Blood Runs Cold (5 page)

The Firelight Inn stood at the cross-section of French Street and Wellington – a beautiful clapboard Victorian house in a muted blue-gray from the Breckenridge town palette. A picket fence ran around the garden. The snow had drifted up to the window sills.

‘Good night,’ said Bob. ‘Sleep well. Seven fifteen at the office, OK?’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren, waving him off, pushing in the front door to the inn. The hallway was covered in thick mats and clumps of snow. Rows of snowboards and skis lined the wall. The Firelight was half-inn, half-hostel. Ren had a cozy suite on the top floor, with an entrance from the house and an external staircase. When she got to her room, she walked over to the window and stared out at the white night.

She took out her cellphone and dialed. ‘I love it,’ she said.

At the other end, Paul Louderback laughed. ‘I knew you would.’

‘When were you here?’

‘Two summers ago. With Marianne and the kids. We took a suite –’

‘Me too.’

‘With the separate stairs up? Above the hot tub?’

‘Yes. It’s great.’

‘I thought you might like it. Marianne wanted to stay in one of the condos …’

‘I’d rather –’

‘I know.’

‘Condos are so the same everywhere,’ said Ren.

‘I know. Hey, don’t forget to sign up for breakfast before you go to bed.’

‘Do I call down?’ she said, looking for a phone that wasn’t there.

‘Are you looking for a phone?’ She could hear the smile in his voice.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘There’s a list with a swinging pencil by the office,’ said Paul. ‘You go down and tick the box for whatever you want. It’s all really good.’

‘Is there a box for “the company of Paul Louderback”?’

Paul laughed. ‘Yeah, for the crazies.’

‘Exactly.’

‘What was I thinking?’

Ren laughed, then sighed. ‘So … Jean Transom.
I don’t know what you know at this stage. Did you hear that Denis Lasco, the coroner, is OK?’

‘No. And …?’

‘All he would commit to was GSW. He didn’t have long with the body.’

‘Right.’

‘He’s going to be cautious. He blacked out, so he’s doubting his memory – number one. And number two, this is a federal agent we’re dealing with, a high-profile case. I doubt he wants to be the one making big statements, in case he’s wrong. Or he derails the investigation. And? The body could show up in the morning and contradict anything he tells us.’

‘Who found the body?’

‘Anon,’ said Ren. ‘I would venture a back-country skier who was not supposed to be where he was. And with the FBI all over it, he won’t be showing his face any time soon.’

‘I see,’ said Paul.

‘Can I ask?’ said Ren. ‘Why me as case agent?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m flattered, but why am I the chosen one?’

‘Desperation is a word that comes to mind.’

‘I was thinking …’

‘You know why?’ said Paul. ‘No body … does it better.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Look, you’re good at your job,’ said Paul. ‘There it is. The thing you can’t believe in.’

‘Well, thank you for your faith.’

‘And thank you in advance for solving the crime.’

‘And thank you for the pressure.’

‘Any time.’

‘Oh – you never answered me earlier. Did you know Jean?’ said Ren.

‘I didn’t know her personally. But I taught her at the academy. She was quiet, kept to herself.’

‘The poor woman.’

‘I know. OK, I gotta go. Sleep well.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ren. ‘You too.’

‘And dream gently.’

She paused. ‘I’ll try.’
Damn you, Paul Louderback
.

The South Ridge Seafood Grill was the kind of place that sucked you under its awning and through its open doors. It was on a quiet strip on Ridge Street, but had taken most of the Tuesday-night diners in Breck. It was the right size with the right atmosphere and the right food. Ren walked in and moved in to order beside the two guys at the bar whose heads were not hung over their beer. They were both drunk, wind-burned and fit, dressed in green and navy fleeces, black pants and boots.

‘Well, hello there,’ said the tall one, leaning an elbow on the back of his bar stool to turn to her.

‘Hi,’ said Ren.

‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing in the personal space of the elderly?’ he said.

‘
How
elderly?’ said Ren, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’m sixty-two, he’s seventy-two,’ he said, pointing to his short friend.

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘No way.’

They nodded.

‘Why are we telling her our age so soon?’ said the short guy.

‘We could have been a contender,’ said the tall one. ‘So then, what’s your name?’

‘Ren.’

‘That’s a very pretty name,’ he said.

‘What’s yours?’ said Ren.

‘Mauser here,’ he said, shaking her hand.

‘Mauser?’ said Ren.

‘Yes. Mauser. No first name. And this is Little Dick.’

Ren laughed. ‘You let him away with that?’

Little Dick gave a shrug.

‘You will join us for a glass of red wine,’ said Mauser. He nodded at the barman. ‘Put it on our tab.’

‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Ren. ‘But I’m not really drinking. I’ll just have water.’

‘What?’ said Little Dick. ‘I don’t know if we can let you do that. Can we?’

