Beyond the Laurel Patch: Beyond

By RW Preston

While investigating a mysterious disappearance of a little girl in Yellowstone Park, L.A. Private Investigator Luke Gilroy, and his team stumbles upon a serial killer case in Yosemite National. Could the two cases somehow be linked? Why is the park covering up the killings? When DNA evidence leads to a positive ID of the killer, instead of going to the FBI, Luke decides to get a taste of the big time and plans to stalk and apprehend the killer he now calls Sierra Sam.

Schoolteacher Danni Ford is lured to Yosemite Park by her new beau (the killer) that she met on Facebook. But through a carefully devised game of subterfuge and covert planning, Ford and Sierra Sam have no clue that Gilroy and his investigators are monitoring their every move--just waiting for the right time to nab their man...

• Language: English
• Publisher: RW Preston
• Release date: Nov 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540186515

Book preview

Beyond the Laurel Patch

By R.W. Preston

Beyond the Laurel Patch

Copyright 2015 R.W. Preston

Published on Amazon Kindle

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Amazon Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

There is adult content in this book.

* * *

To Only Mum. She’ll get to where she wants go...

* * *

This book is for each person I will never know. To the one who picked up something I wrote. Writing is not writing – writing is slaving for people who are young and old. We are all the same, but happy when a wonderful story is told. – R.W. Preston

* * *

Beyond the Laurel Patch

––––––––

"There is more to see than

just the forest and

the trees."

Chapter One

***

Yellowstone Park: Big Top Diner...

People say they aren't afraid to die until it's time, Luke said to his father.

What brought that up?

Luke shrugged it off instead of explaining. He saw that he had left the gas cap door open and pushed it shut‒then leaned on the side of his truck. Me being scared out of my wits up there in those woods last night is an understatement.

Looking at the stark expression on Luke's face, Page thought it better to pass on sharing a good laugh. He flicked his spent, occasional cigarette into a storm drain, and casually asked, Did you last the whole night out there?

What choice did I have once I got there? It was the worst night of my life, by far. I’m running on high octane caffeine. He took a few strides while he anxiously looked around. It was a habitual city thing. With his hands resting on his hips, he tried smiling, but it was not to be. I camped on the very spot where little Ruthie walked into the laurel to get her ball and never came out. He shook his head and rubbed his baggy eyes. Subtle worry lines were spreading across his face like wild tree roots. I can't figure that one out. There wasn't a single trace of her anywhere. Gone. Just like that. No pieces of clothing. And no one found her ball. No doubt she found it and took it with her.

That's what it seems to me, son. We just started this case and already we’re grasping at straws.... I just hope this does not turn into a murder investigation.

Last night when I lay there in the tent all I could think about was how she felt when it was dark. Luke’s words were quivery. Nighttime in Yellowstone almost made a mad scientist out of me. You should’ve heard the hoots and howls of the wild. The wind blowing and coyotes that never shut up. He looked up at the mountain peaks that were all around them. I thought the tent was going to blow away a few times. If I was scared like I was, imagine her . . . how she felt? Page glimpsed his son on the sly. He could see Luke's hands were trembling but said nothing. And I had my .357 that never left my right hand the whole night. If anything would’ve so much as touched the tent, I would’ve emptied the clip and worried about what it was later.

Page was the one who told his only child not to go on the one-man hike to inspect the scene by himself‒not that Luke was out of shape. He was in the best shape of his life at forty, but this was untamed Yellowstone. There were no sidewalks or blacktop trails‒no taxis and vending machines along the way. Son, are you ruling out that the girl could’ve been abducted?

The two of them stopped in the middle of the parking lot.

I’m not ruling out anything. This is only our third day on the job. Remember, park rangers and police put together a hundred volunteers and combed six square miles and didn’t find a thing. I heard they’re going to do another search.... Local police and the LAPD questioned the girl's father and mother and cleared them of any wrongdoing. They’re clean. No record at all. At least it looks that way. I hope this doesn’t turn into another Job Benet Ramsey case.

You and me both. I have a feeling we’re not going to get too much cooperation on this one. It’s a good thing the girl’s dad has money.

City doctors usually do. This will cost him a bundle before it's over. He's the type who’ll come up with more and more things for me to check out. I just know it.

A kid that disappears after walking into a laurel patch?

I walked through the laurel up there and it gave me more than just the creeps. You had to be there. He looked around the parking lot. It made me shudder. Don't even know what it was. But it was something‒seen or unseen‒you got me there. I wasn’t about to open the tent flap for a look around.

They began walking to the front door of the restaurant.

Imagine how they feel, the doctor and his wife. Their child was right there in front of them, and that fast vanished. Her father, who’s a pretty nimble guy, started a frantic search for about ten minutes. I mean, how much ground could an eight-year-old cover?

