Interfacing With A Murderer

Minam is a place of solace for me; a locale where my distant relatives once tended to timber and made moonshine up the mountain during prohibition times. I go there to listen to the Wallowa River rush by, to watch the cedar waxwings flip and fly over the river catching small flying things, I watch the rafters put in across the river at the boat launch, listen to the Osprey's clip cry, and joyfully tend to customers in the market and people lodging at the motel.

Although I go to Minam to get away I often find myself working on small projects or motel upkeep; mostly laundry, which is a never ending chore. I always try to get a ride on the lawnmower if only for the excuse to sip a cold one while doing circles in the front lawn. I spent seven weeks working at the motel last summer and enjoyed most of my time there, with the exception of a few nights where I found myself alone in the canyon with no one in the motel.

I am afraid of the dark - particularly dark wilderness areas with little light pollution. I like to see what is coming at me and this is problematic even when I have the porch lights on all night. One night in Minam during my stay last year, some raccoons were fighting in the middle of the night, or god knows what, which nearly made me pee my pants. During a spring time visit, a mob of dear were eating grass around the back side of the manager's unit, snorting and brushing up against the walls of the motel which also scared the bejesus out of me, even though I knew damn well it wasn't a crazed serial killer. The issue is that the motel is the only lodging place between Elgin and Wallowa - a 30 mile stretch of a scenic by-way - which is remote but beneficial for us because the weary traveler can find a place to stay when they come through the winding canyon in the dark. But every time someone comes in a little past 10pm, it rattles me just a bit.

I've been to Minam three times this year; I just arrived home from a week in the canyon yesterday. I arrived last Thursday, a little after 5pm, to an empty motel - which I expected - and a damn hot summer day. My first customer rolled in around 6-6:30pm. Being that we are along a thirty mile stretch of well, nothing, people from the country or adjoining towns often drop in to chat, or use the telephone if there is an emergency in the canyon somewhere, or to grab a cold beverage or ice cream. So nothing to be concerned with when my first customer rolled down the driveway in a dirty and dusty Jeep Wagoneer - complete with fake wood paneling and came to ask me if I had a paper. In the car was a woman smoking a cigarette, a couple of dogs bouncing about her lap.

I grabbed the paper and handed it over to the man. He was about my height, tan from days in the sunshine, had on a pair of white paint splattered pants and a myriad of tattoos about his torso. He had big brown eyes and his hair was done. He got down on one knee in the gravel drive-way and turned the page to a article about the recent find of a murdered woman and her dismembered hand that was found in a local pond; a news report that I had been following since before I headed down to the canyon. For a moment I thought it peculiar that he would come in, ask for a paper, and go for that column, but the county was alight with rumors and everyone was interested in the news - no one had heard of such an occurrence in years...

"Isn't that awful?" I offered.
"Yeah" he moved his finger quickly down the sentences, "she was a distant relative of mine."
I thought about the care I should take with my words. Nothing to strident, nothing to disregarding.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
He got up and handed the paper back to me, I forgot if he said 'thank you' or another 'yeah', he just turned around and headed back to the car and left.

I went back into the manager's unit and thought about my safety - I got a buck knife out of the kitchen drawer and set it next to the front door. I slept with it by my side that night, the front doors locked, the bedroom locked, the windows closed and locked on a 98-degree day.

The rest of the weekend was delightful: family came in to do some remodeling, some friends in for a little R&R on Friday. The great thing about Minam is that we really know how to have a good time: country drives, a little sauce and some music, some time by a fire telling fish-stories, good food, and good conversation. There is a welcoming aura there at the confluence of the two rivers, a feeling that you are free to enjoy time as you please, and we encourage those who visit Minam to do just that. After a fun weekend, everyone skirted out on Sunday and once again, I was alone in the canyon.

I went to bed on Sunday at 2:30am, anxious at being alone, and woke up to my mother calling on Monday around 8am. "They released a picture of the killer, Chels. I want you to get a good look at him."
By this time the news broke that there were three victims total, people in the county were so certain there was a serial killer on the loose that the police had to release a statement dispelling the rumors. There was also rumors of a head found in a backpack. Also not true. I wasn't reading the paper that was being delivered daily to the motel, I was only quickly glancing to see whether or not that murderer had been captured. In Saturday's paper there were three pictures - two of people in plain clothes and one of a young man in a mug shot. I figured that was their prime suspect and moved on with my day.
"Yeah mom," I said yawning, "I already saw the guy. I haven't seen him."
"Okay, well, I just want you to be careful."
She headed off the work and since I was awakened by the phone call, I was up. I turned on the news anyway to get a good look at the guy and to make sure I knew his face. And this is probably no surprise to any reader of true-crime, but when his face came up on the news I nearly fell off the bed: my first visitor on Thursday was the guy.

I called my mom - or at least tried to - to ask her what to do. Should I call the police since the guy is still on the loose? She wasn't there to ask.
I decided to call the Union County Police.
A 1/2 hour later the news broke that Gregory A. Cook was captured in Rainier, Washington.In a news report he confessed and apologized.

Although I am scared of the dark and the dark is where most of the "bad" things that have happened to me have occurred, it's no stretch to say that frightening things happen in broad daylight - and often within a mile of home.

Minam is not where I reside, but it is one of my homes.
Even though we fondly call it The Minam Asylum.