‘It would be a first,’ said Mauser.

‘I’ve got an early start,’ said Ren.

‘What do you do?’ said Mauser, handing her a glass of wine.

‘Oh, OK,’ she said. ‘Thank you. What do I do? Mainly not talk about my job.’

‘Little Dick here’s a DDS,’ said Mauser.

‘A what?’ said Ren.

‘Doesn’t Do Shit,’ said Mauser. He reared back with a crazy, infectious laugh that made Ren laugh even harder. Little Dick gave what was obviously his trademark shrug.

‘And what do you do, Mauser?’ said Ren.

‘I come from a distinguished line.’

‘Of what?’ said Ren.

‘Of bullshit.’

‘You are so funny,’ said Ren.

‘You mean it’s not our bodies you’re interested in?’ said Mauser.

‘Not if you keep calling him Little Dick,’ said Ren.

‘He’d need to do you three times to give you twelve inches,’ said Mauser.

Ren laughed loud and hard. ‘You guys …’

The barman walked their way with a tray.

‘Oh God,’ said Ren, ‘what are these?’

‘Mind Erasers,’ said the barman, lining up six glasses filled with liquid in a shade of
wrong
.

‘Six,’ said Ren, deadpan. ‘There are three of us.’

‘Yeah, but you forget you’ve drunk the first one,’ said Mauser.

‘You sure do,’ said Little Dick.

‘They got twenty on their tab already,’ said the barman, smiling. ‘It’s like, bam – Will Smith,
Men
in Black
.’

Mauser smiled. ‘This is what stranger danger is all about.’

Ren laughed. ‘But I’m really not drinking,’ she said, sliding her two toward her. She sucked each one up through a black straw. ‘Wow.’

Mauser raised his. Little Dick followed. ‘And we’ll go again, sir,’ said Mauser to the barman.

‘Ooh,’ said Ren.

An hour later, Mauser was leaning in to her. ‘I’m not an advice column here, but this Vincent guy is insane. That’s all I’ll say.’

‘Letting a pretty girl like you go,’ said Little Dick.

‘Aw, Vincent’s a really good guy –’ said Ren.

‘Insane!’ said Mauser.

‘Insane!’ said Little Dick.

‘I’m the insane one,’ said Ren.

‘Really?’ Mauser slapped the bar in front of them and looked at her with dancing eyes. ‘Join the party, sweetheart.’

And she did, smiling a slow-spreading MindErasersmile.

Breckenridge was between busy holiday weekends – Martin Luther King Day had just passed and Presidents’ Day was a month away. Kids were back at school. It was seven a.m. and skiers and snowboarders were heading to breakfast early before they hit slopes they were about to find out were quieter than they expected.

Bob Gage sat in Daylight Donuts spinning the playing card he was given when he placed his order. The ace of spades. He nodded his head to the beat. He was on his second coffee when a waitress walked by with the matching card and stepped back a few paces to his table to lay down her tray. She handed him a plate of bacon, egg, biscuits and gravy. His cellphone started to ring. He mouthed a thank you to her as he answered it.

‘Sheriff Gage? It’s Patrick Transom. I’m sorry. I tried to be understanding. I mean, I do understand. But I’ve had time to think about everything
and … I want my sister. I need my sister back. I’m not going to wait months for warm weather to …’ His voice caught. ‘I … understand that Search and Rescue doesn’t want to go back up there. But I do. I’m an –’

‘Mr Transom, you’re right. It’s not safe up there. A snow assessment’s being done this morning, but –’

‘I don’t care if it’s not safe,’ said Patrick. ‘I want to –’

‘We cannot let you do that,’ said Bob. ‘It’s a crime scene up there as far as we’re concerned. We can’t let anyone in there. I’m sure you understand that. You probably haven’t slept, and maybe this seems like the only solution right now …’

‘If the snow report is good, if the conditions are stable enough, can I go?’

‘No. But …’ He paused. ‘OK … if the snow report comes back good, we’ll head on up there.’ He pushed his plate away from him. ‘I’ll get in touch with Search and Rescue.’

Gary Dettling pulled up into the small driveway at the Firelight Inn. The street was quiet. He turned off the engine and waited. After five minutes, he texted Ren. He got no reply. He knocked at the door of the inn. The owner was on his way out with a snow shovel.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Gary. ‘I’m looking for a woman checked in last night, Ren Bryce?’

‘Oh, yes … I’m sure she’s gone already.’

‘What?’

‘About twenty minutes ago.’

Gary shook his head slowly. ‘Great. Thanks.’

Ren sat in Bob Gage’s office holding a mug of coffee on her knee. She had started the day with Visine and extra foundation. A notebook lay on the low coffee table beside her and she was twisted in her chair to scribble on it. A night of drinking could take her to instant mental clarity or thick mental fog. Today, she was all-clear.
RenBryce OS
X
. She smiled to herself.

