Page 50 of Wilderness Search
“Mr. Sprague isn’t here,” Mrs. Mason said. “I can’t allow you to look at the files without his permission.”
“We have a warrant, ma’am,” Gage said. “We don’t need his permission.”
He stepped past and she watched, hands clutching a copy of the warrant, as the deputies filed into the office.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Everything,” Gage said. “It would be best if you waited in your office while we’re here. We don’t take any more of your time than necessary.”
She pulled out a cell phone and punched in the number, listened for a moment, then hung up. “Mr. Sprague isn’t answering his phone.”
“Where is Mr. Sprague?” Ryker asked.
“I imagine he’s where he always is these days,” she said. “He’s searching for Olivia Pryor. But I need him here. We’ve already had a set of parents show up and withdraw their child early from camp. I’m sure it’s because of all the bad publicity about OliviaPryor. But it’s not our fault if one headstrong girl decides to run away.”
Stella and her parents had met with the sheriff this morning at nine o’clock, and Stella’s statement about Olivia seeing something that had frightened her, plus the sheriff’s argument that it was possible Olivia was being held prisoner somewhere on the property, had resulted in a judge granting a warrant to search the camp once more—including the office, all outbuildings and the Sprague residence. These had been searched before, but with the cooperation of everyone involved. Camp employees and Scott himself had accompanied deputies as they searched for the missing girl. This time, they would also be looking for any evidence of a crime that might have involved Olivia, or that she might have witnessed.
They started with staff records. “We’re looking for any kind of disciplinary action for inappropriate behavior with a child,” Gage said. “Also any records of theft or vandalism. Maybe what Olivia saw was someone breaking the law.”
The records search took very little time. With less than a dozen employees and very few records on them, going through all the files took less than an hour. “Everyone here is squeaky-clean,” Ryker announced when they were done. “Either Scott has been very lucky with his hires or the records are lying.”
Interviews with the staff revealed nothing, either. “We’ve got a really great bunch of people here,” Wade Lawson told Aaron and Ryker. “Most of us have been here two or three summers, at least.”
“You’re telling me that all summer, nothing has turned up missing?” Ryker asked. “No one’s gotten into any trouble at all?”
“The only trouble was when my brother died,” Wade said. “I still don’t know what really happened that night, but I can’t believe anyone here had anything to do with it. Everyone really liked Trevor.”
“This is leading nowhere,” Ryker said as he and Aaron walked back toward the lodge.
They detoured when Gage hailed them. The sergeant was coming out of Scott’s house. “Find anything?” Ryker asked.
Gage shook his head. “The man lives like a minimalist. No photos, very few books, one file drawer full of personal papers. Nothing incriminating.”
Aaron looked back at the log home, straight out of the 1970s, or ’50s, or even ’30s. “Didn’t his family own this camp for years? Maybe his grandparents started it?”
“That’s the story,” Gage said. “But there’s not one family heirloom in the place, unless you count a toaster that probably dates from the 1980s.”
“Sarge!”
They turned to see Jake jogging toward them. He held out a small evidence bag. “Found this in Mrs. Mason’s apartment.”
Gage examined the plastic pouch, which contained a prescription bottle. “Seconal. The prescription is made out to Phyllis Mason.”
“She said it was prescribed last year, when she was going through a difficult time. She didn’t elaborate on what was wrong, but said she hadn’t taken the pills in months.”
Gage shook the bottle. “How many are in here?”
“Three. But she can’t remember how many were left when she stopped taking them. She swears no one else has been in her apartment.”
“Where is the apartment?” Gage asked.
“Upstairs, over the dining hall.”
“Anything else of interest in there?” Gage asked.
“Nothing,” Jake said. “I asked her if she knew Trevor Lawson. She said she had met him when he filled out the employee paperwork but she never spoke to him afterward. He had only worked part-time at the camp for about a month when he died.”
“We’ll see what we can get from this.” Gage handed back the evidence pouch. “But lots of people have prescriptions for sleeping pills. It doesn’t mean there’s any connection to Trevor.”
