death of Preston Wright at Gray Wolf Canyon on April 14th has been completed. It is the opinion of the medical examiner that Mr. Wright died of drowning. The various contusions and abrasions he sustained are consistent with a body being thrown against the walls of the canyon by the force of the water. Particles of canyon rock were found inside the largest gash, at the base of his head. It is most likely that that injury knocked him unconscious and led directly to his drowning.”
Joe looked up from his paper. “As many of you are aware, there is a system in place meant to prevent this type of tragedy from happening. The tour company that takes people into the canyons shuts down whenever the weather bureau predicts rain north of here. From what we have uncovered, it appears that the warning did go out to the other slot canyons in the area yesterday but not to Gray Wolf Canyon. The person who was ultimately responsible for making that call claims to have become distracted by another matter, and by the time he remembered to issue the warning for Gray Wolf, it was too late. That person’s employment with the weather bureau has been terminated. If you have any questions, I’ll take them now.”
Rory raised her hand. She didn’t actually have any questions, but she knew that Zeke did. As he wasn’t in a position to ask for himself, she decided to ask for him. Joe nodded in her direction.
“What can I do for you, Ms. McCain?” Rory was sure she heard a note of disdain in his voice. Well, she knew exactly what he could do with it, but she kept that graphic thought to herself. “Doesn’t it strike you as a little strange that a man like Mr. Wright, who was fit and in the prime of his life, was the one casualty?” she asked.
The detective shrugged. “It might be as simple as his location in the canyon when the flood hit. Beyond that, no one can account for the whims of fate, not even you, I imagine.”
Rory counted to ten…then to twenty. At twenty-five her anger finally boiled down to a low simmer. “Thanks for that pithy observation,” she muttered to herself. Richard Ames, who was standing next to her, chuckled.
“Remind me not to ever get on your bad side,” he whispered.
“What bad side?” she whispered back with a smile.
For the next five minutes, Joe answered questions from the press related to the procedures for flood warnings and the issue of whether another layer of precaution needed to be put in place.
“There is one other piece of information I want to leave you with before I wrap up this briefing,” Joe said when the Q&A was over. “During our investigation we discovered that Preston Wright was not actually the deceased’s name, but one of several aliases he’s been known to use. His actual name is Brian Carpenter. That’s all I’m prepared to say about it at this time.”
Leaving an armada of questions in his wake, Daniel Joe left the podium and exited the room with Walter Begay at his side.
Chapter 7
R ory was in complete agreement when the Way Off Broadway Players voted to cancel the rest of their ill-fated trip. Their hearts weren’t in it anymore, and they felt they should be home to attend Preston’s funeral. Of course, he’d never technically been Preston. But since they’d known him for nearly two years by that name, they were all having a hard time thinking of him as “Brian,” and a harder time still trying to make sense of his need for an alias. They’d spent much of the flight home conjuring up all kinds of elaborate scenarios that would explain it, from the Witness Security Program to more colorful possibilities, like a serial killer. What none of them could fathom was why a person who needed an alias would jeopardize his anonymity by performing on a stage for all the world to see. Well, parts of Long Island anyway.
Upon arriving home from the airport, each member of the troupe found a voice mail from Clarissa Carpenter with the pertinent details about Brian’s
Joe looked up from his paper. “As many of you are aware, there is a system in place meant to prevent this type of tragedy from happening. The tour company that takes people into the canyons shuts down whenever the weather bureau predicts rain north of here. From what we have uncovered, it appears that the warning did go out to the other slot canyons in the area yesterday but not to Gray Wolf Canyon. The person who was ultimately responsible for making that call claims to have become distracted by another matter, and by the time he remembered to issue the warning for Gray Wolf, it was too late. That person’s employment with the weather bureau has been terminated. If you have any questions, I’ll take them now.”
Rory raised her hand. She didn’t actually have any questions, but she knew that Zeke did. As he wasn’t in a position to ask for himself, she decided to ask for him. Joe nodded in her direction.
“What can I do for you, Ms. McCain?” Rory was sure she heard a note of disdain in his voice. Well, she knew exactly what he could do with it, but she kept that graphic thought to herself. “Doesn’t it strike you as a little strange that a man like Mr. Wright, who was fit and in the prime of his life, was the one casualty?” she asked.
The detective shrugged. “It might be as simple as his location in the canyon when the flood hit. Beyond that, no one can account for the whims of fate, not even you, I imagine.”
Rory counted to ten…then to twenty. At twenty-five her anger finally boiled down to a low simmer. “Thanks for that pithy observation,” she muttered to herself. Richard Ames, who was standing next to her, chuckled.
“Remind me not to ever get on your bad side,” he whispered.
“What bad side?” she whispered back with a smile.
For the next five minutes, Joe answered questions from the press related to the procedures for flood warnings and the issue of whether another layer of precaution needed to be put in place.
“There is one other piece of information I want to leave you with before I wrap up this briefing,” Joe said when the Q&A was over. “During our investigation we discovered that Preston Wright was not actually the deceased’s name, but one of several aliases he’s been known to use. His actual name is Brian Carpenter. That’s all I’m prepared to say about it at this time.”
Leaving an armada of questions in his wake, Daniel Joe left the podium and exited the room with Walter Begay at his side.
Chapter 7
R ory was in complete agreement when the Way Off Broadway Players voted to cancel the rest of their ill-fated trip. Their hearts weren’t in it anymore, and they felt they should be home to attend Preston’s funeral. Of course, he’d never technically been Preston. But since they’d known him for nearly two years by that name, they were all having a hard time thinking of him as “Brian,” and a harder time still trying to make sense of his need for an alias. They’d spent much of the flight home conjuring up all kinds of elaborate scenarios that would explain it, from the Witness Security Program to more colorful possibilities, like a serial killer. What none of them could fathom was why a person who needed an alias would jeopardize his anonymity by performing on a stage for all the world to see. Well, parts of Long Island anyway.
Upon arriving home from the airport, each member of the troupe found a voice mail from Clarissa Carpenter with the pertinent details about Brian’s
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