“It’s one of many scenarios we need to consider,” Wesley replied. “And it’s all the more reason I hope we can keep this from the media as long as possible.”
Morrell joined us as we walked along the exit ramp back toward the Jeep. A pale blue pickup truck with a camper shell pulled up, and a man and a woman in dark jumpsuits and boots got out. Opening the tailgate, they let two panting, tail-wagging bloodhounds out of their crate. They snapped long leads to rings on the leather belts around their waists and grabbed each dog by its harness.
“Salty, Neptune, heel!”
1 didn’t know which dog was which. Both were big and light tan with wrinkled faces and floppy ears.
Morrell grinned and put out his hand.
“Howya doin’, fella?”
Salty, or maybe it was Neptune, rewarded him with a wet kiss and a nuzzle to the leg.
The dog handlers were from Yorktown, their names Jeff and Gail. Gail was as tall as her partner and looked just about as strong. She reminded me of women I’ve seen who have spent their lives on farms, their faces lined by hard work and the sun, a stolid patience about them that comes from understanding nature and accepting its gifts and punishments. She was the search and-rescue team captain, and I could tell from the way she was eyeing the Jeep that she was surveying it for any sign that the scene, and therefore the scents, had been disturbed.
“Nothing’s been touched,” Marino told her, bending over to knead one of the dogs behind the ears. “We haven’t even opened the doors yet” “Do you know if anybody else has been inside it? Maybe the person who found it?”
Gail inquired.
Morrell began to explain, “The plate number went out over teletype, BOLOs, early this morning – ” “What the hell are BOLOs?”
Wesley interrupted.
“Be On the Lookouts.”
Wesley’s face was granite as Morrell went on, tediously, “Troopers don’t go through lineup, so they’re not always going to see a teletype. They just get in their cars and mark on. The dispatchers started sending BOLOS over the air the minute the couple was reported missing, and around one P.M. a trucker spotted the jeep, radioed it in. The trooper who responded said that other than looking through the windows to make sure nobody was inside, he didn’t even get close.”
I hoped this was true. Most police officers, even those who know better, can’t seem to resist opening doors and at least rummaging through the glove compartment in search of the owner’s identification.
Taking hold of both harnesses, Jeff took the dogs off to “use the potty” while Gail asked, “You got anything the dogs can scent off of?”
“Pat Harvey was asked to bring along anything Deborah might have been wearing recently,” Wesley said.
If Gail was surprised or impressed by whose daughter she was looking for, she did not show it but continued to regard Wesley expectantly.
“She’s flying in by chopper,” Wesley added, glancing at his watch. “Should be here any minute.”
“Well, just don’t be landing the big bird right here,” Gail commented, approaching the Jeep. “Don’t need anything stirring up the place.”
Peering through the driver’s window, she studied the inside of the doors, the dash, taking in every inch of the interior. Then she backed away and took along look at the black plastic door handle on the outside of the door.
“Best thing’s probably going to be the seats,” she decided. “We’ll let Salty scent off one, Neptune off the other. But first, we got to get in without screwing up anything. Anybody got a pencil or pen?”
Snatching a ballpoint Mont Blanc pen out of the breast pocket of his shirt, Wesley presented it to her.
“Need one more,” she added.
Amazingly, nobody else seemed to have a pen on his person, including me. I could have sworn I had several inside my purse.
“How about a folding knife?”
Marino was digging in a pocket of his jeans.
“Perfect.”
Pen in one hand and Swiss army knife in the other, Gaff simultaneously depressed the thumb button on the outside of the driver’s door and pried back the handle, then caught the door’s edge with the toe of her boot to gently pull it open. All the while I heard the faint, unmistakable thud-thud of helicopter blades growing louder.