October 19, 2024
The Rainier Yeti

A Hike in Paradise

It was a Tuesday afternoon in March when the frozen wind and icy wake of the snowmobile whipped into the space between my hat and scarf. I'd say I was "on a snowmobile", but really I was clinging onto the waist of the driver of a snowmobile. Might as well have been dragged by my ankles. Beside us, another snowmobile raced up the mountainside. I looked over. Ranger Whittaker was driving, and my employer Private Detective Adrian Drake was riding passenger, wrapping his arms around Whittaker's waist. Normally I would consider Drake a friend, but when our pleasant, snowy jaunt around Mount Rainier's Longmire trail became a mad dash to Camp Muir, our relationship became strictly professional. I hoped Whittaker and Drake would both be held liable when I succumbed to frostbite. We were rapidly ascending the mountain faster than the human body was built for, and there was a monster developing between my temples, something between a hangover and the flu. None of this was helped by my unease at what awaited us at the end of our drive. Most likely a dead body.

My defense mechanism in such situations is to daydream about anything other than the present moment. I tried to visualize myself on a warm beach, to no avail. Instead I found my mind wandering back to a conversation from few months ago between Drake and myself. The two of us were searching around the floor of a wine cellar in a mansion in the Richmond Highlands for a missing contact lens. Drake was convinced it would prove the identity of the murderer of Mrs. Merigew. It takes hours to search a dimly lit room by hand, and the two of us had been at it for a while. Murder cases aren't always like you see in the movies, with intense focus and brilliant insights leading the mystery to be solved within the hour. Sometimes, you have to spend a day in a rocky basement on your hands and knees with your employer. And when you get so dreadfully bored, you chit chat.

Drake and I were discussing all of the Seattle-area tourist attractions we had never been to. It feels silly when you realize you're close to something that people travel thousands of miles to visit, and yet you still skip out on going because you have errands to run. I had never been up the Space Needle. Drake had never seen a fish thrown at Pike Place Market. Neither of us had been to Kerry Park in Queen Anne to see the view of the mountain over the city.

"In fact, I've never even been to Mount Rainier," Drake confessed from the other side of the room, searching on hands and knees. His voice echoed off the cask of sherry I was facing.

"Never been to Mount Rainier? Haven't you lived here all your life?"

"Since I was a child."

"Weren't you into snow sports?"

"Yes, but after Mount St. Helens erupted I was always a bit skittish of the idea."

I reached my hand deep between the casks, straining as I responded. "Fair. What do you remember about that?"

"The ash falling from the sky. It piled up on our front porch high enough you could get a good scoop of it in your hands. And we were 200 miles away."

"I don't think Rainier is going to go any time soon."

"You never know that."

I shuddered as my hand blindly scooped through a cobweb. I felt a small plastic disk at the tip of my finger and strained a little further. "Still, wouldn't you like to see it before it does? Or before you do?"

"It's very pleasant from afar."

"How about this," I said, pulling my hand out from the dark crevice and turning to face Drake. "I find the butler's contact, you take me on a day hike around Rainier."

Drake turned to me. He looked like he was merely reading wine labels and hadn't been searching whatsoever. I glared at him.

"Deal," he said, realizing he owed me either way.

My hand extended, palm open, displaying the dusty discus of plastic in my palm.

Drake picked a day in March to come out to Rainier, near the start of the season for experts, and well before the start of the season for amateurs. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Even in March, the lower trails are still several feet deep with snow. The weekend before, Drake sent me a laundry list of gear. Snowshoes made the top of the list. I thought we'd be pulling them on if we felt like having an adventure. I didn't realize we'd need them to step ten feet out of the parking lot.

I suppressed my instinct to be a curmudgeon. Ever since I started as Drake's assistant, I found myself having to become more assertive and confident in my opinions, otherwise he would steamroll right over me. But today was supposed to be fun, so I turned a blind eye to the fact that neither of us knew what we were doing, and that the amount of gear we were doing it in was already disproportionate to our experience.

We had only made it a quarter mile up the trail by the time I was working out my monologue to return back. We could still see the parking lot. If we kept going, we might end up popsicles. I was secretly elated when a man in a deep green snowsuit and a small blonde woman clutching his back rode down the mountain on a snowmobile. I saw her pat his shoulder and point at us, and he turned to drive over. They pulled up, the rumble of the engine idling created a sensation of warmth. Industrial power was present even in the wilderness.

"How you folks doing today?" He asked that genial tone which immediately betrayed his identity as a park ranger.

"Invigorated!" Drake responded. "The beauty of the mountain is on full display!"

He was right. It turned out to be a bluejay of a day, clear skies contrasting to the gloomy morning drive we'd had.

"You sound like you're over your fears," I ribbed him.

"The mountain could go right now and I would be happy. How could you not be on a day like today?"

I blushed and glanced back at the ranger. He read my eyes, waiting for my confirmation that I wasn't being forced to snowshoe against my will.

"We're having a fun time, thanks." I said.

"Excellent."

The woman behind him shifted in her seat on the snowmobile, the words forming on the tip of her tongue. When people were like this, I could tell they recognized Drake. He was a local celebrity, like Ciscoe Morris, Tom Douglas, or Sue Bird. People who were from here and paid attention had seen his picture in the paper. With someone as distinctive looking as Drake, it was easy to remember his face. And with the volume of cases we'd been on for the last two years, he was in the news often.

The number of times I'd seen this exact trepidation made me realize it wasn't unique to any person. Asking someone for help, especially someone even locally famous, is a bit embarrassing.

"You're Adrian Drake, aren't you?" She said.

Drake did a double take from the mountain back to the woman. "I'm sorry, was that a question for me?"

I rolled my eyes. Drake was somehow surprised every time this happened.

"No, she was talking to me," I said to Drake. "Yes, this is the private detective, Adrian Drake. I'm Maggie Tremblay, his translator." I reached out my hand and shook theirs.

The ranger introduced himself as Mark Whittaker. The woman continued.

"My name's Julia. I thought I recognized you," she said.

Ranger Whittaker interjected. "Out for a little snowshoeing? I didn't know you were an outdoorsman."

"We're learning." I said to Whittaker.

There was an uncomfortable silence. People always felt the need to small talk their way into the ask. It was polite, but when you'd seen it a hundred times, it started to wear thin. Julia was staring at me searchingly. I decided to help her break the ice.

"What can we do for you?"

Julia cleared her throat. "There's been an accident at camp. We could use your help Mr. Drake. Something's not right about it."

"Julia, I think it's worth going down the mountain a bit further to find a medic." Said Whittaker.

"What good's a medic going to do Mark?" Her voice raised. "A detective would be more useful at this point."

Drake ran his gloved hand through his salt and pepper beard. The hair sounded like sandpaper on wood, amplified by the quiet snowy mountain.