Luke leaned into the question. If Ruthie walked in a straight line for ten minutes, and maybe it was a few minutes longer, I figured out that she could’ve walked two hundred yards or more. I saw the lay of the land up there. Behind the patch of laurel, it was pretty flat. Although there were quite a few trees. Then the ground turned into a plateau. Past that point, it was nothing but steepness the whole way to the bottom of the cove. She could’ve made it that far easily. Her mother told me Ruthie was a fast walker. He took off his sunglasses and put them in the case.

What’s your point?

If the father, who you and I know is a country-club type, went into the laurel patch and advanced for about a hundred yards, and didn’t see any sign of his daughter, no wonder. He began to get panicky‒understandably so. That’s when he started to double back and searched this way and that way. It's a good thing he didn't get lost. I say Ruthie kept going right straight ahead. By the time her father turned back, she was way out in front of him by about one hundred to two- hundred yards. And if the father turned right or left at that point‒it didn’t matter. The girl kept to a straight path. The father had no chance of finding her. Ruthie probably walked faster and faster thinking she was walking back to the camp. Until she was tired and afraid and then laid down somewhere.

The father said he yelled at the top of his lungs for her.

Yeah, no doubt he did, but out there in that kind of wilderness, how could he hear her? Plus, he was coming apart at the seams. He was probably close to maddened. How could he hear Ruthie if his mind was moving as fast as his feet? You must stop and listen out there. That was one thing he said he failed to do. Had he done so, he might still have his girl with him.

Yeah, and we wouldn't be needed. They walked inside and took a seat. Before Luke could grab a menu, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Luke Gilroy!

Mr. Gilroy, Moran Police Chief Ron Cook here. The cocky ring in Cook’s voice was an instant turn off. I was wondering if you wanted to go along today. The state police are bringing in cadaver dogs. Going to do a big search. If you’d like, there’ll be a chopper you and your father can ride in. You can help with the air search part.

What time do we have to be there?

One hour. Meet me at my office.

We'll see you there. Thank you, Ron.

You bet.

The owner of Big Top Diner‒Gus Alexander Provotoplis‒seventy-seven, and a proud old Greek with a monster build and a mega pudge-line, and a fetish for toothpicks walked over to the Gilroy's table. I hear the police are bringing in a team of dogs. He switched the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and looked over Luke's head at a car that pulled in and parked.

Luke looked up at the towering figure. That's right. We just found out ourselves.

After slowly lowering his lumbering frame down onto one of the chairs, Gus shared, Look, you two have been here for three days, and are wasting your time trying to find out anything from the police and park rangers. This is Yellowstone Park we’re talking about. The park generates over three-hundred-million dollars a year. I made my money for the last fifty years off the park, and I do really well. He used the rag that he had draped over his shoulder and reached over and wiped down the table beside him. You wouldn’t believe how I had to fight the park fathers to build a restaurant here. If it weren’t for the ACLU, and an ambitious attorney, I’d still be in Brooklyn selling wieners on the street corner and waiting to be robbed. The park is like fighting city hall. You can't win these days. Back then, you had a chance.

We’re here looking for a little girl, nothing more.

"I know that. But do you know how many people have gone missing in the park over the years?

How many?

Plenty.

How many of them were ever found?

Gus winked his big, brown eye while tapping his forefinger on the table top. Very few, young man. I’d say sixty percent or more were never found. Weird. Know what I mean?

What could people be dying from out there? Exposure? Dangerous climbing and hiking? Wild animals? People don’t just disappear into thin air, Gus.

Two inscrutable eyes opened wider. Yes, people do disappear into thin air. It happens that fast. A person could be right in front of you, and the next thing you know, they’re gone. Before anyone has the common sense to call out or search‒someone’s vanished. I was lost up at South Point one time for a few hours. It was terrible. Thank God Almighty the wolves I saw didn’t like fat Greeks like me.

Have people went to park officials' and demand answers?

Issuing out between Gus's thin lips, a boyhood chuckle was audible. He looked over at the cash register to see if a customer was being waited on‒he was. You both should talk to that wall over there. The park will stonewall you. They’re like fighting Wal-Mart. Just thought I’d tell you. You’re good men. I like the both of you.

So the park doesn't want bad publicity, huh, and that’s what this is all about?

All the times there was someone missing, I’ve never seen a single police checkpoint down below at the entrance. Matter of fact, none of the entrances have ever been made into checkpoints to stop and check cars and people that might’ve abducted anyone, and then tried to exit the park. Imagine what that would do to the parks' business. They can't have tourists see that. That’s why they make their own rules. Like they’re an honored society . . . a bunch of two-bit mafia elders. Go to a congressman and see how far you get. Everyone’s on the take around here. Ron Cook’s no different. He's paid to keep his mouth shut. And the same is true with the local state police barracks. The state boys are all bought property. All they have to say to anyone is a well-rehearsed line that they will do all they can to find missing loved ones, and then go drink a few at the VFW or Moose Club.

