In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(46)
Stoneridge Wins Region!
State Championship Saturday
“Like I said, they’d have lynched me if I hadn’t covered it.”
The half-column article on Kimi Kanasket’s death was pushed to the bottom of the front page.
Local Girl’s Body Pulled
from White Salmon River
The article did not mention the word “suicide.”
“I take it there weren’t any follow-up articles?” Tracy asked.
“Nothing to follow up. She was cremated in a private service on the reservation. The detective told me the coroner concluded she’d jumped in because Tommy Moore broke up with her. I had a copy of his report at one time, though I don’t believe I kept it. Didn’t see any reason to make that public, though everyone knew soon enough.”
“You spoke to the detective?”
“Jerry Ostertag.”
“Is he still around?”
“I wouldn’t know, chief. Last I heard he’d retired and moved someplace in the Midwest to fish. Montana, maybe.”
Jenny had said that Ostertag had died, but even if Ostertag was still around, Tracy doubted he would recall many of the details of Kimi Kanasket’s death. Kimi Kanasket was a black mark on an otherwise joyous occasion, like the drunk uncle who causes a scene at a family wedding. You didn’t acknowledge or talk about the incident. You quietly escorted him from the building so others could focus on the celebration, and when the family got together to remember that day, the blemish was never discussed, until, as the years passed, the incident was forgotten completely.
CHAPTER 16
Tracy and Sam Goldman made copies of the relevant pages of the newspaper at the copy machine in the drugstore in town, a task that took longer than it otherwise should have. Goldman stopped to talk to just about everyone, calling each person “chief,” “friend,” or “hero.”
Tracy sensed Goldman was enjoying the break from a daily routine likely forced on him by the Internet and twenty-four-hour news programs, which had rendered so many small-town newspapers obsolete. Goldman was a perpetual ball of motion; though retired, his blood still ran black with newspaper ink, and his nose could still sniff out a news story. He was on the trail of one now.
After dropping Goldman back at home, Tracy called and gave Jenny an update, thanked her again for allowing her to stay at her mother’s home, and said she’d be in touch when she got back the forensics. She decided to make one more stop on her way out of town, and as she drove along State Route 141, her cell phone rang. She put the caller on speakerphone.
“Detective Crosswhite? It’s Sam Goldman.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“I thought you should know that after you left I had another visitor.”
“A Stoneridge Police officer?”
“You got that right, friend. He came by asking what we discussed. I told him you were interested in the parade.”
Tracy chuckled. “How’d he take that?”
“He puffed up his chest a bit, asked a few more questions, and moved on. I just thought you’d like to know.”
Tracy could hear the excitement in Goldman’s voice. “I appreciate it, Sam. It’s probably just a jurisdictional thing. The sheriff let them know I’d be in town. Next time down I’ll stop by and introduce myself, but I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Not a problem, friend.”
Tracy was about to disconnect when she passed the small turnout and the path leading to the clearing. “Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“You know anything about the clearing that’s just off 141? The big open field a few miles out of town?”
“You want the local legend?”
“I’ve heard that story. I’m more interested in recent news.”
“High school kids used to go out there at night, usually on the weekends.”
“Not anymore?”
“Police cracked down a few years back, after a couple of alcohol-related accidents.”
“You ever hear anything about anyone trying to plant things there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone trying to grow plants or shrubs. Anything.”
“Nothing grows there.”
“That’s what I hear, but do you know of anyone trying?”
“I don’t. I did a story on it years back and looked into its history. Nothing definitive, but there used to be a phosphorous mine in the foothills not far from there. The suspicion is, that’s where the mining company illegally dumped its mining sludge, and the ground is contaminated.”
“I take it nobody has ever tested the soil?”
“Nah. Nobody cares enough to find out.”
“Okay. Thanks again for your time.”
“Not a problem, chief. Keep me posted. You have me interested.”
Tracy disconnected and drove another mile, slowing at the wooden sign for Northwest Park. She turned right, descending the tree-lined road for about a mile and slowing at a narrow concrete bridge that spanned the river. She stopped on the bridge. To her right, the river was an iron gray with hundreds of white ribbons where the water flowed over submerged rocks. To her left, the river continued its path to the Columbia.