by Alex Barclay
Gary nodded. ‘No body.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Cliff. ‘Is that it? Are they still searching?’
‘It’s not safe up there, apparently,’ said Gary.
‘Wow,’ said Robbie. ‘Jean was so … I liked Jean. I only met her once. She was, I mean … intense. But she was a good person.’
‘Ren, we need to head up there now,’ said Gary. ‘The rest of you – stay with the bank surveillance tonight. Follow us to Breckenridge first thing tomorrow. Robbie, can you let the others know?’ Four of the other task force members were on a job, two were on a training exercise.
‘My car’s in the shop,’ said Ren.
‘You can ride with me,’ said Gary. He turned to the others. ‘Ren’s going to be the case agent on this one.’
Colin, Cliff and Robbie exchanged glances. Gary turned and left. Ren frowned and gave the others a not-my-fault look. She grabbed her purse. ‘See you in Breck.’
Their faces all questioned her.
Two years earlier, Ren Bryce had transferred to Denver from the high-intensity of Washington DC. On her first day at Safe Streets she had almost changed from her suit to plaid shirt, jeans and boots by the time she made it from her car to the front door. She felt she was where she should have been from the moment she graduated.
She walked down the steps with Gary to a little blonde girl sitting on a Longhorn bull with a pink cowboy hat falling over her eyes. The child wore a wide tight smile for her parents’ camera. The National Western Stock Show was in town. For two weeks in January, over seven hundred and fifty thousand visitors would come through the grounds where the Livestock Exchange Building stood.
‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘We’re going to miss the rodeo tomorrow.’ The Safe Streets office had seats for the matinee.
Gary looked at her. ‘You were seen at the calf-roping earlier, so I don’t feel all that bad for you.’
‘I hate that – “you were seen”. It’s creepy. People who pass on information like that are creepy.’
‘OK – I saw you. Does that make you feel any better?’
‘Why didn’t you just say that?’
He kept walking.
‘And our seats were right by the bucking chutes,’ said Ren.
‘Yeah. I know.’
The cold air was spiked with barbecued pork. Ren glanced at Gary, but his head was down and his car keys were already swinging from his hand. A woman walked by with a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick.
‘I’m starving,’ said Ren.
‘You’re always starving,’ said Gary without slowing. ‘I’ve got an apple in the car.’
‘An apple. I hate apples.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘I’m not sure I can last until Breck,’ said Ren.
‘Yeah, yeah, you lose concentration if you don’t eat,’ said Gary.
‘I do, though. You’ve seen me.’
‘I’ve seen you trying to bullshit me about that.’
‘It’s true, though.’
‘Jesus. Grab something from there.’ He pointed at the closest stand – the last one on the way out of the grounds. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s just jars of caramel.’
Ren walked over with five dollars in her hand.
‘You have cutlery, right?’ she said, catching up with Gary.
‘Christ, Ren.’
He opened the door of his Jeep and threw her a plastic fork. She turned it upside down. He put the keys in the ignition and drove up to the gate in the chain-link fence. He looked at Ren with her caramel fork, rolled his eyes and got out to be gate man.
As they drove west on I-70 for the eighty-mile trip to Breckenridge, he finally spoke. ‘Do you want to tell me why I got a call from Paul Louderback asking me to make sure you head up this investigation?’ Paul Louderback was Chief of the Violent Crime Section at Headquarters in DC.
‘That’s what happened?’ said Ren. ‘Are you for real?’
But Gary was almost always for real and he shot her a look to remind her. ‘You sleeping with the guy?’ he said.
‘Jesus – straight to missiles. No,’ said Ren and, more annoyed, ‘No.’
Gary turned and hit her with his lie-detector stare. Ren hit back with open and honest eyes.
‘Hey, the road,’ she said, pointing him ahead.
‘I got it,’ he said. ‘Look, I don’t know if I can spare you.’
‘I don’t know if I want to be spared. But if Paul wants me to, I guess …’
Gary overtook the car in front of him, a small rush of anger in his driving. ‘What’s your connection with Louderback again?’
Ren had loved Paul Louderback from the moment she met him.
‘He was my PT instructor at Quantico,’ she said. ‘And after that, my supervisor.’And married with two kids. And ten years older than me. And handsome, kind and intelligent. And off limits. On her second day in physical training, Paul Louderback praised her for not giving in easily to a man almost twice her weight. She had almost suffocated for the compliment.
‘Ah. Responsible for your glowing reports?’ said Gary.
‘One of them, yes. And you left out the “much-deserved” part.’
She turned her attention to the passenger window and the cars speeding past. She wanted to count the white ones. Or the green or red ones. Any ones. Her heart was beating a little too fast. She was sure that a personal connection would not affect Paul Louderback’s decision. He was a professional. But even she wasn’t quite sure why he wanted her to head up the investigation.
