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November 12th, 1987.

>> All right, be careful.

>> Robert Kaine kissed his wife goodbye at 10:47 p.m, grabbed his thermos of coffee, and drove into the Arizona night toward the Red Rock Skyway, a tourist attraction that promised visitors breathtaking views of Sedona’s famous Crimson Cliffs.

He was scheduled for routine overnight maintenance on Cable Station 3, 200 ft above the canyon floor.

By morning, Robert was gone.

His flashlight still burned inside the technical cabin.

His tools lay scattered across the platform.

But Robert Cain had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a wife, two young children, and a mystery that would take 37 years to solve.

What investigators didn’t know in 1987 was that Robert had discovered something in the company’s financial records 3 days earlier.

Something worth killing for.

If you want to hear more stories like this, cases that stayed cold for decades until one unexpected break changed everything.

New cases every week.

Here is how it began

Jennifer Caine woke at 6:15 a.m.

on Friday, November 13th, to an empty bed and a creeping sense of dread she couldn’t explain.

Her husband, Robert’s overnight shifts usually ended at 6:00 a.m.

, and he was always home by 6:20, punctual to a fault, especially on Friday mornings when he liked to make pancakes for their kids before they left for school.

She walked to the kitchen.

No coffee brewing, no sound of Robert’s truck in the driveway.

Jennifer told herself not to panic.

Maybe the maintenance took longer than expected.

Maybe he stopped for gas.

But Robert always called if he was running late.

Always.

By 6:45, with 8-year-old Michael asking where dad was and 5-year-old Emma starting to cry because she wanted her Friday pancakes, Jennifer picked up the phone and called Red Rock Skyway’s main office.

The receptionist, a woman named Brenda, answered on the third ring.

Red Rock Skyway, how can I help you? This is Jennifer Kaine.

My husband, Robert, was working overnight maintenance.

He hasn’t come home yet.

Is he still there? A pause.

Hold on.

Let me check with dispatch.

Jennifer waited, her heart beating faster.

She heard muffled voices in the background.

Then Brenda came back on the line.

Mrs.

Kain, Greg Marshall is on his way to the site right now to check.

Can you give us your number? We’ll call you right back.

What do you mean check? Isn’t someone there with him? Robert was working solo last night, ma’am.

It’s standard for overnight inspections.

I’m sure everything’s fine.

We’ll call you back in 15 minutes.

But everything wasn’t fine.

Greg Marshall, owner and operator of Red Rock Skyway, arrived at Cable Station 3 at 7:12 a.

m.

The station was a small technical cabin perched on a steel platform bolted into the canyon wall accessible only by the cable car system itself.

Marshall rode the cable car up from the base station, his stomach tight with worry.

Robert Kaine was his most reliable employee.

15 years with the company, never missed a shift, never cut corners on safety.

The Red Rock Skyway was a bycable gondola system.

One stationary track cable supported the cars while a separate hall cable pulled them up and down the canyon.

It was the kind of system that required constant attention, especially in Arizona’s extreme temperature swings.

The cables expanded in summer heat and contracted in winter cold.

Every quarter, someone had to manually inspect the tension, check for fraying, and verify that the pulleys rotated smoothly.

Robert had done these inspections for a decade.

He knew the system better than anyone.

When the cable car doors opened onto the platform, Marshall saw it immediately.

Robert’s yellow hard hat sitting on the equipment box.

his flashlight still on, lying on its side near the cabin door, beam pointing into the empty sky.

The cabin door hung open, swaying slightly in the morning wind.

Marshall stepped out carefully, calling Robert’s name.

No answer.

He walked to the edge of the platform and looked down into the canyon, a 200 ft drop into juniper trees and red sandstone.

Nothing.

No sign of anyone.

Inside the cabin, Robert’s tools were scattered across the workbench, wrenches, voltage testers, a cable tension gauge, a clipboard with maintenance logs.

The last entry, written in Robert’s neat handwriting, was timestamped 11:34 p.

m.

Cable tension normal, motor housing secure.

Proceeding to pulley inspection, but the inspection was never completed.

Marshall noticed something else.

The tension gauge was still calibrated to the track cables specifications.

18,000 pounds per square in for a loaded system.

Robert had checked the tension and found it normal, so he hadn’t fallen because of equipment failure.

Marshall radioed down to the base station.

Call the police and call Mrs.

Kain.

Tell her tell her we’re looking for Robert.

The Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office arrived at Red Rock Skyway by 8:30 a.

m.

Detective Carl Hernandez, a 15-year veteran with the department, took lead on the case.

By 9:00 a.

m.

, he was standing on the platform at cable station 3, looking at the same scene Greg Marshall had found two hours earlier.

“Walk me through what you know,” Hernandez said, pulling out his notebook.

Marshall explained the overnight shift protocol.

Robert had clocked in at the base station at 11:05 p.

m.

He’d taken the cable car up to station 3 for a routine quarterly inspection, checking cable tension, motor housing, pulley systems, electrical connections.

The inspection typically took 3 to 4 hours.

Robert was supposed to radio down to the base station when he finished and then ride the cable car back down, but he never radioed.

And when morning shift arrived at 6:00 a.

m.

, they assumed Robert had already left.

Who was at the base station overnight? Hernandez asked.

No one.

