something in it was worth stealing. They returned it to identify the body.”
“Which means the Towers weren't the first ones to see the body or the backpack.”
“It still doesn't add up to murder, Chris, if that's what you're thinking.”
“It is what I'm thinking even if I'm taking giant leaps here. In fact—” I put my fork down as ideas flooded my mind. “What if Heinz drove to Picacho Peak with someone else in the other person's car?”
“That would answer some questions we've just asked.”
“Like what became of the car.”
“Then it could have been a murder that developed from hitchhiking,” Joseph said.
“How awful. But you're right. That would make it a crime of opportunity.”
“And no way to trace whoever drove the car and pushed Heinz off the edge of the path.”
She was right. Two men drive into the park, pay the entrance fee, park at the base of a trail, and start up together. They have just met, perhaps an hour or two earlier. They are talking, enjoying each other's company. They walk the trail, come to the fateful spot, and something happens.
“But once again,” Joseph said, “even if we insert this additional person into the mix, the man driving the car, it could still have been an accident. The other person felt he wasn't able to scale the slope to help him. He panics, grabs the backpack, and goes back down. A day or two later, he returns with the backpack. Do you have the file with you, Chris?”
“Right here.” I took it out of the canvas tote bag.
“I'm sure I remember seeing a list of the contents of the backpack. What was in it?”
I rummaged through the file. “No money,” I said. “But I think there was a wallet in his pant pocket. A hat, just as I thought. One unopened bottle of water.”
“He could have drunk another bottle and discarded it.”
“Right. Half a sandwich, two ice packs to keep food cold, both thawed. A hand towel, a case for eyeglasses. His glasses were near the body. A small transistor radio. He probably wanted to hear the news or some music. Look at this. A postcard to his parents. Had no stamp on it. He was going to mail it when he got some stamps. That doesn't sound like he was planning to kill himself. Kleenex, hand wipes. That's about it.” I sat looking at the list.
“Do you see what's missing?”
I went down the list a second time. “Nothing pops out.”
“Clothes.”
“Of course,” I said. “He had no extra clothes with him. He had them in a suitcase or a larger backpack.”
“And he left it in the car he came in. I think this tells us that there was a car and driver.”
“Or that he had a room in a hotel somewhere—but that means the hotel would have called his parents’ number looking for him to pay the bill. Mrs. Gruner didn't say anything about that, but I can ask her. And if he was staying in a hotel, he needed transportation to get to the park.”
“What this says to me is that it's unlikely he committed suicide,” Joseph said. “He had to have traveled with clothes. If the clothes were left in a hotel, why didn't they turn up?”
I returned to the file. There was no mention of anyone looking for a hotel room. “I'm going to call Deputy Gonzales,” I said. “I'll be right back.”
I found a pay phone and dialed the number. Gonzales answered immediately.
“Warren, this is Chris Bennett.”
“Well, hello there. You and the sister still thinking about that death in the park?”
“We are, and we have some questions. Do you know if Heinz Gruner was registered at a hotel at the time of his death or the night before?”
“Well, we did some digging on that, called a bunch of places, came up with nothing.”
“Sister Joseph and I just realized that he had no clothes with him except for what he was wearing. We read the list of the contents of the backpack and all it had was a sandwich and some Kleenex and things like that.”
“Young folks don't always travel with a suitcase, you know,” the deputy said.
“Which means the Towers weren't the first ones to see the body or the backpack.”
“It still doesn't add up to murder, Chris, if that's what you're thinking.”
“It is what I'm thinking even if I'm taking giant leaps here. In fact—” I put my fork down as ideas flooded my mind. “What if Heinz drove to Picacho Peak with someone else in the other person's car?”
“That would answer some questions we've just asked.”
“Like what became of the car.”
“Then it could have been a murder that developed from hitchhiking,” Joseph said.
“How awful. But you're right. That would make it a crime of opportunity.”
“And no way to trace whoever drove the car and pushed Heinz off the edge of the path.”
She was right. Two men drive into the park, pay the entrance fee, park at the base of a trail, and start up together. They have just met, perhaps an hour or two earlier. They are talking, enjoying each other's company. They walk the trail, come to the fateful spot, and something happens.
“But once again,” Joseph said, “even if we insert this additional person into the mix, the man driving the car, it could still have been an accident. The other person felt he wasn't able to scale the slope to help him. He panics, grabs the backpack, and goes back down. A day or two later, he returns with the backpack. Do you have the file with you, Chris?”
“Right here.” I took it out of the canvas tote bag.
“I'm sure I remember seeing a list of the contents of the backpack. What was in it?”
I rummaged through the file. “No money,” I said. “But I think there was a wallet in his pant pocket. A hat, just as I thought. One unopened bottle of water.”
“He could have drunk another bottle and discarded it.”
“Right. Half a sandwich, two ice packs to keep food cold, both thawed. A hand towel, a case for eyeglasses. His glasses were near the body. A small transistor radio. He probably wanted to hear the news or some music. Look at this. A postcard to his parents. Had no stamp on it. He was going to mail it when he got some stamps. That doesn't sound like he was planning to kill himself. Kleenex, hand wipes. That's about it.” I sat looking at the list.
“Do you see what's missing?”
I went down the list a second time. “Nothing pops out.”
“Clothes.”
“Of course,” I said. “He had no extra clothes with him. He had them in a suitcase or a larger backpack.”
“And he left it in the car he came in. I think this tells us that there was a car and driver.”
“Or that he had a room in a hotel somewhere—but that means the hotel would have called his parents’ number looking for him to pay the bill. Mrs. Gruner didn't say anything about that, but I can ask her. And if he was staying in a hotel, he needed transportation to get to the park.”
“What this says to me is that it's unlikely he committed suicide,” Joseph said. “He had to have traveled with clothes. If the clothes were left in a hotel, why didn't they turn up?”
I returned to the file. There was no mention of anyone looking for a hotel room. “I'm going to call Deputy Gonzales,” I said. “I'll be right back.”
I found a pay phone and dialed the number. Gonzales answered immediately.
“Warren, this is Chris Bennett.”
“Well, hello there. You and the sister still thinking about that death in the park?”
“We are, and we have some questions. Do you know if Heinz Gruner was registered at a hotel at the time of his death or the night before?”
“Well, we did some digging on that, called a bunch of places, came up with nothing.”
“Sister Joseph and I just realized that he had no clothes with him except for what he was wearing. We read the list of the contents of the backpack and all it had was a sandwich and some Kleenex and things like that.”
“Young folks don't always travel with a suitcase, you know,” the deputy said.
Similar Books