Her phone beeped – text message. She read it, then put the phone back in her bag.
‘Are we staying in Breck tonight?’ she said.
‘I was going to stay at the condo in Frisco. You’re more than welcome.’
‘Do you mind if I don’t? I’d like to stay in Breck. At the, um … Firelight Inn.’
‘Any particular reason?’
I just got a text from Paul Louderback recommending it. ‘I’d like to be right in Breck. I’ll have no car and if you get called away somewhere, at least that way I can walk to the sheriff’s office if I have to.’
He glanced at her. ‘I’m sure they can arrange a car.’
‘And … I heard the Firelight Inn is a great place to stay.’
Ren didn’t have a type; she had not-my-types – Truax’s category. She also didn’t do search and rescue for what she wanted in a guy. He either had it or he didn’t. She always thought if a man senses what you’re looking for, he will try to find it where it can’t be found. And when he comes up empty, he’ll fake it. Paul Louderback had no need to fake anything. He just had it. Yes, he was married, but once she realized that they could never take it further, she could relax into what they had; no real flirting, just a quiet, comfortable connection.
The exit for Golden flashed past. She thought about Vincent and their little house. She counted silver cars: America’s most popular car color.
7
Sheriff Bob Gage’s office was a neat, polished space. He had one notebook and one folder on his desk. His computer was on a table beside him. Behind him was a bank of file cabinets with family photos lined up across the top. Four smiling, dancing, sporting girls and boys.
His assistant led Ren and Gary in.
Bob stood up. ‘Hey, Ren,’ he said, giving her a light hug. ‘Gary.’ He shook his hand.
‘You’re back in action fairly quickly,’ said Ren.
‘Not much choice,’ said Bob. ‘Do you all know Tiny Gressett and Todd Austerval?’
‘We’ve met,’ said Gary, shaking their hands. ‘That’s very sad news about Jean.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gressett. ‘Finding it hard to take it all in.’
‘We said goodbye to her like she was just going on vacation,’ said Todd. He paused, then turned to Ren, waiting for an introduction.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce with Safe Streets.’
‘Good to meet you,’ said Todd.
‘Ren?’ sai
d Gressett. ‘That mean you can sing?’
Ren smiled. It was awkward. ‘Nothing you’d want to listen to.’
Gressett smiled and a remarkable amount of extra lines showed on his face.
‘I wanted to say I really am very sorry that we’re meeting under these circumstances,’ said Ren.
Gressett paused. ‘Well, thank you. Jean was an outstanding agent … and a friend.’
‘I heard she was really something,’ said Ren. ‘I hadn’t met her, I haven’t been with Safe Streets that long –’
‘But she’s one of our best,’ said Gary. ‘Ren will be heading up the investigation here.’
‘Oh,’ said Gressett. ‘Being that you’re familiar with the area and all that.’ He smiled and laughed alone.
‘Nope, just being that I’m familiar with homicide investigation …’ And being patronized by men who aren’t.
‘Well, good for you,’ said Gressett.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Ren. Now can we please stop this bullshit?
‘Right, everyone,’ said Bob, ‘Sit down, make yourselves comfortable. Coffee?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Let me run through what we got,’ he said. He placed a head-and-shoulders shot of Jean on the desk. ‘Jean Transom, thirty-nine, single, worked in Glenwood, lived in Rifle, so far last seen by Todd and Gressett here, Friday, January 12th, five p.m. Body found on Quandary Peak, Tuesday, January twenty-third; possible GSW to the back or chest.’
Ren looked down at the photo. There is something in your face that inspires trust. A friend of Ren’s called it a ‘Can-I-get-you-a-Kleenex?’ face.
‘OK,’ said Gary. ‘Colin Grabien in Safe Streets will be running through phone records – he should have something back for us tomorrow.’
‘I can go through Jean’s desk at Glenwood, talk to Agent Gressett about what she was working on,’ said Ren.
‘Next of kin I have down as Patrick Transom, Jean’s younger brother,’ said Bob. ‘We’ll have to take care of the notification before this shit gets out. Ren, I’d be afraid to say it to another woman, but I’d like you to come with me for that feminine …presence.’
‘Jesus. You have me down as feminine?’ said Ren.
‘There’s a higher heel on your shoes,’ said Bob.
‘We’ve met Patrick,’ said Gressett. ‘Maybe Todd and I should …’
‘Let’s leave Bob and Ren to take care of it,’ said Gary. ‘We don’t want to all descend on him.’
Gressett slid forward on his seat. ‘Todd and I could –’
‘You’re too close,’ said Gary. Gary severed discussions; a quick, deep, cut – a special tone and a way of turning his head to focus on something else. ‘Bob, can you show us where we can work out of?’