What do you think happened to the girl?

He sat back in his seat, only to jerk forward. You’re asking me? Didn't you listen to anything I said? If the girl was abducted‒someone could’ve driven right out the front gate with her. As he got more and more irate, his Brooklyn accent with a twist of Greek broke through. The girl’s gone without a trace, and the park not caring. Now that’s a crime. They turned their back on a little girl just because it was still tourist season. You tell her father that!

Can you give me a number. Just how many people do you think went missing in the park over the years?

Dozens and dozens. I'd say fifty or sixty, that I know of. I don’t know for sure. And that only includes the east side of Yellowstone. But I know who you can talk to and find out a lot more than you can from me.

Who’s that?

Claude Wilhide. He knows all about the Yellowstone matter. He used to be Maron's police chief in the sixties and seventies. Everyone calls him Pork. He lives up on Prospect Ridge. A little fair warning, he's old school and hates new school people. Before the two of you get out of your car‒yell out that I sent you. If he opens the front door, then, and only then, go on up to the house. Pork has the scoop on things. He added as he labored to push himself up to his feet, The Wilhide family are good people. Just don't go getting yourselves shot. He snickered as he walked back to the kitchen. He popped his head back out. Oh, be sure to blow your horn a few times when you’re going up the road. It's only one lane. That’ll let the Wilhide’s know that there’s a car on the way up.

Luke leaned forward, so only his father would hear what he had to say. Maybe we should’ve had Gus call Wilhide to tell him we’re coming.

Page laughed. The joke’s always on the strangers in town. He took a careful sip of his hot coffee. So you and I aren’t going up in the chopper after all, huh?

We’re going to see Cook, all right, but we're not going up with him.

Then why are we going to his office?

Because I’m going to attach a slick, little, mini GPS device to Cook’s chopper somewhere. The device will tell me exactly how many square miles the chopper flew during the search. If a nice, friendly guy like Cook’s on the take, he won’t be in the air for long. He'll make it look good. I can check his whole flight pattern on my computer afterward.

All we have up here is a bunch of payola going on. I can see it now.

It’s a welcome change of pace, though. Instead of trailing cheating spouses and ducking baseball bats.

Where’re you going to put the GPS unit?

I figure we'll head to the police station. I’ll tell Cook you’re afraid of flying and decided to stay on the ground. I'll let him know I’m going along for the ride. After I plant the unit somewhere, I'll act like I’m getting airsick. Then have him drop me off. From there, you and I will visit Wilhide, and see what we can glean. Later, we’ll go back to the chopper and retrieve the unit.

Chapter Two

Prospect Ridge...

The numerous morning clouds quickly dissipated, as a swath of baby blue was now peeking through and spreading about the sky. It would be a sunny and pleasant day as the rustling leaves were slowly putting on their coat of autumn color. The wind lazily pushed northwest at five miles an hour. As the Suburban rounded the main hip of the ridge, Luke and Page could see for miles. Their touristy eyes panned jagged Teton peaks and colorful escarpments soldiering over the glistening, vast blue of Yellowstone Lake like protectorates of nature.

You mean we’re finally reaching the top.... A ridge? It's more like a damn mountain, Luke blurted, as he saw a small herd of elk off to the side of the road. The animals did not cower or prance off‒only watched the SUV as it drove by.

Look up there‒on the front porch. I wonder if that's Wilhide. The man motioned for Luke to park up by the house. Pull up there, he's saying!

I got it, Dad. Relax.

He's walking down to the car. Put your window down.

The lanky, rickety figure of an old man slowly sauntered along. Luke saw someone look out one of the windows as the curtains parted some.

Don't worry‒you’re both okay. Gus called and told me you were coming up. Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?

Luke looked up at Wilhide. Didn't Gus tell you who we are, sir?

No. Just that I should speak with you. What’re you here for?

Did you hear about the girl disappearing three days ago?

Yeah. Heard about it on the satellite radio.

The girl's father hired me and my father here to find her. By the way, I’m Luke Gilroy, and this is my dad, Page.

I see, was all Pork said. He looked the inside of the SUV over. Sure you're not cops?

Private investigators!

Pork bit down a few times on the pouch chew in his cheek. Where from?

L.A.

Pork’s mind seemed to wonder. His eyes were overshadowed by bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows, and darted about the same landscape he looked at every day. Ugh, come on inside, he finally mumbled.