Ranger Whittaker looked around. It felt like there was nobody else within miles. He was still cautious. "It's been a pretty bad accident."

"I'm sure he can help." Julia said to Whittaker. She looked to Drake for confirmation.

Drake shrugged his shoulders and looked from Julia, to me, to Whittaker. "We're happy to do anything we can to help."

The ranger sighed. "Alright. This isn't protocol, but we're in uncharted territory here. Julia and I will ride down to the next ranger station and get another ride. The four of us will head up from here. Just give us ten minutes and we'll be back."

Julia's desperation broke for a moment. She was elated to have Drake come investigate.

I waved them off as they ventured further down the hill, the corners of my mouth pulled back in a concerned smile. What could be troubling her so much? Why, if someone was clearly beyond help, would a medic be needed? And who would pay us for our time and trouble? My mind turned on who to invoice in this situation. There's no way the parks would be able to afford Drake's hourly rate. Especially not when hazard pay was in the mix.

Castle on the Mountain

That's how, about an hour and a half later, we found ourselves at Camp Muir. Elevation 10,188 feet. Daily average temperature in March: 15 degrees Fahrenheit. The thin, frigid air felt like razorblades down my trachea. The snowmobiles couldn't make it much further than the parking lot we started at, but the ranger had grabbed each of us a ridiculous device that looked like a lawnmower for snow. We each put on a pair backcountry skis, fired up the snow-mowers, which literally dragged my ass up the mountain, and set off in a bizarre caravan.

We pulled the mowers, which I later learned were called "Skizees", up to what I can only describe as a miniature castle, about 12 feet tall by 25 feet wide. Jagged stones shot skyward from the two turrets on either side of the structure. It was made entirely of flagstones and mortar, aside from the thick timbers that jutted out from the facade which must have supported the heavy ceiling. The neon orange windsock and orb-shaped CCTV camera at the door were the only clues that this structure wasn't prehistoric. There were signs of life around the camp, small human relics that stood out from the snow the same way they did on the surface of the moon: sporadic and made to look like garbage in such a grand vista. The wind howled up here, although the day was still clear.

Ranger Whittaker and Julia took us inside the stone fortification. Two other people were there, still covered head to toe in their protective gear. One person was laid out on the bottom bunk of a bunkbed - the only real furniture in the room aside from a stainless steel countertop on which a burner was melting a pot of ice for drinking water. Whittaker handed us each a tin cup and poured in some of the ice melt. "For the altitude change." I downed mine without a second thought. Drake studied his for a moment and considered my reaction before following suit. I felt like the king's personal taste-tester.

I set my cup down on the countertop. Next to it was a book full of laminated pages. There were newspaper cutouts, handwritten letters, pressed flowers, photographs, all arranged in collages on the pages. Each one memorialized a loss of life on the mountain. The current page was for an accident that happened ten years ago, right around this time of year. Two hikers named Vince Calhoun, Peter Sew, and a park ranger named Weston died while climbing an alpine pitch up a crevasse wall. Shaking from an avalanche loosened their pitons embedded in the icy wall, and they fell in. The bodies were never recovered. My heart sank knowing there was to be another page added to the book. Drake stared at the pages, frowning. I could tell he felt the same way.

Above the book was a small corkboard with tips and notes for hikers. There were lots of notes about how shifting glaciers caused alternate routes to open up, and which existing routes should be avoided. The weather report for the last few days were all pinned in series, with today's at the bottom. Each report began at midnight, to help hikers who planned to summit in time for sunrise. Today there were severe snowstorms forecasted through the morning up until midday. Then clear skies. Drake and I arrived just in time to enjoy the good weather.

Even with only seven of us in the room, it was claustrophobic. A little streamer of colorful squares danced around the ceiling like we were in Tibet. Climbing gear was everywhere: crampons shoved into shelves, helmets dangling from rafters, and endless cords and clasps of carabiners underfoot. Drake arranged some of the gear, bringing order to the chaos. He lined up packs and placed ice picks in a cross at their bases. One pack had only a single pick, and he propped it up, centered in the middle of the pack. It bothered him to no end to see clutter, and really bothered him when symmetry was broken. Drake's mind craved a certain order to things. Not necessarily perfect cleanliness, but at least patterned chaos, like the way a stream deposits pebbles along a river bend.

This place reminded me of the wine cellar in the Richmond Highlands. Stone, damp, unwelcoming. I took stock of the people here in the room. It was impossible to tell anything about their body types under the puffy outer layers of down. I assumed each of them were more athletic than I was, and that they did not get ferried ten thousand feet up by a gas-powered snow-mower.

From the little I could see of each person, I can relay here. Julia Souli, the woman I rode up the mountain with, stood next to me. She was a short blonde woman with eyes as icy blue as the sky today. She had an angular nose and taut features, with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes just beginning to form. Next to her was a man with short caramel hair styled in waves. He towered above us all. His hazel eyes sat beneath a gentle brow. His face was broad and calm, not betraying any of his thoughts. Phil Souli was his name - Julia's husband. Finally, a man with long greasy black hair that fell past his ears leaned against the mortar wall. He had one foot up against the wall, his arms crossed. His face was scrunched and seemed in pain. Carson Dettmar was his name.

My attention turned toward the person laying on the cot. By process of elimination, this must be the accident.

If I had glanced at the body at all upon entering, it wouldn't have taken process of elimination. The body was laid out on its back. Whomever it was had one arm laid down by their side. The other was pinned to their forehead with an ice axe, pick-end shoved into the skull, handle pointed away from their body. The blood hadn't made it far along the pick before freezing, cauterizing the wound in a way. This person was stone cold dead.

Ranger Whittaker introduced us. Private Detective Adrian Drake and his assistant. Like the encampment, the conversation was spartan. Everyone knew there was a problem to solve here.

I would say Drake leapt into action, but then, that wouldn't be entirely true. Drake's manner of detecting wasn't passive, but he would certainly not be seizing the initiative this early in the process. He observed. I guessed he had been observing since the moment Whittaker picked us up. Most of the time, Drake wasn't an interesting subject to write about. He seemed a space-case, idly standing by, eyes sifting their way through the scenes in front of him, not fully glazed over, but rather soothsaying through the present moment to separate truth from fiction. Right now I could tell he was attempting to deserialize whether the axe spiked through the face of this hiker was the cause of death, or a later flourish of misdirection by the killer. We all waited for someone to step forward and take the momentum of this situation from the doldrums. We six strangers in a mountainside castle huddled around the body of a seventh poor soul. I'd learned by this point in my employment to let Drake take his time before interrupting the process.

I took the opportunity to fish my phone from deep within my layers. In this environment, my notepad would be completely useless. The only way I'd be able to record any of the conversation would be actual audio. Nobody seemed to care. There were bigger problems in front of us.