We don’t staff it overnight for solo maintenance shifts.

Robert had the radio if he needed anything.

Hernandez made a note.

So no one would have seen if he came down early or if someone else went up.

Marshall shifted uncomfortably.

The cable car system logs every trip automatically.

I can pull those records.

Do that now.

While Marshall went back down to retrieve the logs.

Hernandez examined the platform more carefully.

The technical cabin was small, maybe 10 ft x 12 ft, packed with electrical panels, tool storage, and maintenance equipment.

Everything looked orderly except for the scattered tools on the workbench.

Robert’s thermos sat unopened next to the clipboard, his jacket hung on a hook by the door.

No signs of struggle, no blood, no torn clothing.

Hernandez walked to the platform’s edge and studied the safety railing.

a waist high barrier of steel pipes.

It would be difficult for a grown man to accidentally fall over it, especially someone as safety conscious as Robert Cain reportedly was.

If he’d gone over, it would have taken force or intention.

He looked down again.

The drop was sheer for about 60 ft, then the canyon wall angled into a steep slope covered with brush and small trees.

If Robert had fallen accidentally or otherwise, his body should be visible somewhere in that brush.

Marshall returned 20 minutes later with a print out here.

Every cable car trip in the last 24 hours.

Hernandez scanned the log.

10:47 p.

m.

Car ascending to station 3.

11:05 p.

m.

Car arriving station 3.

No further trips recorded.

That’s it.

Hernandez said the car didn’t move again until this morning when you rode up.

That’s right.

The system’s automated.

It only runs when someone activates it from a station.

There’s a control panel at the base and another up here in the cabin.

Show me.

Marshall led him into the cabin and pointed to a metal panel on the wall.

Three buttons, up, down, emergency, stop.

Simple.

Could someone activate the system from somewhere else? Hernandez asked.

Remotely? No, it’s a closed system.

You have to be at one of the two stations.

So, Robert never came down and no one else went up.

Marshall nodded, his face pale.

That’s what the log says.

Hernandez looked back at the platform, at the open cabin, at the flashlight still burning in the dust.

Then where the hell is he? By noon, a search and rescue team had repelled down into the canyon below station 3.

They spent 6 hours combing through juniper brush and sandstone outcroppings, looking for any sign of Robert Cain.

They found nothing.

No body, no clothing, no disturbed vegetation suggesting a fall.

At 2:30 p.

m.

, Hernandez drove to the Cain residence on Maple Street in West Sedona.

It was a modest singlestory house with a well-maintained lawn and a basketball hoop above the garage.

A child’s bicycle, pink with training wheels, leaned against the front porch.

Jennifer answered the door, her eyes red from crying.

Michael and Emma sat on the living room couch clutching stuffed animals, their faces blank with the kind of confusion that children wear when their world suddenly stops making sense.

Mrs.

Cain, Hernandez said gently.

Can we talk? Jennifer led him to the kitchen, leaving the kids with a neighbor who’d come over to help.

The kitchen was warm and lived in.

family photos on the refrigerator.

A calendar with Michael’s soccer practices marked in red ink.

Emma’s crayon drawings taped to the wall.

A pot of coffee sat on the counter untouched.

She sat at the table, hands clasped tightly together.

“Tell me about Robert,” Hernandez said.

“Was he depressed? Any financial problems? Anything that might have been bothering him?” Jennifer’s voice was steady despite the tears streaming down her face.

No, Robert loved his job.

He loved this family.

We weren’t rich, but we were doing fine.

We had savings.

The mortgage was manageable.

He was happy.

Detective, he was planning Michael’s birthday party for next month.

He wanted to take him and his friends to see a movie and go to that new pizza place downtown.

He’d just bought Emma a new bike for Christmas and hid it in the garage.

She’s been asking for a big girl bike without training wheels for months.

Her voice broke.

He wouldn’t just leave us.

He wouldn’t do that to them.

Hernandez gave her a moment, then asked, “Did he mention anything unusual at work? Any conflicts with co-workers? Problems with the company?” Jennifer thought for a moment, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

He said something a few days ago, Tuesday, I think.

He came home from work around 6:30, and he seemed distracted during dinner.

The kids were talking about their day at school, and normally Robert would ask them questions, get involved.

But that night, he was quiet.

After we put the kids to bed, I asked him what was wrong.

He said there was something off with the numbers.

I asked him what he meant.

He said he worked in maintenance, but he’d been with the company so long that sometimes Greg asked him to help verify equipment orders, make sure they were getting the right parts at fair prices.

Robert was good with details like that.

He’d noticed some of the invoices didn’t add up.

Hernandez leaned forward.

Did he say what kind of invoices? replacement parts for the cable car system.

I think cables, motors, pulleys, that kind of thing.

He said the company was ordering parts from suppliers he’d never heard of, and the prices seemed unusually high, like way higher than what they normally paid.

He said he was going to talk to Greg Marshall about it, ask him about the suppliers, maybe suggest they shop around for better prices.

He thought maybe Greg was just getting ripped off by some shady vendor.

When was he supposed to talk to Marshall? Friday yesterday.

Jennifer looked at Hernandez, realization dawning in her eyes.

You think? You think something happened to him because of that? Because of invoices? I don’t know yet, Mrs.

