Race the States bio touted he'd launched one of the first lines of hemp clothing in Oregon. His clothing line had been picked up by a major retailer and was due to roll out nationally in August. What the bio didn't list was his infamous regional fame.

During the spotted owl debate ten years ago, Leaf and a group of his friends staged an elaborate sit-in in an area slated for clear cutting. He spent four weeks living in a makeshift tree house in an attempt to stop the deforestation. After a lengthy battle in court, he also spent a chunk of time in prison for his stunt. What was Leaf doing on a show like
Race the States?
And, why did he insist that the show was an eco-challenge? Nothing in the race material I read mentioned anything about being green.

I read on to discover that Leaf had been suspected of a number of eco-terrorism acts around the state, but never officially charged. I scoured the Internet for more history behind his antics. A grainy mug shot of Leaf from last year popped onto my screen. It gave me the shivers. His face looked rough and not just from the lack of a shave.

It didn't take long to print out a stack of news stories on Leaf and add them to my file on him. No time to read them now. I'd save that for later.

From there, I was left with bios and headshots of the seven other contestants who'd previously been eliminated from the race. I decided for the time being to file them together and leave it at that. A sense of accomplishment washed over me as I looked at my organized file folders. I should probably tackle my notes from yesterday next, but instead I pulled out three new folders and labeled them: Dave Shepard, Andrew Black and Krissy Miles.

Technically I didn't need notes on any of them, but I wanted to gather everything I knew while it was fresh in my head. If Greg asked, I'd simply tell him I thought we might end up doing a sidebar about the making of Race the States. That would warrant compiling background information on the production crew. And speaking of Greg, what was his involvement with Race the States? I wondered how I could find out how much money Greg had invested in the race as a sponsor.

What did I know about this motley crew? I searched through my files until I found the original packet Greg had given me. There wasn't much on any of them. I'd have to look online.

I started with Dave.

Dave Shepard, sixty-something, from Sydney, Australia. Race the States was his baby and a project he'd been working to get off the ground for five years. Krissy mentioned Dave had produced a similar show in New Zealand. Indeed the Net was awash with info on Dave's original series:
Eco Race.

Eco Race
ran for eight years in Australia and New Zealand. If the message boards were any indication, it was highly received. I found a number of fan sites begging for its return. Plus, it won a Logie (the Australian version of an Emmy).

So, Dave had produced a green show. Had he convinced Leaf that Race the States would be an eco-race too?

As I worked my way through the maze of connected articles online, I discovered a photo of Dave and Andrew in the Outback. I wondered if this was the site of Andrew's near miss with the croc. I also learned that Dave had been a professional climber before venturing into reality television. The last thing I found was an interview with Dave about Race the States in which he said he was most nervous about recreating the show in America due to our stringent liability laws. New Zealand and Australia are much looser with personal safety issues, so he surmised that would be his biggest hurdle here in the U.S.

Interesting tidbit. I printed it out and stuck it in with my other notes on Dave.

The clock on my laptop read 10:45
A.M
. I needed to wrap up these files quickly and move on to my notes. I linked my hands together and stretched them over the top of my head. Ouch. I'd forgotten how stiff I was.

Andrew Black—the cameraman from Canada. What did I know about Andrew? He and Dave had worked together on previous shows. This appeared to be a point of contention for Andrew when it came to taping schedules and his personal safety. What was his relationship with Dave really like? It was hard to determine from the outside whether they were close friends capable of easy banter, or whether Andrew was really frustrated with Dave.

Other than the fact that he was in his thirties and originally from Canada, I knew little about Andrew.

An Internet search didn't yield much more information other than a list of programs he'd been the videographer for.

What I did know is Andrew and Lenny had tangled right before Lenny's fall, and Andrew's whereabouts were unknown. Had Andrew been on the deer trail?

I quickly scribbled on a piece of paper and moved on to the last crew member, Krissy Miles.

Krissy served as the executive assistant on the shoot. I didn't really know what the role entailed. I spent fifteen minutes searching online. From what I could find, executive assistants run the gamut from sitting at a front desk in a big studio to coordinating the entire shoot. I put Krissy in the latter category. Otherwise, she'd told me she was from L.A. and had been working in Hollywood for six years. I couldn't find much else on her. Warner Brothers listed her as an assistant on a couple of projects. Printing those out, I placed them in Krissy's file and stacked all the files neatly on the corner of my desk.

Whew, that was complete. I made a mental note to see what more I could find out about the production crew.

Next, I grabbed the camera I borrowed from
Northwest Extreme
and pulled out the memory card. I plugged it into my laptop and began uploading the photos I took of the climb. As the photos uploaded, I typed my trail notes. My fingers flew over the keyboard. Though I was a long way away from the real guts of a story, the process of pulling details together sparked my energy. I finished compiling all my notes two minutes before noon. Without editing, I clicked save and shut off my monitor. Time for lunch.

I grabbed the lunch Jill packed me from the fridge and hurried into the conference room. Midday light streamed in from the long windows, casting little shimmers on the glass tabletop.

“Hey ya, lassie, how ya doin' this morning?” Dave greeted me with his usual jovial tone and a beaming smile. His outback hat was still absent from his head.

No one else in the room shared his chipper demeanor. I couldn't blame them.

Andrew didn't bother to glance from his slumped position in the same chair he'd been in earlier. Alicia Abbott picked at a salad. Leaf Green's lunch looked as unappetizing as possible. He dumped whey protein into thick green sludge in a cup and chugged it. It smelled like rotten grass and yeast. I shuddered and chose a chair on the opposite end of the table—far away from his health drink.

Greg and Krissy hadn't arrived yet. Was she trying to get him alone?

I opened my lunch sack and cracked the hard-boiled egg Jill had tucked in for me. I noticed a drop of blood on the pristine white egg. Where did that come from? I rested the egg on a paper napkin and assessed my hands. The skin underneath my right thumbnail was chapped and bleeding. Geez. Add it to the list. I sucked the blood off my thumb and bit into the egg. It tasted like iron. Grabbing an orange slice with my left hand, I was careful not to let the juice touch the cut on my thumb. The flavor of the tangy, sweet orange took away the bitterness of iron. It didn't take away the palpable tension in the room.

What was up with this group? Awkward silences make me skittish. I became uncomfortably aware I was tapping my foot under the table. So much so, the floor beneath me shook.

“Where are Greg and Krissy?” I asked in an attempt to break the silence.

Alicia shrugged. Andrew cast a hard look in my direction. Leaf ignored me. Had I done something to piss them all off? Or was the reality of Lenny's death sinking in?

Finally, Dave said, “Should be along here anytime.”

I crunched on a Triscuit. It sounded like I was chomping on nails. The door pushed open and Krissy clicked in on three-inch heels. Greg followed right behind. She giggled flirtatiously and thanked him for being such a gentleman (to open the door for her). Gag.

“Sorry I'm late,” Greg announced, seating himself at the head of the table. He easily conveyed authority simply with his posture. Alicia sat upright. Leaf put down his slimy drink and Andrew mustered enough energy to remain only half hunched.

Greg didn't seem to notice the effect his unassuming power had over this crowd. “Krissy and I have been on the phone with our vendors and partners to figure out the best plan for moving forward with this project given yesterday's”—he paused—“events.”