Another agonizing silent minute went by before Drake finally cleared his throat.

"Was this man alone in his hike?"

The greasy-haired man, Carson, shook his head. "His name is Lars Hillrush. Lars was my partner on this climb. We've been here for a few days trying to summit. Lars went out this morning without me. We all wanted to wait out the storms. Enough time passed without Lars showing back up that Julia called him in missing."

Drake nodded. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before speaking again.

"I apologize to everyone gathered on such a somber occasion, but I must insist everyone step outside, excepting Ms. Tremblay and myself. I trust you all have the appropriate equipment on hand to stay warm, and I promise to make my interrogations as brief as possible. There are only a few things I wish to inquire on before I will finalize my determination."

It may have been Drake's ridiculous request to step outside near the peak of a blisteringly cold mountain, or his self-assurance that he was already close to solving the crime - either way, everyone was incredulous.

"Alright, you heard the man, let's excuse ourselves." Ranger Whittaker gestured for Julia, Phil, and Carson to step outside. He was about to close the door on them when Drake cleared his throat.

"Ranger Whittaker, if you would please be so kind as well. It is only for the moment."

The ranger nodded sheepishly, his authority rebuffed. He stepped outside as well. That left me, Drake, and the body of Lars as the only occupants of the mountain fortress.

"They're going to freeze out there," I said.

"They'll be fine, they're experienced with freezing." Drake went over to the body. "We must examine without distraction. One of the people here murdered Mr. Hillrush, and I dare not let them influence any more of the evidence than they already have."

"How do you know he was murdered?" I always hated playing devil's advocate in these situations. It felt tantamount to insulting the dead. "He could've been suicidal."

"It is possible, though the method seems improbable. Hiking up eleven thousand feet and then stabbing yourself the wrong way around with an ice pick would be a first."

Drake was right. In order for Lars to have stabbed himself, he would've had to hold the ice pick at the end of the handle, arms above his head, and swung it down like a pendulum. It was a crazy thought.

"You're right, there's no way he would've been able to swing it fast enough. Though he could've put it on the ground and fell down onto it."

Drake shook his head. "He was found face-up. No signs of frostbite on his face, which would've happened if he was lying down on his stomach."

He made a perimeter around the body before looking at the pack that was at the base of the table. Drake frowned again. I looked at what was bothering him and saw that there were two mismatched ice picks strung together on the pack.

"Do you want to check his socks too, see if those match?"

Drake scoffed. "Look at the pick embedded in him."

Sure enough, it matched one of the picks on his pack.

"Why would he have three picks?" I asked.

"He wouldn't." Drake walked over to the gear he arranged earlier when we walked in to the camp. He grabbed the solo ice pick from one of the packs. Sure enough, it matched one of the picks tied to Lars' pack.

"Ok, so he stole one of the murderer's picks? We should just ask whose pack that is." I saw how Drake was already so hot on the killer's trail.

"In due time." Drake moved now to rifle through Lars' coat. He frisked the dead man without ceremony. I winced and looked away. When I peeked an eye back at Drake, he was holding the man's wallet. Drake's eyebrow raised when he opened it. He took out a license and showed me. It read "Dave Weston", but it was clearly Lars in the photo.

"A fake identity?" I was confused. A darker presence was suddenly cast over the situation.

Drake scrunched his face. "He was not telling the truth about who he was." He paced the room. He spun on his heel and punched out the words: "Say nothing of this. Can you please invite Mr. Dettmar back inside? I have some questions for him."

Interrogations

I opened the heavy wooden door and peered outside to see the four huddled outside for warmth around the side of the building that was shielded from wind. Waving Carson in, he gladly ran over to join us. He'd rather be interrogated in a refrigerator than left to fend for himself in the freezer. I ushered him in.

"Hey, I'm really sorry for your loss." I said to him, gauging his reaction.

He started to tear up. His lip trembled a bit, the inner child in him surfacing for a moment. "Thank you." He grunted and coughed, clearing his throat. Either he was a trained actor, or he was devastated by his friend's death.

Drake had pulled out two chairs facing each other next to the table where Lars laid. Carson took a seat, his long greasy hair draping itself over his shoulders, framing his exhausted and panicked face.

"Mr. Dettmar, tell me about your partnership with Mr. Hillrush."

Carson's eyes darted around the room before settling on Drake. "We met at a local mountaineering club a few years ago and have done a lot of hiking together. Did Baker last year."

"And Rainier was next on the list?"

"Yeah." Carson wobbled in his chair. "Lars was... different though, when we got here. Nervous. He kept wanting to turn back."

"Turn back?"

Carson nodded. "We kept making attempts at the summit, but he got skittish and would have us turn back. I didn't want to push him past his comfort zone, but Lars and I had been up here for about three days now and I was beginning to lose my patience."

"Why was he skittish?"

"Dunno. It didn't make sense for a climber of his experience. He kept getting turned around. Said he was looking for the route."

"Did he know the route?"

"We'd studied the terrain maps over December, but the glacier shifted a bit in February with a few avalanches." Carson paused. "I think it made him nervous, like we were going to hit a crevasse."

I interrupted. "What's a crevasse?"

"Imagine a canyon, several stories tall sometimes, with walls of ice. When there's a lot of snowfall and movement in the glacier, new ones can open up but have a thin layer of snow on top of them. If you're not careful, one wrong step will send you plummeting."

That was a new nightmare I didn't need to have. Carson continued.

"Crevasses are dangerous. Something like that happened this time around ten years ago. Two hikers and their guide fell off one and were never found. It's in the memorial book over there. We read it when we got here, and I think it spooked Lars."

"What happened this morning?" Drake took over questioning again.

"The four of us, Lars, me, and the Soulis, discussed making a summit attempt together in the morning. We met Phil and Julia last night." Carson shifted his weight and looked around. "But looking at the weather report, we all decided it'd be safer to stay in camp and let the storm blow over. We planned to do a mid-morning summit, once the storms passed.
"Lars just..." He searched the room for what to say next. "...left. In the middle of the night."

"He had taken someone else's ice pick."

"Phil's. We noticed that. It didn't make any sense."

"And you didn't leave to go find him?"

"We tried. The three of us made our way up the mountain all together. It was clear there was a trail he'd left. We thought maybe Lars got a head start on his own. It would've been reckless, but nothing felt weird about it. That was, until we got up around the glacier. His trail got erratic. At some point it veered off. There was no way he kept going the right direction. He must have gotten turned around in the storm and fell." Carson choked up again before continuing. "We couldn't see him anywhere. Rather than risk it ourselves, we decided to go back and call for search and rescue."

"Where did they find him?"

"Just past Cathedral Gap. About a mile up from here." A tear welled up in his right eye.

