“I looked at other things uploaded to that same account. I recognized the scenery and the routes—the Third Flatiron, Redgarden Wall, Cadaver Crack. When you hang out on high rocks, you get to know the landscape.”
“I understand. How did you identify Mr. Riggs?”
“After a couple of weeks of daily images, he slipped. He posted a sickening photo with the caption, ‘She climbs like a man, but she fucks like an animal.’ Bren had once told me I climbed like a man.”
“Then you confronted him.”
“Not right away. I was scrolling through some of the other images he’d uploaded and saw a water bottle in the bottom right corner. The water bottle came from one of our shared sponsors. He’d written his name on it.”
“Nice detective work.” Darius smiled. “I’m serious.”
“Thanks.” She smiled back and…
Damn.
Darius had felt that down to his toes.
Knock it the hell off.
“What did you do when you realized it was Mr. Riggs?”
“I was angry. He’s supposed to be a friend. He had harassed me in public, so I decided to expose him in public.”
Ms. Dillon told Darius how she’d gathered every bit of evidence she had and had passed it to her manager and her corporate sponsors. Then she’d posted the whole story on her website, accusing him publicly.
“What happened then?”
“The sponsors contacted him. He admitted he’d done it, and they pulled his sponsorships. He posted a long apology on his blog. I don’t believe he wrote it. It didn’t sound like him. I hate to say it, but he’s not that articulate or intelligent.”
Darius could only agree. “Did the posts stop?”
“Yes. The public response was mostly supportive. My fellow Team members backed me up on social media, especially Megs. She has a huge following. I did get some hateful posts from anonymous people and some email threats. I figured the porn images had drawn in creepers.”
“I’d say that’s pretty likely.”
Darius had glanced through her social media last night, including her climbing and exercise videos. The climbing vids had blown him away, but he’d been impressed with how down-to-earth her public persona was. She gave off a wholesome vibe—the beautiful girl next door who just happened to be the world’s foremost female climber. That made her a target for a particular subspecies of male asshole.
While she sipped her tea, Darius moved through his list of questions. Had her online harassment increased after she’d outed Riggs? Had she faced other harassment that seemed to come from the same source? Had anyone accosted her in person? Had anyone followed her here or elsewhere? Had she had any negative interactions with fans or fellow climbers online or in person?
She answered his questions one by one. The harassment had spiked for a time. There were some anonymous posters who’d left negative comments whose avatars she recognized. There’d been a few times when fans had crossed her boundaries and made her uncomfortable, but it was hard now to remember details. She’d had a guy yell at her in a coffee shop once in Moab.
“He told me that men don’t want women with careers. He said men only want women who are curvy and who want to stay home and have kids. But that was a couple of years ago.”
As she continued to answer, Darius saw that she was growing uncomfortable. “Maybe you should take your next dose of pills.”
Her face a mask of pain, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ll just get… Damn. They’re upstairs on my nightstand. I’ll be right—”
“I’ll get them.” Darius left the table and headed up the stairs.
Sasha’s house was a spacious, two-story modern home that resembled a large log cabin on the outside. Tastefully furnished, it was nothing like the villas of the celebrities whose cases he’d taken in LA. There was no swimming pool, no tennis courts, no guest wing, no staff rushing here and there. She had four bedrooms, a kitchen, a few bathrooms, and a living area with windows that faced the high peaks. The only unique feature was the bouldering set-up he’d spotted in the backyard.
He found her bedroom at the end of the upstairs hallway, the scents of lavender and vanilla undeniably feminine. He took the bottle of oxycodone from her nightstand and made his way back to the kitchen, where he found her filling a glass with water.
“Thank you.” She took two pills and drank them down. “Can we move into the living room? It’s hard to sit here.”
“Of course.”
She carried her cup of tea into the living room and settled in a leather recliner, the electric footrest rising almost silently. “What was that last question again?”