Cain, but I’m going to find out.

Jennifer’s hands trembled.

Robert always tried to do the right thing.

If he saw something wrong, he couldn’t just let it go.

That’s who he was.

But he wouldn’t.

He was careful.

He wouldn’t put himself in danger.

He has a family.

I know, Hernandez said softly.

And I’m going to do everything I can to bring him home to you.

Detective Hernandez returned to Red Rock Skyway at 400 p.

m.

and found Greg Marshall in his office.

a cramped room above the base station gift shop.

Marshall looked exhausted, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes shadowed.

Mr.

Marshall, I need to see your financial records, specifically invoices for equipment and parts over the last year.

Marshall blinked.

Why? What does that have to do with Robert disappearing? His wife says he mentioned something about numbers not adding up.

He was planning to talk to you about it today.

Marshall’s expression shifted just for a second, Hernandez noticed, from confusion to something else.

Calculation maybe, or fear.

I don’t know what she’s talking about, Marshall said carefully.

Robert never mentioned anything like that to me.

Then you won’t mind showing me the records? Marshall hesitated, then nodded.

Of course, I’ll have my accountant pull everything together.

It’ll take a day or two.

Tomorrow, Hernandez said, “First thing.

” On Saturday morning, Hernandez received a call from Marshall’s accountant, a woman named Margaret Simons, early 30s, nervous voice.

“Detective, I have the records you requested.

Can I bring them to the sheriff’s office?” I’ll come to you, Hernandez said.

Where are you? Margaret gave him an address in village of Oak Creek, about 10 mi south of Sedona.

When Hernandez arrived, she was waiting outside a small office building holding two bankers boxes.

Everything’s here, she said, setting the boxes in Hernandez’s trunk.

Invoices, purchase orders, receipts, all of 1987.

Did you notice anything unusual in these records? Hernandez asked.

Margaret’s hands trembled slightly as she closed the trunk.

I I just do what Mr.

Marshall tells me to do, detective.

I process the invoices he gives me.

That’s not what I asked.

She looked at him, then away.

I need this job.

I have two kids.

Hernandez softened his tone.

Miss Simons, a man is missing.

If you know something, I don’t know anything, she said quickly.

The records are all there.

You can see for yourself.

She got in her car and drove away before Hernandez could ask anything else.

Back at the sheriff’s office, Hernandez spent Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday going through the financial records with a fine tooth comb.

And slowly, a pattern emerged.

Red Rock Skyway had ordered replacement cable parts from a supplier in Phoenix, a company called Summit Industrial Supply in March, June, and September of 1987.

Each order was for approximately $12,000.

But when Hernandez called Summit Industrial on Monday morning, they had no record of any orders from Red Rock Skyway in 1987.

“Are you sure?” Hernandez asked the supplier’s office manager.

Positive.

We’ve never done business with Red Rock Skyway.

I just checked our client list going back to 1980.

Hernandez hung up and stared at the invoices on his desk.

They looked legitimate.

Summit Industrials’s letterhead, itemized parts lists, pricing, everything, but they were fake.

Someone at Red Rock Skyway was creating false invoices and pocketing the money, and Robert Kaine had figured it out.

On Monday afternoon, Hernandez brought Greg Marshall into the sheriff’s office for formal questioning.

Marshall arrived with a lawyer, a Phoenix attorney named Richard Vance, mid-40s, expensive suit, the kind of lawyer who charged $400 an hour.

Vance didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

He set his briefcase on the table, pulled out a legal pad, and looked at Hernandez with the expression of a man who’d done this a thousand times.

My client is here voluntarily, detective.

He’s cooperating fully because he has nothing to hide.

But let’s establish some ground rules.

You’re not recording this conversation without our consent.

And if at any point I feel you’re overstepping, we’re done.

Clear? Hernandez kept his voice even.

Crystal.

He slid the fake invoices across the table.

Marshall picked them up, studied them, and frowned.

These are from Summit Industrial.

We use them for parts.

No, you don’t.

I called Summit.

They’ve never done business with you.

Marshall’s face went carefully blank.

He looked at Vance, who gave a slight nod.

That’s news to me, Marshall said slowly.

I don’t handle the day-to-day finances.

Margaret Simons processes all the invoices.

She cuts the checks.

If there’s something wrong with these invoices, you need to talk to her.

I did talk to her.

She said she processes what you give her.

Marshall set the invoices down and leaned back in his chair.

Then someone’s not telling the truth, detective, and I’d suggest you look more carefully at who has access to the company checkbook.

Vance added, “My client has been running Red Rock Skyway for 12 years.

His reputation in this community is spotless.

If someone on his staff is committing fraud, he’s as much a victim as anyone.

” Hernandez let the silence stretch.

Then where were you on Thursday night, November 12th, between 1000 p.

m.

and 6:00 a.

m.

? Marshall didn’t hesitate.

At home with my wife.

We had dinner, watched TV, went to bed around 10:00.

Anyone else see you? Just my wife.

Did you leave the house at any point during the night? No.

You’re sure? Positive.

Hernandez wrote that down, then looked up.

What about David Porter? Marshall blinked.

What about him? He worked with Robert.

How well do you know Porter? He’s a good employee.

Been with us 3 years.

Why? Just asking.

Vance stood up.

I think we’re done here, detective.