"You saw him there?"

Carson shook his head. "Whittaker showed us the drone footage from the search and rescue." His face was wracked with guilt that slowly moved into anger. "It's unreal." He seemed disembodied, like his rational brain was protecting himself from the truth. "One thing I can't wrap my head around. Phil helped Whittaker get the body back down the gap and to camp. When they brought Lars in, Julia came to offer her condolences. I couldn't stand to be close to him, so I stayed on the other side of camp."

He lowered his voice. "But after she spoke with me, I saw Julia looking really closely at Lars. Like, up close and personal. I swear she was even going through his pockets. It grossed me out, how near she came to him."

Drake looked at me, then back at Carson. "Does the name Dave Weston mean anything to you?"

Carson paused, wrinkled his forehead, then shook his head. "It feels familiar, but I don't think I've ever heard it before."

Drake stood. He shook Carson's hand. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend. Can you please send in Mr. Souli after you?"

Carson acquiesced and took his leave. Before Phil came in I asked Drake, "What do you think, did he know Lars was lying about his identity?"

Drake's mouth opened, but just then the door swung open and Phil squeezed through the frame, shivering. He remained stoic as he came in and stood opposite Drake. The stared at each other in silence. Phil's eyes were calm, not impatient. Drake began.

"Mr. Souli, please sit."

"I prefer to stand."

Drake shrugged his shoulders and remained standing as well. "Lars was found with one of your ice picks."

"He took it without asking. I assumed he was borrowing it."

"Quite an assumption of a stranger."

"We were up late last night, the two of us. I can barely sleep the night before a summit attempt. Julia was out like a light. Lars was checking his pack over and over. I thought he was obsessive. He might have felt underprepared."

"Did he look underprepared?"

"The opposite. He looked more like he was geared up to do multi-pitch ice climbing. Not necessary on the way up to the Crest."

"And so you think he may have wanted another ice pick?"

"Yes."

Drake paused. Either Phil didn't realize Drake was searching for an opening, or he was so rehearsed in his story that it seemed natural. Drake continued, changing tack.

"Why would he have left if there were storms coming?"

"I don't know. I fell asleep eventually for about an hour, around 3. That's when he must have left, because he was gone when I woke up."

"Did it seem like it was going to storm then?"

This gave Phil a pause. "Not from what I could see. The night was pretty calm. Weather can change fast up here though, so sometimes the forecast is off. Better to trust it though and err on the side of caution."

"That's why you and the others agreed to wait until later to make your summit attempt."

"Exactly. Carson had confided in me that Lars was nervous. He thought it would help to link up, maybe give him some confidence."

"And yet he struck off on his own, when everyone was dead asleep, right before a howling winter storm began."

Phil remained placid. "He'd failed to summit three days in a row before we got here. Maybe he was tired of it and gathered his courage."

"Taking things into your own hands does not seem to be rewarded by the mountain." Drake said. "It was ten years ago that your wife was almost subject to a similar accident?"

Phil's pupils dilated briefly before returning to normal. "Julia and Ranger Whittaker could tell you more about that. I didn't know her back then, but it's the reason we're here now. She wanted to pay homage to the lost party around the tenth anniversary."

I thought I misheard Phil, so I interrupted Drake's line of questioning. "Did you say Julia and Ranger Whittaker were both involved in the accident ten years ago?"

Phil confirmed. "Yes."

Drake waited for Phil to continue. Phil sat silently. He was cooperative, but wasn't about to suggest anything unless asked. Drake gestured with a rolling motion of his hand, and Phil filled in the rest of the story.

"Whittaker and another ranger, I think his name was Weston, took a party of four up the mountain. Two and two. Weston and the two hiking with him made the decision to try their hand at a risky climb. They fell down a crevasse in an avalanche and were never recovered. Luckily," he sighed, "Julia was with Whittaker."

I kept my mouth shut and stared down at my phone at the mention of Weston's name. I didn't want Phil to see a reaction on my face. Could Lars have been a lost ranger, back from the dead? And he knew Whittaker and Julia? No wonder she was looking through his belongings. She must have recognized him the moment they came upon camp. It sent Lars running up the mountain into a storm, but for what? To cover up some aspect of his recklessness from ten years ago? I hated moments like these in investigations. I wished I could pause the line of questioning and branch off into a dozen different threads. Not only was this impossible, but it wasn't Drake's style. We weren't here officially, and any one of these people could stop cooperating at a moment's notice. It'd be well within their rights to. Drake had lectured me in the past about the importance of being a friendly ear, someone who is just trying to help make sense of things. It greased the wheels of conversation, especially when you couldn't compel someone to tell you what they knew. More flies with honey, as they say.

Drake had a better poker face than I did. He kept calm and proceeded with the conversation.

"You must be grateful that Julia was safe."

"Like I said, I didn't know her back then. But I thank god every day that she was with Whittaker."

Drake nodded. "It's a tragedy. I can only imagine how the families of the other hikers felt about the other ranger's choice. Weston? They must have been furious."

"If I were them, I'd be glad Weston died too. Otherwise I'd have killed him myself."

Phil's voice never wavered.

"Many would feel the same as you." Drake said. He suavely moved past what I thought of as a smoking gun confession. "You all went out to find Lars later in the morning?"

"We did. His trail went in towards the glacier."

"You went back for help when you saw this?"

"Julia and Carson turned back to go for help."

"But you continued? Carson says you all went back."

"He was getting hysterical. We all got the gist of what happened to Lars by that point. I told him I'd turn around to ease his panic. He marched off with Julia and I don't think he ever turned his head back once to look if I was behind."

"Were you not worried of getting lost?"

"No, I've been on the mountain enough to be familiar with it. Besides, there were only one set of tracks. Not much of a chance to fall into a ravine or a crevasse if I tailed them exactly."

"Did you find Lars?"

"Eventually. The search and rescue drone flew by me, down the mountain. I figured if I kept following the tracks I could help with the rescue. I volunteer, so it wasn't a stretch for me."

"When you found him, what was the scene like?"

"He was at the edge of a serac, lying pretty much like he is now."

"Was there still only the one trail?"

"No, the ski tracks obliterated Lars' trail. Whittaker had found a path up after the drone. He was on site when I got there."

"Do you remember anything else unusual about the scene where you found him?"

"It seemed typical of a lost hiker. Except for the ice pick in his head."

Drake studied Phil's demeanor one last time. He broke his concentrated gaze. "Thank you for your help Mr. Souli."

"Sure."

Phil lumbered toward the door, his water-resistant pants swishing with each step. "Should I send in Julia after me?"

"No, thank you. I think the Ranger is the next person I'd like to speak with."

Phil nodded and stepped out into the frozen wasteland.