Pork Wilhide and his six boys built the three-story Victorian home that Luke and his dad entered in 1984. It was clean and tidy, inside and out, and smelled like red beets and eggs, because of his wife Bev and his daughter Jeanie canning. They were getting ready for winter that was right around the corner. The dog and cat remained sprawled on the floor sleeping. Wilhide sat in his recliner seat and grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.

The wife and daughter did not come out of the kitchen to meet the company. They would do so after the discussion was over, and only if Pork called them out.

They'll never find the girl, the old man sallied. Gus told me he’s spoken with the both you at the restaurant.... I know people the whole way around Yellowstone. When the missing report went out, there were no checkpoints established to check all vehicles that were leaving the park. No Amber alert. Nothing. And then there are the wild animals to worry about.

So you think she could’ve been abducted?

Before answering Page, Pork stuffed another dab of chew in cheek. If there was foul play, then cadaver dogs would find some scent somewhere‒you would think. Doesn't that make you ponder real long and hard? Back in my day, only if it was a reported animal attack with witnesses did park rescue say anything publicly. It's the same-old-same-old today. Up by Mud Volcano, further north some, I recall a few bodies being found after a mountain lion and nature had eaten away at them. Hikers found them. But when most people are gone‒they’re gone for good. Like the damn earth opened and swallowed them whole. After forty years on the job, I knew as much about the missing people game as I did when I first started as a rookie sheriff. The park’s never ready for change. They have their own weird agenda about missing people. He leaned over the side of his chair and spit into the brass spittoon that was on the floor beside him.

Luke gazed around the house, at the family pictures that dotted the wall, the collectibles, and the wide-open space that led to the dining room and sewing room. To your knowledge, Pork, how many people have disappeared over the years?

The conversation was about to take a turn, and Pork knew it. In 1966, when my son Rudy went missing, while we were vacationing up in Silver Lake, I had spoken to an old-timer during the investigation at Gus's diner. The old-timer told me that way back in his day there was something dreadfully wrong in Yellowstone. He stayed far, far away from it. In his lifetime, he was eighty then, he told me a hundred people had gone missing. My son Rudy was a prime example. He went down to the boat to fetch his binoculars. It took just five minutes for my boy to disappear. Never did find him. We had a thousand people help with the search. Yet again, no checkpoint was established. We had twenty hounds. Nothing turned up. But two things were later found miles away in the park. High up on Pleasant Valley Ridge. It was my son's baseball mitt and his favorite New York Yankee jersey. The jersey was carefully folded and placed on top of the mitt. Like he’d do when he came in from playing. The jersey had the number six on it. Rudy loved Roger Maris. He and I had been tossing the ball around the day he went missing.

Who found the clothes?

Some people who were on one of the horse riding tours saw the bright white shirt when the sun hit it. The guide checked it out and then called Admin.

Did administration call the state police?

No! And they didn’t call me until the next day. I was ready to shoot 'em all for that.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Life had taken a lot from Pork over the years. The do-gooder that he was. There’s a strange anomaly-cluster in that part of Pleasant Valley. Like an electric energy or something. I could hear it sizzling in the air. Hell, I could feel it. Although I couldn’t see anything when I was up there several times. But I knew there was something beside me standing. Whatever it was, it was alive. I didn’t know if it was a friend or foe, but I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. He paused.

Luke looked at his dad, as he asked Pork, What did you do?

What could I do? The two deputies with me could feel it too. They were terrified and ran off down the trail like something was chasing them‒screaming for their damn lives. That was when I decided to stand up to the thing. I yelled at the top of my lungs for it to stop and go away. It did. Strangely enough‒it did. Tony and Earl, my deputies, had to come back up for me. I felt like I wrestled a giant. I limp from head to toe and lying on the ground. By the time they got me home, Doc Samuel was there waiting. He cut off my clothes. I felt like I was dying. Doc saw that certain places of my body were singed black. He concluded lightning had struck me. But my deputies and I had known better. It wasn't lightening. The next morning, when my wife woke me, all my hair had fallen out overnight. I couldn’t move or talk for nine days. He cleared his throat. My hair never did grow back. He was getting nerved and agitated as old thoughts washed through his mind.

His wife could barely hear his waning voice. She called out of the kitchen, Pork, do you need something to drink?

He ignored her and began to slowly rock the recliner. Within a five-mile radius where my son's mitt and jersey were found‒thirty other people over the years have gone missing there. And when I say missing, I mean disappeared right off the face of Mother Earth without a damn trace. He coughed some but regained his composure. He was embarrassed that his voice was crackly and weak. Walk up there sometime. Walk up to Pleasant Valley. It’s not such a pleasant place to be. If you have the sense that is.

The sense"?’

The sense to feel for the lost and departed. To feel their loss like they were part of your own family. He leaned forward when he caught