Free Murder on High by Stefanie Matteson

of log cabin-type buildings on the bank of the Penobscot, overlooking the northern end of Indian Island. On the river bank itself were two airplane hangars that serviced the float planes that flew fire watches all over the state. A couple of these were anchored in the river at the seaplane base at the foot of the complex. Next to the hangars, a cluster of helicopters and a row of tank trucks stood at the ready in case of a forest fire.
    After parking, Tracey and Charlotte were directed to a meeting room in one of the buildings. Pyle had gone back to the barracks. To their surprise, they found that not only was the meeting room full, a bank of television cameras was lined up at one side.
    “The word must be out that Dr. Clough has a surprise in store,” said Charlotte as they headed toward the few empty seats at the back.
    “Thanks no doubt to Clough himself,” Tracey growled.
    The front of the room was occupied by a dais, on which the four members of the board sat behind a long table. They consisted of the Inland Fisheries and Wildlife Commissioner, who was the chairman; the Maine Forest Commissioner; the attorney general; and the Baxter State Park Supervisor. To stage left was a chair for the witnesses, and in front was a table for a court stenographer.
    No sooner had they taken their seats than the hearing opened.
    The first to speak was the chairman, who thanked the park employees and volunteers who had assisted in the recovery effort. This was followed by a brief speech in which he explained that the purpose of the hearing was not to find fault or assign blame, but to reconstruct the sequence of events that had led up to Mrs. Richards’ death, with an eye toward instituting procedures that would prevent future occurrences of such a nature.
    These remarks were followed by the witnesses’ testimony. The first witness to take the stand was the park ranger who had discovered the body, a young man named Chris Sargent. Sargent began by pointing out Iris’ route on a topographical map that was projected onto a screen at the front of the room. The map was then replaced by a slide of the Great Basin, which was a perfect bowl with walls of sheer granite, encircled by the sharp rim of the Knife Edge.
    “Wow!” exclaimed Charlotte as the slide appeared on the screen. Seeing the mountain’s most prominent feature for the first time, she was taken aback by its strange and magnificent perfection. It was as smooth and regular as if it had been hand-thrown by God himself on a celestial potter’s wheel.
    “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” said Tracey as the ranger pointed out the spot where he had located Iris’ body.
    “I’ll say,” Charlotte agreed. She could readily see why the Indians had designated it as their sacred mountain.
    The ranger nodded at the projectionist, and the slide of the basin was replaced by a slide of the headwall, which was striated with the snow that still lay in its ravines.
    “Here we see the headwall with the body of the victim,” said the ranger. Picking up a pointer, he indicated a small patch of vivid green lodged in one of the ravines, about halfway down the headwall.
    He nodded again, and the slide on the screen changed to a close-up which showed Iris’ body caught in a niche, folded up almost flat, with her feet up against her head. She was wearing a neon-green rain suit, which was spattered with blood. The contents of her ash splint pack, which had been crushed, lay spread out along the path of her fall.
    Above the niche, the ravine narrowed to a cleft. Below, it widened to a steep, jagged slope covered with loose granite. Charlotte wondered how the rescue team had ever gotten the body off the mountain.
    At this point the park supervisor leaned into his microphone and said, “Some people have the impression that getting an accident victim off the mountain is an easy matter. They say, ‘Why don’t they just lug him or her on down?’” He spoke with a Downeast accent that was almost