Drake paced the confines of the room for the brief moment we were alone. He was drenched in thought, and abruptly turned to look at me. "A woman who not only knows the name Weston but was on the same fatal hike as him turns up ten years later, and another fatality occurs." His lips were pressed firmly together in a scowl. "Perhaps the only coincidence of today was our arrival."

The wind whipped through the room as Whittaker stepped back inside. "Phil says you wanted to talk with me. You guys ready to head back down the mountain?"

"Not just yet Ranger," Drake replied. "I'd like for you to take us up to where you found the body."

Whittaker raised an eyebrow. My eyes nearly jumped out of my skull. This was not a good idea, bringing two unexperienced laypeople up to the edge of a ravine of ice on the top of a mountain. Someone had just died there! I thought all of this, but in my shock I only managed to squeak out, "Uh, Drake?"

The Ranger filled in my blanks. "I don't think that's such a smart idea. The mountain is dangerous enough if you know what you're doing."

"Yes, well, I understand the implications." Drake stared at him solemnly. "But there is one piece of information I must verify with my own eyes before I can make any sort of determination on the case."

"So you really think it was murder?" The Ranger asked in a hush. He was used to all kinds of tragedy and stressful situations, but this was new to him.

"I have not been able to rule anything out. In fact, I am curious what you thought when you first saw Lars. There was a search drone that went to find him as I understand?"

"Yes. We've been modernizing our search and rescue tools over the last couple years. Makes it a lot easier for the search part of things to be able to fly."

"Did you see the footage?"

"I actually flew the drone. I can show you the footage if you'd like, down at the visitor's center. That's where we keep all the records."

"Delightful. What was your impression then when you first found Lars?"

"Well..." The Ranger shifted his stance a bit and pulled at his collar. He cleared his throat and said, "He was lying there when I saw him. Pick through the head and all. He had a bunch of gear lying around, like he'd thrown it all down. Must have been battling himself. Delusions, hypoxia, that kind of thing." He grimaced. "To be honest, it looked like he wasn't well. He'd been an ominous presence ever since he got here."

"What do you mean?"

"It's more than a mood. When he checked in at the visitor's center, he was the kind of person you'd do your best to avoid. Glowering and stomping around everywhere, being rude to the park staff. He even made more than a few comments to me that I did my best to ignore."

"What could have put Lars in such a mood?"

"I have no idea. People can be cranky and as a public servant you're trained to take it, more or less."

Drake walked over to the memorial book on the counter. He pulled Lars's real id out of his pocket and placed it on the book, then picked it up."Ranger Whittaker, feigning ignorance is most unbecoming."

The Ranger's cheeks were already flush from the cold, but they went steaming red at the accusation. Drake handed him the book and the ID. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

"You knew this man." Drake said.

"Yes, I did. Dave was Charlie's brother."

"And Charlie was the ranger that died here ten years ago?"

"Yes. He and I worked the mountain together. We gave guided summit tours, up until the accident."

"Why did you not expose Lars as a fraud?"

"Honestly, I didn't recognize him when he first showed up. He looks quite a bit different from his brother, and he'd applied for the summit permit under his assumed name, Hillrush. It was his nasty attitude that gave him away to me. There was no real reason for him to be so upset, and for it to feel so, well..." He searched for the words.

"Personal?"

"Exactly. So I went and dug in a bit more as to who this Lars Hillrush guy was. A few reverse image searches of him was enough to turn up his social media profiles. I was shocked when the results came back. It's only been ten years since we lost Charlie, but his face was already gone from my mind. It's weird how quickly something like that happens. You think you'd never be able to forget someone's face, or their voice, especially when you saw them every day. I guess ten years can seem like a long time from some perspectives, but when it came to Charlie, that still feels like yesterday."

"What did you do after this?"

The ranger shook his head. "Well, it was stupid of me, but I confronted him personally. All the people in the lives of the folks that died in that accident responded differently. Some of them found it very healing to talk it through with me, seeing as I was on the same trip. I thought that maybe Dave would be the same way. We'd never spoken before and I thought I might be able to help him get some closure."

"Where did the two of you speak?"

Whittaker lifted his hands and looked at the room around us. "Here. It was the evening of the third day that he and his partner Carson had made camp. I expected he'd wait for the anniversary to summit, which is actually tomorrow. I came up to speak with him about the loss, and what it must be like to be here. I know it's on my mind every day, being so close."

"I assume he was not so amenable to the notion?"

"He was infuriated. He threatened me, actually! Told me to keep his identity to myself, or else he'd make sure the same thing that happened to his brother happened to me. I couldn't understand it. But I didn't have to take it. I gave him an ultimatum to get off the mountain within 24 hours, or I'd have to call the police."

I looked at my watch and thought to myself that Lars only had a few more hours before the deadline.

"Did anyone observe you having this conversation?"

"No. It was just the two of us. But I could tell as I was prepping my descent back down to the visitor's center that Dave and Carson were starting to get into it with each other. Something seemed off about them when I checked them in for their hike, and it seemed like things had come to a head between them."

"Did it seem like Carson wanted to hurt Mr. Weston?"

The ranger paused and thought, his face scrunched in remembrance. "Hard to say. There was something vicious in the way they were bickering though."

"In your opinion Ranger," Drake said, "do you think anyone would have been better off with Dave Weston dead?"

Whittaker shook his head without hesitation. "That's why I'm certain it was an accident."

"Not even Mrs. Souli?"

"Julia? No. Not at all."

Drake's face remained passive. He waited a beat for any more information to be volunteered, and seeing none presenting itself, made his way to the door.

"We had better get over to the location where the body was found. I suspect the final piece of this puzzle to be there."

At Serac's Edge

The three of us made our way outside. Drake motioned to Julia and had her join as the fourth on our snow-mower caravan, just like we were on the way up the mountain. I knew he'd want to talk to her, but also not waste any time dallying if he thought the scene of the death held the keystone clue. We spent the next hour or so crossing incredibly rugged terrain. This was stuff I wasn't sure a pair of skis should even be near, much less go over. I was glad to be on Julia's tail again as she deftly navigated the treacherous path. Most of the time my eyes were glued on the ground ahead of me. It seemed safer that way. The few glimpses I caught of Drake were of him holding on to the snow-mower pulling him for his life so thoroughly it seemed like his arms were bulging. It was a relief to know that Drake was as human in his fears as I was at times, even if it would mortify him for me to see.

With my gaze set on a lot of snow and rock, and a bunch of time on my hands while I tried not to visualize us tumbling down the mountain head over heels, I took stock of what we had learned so far. Dave Weston, was here under an assumed identity for an unknown purpose. He had duped his climbing partner of several years as to his identity. Why? And did Carson find out? Maybe that's what the two of them were bickering about. When confronted by Whittaker, Dave was angry and possibly violent. And a couple had come to the camp who were tied to the accident that Dave's brother died in ten years ago to the day. What did they know about him that they weren't saying? In reviewing the case I realized, as usual, I had more questions than answers. But Drake's confidence gave me hope that as soon as we saw the site of the crime, everything would click into place.