‘Hey,’ said Gary, walking in, nodding at Bob and Mike, Gressett and Todd.

‘Wasn’t I meant to pick you up?’ he said to Ren.

‘Oh. Didn’t you get my text?’ said Ren, pulling out her phone, about to show him the text that she now saw was pending in her Outbox.

‘What were you doing, walking?’ said Gary.

‘I wanted to blast some cold air through my tiny mind.’

‘You didn’t think you were going to get enough up on Quandary?’

Gary had nearly been a lawyer. Ren was reminded of this with every question-after-question barrage. Gary Dettling couldn’t stand the thought of being made a fool of with lies.

‘Yeah and we’re going
up
up,’ said Bob, putting
down the phone. ‘That was Search and Rescue. Patrick Transom called me an hour ago, insisting we go back up to try and retrieve the body. To be honest, I thought the snow assessment wouldn’t be good, so I said we’d give it a go. Turns out there was no snowfall overnight, the winds were less than five miles an hour, so we’re good to go.’

‘Can we all go up?’ said Ren.

‘Sure,’ said Bob. ‘I know I’m really looking forward to it …’

Ren gave him a sad smile. ‘You shouldn’t go back up. We can take care of –’

‘You know what?’ said Bob. ‘You’re right.’

‘Really?’ said Ren.

‘Yeah,’ he said, placing his palms down on his desk. ‘Take your digital cameras, video it, photograph it… and I’ll be down at the base with clean underpants.’

Ren could see that Gary wasn’t impressed.
Mr
Action Hero
.

‘Good for you,’ said Ren to Bob.

‘For whatever good it will do, going up there,’ said Bob. ‘We’re not going to find her.’

‘Probably not,’ said Mike. ‘But maybe Transom will feel better being part of the search.’

‘Like all the families who look all over Breck for their father or brother or son or daughter who left a bar drunk in a blizzard and never made it back to the condo …’

Mike let out a breath. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Come up with some positive and hopeful sound bites to throw out to any reporters at the trailhead,’ said Bob. ‘And solemn, regretful ones for the way back down: “We did everything we could.”’ He turned to Gary. ‘Are your guys on their way?’

‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘They’ll meet us up there.’

‘So by nine o’clock everyone’ll know the FBI’s in town,’ said Bob.

Ren looked down at herself. ‘I didn’t think I was looking very FBI today. I’m wearing a little gray, some soft fabric …’

‘It’s an aura,’ said Bob.

Ren smiled. ‘It’s the smell of fierce.’

‘Don’t fight the fierce,’ said Bob.

‘Shall we go?’ said Gary. ‘I think we’re all ready.’

‘Yes,’ said Gressett. ‘I think we are.’

‘Oh, sure,’ said Ren, standing up. ‘Anyone seen my phone?’

‘It’s in your back pocket,’ said Todd, too quickly.

The sky over Quandary Peak was one solid shade of promotional blue. Jeeps, vans and cars branded with the block-print logos of news channels, law enforcement and Search and Rescue stretched along Blue Lakes Road up to the trailhead. A large group had gathered from the Sheriff’s Office, Search and Rescue and Safe Streets. A cadaver dog and handler had been drafted in, last-minute. ‘The media loves a dog,’ Bob had said, deadpan.

He stood at the head of the group and talked everyone through what happened the day before. When he was done, he laid out a map, showing where Jean Transom’s body was when the avalanche hit, where Lasco had been found, and where the slide had ended.

Search and Rescue strapped on their packs and snow-shoes and started up the dark, steep path through the dense trees. Everyone making their way up behind them was used to hiking, skiing or snowboarding. Before Denver, Ren’s main weekend workout had been wandering around a DC mall, but it wasn’t long before her heart had warmed to the mountains. And even though her wardrobe now had a corner for Smart Wool and Marmot, she hadn’t quite made the move to lining her hiking boots up beside her heels.

She stopped in the first clearing and let anyone who was behind her pass by. The view was spectacular – endless green acres of snowy lodgepole pines. For a few moments she was able to forget why she was there. Breckenridge was only an hour’s drive from her house in Golden. There was no reason why she couldn’t come here more often. As she was about to move on, she saw Robbie Truax and Colin Grabien walk up.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Aw, hey, Ren,’ said Robbie. He stopped.

‘Hi, Ren,’ said Colin. ‘Bye, Ren – I’m going to keep on walking.’

‘Did you hear about the robbery?’ said Robbie.

‘No,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah – that’s why we only got here this morning. We were sitting on the wrong bank. Guys got away.’

‘Who was it this time?’

‘You’ll love this. There was celebrity involvement …’

‘What?’ said Ren.

‘They were all wearing masks made from celebrity mug shots.’

‘No way.’

‘I know – Nick Nolte.’

