Read Online Mortal Fall by Christine Carbo - Free Book Online

meant it. It was always great to hear a survival story, and I wished we could have done the same for Wolfie. Of course, I already knew every detail about the rescue because I’d helped him complete and file most of the paperwork when it happened.
    I found a parking space in the lot near the Loop, which now reopened for tourists to stop, but the trail was still roped off to the public. We set the rappelling gear up on the opposite side of the ravine near the launch site this time, careful not to interfere with the taped area.
    “How long are we keeping the trail closed?” Ken asked.
    “If we don’t find the card showing anything interesting or find any other reason to assume this was anything but an accident, we’ll remove the caution tape and the trailhead ropes by tomorrow morning. Of course, we want to hear what the coroner ME has to say.” I felt a small pit in my stomach at the thought of reopening the trail and going back to business as usual because although I had no specific reason yet to believe this was anything but an accident—other than that the victim was an experienced mountaineer—there was still something that felt entirely wrong about the whole thing. When we were done rappelling, I planned to check the victim’s credit cards, cell records, and the lot. “We already have enough photos of these sites from yesterday,” I added.
    I stepped into the leg loops of my harness, threaded the waist belt through the buckle, and doubled the line back. I put my helmet andgloves on and rechecked the anchor and its webbing. Finally, I clipped my carabiners to the belay loop of my harness, screwed the gates to lock them, and leaned back against the rope in my dominant hand near my hip. I slowly backed over the edge and made my way down with the rope sliding smoothly through the belay device, while Ken stayed above to man the lines.
    This side of the ravine felt a little trickier to navigate with rock crumbling at my every landing. When I made it near the first slanted outcropping where I figured the victim had hit, I used my brake hand to slow my speed. When I was almost halfway down the cliff, I slid the latch on the belay device for it to cease feeding rope and made very careful, small side steps as close as I could to the area without straining my ropes. I paused to look around.
    Small shrubs stuck straight out from the cliff rocks and I inspected them for any sign of the camera card or any additional evidence. I didn’t see anything other than slide marks, disturbed rock, and some blood verifying that the victim had hit the spot first. I had the camera on a strap around my neck making it easy to snap photos.
    When I had enough pictures, I opened the belay and continued down. When my feet touched down to solid ground near the spot Ken and I had already climbed to from below, I released my harness from the ropes and began searching that area again. I looked in every bit of brush, around and under large rocks, in the large slope of scree. . . . It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
    There were no binoculars and I certainly couldn’t find the miniscule digital camera disk. I searched for another half an hour as the sun began to heat the area. Sweat gathered on my chest and I took a drink of water, then climbed back up to the ropes and clipped them back to my harness and radioed up to Ken that I was ready to go back up.
    • • •
    When we reached the parking lot and loaded up the Explorer, I noticed a man about my height but a little stockier coming our way. As he gotcloser, I recognized him. It was Sam Ward whom I’d also met a time or two because he worked not far from headquarters in an RMRS extension office in Glacier Park. He had assisted Wolfie on the Wolverine project.
    “Sam.” I reached out to shake his hand.
    “Monty, Ken,” he said as a greeting. “Cathy called me last night. I promised her I’d drive up and check things out this morning. Plus . . .” He paused like he