Cold Fear by Rick Mofina

trilling and beeping before connecting him to the paper. He
brought up the front page of that morning’s edition. His story was below the fold
under the headline S.F. GIRL MISSING IN ROCKIES. The bylines were Tom Reed and
Molly Wilson with a Glacier National Park, Montana, placeline.
    Paige Baker’s pretty face, as she snuggled her beagle,
Kobee, stared in color from the front page. The story was a thirty-inch
hard-news piece. It encompassed the unofficial fear held by some rangers that
given the rugged region and conditions, the prospect of the 10-year-old child
not surviving the ordeal was terribly real. Reed forced away sudden images of
Paige Baker freezing in the mountains.
    The article turned to page 3, filling the top half with
a wire photo of searchers, shots of Doug and Emily Baker, and a graphic
locating Montana, the park and the area being searched. Doug Baker was a high
school teacher and popular football coach. Emily was a freelance photographer.
Their San Francisco friends were worried. Some wanted to fly to Montana
to volunteer as searchers. Nothing negative in the piece about their family
history. Nothing about police suspicions.
    Reed ate a few forkfuls of home
fries and omelet, then opened his e-mail and found Molly’s note. It was
hurried, almost in point form:
    TOM:
TALKED WITH TURGEON IN HOMICIDE. OFF THE RECORD SFPD IS DEFINITELY “DOING
ROUTINE CHECKS ON BAKER FAMILY”. HAVE CONFIRMED THAT SYDOWSKI IS IN MONTANA
TO HELP FBI AND RANGERS (THAT ANGLE IS ALL OURS, SO FAR.) EMILY BAKER USED TO
LIVE IN MONTANA, MAYBE THAT IS WHY FAMILY WENT THERE??? EMILY’S AUNT WILLA AND
UNCLE HUCK LIVE IN SF BUT ARE ON RV HOLIDAY IN THE EAST. AUNT KNOWS MORE ABOUT
FAMILY. I HAVE GOT TO REACH THEM SOMEHOW. YOU WORK SYDOWSKI AT YOUR END AND
I’LL WORK THINGS AT MINE. TALK LATER, COWBOY. -- MOLLY. CELL 415-555-7199
    Reed finished off his breakfast quickly, convinced that
beneath the surface of this story something very dark was lurking. The rangers
were checking for “possible witnesses in the girl’s case.” He pondered that,
clicking back to the picture of Paige Baker on his computer screen, glimpsing
his cluttered table and the ancient grainy photo in the Montana paper of Rachel
Ross, the little girl murdered years ago in Glacier. The children resembled
each other. Funny how that was, when kids were about the same age. Reed
overheard a reporter a few tables over gesturing to no one and talking louder
on his cell phone. The guy was pretty pissed at being punted to the story from
his news organization’s Chicago Bureau, when it was supposed to be covered by
its Denver Bureau. Reed packed up, paid up, then left, estimating that Paige
Baker had now been lost for forty-two hours.
    On his way back to the park, Reed passed two slow-moving
satellite news trucks, one from Salt Lake City, the other from Seattle. Helicopters whomped by overhead before Reed reached the command center, which had
blossomed overnight with more satellite trucks, news vans and cars crammed into
the area near the building.
    After finding a parking spot, Reed learned a news
conference was planned for some point in the day. He inventoried the vehicles
and activity--a lot of state and federal cars and trucks, an increasing number
of grim-faced officials coming and going, mixing with the press crowd, which
was loud with cell phone chatter, idling diesels, hydraulic adjusting of
satellite dishes, antennas, newspeople yelling to each other. Amid the bustle, Reed
spotted someone familiar. All alone, leaning against a car, he was looking
through his bifocals at pages on a clipboard. Reed approached him.
    “Excuse me, Officer, can you point the way to San Francisco?”
    Inspector Walt Sydowski’s eyes widened slightly at
seeing Reed.
    “And it started out being a good morning.”
    “I am so happy to see you too, Walter. It’s been how
long?”
    “Not long enough, Reed. Go away.”
    Reed planted himself toe to toe with Sydowski, who
looked around to