I couldn't have been more wrong. When we finally made it to the place where Dave's body was found, I couldn't tell what on earth Drake would be looking for. The scene really was a mess. Ski tracks, footprints, fresh snow, hiking gear littered about, and now the four of us trouncing around made it impossible to imagine a reconstruction of the way things were when the search and rescue drone first found Dave.

Drake studied each detail at a turtle's pace while Whittaker assisted. I didn't think it was possible for things to get even colder than they were at Camp Muir, but each gust of wind sliced through my marrow. Searching for a distraction, I struck up a conversation with Julia.

"Ten years, I heard?"

She did a double take. I usually don't present like someone who knows the inside track, and this was no exception. "I don't like to talk about it. I'm sure you understand." Her demeanor instantly turned icy. So much for a conversation.

"Do you think that's why Dave was here too?"

Her head snapped to me. Her eyes bored a hole through her iridescent goggles. Her voice lowered and she got closer to me. "What did you just say?"

"It's alright, we learned the truth about who Lars said he was."

She looked at the ground, searching. "I knew it."

It was my turn to be confused. "Come again?"

"I had my suspicions when I first met Lars. He looked familiar. It struck me that he looked just like Charlie. But he didn't budge when I asked him."

"What did he say?"

"The closest I could get was an admission that he knew Charlie. Said he'd read about the accident."

"I'm sorry to pry, but I heard Ranger Whittaker say that you were there on the day of the accident."

Julia motioned for me to follow her. We walked over to the edge of one of the crevasses. I glanced down into it and saw holes and scratches up and down the otherwise pristine wall of ice. It looked like an animal had been trapped in the bottom and had desperately tried to claw its way back out. Julia stepped closer to me while I peered over. I winced as a vision of tumbling down an icy canyon and splitting my skull wide open flashed through my head. Seeming not to notice, Julia whispered. "I was there. And I'm pretty sure someone else here was too."

I was perplexed. "Whittaker was there," I offered.

"No, someone else. Something about this 'accident' hasn't added up from the start."

"You mean you felt a problem yesterday before Dave disappeared?"

"I mean I felt a problem ten years ago when Charlie Weston and his climbing partners fell to their deaths."

"What happened?"

She looked over my shoulder to ensure that Drake and Whittaker were still out of earshot.

"The Ranger's a nice man, so I know he'd probably take the blame if anyone pressed him, but that accident ten years ago was fishy. It was near here, up by the base of Disappointment Cleaver. Weston and his buddies wanted to climb a pitch up an alpine wall, and they needed someone to spot them. I was in another group who were trying to summit less dramatically, and Whittaker led us up. Well, we passed where they were climbing and hiked up the standard route. We got past the top of the wall they were climbing and found a sheltered spot pressed up against some exposed rock to set up out of the wind while we waited.

"About thirty minutes passed before Whittaker told us to stay put. He was worried that the trio we'd left was going too slowly and went back to help. I watched him head towards the top of the wall and lay down, arms over the edge, like they must have been so close he was reaching to help them up. Then, the shaking started, and I saw powder begin to envelop the mountainside. Whittaker got up and ran like hell over to us just in time. The snow just kept coming. It was like a never-ending river, shooting straight over the cliff face. We all knew the moment we saw what had happened. There was no way the bodies would be recovered."

She stopped talking. I still felt queasy being this close to the ice chasms I'd been spiraling off of in my dark daydreams all afternoon and inched away, subliminally willing Julia with me.

"That's awful," I said, but I couldn't pick out what was what exactly was amiss in her retelling. Tragic, yes. Suspect? No.

"What's worse is that they reported three people missing - two climbers and Ranger Weston. But I remember clearly that there were three people from the group who went off with him."

"Maybe the third person didn't have any living next of kin and never got reported?"

"Not possible. Everyone who goes up is permitted. There's a list in the visitor's center. Anyone who didn't come back from that list would be reported by the rangers."

I shifted my stance, unsettled by her inevitable conclusion.

"Whoever that third person was, they made it off the mountain."

"Do you remember anything about them?"

"This is what freaks me out the most. It's why I desperately wanted Mr. Drake to come investigate the matter. I didn't know who Dave Weston really was, but he was familiar to me because of his resemblance to his brother Charlie. I also didn't know his partner, Carson, either, but he had a real resemblance to someone too. I couldn't place it until this morning. The only thing I remember about that third hiker was that he had long, greasy, black hair."

Every time Drake and I investigate a case together, I'm under no illusions about my role. I'm there to take notes, be a second set of eyes and ears, and most importantly, be a sympathetic friend to people who need someone to turn to. Those are often the people who grease the wheels of the investigation, because they're lonely and need the support of a confidant. There's a reason why confession has been such a longstanding tradition - people like to let go of their minor guilts. Usually what I'm able to find out doesn't result in much more than a useful breadcrumb to the next clue. But every once in a while on a case I would learn something that I was sure put me well ahead of Drake. So far ahead, in fact, that I could see the solution for myself. And when Julia told me this, I was certain that I'd be the first to put the puzzle together.

As I saw it, Carson was involved in the death of Charlie Weston and the two other hikers. He could've even been belaying them and ran away when the avalanche started. Dave Weston found out somehow and assumed an undercover identity to befriend Carson. He'd planned to take Carson back to the spot of his crime and exact revenge for his brother's death. But Carson was smarter than he looked. He figured out Dave's real identity and turned the tables on him, luring him out into the dark of the morning and running an ice axe through Dave's skull. Julia's suspicion led her to call in the ranger to help apprehend Carson, and when she saw us she figured we could help bring to light the confession that would indemnify Carson once and for all.

Elated that I'd pieced it all together, I ran over to Drake to relay Julia's firsthand recollection and explain my deductions. I was less than pleased with Drake's reaction, which was an intense stare followed by him turning around and acting like he hadn't heard me whatsoever.

"Excuse me sir," I mocked, "Are you even listening?"

"Of course, of course." Drake mumbled. "As usual, your imagination is a thing of beauty my friend."

"Ugh!" I stomped a foot.

"To think that the same person who was involved in that accident so many years ago would be the same killer who ensnared Dave Weston! And that perhaps the accident all those years ago was in fact, not so accidental..."

"Ok, fine, I'm sure you have the much more correct, and much more boring, explanation all worked out. I saw your little cherub grin when you suggested that we all drag our asses a mile out into the snow and ice. You already knew what happened back at the camp. Why don't you spit it out?"

"I think the cold is getting to you. I was not using sarcasm, Maggie. You're closer than you think. Closer than you think I think you are. Which, I actually do think you are close."

