Capitol murder

Chapter Twenty-two

A quick check of property records was all it took to locate the senator’s cabin. It was a few hours east of Portland and several miles up in the mountains on back roads, so Dana called ahead and rented a Range Rover with all-wheel drive. It was waiting for her when the jet touched down just before sunrise.

Dana was wearing jeans, hiking boots, a flannel shirt, a cable-knit sweater, and a parka, because snow and freezing temperatures were expected in the mountains. She was also carrying a selection of concealed weapons, even though she wasn’t expecting trouble. Ever since her kidnapping, Dana never went anywhere unarmed, and her precautions had paid off on several occasions.

Dana threw her duffel bag in the backseat of the Rover, set the GPS, and drove out of Portland toward the wilderness. The sun was up by the time she left the airport, and the sky was clear even though the temperature was hovering around 32 degrees. The ride down the interstate was boring, and she had time to think about Jake and how much she missed him.

The scenery was spectacular once Dana got off the interstate, and it proved enough of a distraction to take her mind off of her troubles. Suddenly Dana was surrounded by a forest still bright green because of all the Douglas firs scattered among the leafless deciduous trees. Runoff from the mountains created unexpected waterfalls. Every once in a while, the road would curve and Dana would be treated to a brief glimpse of a towering snowcapped mountain through a break in the foothills. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the mountain would vanish at the next turn in the road, like the object of a spectacular magic trick.

The elevation increased as she drove through the pass that took her over the Cascades, and a light rain turned to snow. In no time, the state highway looked as though it had been dusted with powdered sugar. Dana drove through a one-street town with a cafe, a general store, and a garage with a sign announcing that this was the last place to gas up for fifty miles. Fifteen minutes later, the GPS told her to make a left onto a narrow road that curved up into the mountains. The road was paved for a few miles, but the snow was falling fast and there were only a few spots where the asphalt could be seen beneath the accumulating flakes.

Trees towered over the road on both sides, and the canopy and thick storm clouds made midday seem like dusk. Dana was glad she wasn’t claustrophobic. A slight dip signaled the end of the pavement and the beginning of a one-lane dirt road. The temperature was dropping as the elevation increased, and the thermometer on the dash put the weather outside in the high twenties. The Rover skidded twice, but Dana got it under control before any damage was done. The snow in the forest covered the bases of the tree trunks, and it was clear that it had been snowing at this altitude for a while.

The GPS spoke again seven miles after Dana turned off the highway. She had to squint through the windshield to see the road because the pelting snow was fighting the wipers to a draw. If it weren’t for the GPS telling her to turn, Dana would have missed the slight gap through the trees on her right. A quarter mile later, a log cabin appeared.

The trees had been cut back on either side of a wide driveway that led uphill to the house. Dana was not expecting problems, but one of the adages she lived by was “Better safe than sorry,” so she parked the Rover in front of the driveway in the direction of the highway so she wouldn’t have to turn if she was forced to make a fast getaway.

Dana got out of the car and cursed when she stepped into a pile of snow. A frigid wind raked her cheeks. She threw up the hood of her parka and focused on the cabin. The driveway looked pristine. Dana thought of several reasons why there might not be footprints or tire tracks on it. Carson might have parked on the road, as she had, or the new snow might have covered the tracks. Still, shouldn’t there be some furrows in the snow?

The senator was telling the truth when he said there was no reception, but Dana could still use her cell phone to photograph the driveway. When she was through, she trudged up to the covered porch in front of the cabin. Dana stamped her boots to shake off the snow that had accumulated on them. Before trying the door, she looked through the front window into a large living room with a high stone fireplace. There were no lights on inside, and the light from the sun was starting to fade, so Dana couldn’t make out any fine details. She walked to the door. It was locked. Dana took out a set of tools and picked the lock.

As soon as she was inside, Dana sniffed the air. A musty odor pervaded the living room, the type of smell caused by dust and disuse. There were no cooking aromas, no scent left by burning logs.

Dana found a light switch and flipped it on. The living room had a homey atmosphere. An Afghan had been flung over the back of a sofa that faced the fireplace, and a blanket graced the back of a chair. Throw rugs covered the wood-plank floor. There were no mounted animal heads, not surprising, given the senator’s dot-com, high-tech background, but there were original oils depicting forest and mountain scenes.

Dana walked over to the fireplace. It looked as though it hadn’t been used in a while. She turned slowly, surveying the room. A thermostat was attached to a wall by the stairs that led to the second floor. The senator might have used the heater instead of the fireplace, but the air in the cabin was very cold. Dana could see her breath when she exhaled. How long did it take for warmth to dissipate in weather like this?

Dana inspected the kitchen. The refrigerator was bare except for a half-full bottle of ketchup and a few cans of soda. The freezer section was stocked with two cartons of Rocky Road ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. She walked over to the sink. There were no dirty dishes in it or clean dishes in the dishwasher. She looked under the sink. There was no trash in the garbage can. It looked as though a housekeeper had done a thorough cleaning. In fact, the whole downstairs looked as though it had undergone a thorough cleaning. The senator could have cleaned up before he left, but it was hard to imagine that a cleaning crew had come up in this snow between the time the senator left and the time Dana arrived without leaving tire tracks.

Dana went upstairs. The master bedroom and its bathroom did not look as if they had been used. Neither did any of the guest rooms. Dana decided she had seen enough. She took pictures of every part of the house. Then she locked the door behind her and returned to the Rover. On the way down to the highway, Dana thought about what she had seen. She decided that either United States Senator Jack Carson had a compulsive cleaning disorder or he had not been in the cabin lately.

D uring her drive from the cabin to Isolation Creek, the one-street town she’d driven through, Dana caught a weather report on the radio and learned that the pass had been hit by heavy snows. Dana filled her tank at the garage on the outskirts of town and asked the attendant to help her put on chains for the trip back to Portland. While they worked, Dana turned the conversation to Senator Carson. The attendant knew the senator from his previous visits to the cabin but said he hadn’t seen him recently.

Dana drove into town and parked in front of the grocery store. She asked the proprietor questions about Carson while she paid for the candy bars that would fortify her during the return trip to Portland. He hadn’t seen Senator Carson since the summer, and neither had any other shopkeeper to whom she talked. There was a cafe with Internet access at the far end of town. While she waited for her cheeseburger, fries, and black coffee to arrive, Dana set up her laptop and e-mailed the photos she’d taken at the cabin to Exposed. Then she called Patrick Gorman.

“Did you get the photos?” Dana asked.

“I did.”

“I’m in a cafe in Isolation Creek, the nearest town to the cabin. Most of the people I talked to know the senator. He shops in town when he’s at the cabin. No one has seen him in months. I’d bet every penny you have that no one has been in that cabin for a while.”

“Where do you think he was?” Gorman asked.

“Beats me, but it wasn’t here. What do you want me to do?”

Gorman was quiet for a moment. “Send me your report, and I’ll have one of my intrepid reporters write the story.”

“Do you want me to fly back to D.C.?”

“Not yet. If the senator were in Oregon, he’d have left a trail. Check into a hotel in Portland and do some sleuthing. See what you can turn up.”

“Will do.”

The waitress carried Dana’s food to her table, and Dana rang off. She typed her report between bites, then e-mailed it. By the time she finished, the sun had begun its descent, but the snow had stopped. Dana paid the check, slipped on her gloves, and trudged toward her Range Rover. When she had the motor going and the heater cranked up, she headed west.