Unless you’re charging my client with something.

Hernandez didn’t have enough to charge Marshall.

Not yet.

You’re free to go, but don’t leave town.

Marshall and Vance walked out.

Through the window, Hernandez watched them stand in the parking lot, talking in low voices for 5 minutes before Marshall finally got in his car and drove away.

Over the next two weeks, the investigation stalled.

Search teams continued scouring the canyon around Cable Station 3, but found no trace of Robert Kaine.

Dive teams searched the creek at the bottom of the canyon.

Nothing.

Cadaavver dogs picked up no sense.

Hernandez interviewed every Red Rock Skyway employee.

Most were part-time workers, gift shop clerks, ticket sellers, maintenance helpers.

Only a handful knew Robert well.

One of them was David Porter, a 26-year-old assistant technician who’d worked with Robert for three years.

Porter came to the interview nervous, fidgeting with his hands, answering questions in short, clipped sentences.

“When did you last see Robert?” Hernandez asked.

“Thursday afternoon, around 4.

We were both finishing day shifts.

How did he seem?” “Normal, maybe a little quiet.

Did he mention anything about financial discrepancies, problems with invoices?” Porter’s eyes flickered.

No.

Why would he tell me that? Because you worked with him.

You were friends.

We were co-workers.

We didn’t really hang out.

But you knew him.

You worked side by side for 3 years.

Porter shifted in his seat.

Look, Robert was a good guy, really professional, but he kept to himself.

He talked about his kids sometimes, showed me pictures.

That’s it.

Where were you Thursday night? At a bar in Sedona, the Canyon Club.

I was there with friends until midnight.

Names? Porter gave him three names.

Hernandez checked later.

All three confirmed Porter had been at the bar, but midnight to 6:00 a.

m.

was still unaccounted for.

By early December, the case was going cold.

Hernandez had theories, but no evidence.

The most logical explanation was that Robert had confronted someone about the fake invoices and that someone had killed him.

But without a body, without a weapon, without witnesses, he had nothing.

On December 18th, Hernandez sat in his office late at night, rereading his case notes.

His phone rang.

It was Margaret Simons.

“Detective,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I need to tell you something.

Hernandez sat up straight.

I’m listening.

The night Robert disappeared, I was working late at the office closing the quarterly reports.

It was around midnight.

I saw Greg Marshall’s truck pull up behind the building.

He wasn’t alone.

David Porter was with him.

They unloaded something from the truck bed, something heavy wrapped in a tarp or plastic and put it in Marshall’s truck.

Then they drove away.

Hernandez’s pulse quickened.

Why didn’t you tell me this before? A long pause.

Then because the next morning, Greg came to my house.

He gave me $5,000 in cash.

He said it was a bonus for all my hard work.

But the way he looked at me, he knew I’d seen something.

And he said if I ever talked to anyone about what happened that night, he’d make sure I never worked in this town again.

I have two kids, detective.

I’m a single mom.

I can’t lose my job.

Margaret, listen to me.

If you testify to what you saw, I can’t.

I won’t.

I just I needed to tell someone, but I can’t go on record.

Please don’t make me.

Margaret.

The line went dead.

Hernandez tried calling back.

No answer.

He drove to her house in Oak Creek.

No one home.

Over the next three days, he tried reaching her a dozen times.

She never answered.

He drove to her office.

The door was locked.

A c-orker said Margaret had called in sick.

On December 22nd, Hernandez received a call from Margaret’s sister in Flagstaff.

Margaret asked me to tell you to stop calling her.

She’s scared.

She’s not going to talk to you again.

And without her testimony, he had nothing.

On January 15th, 1988, the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office officially classified Robert Kaine’s disappearance as a cold case.

Detective Hernandez wrote in his final report, “Strong suspicion of foul play involving financial fraud.

Primary persons of interest, Greg Marshall, owner, Red Rock Skyway, and David Porter, assistant technician.

Insufficient evidence to pursue charges.

Witness Margaret Simons refuses to cooperate.

Case remains open pending new information.

Jennifer Kaine buried an empty casket in Sedona Community Cemetery on a cold February morning.

Michael and Emma stood beside her, holding her hands, not really understanding that their father was never coming home.

Life went on.

Michael grew up and became a teacher in Phoenix.

Emma became a nurse in Flagstaff.

Both carried the weight of their father’s unsolved disappearance for the rest of their lives.

Greg Marshall continued operating Red Rock Skyway for another 7 years.

In 1994, after a series of mechanical failures and a fatal accident that killed two tourists, the company declared bankruptcy and closed permanently.

Marshall moved to Scottsdale and opened a consulting business for tourist attractions.

He invested well, lived comfortably, and never spoke publicly about Robert Kaine.

David Porter left Arizona in 1989 and moved to Tucson where he worked as an industrial electrician.

He married, had three kids, and kept his head down.

Margaret Simons continued working as an accountant in Sedona, changing jobs twice over the years.

never speaking about what she’d seen that November night.

She carried the guilt like a stone in her chest, and Robert Kaine remained missing.

His body never found, his family never given closure, his case filed away in a dusty box in the sheriff’s office basement.

For 37 years, the truth stayed buried until 2024 when a young IRS analyst named Kevin Chen began digitizing old tax records and noticed something strange in the files of a long defunct company called Red Rock Skyway.