He could get stuck like this for a while. I interrupted. "Great. It really is a big dramatic conspiracy. Now will you tell me why we had to come out here if you knew what happened already? And preferably before whomever killed Dave decides they're done with me and you as well?"

"I needed to find this." He fished a small clear plastic rectangle, with an even smaller black rectangle out from his pocket and showed it to me furtively before tucking it away. I really was fed up with him. I didn't even get a good enough look at it to tell what the hell it was before he hid it again, and before we could resume discussing he trounced away, calling out to Whittaker and Julia as well that it was time to go.

"There's unfortunately nothing more to be gleaned from the scene," Drake said. "I recommend the four of us make our way back to Camp Muir and plan our further descent down the mountain, before any more harm befalls anyone."

Disappointment Denouement

When we made it back to Camp, there was a small helicopter sitting outside that reminded me of a dragonfly. I was getting the impression that nobody actually hiked this mountain, just used engines to get up and down. Pretty soon the next bypass would be paved and I'd be driving to the summit. The four of us, Ranger Whittaker, Julia, Drake, and myself, unclipped from our skis and exchanged glances before we entered. This wasn't a casual place to land a helicopter, so whomever was here had a really good reason to be. As we walked to the door of the camp, I realized that Dave's body had been wrapped and attached to the helicopter as cargo. This was a faster retrieval method than taking him down on skis and a sled the rest of the way.

We filed in to the stone castle, myself last in line. By the time I made it in I could barely understand what was going on. A tall, burly man in a ranger's uniform was standing behind Whittaker, who was already turned back to face me at the door. I barely registered the loud, ratcheting click of handcuffs before the burly ranger muscled Whittaker out the door past me. My jaw hit the floor as I stood in the open doorway. It didn't matter if the chilled wind sliced my face. I had to keep watching to make sure I wasn't hallucinating - Whittaker in cuffs, bullied into a helicopter, and flown away.

My next reaction was extreme annoyance with Drake. This wasn't the denouement that I was expecting, and I'd told him in the past that in order for me to get any mileage out of our experiences together in my writing, that I'd need him to play the part sometimes and exposit to a room full of suspects before finally revealing whodunnit. Drake would not take the chance if he thought such a charade would risk putting someone at harm. He is too risk-averse and I am too honest to bend the truth, so unfortunately, you, dear reader, are left to do the imaginative legwork if you want the drama of that moment.

What I can relay to you is what Drake then told the rest of us. We gathered around the table where Dave's body was, back when he was Lars to everyone here except Whittaker.

"It may surprise you all to find that Ranger Whittaker was responsible for the death of Dave Weston. He killed Dave by stabbing him in the head with Phil's ice axe as Dave climbed out from a crevasse."

Seeing my glare at his insistence on draining the fascination from everything, Drake backtracked.

"I get ahead of myself. Let me first explain my chain of observations that led me to this understanding." He walked over to the memorial book that lay on the countertop, picked it up, and placed it on the now empty table in front of all of us. "Upon entry to this mountain fortress, I noticed this book was open to this very page. A memorial to an accident now some ten years ago. It immediately stood out to me that two of the people here, the same two people who engaged my services to come up the mountain, were present today on the anniversary of the tragic accident. This is no coincidence, but also not suspicious. Many people return to the scene of a trauma to commemorate it, as an act of healing.

"What was suspicious was everything that followed. First, the fake identity on the body of 'Lars Hillrush', nee 'Dave Weston'. In the memorial, a Ranger Weston was recorded as killed. This presents a fork in the road. A wrong deduction here sends every subsequent thought down a fruitless path."

"So you figured that Dave was Charlie's brother then?" Julia asked.

"No. I did not make a determination. Instead, I held this fork in the road in my mind. It was possible that the Ranger Weston was misidentified as dead through some circumstance, and it was possible that the man Dave Weston was a relation. There was not enough to go on. Proceeding, the testimonies from each of you."

Looking to Carson, whose greasy hair and sheepish demeanor now seemed pitiable rather than slimy, Drake continued. "Mr. Dettmar first informed me that he and Mr. Weston had come to the mountain several days prior, and that Mr. Weston continued to get 'turned around'. This seemed unlikely for a man so experienced in mountain ascents. As I understand, Rainier is challenging, yet the path is well understood. Why would an experienced mountaineer get turned around day after day?"

Gesturing to Phil's imposing physique, Drake then said: "Mr. Souli, you noticed that on the final night before Mr. Weston was found dead, that he seemed overequipped for the following day's summit attempt. That he was even prepared to ice climb. This solves the riddle of why Mr. Weston could be getting so turned around day after day. He was searching for something. For the first few days, Mr. Weston must have thought the object of his search could be near the surface. But as his searches continued to yield no fruit, he realized he would have to go deeper. He planned to climb icy walls. Based on where he was found, he must have climbed down into a crevasse."

"That's quite a risk to take to recover something." Phil mused.

"Indeed. The object of his search must have held enormous value to him. So much so, that when Ranger Whittaker confronted Mr. Weston about his true identity and issued him a deadline to descend from the mountain, it spurred him into a frenzy. He went out in the early twilight despite the weather reports of storms warning him off the hunt. As you all have told me, there was no storm this morning.
"I also noted from my conversation with Mr. Souli that Mr. Weston was so determined to continue his search that he took an ice pick. I wondered why it would be that Mr. Weston would have needed a third ice pick. Perhaps as a spare? Or perhaps because one of his was missing? I may not have been able to make this determination if it weren't for Mr. Souli staying on the trail to recover Mr. Weston's body this morning. You did not give Ranger Whittaker enough time to finish preparing the scene, and he left one vital detail undisturbed."

My eyes lit up. "The direction of the ice pick?"

"My partner is as observant as they come. It seemed an impossible angle for an accident to cause the handle of the pick to be facing away from Mr. Weston's body, rather than towards. It makes complete sense however if you assume he was attacked from above."

The room went silent as the somber realization sinked in. Whittaker must have found Dave Weston just climbing back up out of the crevasse and used that moment to swing down on him from above.

"But wait, that would mean that Whittaker already had the pick?" Julia questioned.

"The ranger did already possess the pick. It was one of three ploys he attempted to prevent Mr. Weston from recovering the object of his search: removing an ice pick from his supplies, drafting a misleading weather report, and directly issuing a threat to leave. But Mr. Weston remained undaunted because he knew he was close.
"At this point I understood that Ranger Whittaker had a vested interest in stopping the search. But I did not understand why, nor what it could have been that Mr. Weston was searching for. I was convinced though that this ruled out the possibility of Mr. Weston being the same ranger that survived the fatal accident a decade ago. He must have been a relation who was motivated to find something.
"Think, from his point of view, about the scenario. Mr. Weston developed a false identity, cultivated a mountaineering relationship for years under this identity, and then used it to subvert detection by Whittaker on his permits. This was a plan some time in the making. So why would it be executed now?"