‘That is hilarious,’ said Ren. ‘Who else?’

‘They were all Nick Nolte,’ said Robbie.

Ren laughed. ‘That is just too funny.’

‘Not if you’re getting beaten around the head with the butt of an assault rifle by one of them.’

‘True,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘You know, they’re sending out a message: these are the only faces we’ll give you for mug shots.’

Robbie let out a breath.

‘Who did they assault?’ said Ren.

‘Everyone,’ said Robbie.

‘Everyone?’

Robbie nodded.

‘They took the time to do that?’ said Ren.

‘While three of them were taking the money, two went crazy on the staff. So – no extra time wasted.’

‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘So you didn’t have the most productive night.’

‘I was freezing my butt off out there. Sons-of-guns.’

‘You should write a book: “When Bad Language Happens to Good People”. Or “The F-word Diet”.’

Robbie smiled. ‘I couldn’t write a book that you’d never read.’

Ren laughed. ‘I’ll swap you a copy of yours for a copy of mine: “On Alcohol, Coffee and Premarital Sex”.’

Robbie was Mormon. He laughed.

‘So what’s going to happen with the robbery investigation while you guys are in Breckenridge?’

‘The rest of the guys back at Safe Streets are going to keep working on the robberies that have happened so far, but if there are any new ones, it’s business as usual for me, Colin and Cliff – we’ll just have to head back to Denver. Which sucks. I mean, we’re here to work on Jean’s murder, obviously, but we can’t shut everything else down completely.’

‘I guess not,’ said Ren. ‘But it does suck.’ She stopped to take a half-liter bottle of water from her pack. It was empty.
Shit
.

‘Ren?’ Mike called back to her.

She raised her head too quickly. ‘Whoa.’ She took a step back. Her legs went weak.

Mike jogged down to her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘My head.’

‘You got a headache?’ said Mike.

‘Yes. Ow.’ She pressed two hands to her forehead. ‘Shit, that’s bad.’ She turned to Robbie. ‘You go ahead.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ said Robbie.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got it,’ said Mike. He turned back to Ren. ‘Did it come on all of a sudden?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s just keep walking.’

Mike eyed her. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’

‘Yeah. Come on.’

‘Sounds like those teeth are gritted,’ said Mike, taking her hand and pulling her up.

‘I’m fine.’

They walked for another minute or two and Ren stopped again.

‘Did you drink any water today?’ said Mike.

‘Em, no. Coffee.’

‘And last night?’

‘Em … alcohol.’
Which I probably reek of anyway
.

‘Right, you’re going back down,’ said Mike.

‘No way,’ said Ren, taking a step forward, then swaying on her feet.

‘You’ve got altitude sickness,’ said Mike.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Oh, please. Yes, you do.’

Someone once described altitude sickness to Ren as your body trying to suck your brain down through your spinal column. She couldn’t shake the image.

‘It’s not altitude sickness,’ said Ren.

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Down,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet you down there.’

‘No,’ said Ren. ‘No. I need to see what’s going on up there.’

‘We’ll have photos.’

‘Yeah, but –’

Mike gave her the look that told her to stop. ‘Will you be OK getting down?’

‘Sure, I’ll –’

‘Whoa …’ He reached out and she sank against him. He held her upright to stop her fall.

‘Are you OK?’ he said.

‘I thought I was going to black out.’

‘I’m waiting here, radioing ahead, and you are going to see a doctor –’

‘No way. I’ll feel like a loser going to a doctor for altitude sickness when I’m coming from Denver … and I’m –’

‘What? An FBI agent? People expect FBI agents to be dumb.’

Ren smiled. ‘Yeah, I’m still not going.’

‘I have no idea how you forgot to keep drinking water when you arrived. Do you think your brain needs less oxygen that everyone else’s?’ He paused. ‘Or just more alcohol?’

‘Just the alcohol,’ said Ren. ‘Partying at altitude – cheap, but not so cheerful.’

‘Right, here’s the deal,’ said Mike, ‘go see Charlie Barger – on Ridge Street.’

‘Is everything on Ridge Street?’

‘It’s a long street.’

‘Charlie Barger sounds like a thief. The name, I mean. Like a Dickens thief.’

Mike stared at her. ‘Now I think the altitude is really starting to work on your brain. Charlie is a retired doctor. And I can promise you he won’t steal anything …’

Up on Quandary, the charge of the avalanche had been replaced by an unjust calm, like the smile of a man who had gotten away with murder. And the day before, Quandary Peak had, twice-over. The area looked untouched, except for the tree limbs – broken by the force of the slide – that protruded from the snow. The hole that Sonny Bryant had been pulled from was still there; his glove, with a light dusting of snow, lying beside it.

Search and Rescue moved in with probes. Anyone who had cameras took pictures. And the dog handler released her beautiful border collie to track the smell of death.