Part two.

Kevin Chen was 28 years old, fresh out of graduate school with a degree in data forensics and deeply bored with his job at the IRS Phoenix field office.

His assignment for the past 6 months had been mind-numbing, digitizing paper tax records from bankrupt Arizona businesses dating back to the 1980s and 90s.

thousands of pages of faded invoices, handwritten ledgers, and outdated financial statements that would probably never be looked at again.

But Kevin had a habit of noticing patterns.

It was what made him good at his job, even if the job itself was tedious.

On March 14th, 2024, he was scanning tax returns for Red Rock Skyway LLC, a defunct tourist company that had filed for bankruptcy in 1994.

The company’s financial records were messy, typical for a small business that had struggled before collapse.

But as Kevin fed pages through the scanner, something caught his eye.

The 1987 tax return showed gross revenue of $847,000, reasonable for a seasonal tourist attraction.

But when Kevin cross referenced the reported expenses against the company’s bank statements, which the IRS had obtained during the bankruptcy proceedings, the numbers didn’t match.

Red Rock Skyway had reported $36,000 in equipment purchases from Summit Industrial Supply in 1987, but the bank statements showed no corresponding payments to Summit Industrial.

Instead, there were three cash withdrawals of $12,000 each, all made by the company owner, Greg Marshall.

Kevin pulled up Summit Industrial Supply in the IRS database.

The company existed, but it had never reported receiving any payments from Red Rock Skyway.

Fake invoices, tax fraud.

Kevin flagged the file and sent it to his supervisor with a note.

Possible fraudulent deductions.

Recommend investigation.

His supervisor, a woman named Rita Morales, who’d been with the IRS for 23 years, looked at the file and frowned.

This company’s been dead for 30 years, Kevin.

Even if they did commit fraud, the statute of limitations ran out decades ago.

We can’t go after them.

I know, Kevin said.

But look at this.

He pulled up another document, a news article from the Sedona Red Rock News, November 1987.

The headline read, “Local man vanishes from Red Rock Skyway.

” Rita read the article, then looked at Kevin.

You think the fraud and the disappearance are connected? The timing’s suspicious.

The guy who disappeared, Robert Kaine, worked in maintenance, but his wife told police he’d noticed discrepancies in the company’s invoices.

3 days later, he’s gone.

Rita was quiet for a moment, thinking.

Then she picked up her phone.

I’m calling the FBI.

On March 22nd, 2024, FBI special agent Lauren Vasquez drove from the Phoenix field office to Sedona to meet with the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office.

The Robert Kaine case file had been sitting in storage for 37 years, but it was still officially open.

When Vasquez explained what the IRS had found, the current sheriff, a man named Tom Brennan, who’d been 12 years old when Robert disappeared, immediately authorized reopening the investigation.

Detective Hernandez retired in 2003, Brennan said, pulling the case file from a dusty banker’s box in the evidence room.

But his notes are detailed.

He suspected Greg Marshall and an employee named David Porter.

He even had a witness, an accountant named Margaret Simons, but she refused to testify.

“Is she still alive?” Vasquez asked.

Brennan checked his computer.

“Margaret Simons, age 73, living in Flagstaff, retired, no criminal record.

” “What about Marshall and Porter?” Greg Marshall died in 2019, heart attack, but David Porter is still alive.

Lives in Tucson, age 63.

Vasquez made notes.

I need to see everything.

Bank records, employee files, witness statements, and I want to talk to Margaret Simons.

Margaret Simons lived in a modest ranch house on the north side of Flagstaff, surrounded by ponderosa pines.

The house was small but well-kept with flower boxes in the windows and a tidy front yard.

When special agent Vasquez and Sheriff Brennan knocked on her door on March 25th, Margaret answered with a look of resignation, as if she’d been expecting this moment for 37 years.

Mrs.

Simons, I’m Special Agent Lauren Vasquez with the FBI.

This is Sheriff Tom Brennan.

We’d like to talk to you about Robert Kaine.

Margaret’s face went pale.

She gripped the door frame, her knuckles white.

For a moment, Vasquez thought she might close the door, but instead Margaret took a shaky breath and said, “I told the detective back then.

I can’t help you.

” “That was 1987,” Vasquez said gently.

“Things are different now.

Greg Marshall is dead.

You don’t work for him anymore, and we have new evidence that connects him directly to financial fraud at Red Rock Skyway.

We’re not asking you to speculate or guess about anything.

We just need you to tell us what you saw with your own eyes.

” Margaret looked past them into the street as if checking for danger even now, 37 years later.

Her eyes were wet.

Then she stepped aside.

“Come in.

” They sat in her small living room.

The space was comfortable but sparse.

A couch, two chairs, a coffee table with a few magazines.

Photos of grown children and grandchildren lined the mantle above a brick fireplace.

Margaret’s hands trembled as she poured coffee from a pot she’d clearly just made, as if she’d known they were coming.

She was 73 but looked older, her face lined with decades of carrying a secret, her shoulders bent with the weight of guilt.

“I was 31 years old,” she began quietly, sitting down across from them and wrapping her hands around her coffee mug like she needed the warmth.

“Single mother, two kids.

Sarah was nine, Dany was six.

Their father had left us two years earlier.