Julia jumped in. "The ten year anniversary."

"I too wondered this, but as meaningful as the moment may have been, it would not have changed the odds of Mr. Weston finding something he was looking for. Especially if it was something lost by his brother a decade prior. I recalled again the invaluable testimony of Mr. Dettmar. He reminded me that the Ingraham Glacier, the area where the accident occurred, had shifted in February. This presented Mr. Weston with the opportunity of a lifetime - perhaps the shift had opened up a portal to the past, a way to access something he so desperately yearned for."

"The bodies were never recovered. Was he attempting to find his brother?"

"In a way, yes. I only realized the complete sequence of events once I questioned Whittaker here, in this spot. At that time I was suspicious of his involvement in both accidents. He even went so far as to offered to review the footage from a search and rescue drone he piloted with me. Further "proof" of his innocence in this matter. And then it dawned on me, that proof of guilt was the only thing that could have driven Mr. Weston to attempt something as life-threatening as a multi-day search of the glaciers on the mountain summit. It follows then that the guilty would be the one attempting to halt the search.
"As Ranger Whittaker described this to me, I knew what I must do to ensure justice. I excused myself and telephoned down to the visitors center to ensure that the footage from the search and rescue drone would be backed up and saved for the police. It would be apparent to anyone closely studying it that there would be tracks, hastily covered by snow, from when Whittaker found and attacked Mr. Weston. To the casual observer, viewed quickly enough and on a small enough screen, the footage would indicate innocence. He made sure to show it to all of you for this reason. He would also make sure that any backups of it would be deleted so a closer examination would not be possible.
"I then needed to come up with a reason to keep Whittaker unawares while the arresting officers were dispatched. A visit to the crime scene would do. It aroused ire, but not suspicion."

"You're telling me we never needed to go all the way out there?" I barked at Drake.

He jumped, forgetting I was unafraid to give him a piece of my mind.

"Perhaps not, but by doing this we did manage to lure the Ranger to a place where his attention was so focused on distracting me from the evidence, that it was not focused on his own belongings. While Ranger Whittaker feigned to help us search, I secured the object that Dave Weston searched for days to find. It was in Whittaker's pack, tucked into an outside pocket. Presumably recovered from the body of Mr. Weston, it was the item that would take a conviction from possible coincidence to direct evidence.
"You see, Dave Weston had found what he was looking for, down in that crevasse. A GoPro camera, worn by his brother Charlie Weston on the day of the accident ten years ago."

"What was on the camera?" Julia asked, trembling.

Carson shot her a look. I could tell he was still wary of her, even though nothing Drake had said had even implied her involvement.

"I do not know." Drake shrugged his shoulders. "We don't have the equipment here to see, and I have turned it over to the police as evidence."

Everyone groaned.

"Some things are better left to the due process to reveal. But make no mistake that your parts here have ensured the killer will meet with his penance. For now, all I can say to you all is thank you. And to please find your ways home safely. There have been enough tragedies for one day."

With that disappointing summation, Drake dismissed us all. Immediately we went from a band of cold souls seeking the truth, back to complete strangers on a mountaintop. Instead of being united, we dispersed, dismayed.

The Legend Continues

Once we made our way down the mountain, across the snowfields, and back to the car that I nearly forgot existed, silently I might add, I slammed the door as I got into the driver's seat.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm freezing and exhausted, and that was a load of crap you ended on. 'Just trust me, we got him'? That's not good for business, or morale."

"It would have been irresponsible for me to further speculate."

"It wouldn't have killed anybody." I regretted my choice of words. "You could have brought some closure to those people."

"You heard my dissertation Maggie. Already I speculated more than I was comfortable, as a way to ensure they understood at least something of the matter. Knowing each of them, they will be invested enough to follow the case through confession, or trial if that does not come to pass."

"Well." I said, not knowing how to rebut him, "Unless you speculate further with me, we're both going to freeze to death on this mountain. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you're so confident."

Drake smiled. I knew he really secretly wanted the license to prove just how clever he was, but that he'd never risk telling anyone aggrieved something he wasn't bulletproof on. I was also dying to know what his assumptions of the case were.

"I would venture a well supported inference that, based on what Mrs. Souli told you at the crime scene, the recording would show Ranger Whittaker engineering in a split second the fatalities of Charlie Weston and his two climbers. Mrs. Souli described that in the moments leading up to the avalanche, Whittaker was leaned over the top of a glacial wall of ice, attempting to help Weston finish his ascent. I believe the footage will instead show Whittaker, perched on the edge, realizing that an avalanche is on its way. In a split second, he makes the decision to not only run for his own life, which may have been sensible, but also to sabotage the line that held the three climbers to the wall, all but ensuring their deaths. He may not have realized until Dave Weston came poking around that there was any evidence of this decision."

"Why on earth would he have done that?"

"He thought he wouldn't get caught. Look at him here, ten years later, boss of the mountain. He's enjoying the height of his career. Perhaps that would not have played out the same way had his fellow ranger survived. There may have been other motives as well. For these, we'd have to follow the trial ourselves."

"You're so full of it." I rolled my eyes at Drake. "You couldn't have made all of these deductions and been so sure!"

"Well," he shivered as he waited for me to start the car, "it did help that when I called the visitor's center, the ranger on duty informed me that Ranger Whittaker had requested a full reset of the footage system's storage. He cited a 'glitch' as the reason, and said that a reset would fix it. Luckily the duty ranger stayed busy and hadn't executed the order yet. That sealed the inference for me."

I searched for any way to get him. It enraged me when he did this, hiding key pieces of evidence to convince me at the last moment. Recalling my conversation with Julia, I needled him again. "What about the third hiker Julia saw with Charlie Weston? The one that was never reported missing?"

"It occurs to me that she described him with a striking similarity to Mr. Dettmar, whom she was suspicious of."

"So you're saying that she was trying to pin it on him? She didn't even know the guy."

"She was searching for a pattern, for a solution without all of the pieces. She had made the wrong deduction that led her to futile inferences and false memories."

"Maybe she wasn't making anything up, and Carson really was on the mountain too that day."

"And how would he have evaded the accounting of those present? There would have been a body missing one way or another."

I knew he had me there. "Maybe he's still on the mountain. We didn't actually see Carson leave. He could live up there."

"Perhaps. Perhaps he survived the avalanche ten years ago, and has never left the mountain since." Drake leaned over and turned the key in the ignition. I could see the edges of his lips beginning to turn blue. "And now that you've solved the mystery, we can go home knowing that The Rainier Yeti is free to roam his dominion undisturbed once more."