No child support, no help.

I was working two jobs just to keep us afloat.

When Greg hired me as Red Rock Skyways accountant in 1985, I thought I was so lucky.

Good pay, steady work, benefits.

I could quit my second job.

I could be home for dinner with my kids.

I didn’t ask questions.

I just I was grateful.

“What did you see?” Mrs.

Simons, Vasquez asked.

Margaret took a breath, her hands still shaking.

The invoices were fake.

I knew it.

After a few months of working there, I started to notice.

Greg would bring me these purchase orders from Summit Industrial Supply, cables, motors, equipment parts.

I’d process them like any other invoice, cut the checks, enter them in the ledger, file the paperwork.

But then I noticed something.

The checks were never cashed.

not by Summit Industrial.

Anyway, Greg would endorse them and deposit them into a separate bank account he’d set up.

Said it was for equipment reserves.

Then he’d withdraw the cash.

I asked him about it once, tried to be casual.

He said it was for tax purposes that the company had to show certain expenses to offset revenue.

He said I shouldn’t worry about it, that it was standard business practice.

But I knew it wasn’t.

I’d worked in accounting long enough to know.

Did Robert Cain know about this? Vasquez asked.

I think so, Margaret said, her voice cracking.

The week before he disappeared, it was early November, first week of the month.

Robert came into the office.

It was late afternoon, maybe 4:30.

Most people had gone home.

He said he was verifying some equipment orders for the quarterly inspection.

He asked to see the invoices for the cable replacement parts we’d supposedly ordered in September.

I gave them to him.

He sat at the desk in the breakroom and studied them for maybe 20 minutes.

Then he asked me for the contact information for Summit Industrial.

I gave him the phone number from the invoice and he called them right there in front of me.

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears.

I heard his side of the conversation.

He was polite, professional.

He said he was calling from Red Rock Skyway to verify a parts order, gave them the order number from the invoice.

Then there was this long silence while he listened, and I could tell from his face that something was wrong.

His expression changed.

He thanked them for their time and hung up.

Then he just looked at me and he said, “They never sent us any parts, did they?” I didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t.

I just looked down at my desk and Robert stood up and said, “I need to talk to Greg about this and he left.

” “What happened the night Robert disappeared?” Vasquez asked.

Margaret set her coffee mug down carefully, as if afraid she might drop it.

“I was working late that night, November 12th, Thursday.

I had to close the quarterly financial reports for the board meeting the next week.

I was in my office on the second floor of the building.

It was right above the equipment garage.

Around midnight, I was almost done just printing the final pages, and I heard a truck pull up.

The building was supposed to be empty.

I looked out the window.

She paused, wiping her eyes.

I saw Greg’s truck.

I recognized it.

A brown Ford F-150.

He pulled up behind the building near the garage doors.

David Porter was with him.

They got out and went around to the truck bed and they pulled something out, something heavy.

It was wrapped in a blue tarp, the kind we used to cover equipment.

They struggled with it.

It took both of them to lift it, and they carried it to the back of Greg’s truck and put it in.

Then they got in the truck and drove away.

Did you see what was wrapped in the tarp? No.

But Margaret’s voice dropped to a whisper.

It was the size and shape of a person.

I knew.

Even then, I knew.

The room was silent except for the ticking of a clock on the wall.

The next morning, Margaret continued, her voice barely audible.

Now, Greg came
to my house.

7:00 a.

m.

I was getting my kids ready for school.

He knocked on the door.

When I opened it, he had this smile on his face, but his eyes his eyes were cold.

He had an envelope.

He said it was a bonus for all my hard work on the quarterly reports.

$5,000 cash.

I started to thank him, but then he said, “I know you were working late last night, Margaret.

I hope you got some rest.

Sometimes when we work too late, we see things that aren’t really there.

Our minds play tricks on us when we’re tired.

You understand? And the way he looked at me when he said it, I knew it was a threat.

I knew that if I said anything to anyone, something would happen to me, or worse, to my kids.

Vasquez reached across the table and put her hand on Margaret’s.

Mrs.

Simons, you’re very brave for telling us this now.

I know it wasn’t easy to carry this for so long.

Margaret wiped her eyes, her whole body shaking now.

I should have said something 37 years ago.

That family, Robert’s wife, his kids, they never got closure.

They spent their whole lives not knowing what happened to him.

Because I was too scared.

Because I chose my children over the truth.

And I know that was selfish.

I know that you were protecting your children, Vasquez said firmly.

You were a single mother facing a man who’d just killed someone.

No one blames you for being afraid.

No one.

I blame myself, Margaret whispered.

With Margaret Simons’s testimony, the FBI had enough to move forward.

Over the next two weeks, Agent Vasquez and her team built a comprehensive case.

The IRS provided copies of Red Rock Skyways tax returns, bank statements, and the fake invoices from Summit Industrial Supply.

Forensic accountants confirmed that Greg Marshall had fraudulently claimed $36,000 in business expenses and pocketed the cash.

Margaret Simons’s statement placed Marshall and Porter at the scene with a body-sized object on the night of Robert’s disappearance.

Her 1987 statement to Detective Hernandez, though she’d refused to testify, was still on file and corroborated her current account.

Robert Kaine’s final maintenance log, preserved in the case file, showed his last entry at 11:34 p.

m.

The cable car system logs proved Robert never rode back down.

But there was a critical detail Hernandez hadn’t noticed.

In 1987, David Porter had access to the cable car control panel.

He’d been trained on the system 6 months earlier.

Vasquez pieced together what likely happened on November 12th, 1987.

Robert arrived at Red Rock Skyway at 10:47 p.

m.

for his overnight shift.

He rode the cable car up to station 3 at 11:05 p.

m.

and began his inspection.

At 11:34 p.

m.

, he made his last log entry.

Around 11:45 p.

m.

, David Porter activated the cable car from the base station using his access code and rode up to station 3.

Around midnight, Porter confronted Robert about the invoices.

A struggle ensued.

Robert was killed.

At 12:15 a.

m.

, Porter called Greg Marshall.

Marshall drove to Red Rock Skyway.

At 12:30 a.

m.

, Porter rode the cable car back down with Robert’s body wrapped in a tarp.

Marshall helped load it into his truck.

At 12:45 a.

m.

, Margaret Simons witnessed them transferring the body.

“Where did they take the body?” Sheriff Brennan asked during a case briefing on April 8th.

Vasquez pulled up a map of Sedona and the surrounding area.

Marshall owned 40 acres of undeveloped land in Cornville about 15 miles from Red Rock Skyway.

He bought it in 1984 and sold it in 1996, 2 years after the company went bankrupt.

You think they buried Robert there? It’s the most logical place.

On April 15th, 2024, FBI forensic teams descended on the former Marshall property in Cornville.

The land had changed hands three times since 1996 and was now owned by a solar energy company planning to build a panel array.

Ground penetrating radar detected an anomaly 6 ft below the surface in a remote corner of the property near a cluster of juniper trees.

Excavation began on April 16th.

By the afternoon of April 17th, the team had uncovered human remains, a skeleton wrapped in decayed blue plastic tarp, buried in a shallow grave.

Dental records confirmed the identity within 48 hours.

Robert Michael Kaine, missing since November 12th, 1987.

The remains showed signs of blunt force trauma to the skull.

On April 22nd, 2024, FBI agents arrested David Porter at his home in Tucson.

He was 63 years old, gay-haired, living alone in a small apartment near the university.

When agents knocked on his door, he didn’t resist.

I’ve been waiting for this, he said quietly.

Porter waved his right to an attorney and gave a full confession at the FBI field office in Phoenix.

Agent Vasquez recorded every word.

Greg called me on November 9th, Porter said, his voice flat and emotionless.

He said Robert Kaine had been asking questions about the invoices.

He said Robert had called Summit Industrial and figured out the parts orders were fake.

Greg said we needed to deal with it before Robert went to the police.

What did deal with it mean? Vasquez asked.

At first, Greg said we’d just scare him, make him keep his mouth shut.

But then Greg said, “Actually, there’s only one way to make sure he never talks.

” And I knew what he meant.

Why did you agree to help him? Porter looked down at his hands.

Because I was part of it.

Greg had been cutting me in on the fraud for 2 years.

He’d give me $2,000 cash every time he created a fake invoice.

I’d helped him set up the shell account.

If Robert went to the police, I’d go to prison, too.

Walk me through what happened on November 12th.

[snorts] Porter’s voice was steady, reciting facts like he’d rehearsed them a thousand times in his head.

Robert started his shift at 11:00.

I waited until I knew he’d be up at station three, away from anyone who might hear.

Then I used my access code to activate the cable car and rode up.

When I got there, Robert was inside the cabin checking the electrical panel.

I told him Greg needed to talk to him about something urgent.

He looked at me like he knew something was wrong.

And then then I hit him with what? A pipe wrench.

It was sitting right there on the workbench.

I didn’t plan it.

I just grabbed it and swung.

Vasquez kept her face neutral.

What happened next? He fell.

He wasn’t dead yet, but he was unconscious, bleeding from his head.

I panicked.

I called Greg from the radio in the cabin.

Greg told me to wait.

He drove to the skyway, brought a tarp from his truck.

We wrapped Robert in it, and I brought him down in the cable car.

We put him in Greg’s truck and drove to Greg’s property in Cornville.

We buried him near some trees.

Then we went back to the skyway and cleaned up the cabin.

Greg told me to act normal.

Told me if I kept my mouth shut, we’d be fine.

Did Robert say anything before he died? Porter’s voice finally broke.

He asked about his kids.

He said, “Please don’t do this.

I have two little kids.

” And I did it anyway.

The interview room was silent.

Vasquez finally spoke.

“Why are you confessing now?” Porter looked up at her, his eyes red.

Because I’ve been living in hell for 37 years.

I got married, had kids of my own.

Every time I looked at them, I thought about Robert’s kids growing up without their father.

I thought about his wife.

I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat.

My wife left me 10 years ago because I wouldn’t tell her what was wrong.

My own kids won’t talk to me anymore.

When you knocked on my door this morning, I felt relief.

Finally, it’s over.

On May 3rd, 2024, the Yavapai County Medical Examiner released Robert Ka’s remains to his family.

Jennifer Kaine, now 71 years old, held a second funeral at Sedona Community Cemetery.

This time, there was a body to bury.

Michael Kaine, now 45 and a high school teacher in Phoenix, delivered the eulogy.

His voice shook as he spoke.

For 37 years, we didn’t know what happened to our father.

We didn’t know if he’d left us, if he’d been hurt, if he’d suffered.

Now we know, and the truth is harder than we imagined.

But at least we finally have answers.

At least we can lay him to rest.

Emma Cain, now 42 and a nurse in Flagstaff, stood beside her mother at the graveside, holding her hand.

Agent Vasquez attended the funeral, standing at a respectful distance.

Afterward, Jennifer approached her.

“Thank you,” Jennifer said, her voice steady.

“Thank you for not giving up on him.

” “I didn’t solve this case, Mrs.

Cain,” Vasquez said.

a young analyst at the IRS did and Margaret Simons and your husband who tried to do the right thing.

Jennifer nodded.

Robert always did the right thing, even when it cost him everything.

David Porter was charged with first-degree murder, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice.

Despite his confession, his attorney argued for a reduced sentence based on his cooperation and the decades of psychological torment he’d endured.

The prosecution countered that Porter had lived free for 37 years while Robert Kaine’s family suffered.

On October 15th, 2024, a Yavapai County judge sentenced David Porter to 25 years to life in prison.

You took a father, a husband, a good man, the judge said, and you let his family suffer in uncertainty for nearly four decades.

Your guilt may have tormented you, but you chose to live with it rather than face justice.

Robert Kaine didn’t have that choice.

Porter was remanded to the Arizona State Prison Complex in Florence.

He would be eligible for parole in 2049 when he’d be 88 years old.

Margaret Simons was not charged with any crime.

The Yavapai County District Attorney released a statement.

Mrs.

Simons was a witness who out of fear for her safety and that of her children chose not to come forward in 1987.

While we wish she had testified at the time, we recognize the very real danger she faced.

Her testimony in 2024 was crucial to solving this case, and we’re grateful for her courage.

Margaret gave one interview to the Sedona Red Rock News.

She said, “I’ve carried this guilt my whole life.

I hope Robert’s family can find some peace now, and I hope they can forgive me for not being brave enough to speak up when it mattered most.

” Jennifer Kaine, when asked by reporters if she forgave Margaret, said simply, “She was a single mother trying to protect her children.

” I understand that.

I don’t blame her.

Kevin Chen, the IRS analyst, whose sharp eye had triggered the reopening of the case, received a commendation from the IRS commissioner and a personal thank you letter from the FBI director.

He was promoted to senior analyst and reassigned to the financial crimes unit.

I was just doing my job, Kevin told his supervisor.

I saw something that didn’t add up and I followed up on it.

That’s what good investigators do.

Rita Morales said, “Most people would have just scanned the document and moved on.

” You didn’t.

Red Rock Skyway remained closed.

The canyon, where cable station 3 once stood, was now part of a protected wilderness area.

The steel platform had been dismantled years ago, and nature had reclaimed the site.

But in Sedona, people still remembered Robert Kaine.

In November 2024, the Sedona City Council voted to name a small park on Maple Street after him, Robert Kaine Memorial Park.

A bronze plaque was installed with his photograph and an inscription.

Robert Michael Kaine 1953 1987.

Beloved husband, father, and friend.

He stood for truth and paid the ultimate price.

May his integrity inspire us all.

Jennifer Cain attended the dedication ceremony with Michael and Emma.

As she stood before the plaque, looking at her husband’s young face frozen in bronze, she thought about all the years they’d lost, all the birthdays, graduations, weddings Robert had missed, all the grandchildren he’d never meet.

But she also thought about the kind of man he’d been, honest, hardworking, unwilling to look away when he saw something wrong.

“He did the right thing,” she said to Michael and Emma.

And in the end, the truth came out.

That’s what your father would have wanted.

On a cold December morning in 2024, Agent Lauren Vasquez drove back to Sedona for the last time.

She parked near the entrance to what had once been Red Rock Skyway and walked up the trail to where Cable Station 3 had stood.

The view was still breathtaking.

red cliffs glowing in the winter sun, the canyon stretching endlessly into the distance.

She thought about Robert Ca working alone on that platform 37 years ago, believing he was just doing routine maintenance, not knowing he’d stumbled onto something that would cost him his life.

She thought about Margaret Simons carrying a terrible secret for decades, finally finding the courage to speak.

She thought about David Porter living in his private hell, waiting for justice to finally catch up to him.

And she thought about Jennifer Caine, who’d waited 37 years for answers and had finally mercifully received them.

Justice delayed is justice denied, the saying goes.

But sometimes, Vasquez thought, justice just takes time.

Sometimes it waits for the right person to notice the right detail at the right moment.

Sometimes it waits for a young analyst at the IRS to flag a file that everyone else would have ignored.

Sometimes the truth just needs someone to care enough to dig it up.

Vasquez turned and walked back down the trail.

Behind her, the canyon was silent except for the wind moving through the juniper trees.

The same wind that had been blowing the night Robert Caine disappeared, and the same wind that would keep blowing long after everyone involved in his case was gone.

But Robert Caine would not be forgotten.

His story would live on.

A reminder that some people still believe in doing the right thing, even when it costs them everything.

And a reminder that the truth, no matter how deeply buried, has a way of coming to light.

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