‘Sure,’ said Bob. ‘We got an office cleared out there, computers set up, admin – you just let us know if there’s anything else you need.’
‘That’s great,’ said Gary.
‘Thanks,’ said Ren.
‘How many of your guys are coming down later?’ said Bob.
‘Three more from Safe Streets to join Ren for the duration of the investigation,’ said Gary. ‘And a bunch of agents who will be sent to us from any offices that can spare them.’
‘OK,’ said Bob, getting to his feet.
They all moved out of the office into reception. Ren pulled on her jacket.
‘Listen, go a little easy on people,’ said Gary, lowering his voice, leaning into her.
‘Like who?’ said Ren.
‘Gressett.’
‘Sorry … but he was being an asshole.’
‘Yeah, but we just got here.’
‘I know, but –’
‘You were the one who flagged the newbie thing,’ said Gary.
‘I know. It just came out. But, like he wasn’t going to find out.’
Gary let out a breath. ‘OK. Do you have everything you need for an overnight stay?’
‘Will I be doing the walk of shame tomorrow? Yes, sir.’
Bob threw Ren his keys and told her to go ahead. Outside, powdery snow fell heavily. Ren walked quickly to the Explorer and got in the passenger side, slipping in the keys so she could listen to the radio. She skipped all the pre-tuned stations and tuned in her own.
What kind of crap do you listen to, Bob?
He came out five minutes later.
‘What is that crap?’ he said, turning off the radio. He started the engine. ‘Right, we’re taking a little detour to the hospital. You can meet Corpses Maximus, our County Coroner.’
Denis Lasco was sitting forward in his bed with his back against three giant pillows. He was freshly showered and watching a DVD on a portable player. He pulled the earphones out when he saw Bob and Ren.
‘Lasco,’ said Bob, ‘I see your goddamn name in the paper every week, now this.’ He threw the Summit Daily News on to Lasco’s bed. ‘This is what the townsfolk will be having with their breakfast tomorrow morning. This time you’re not delivering the bad news, you are the bad news.’
‘Right, so I’m bad news as the victim of an avalanche,’ said Lasco. ‘A near-fatal blunt force trauma.’
‘This lovely lady is Special Agent Ren Bryce from the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver,’ said Bob. ‘And at least I don’t have to say that every day. She’ll be coming to talk to you – not right now, but I thought I’d have you guys meet.’
‘Well, nice to meet you,’ said Lasco.
‘You too,’ said Ren. ‘How are you doing?’
Lasco shrugged, then winced. He picked up the paper.
‘See the nice shit I said about you,’ said Bob.
Lasco read through it. ‘I see the bullshit you said about me. Blah, blah, blah … “we had to make a call. We knew we had a body and a possible crime scene. And Denis Lasco was committed to getting on up there to do his job. But that’s what we’ve come to expect from Denis Lasco.”’ He glanced up at Bob. ‘I like the ass-covering. Don’t think for a second, people, that the Sheriff’s Office marched him up the mountain.’
‘Christ,’ said Bob. ‘Zero to whining … Listen, we’re going to talk to Patrick Transom, the victim’s brother. Is there anything you can give us?’
‘What – to ease the blow? Like, she didn’t suffer, or something?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the coroner.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lasco. ‘I’d love to be able to say something, but lying? Not so much.’ He turned back to the paper. ‘Ha,’ he said, ‘it’s like you thought I wouldn’t make it. It’s like a frickin’ obituary. “We love Lasco. We love Lasco. We are anticipating his demise.”’
‘You know you are, actually, a bitch,’ said Bob. ‘Next time a corpse slams into you, I’m going to tell the world you’re a whiner. Who lives in his pajamas.’
‘I’m in hospital.’
Bob rolled his eyes. ‘I swear you go out of your way to piss me off.’
‘It’s why I couldn’t die.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe next time a real live person’ll take you out. An elected official with the trust of the county.’
‘I’m an elected official with the trust of the county.’
‘All the better – you kill yourself, I don’t have to get involved.’
Lasco let out a long breath. ‘I think I need some quiet time.’ He turned away.
‘The drama,’ said Bob. He pulled the paper from under Lasco’s fingers and walked to the door. ‘Anyway, welcome back from the dead.’
‘To the dead.’
‘Your pals.’
‘My income.’ Lasco sighed. ‘Goodbye.’
8
Patrick Transom lived with his wife and four kids in a four-thousand-square-foot log home in Vail, thirty minutes from Breckenridge. Bob drove slowly up the steep curved drive and parked.
‘Wow,’ said Ren, getting out of the car. ‘Nice.’ She kept her face neutral in case anyone was looking out the window.
‘But as my mother used to say – for all their mon
ey …’
‘Yup,’ said Ren. She buttoned the top of her jacket and stuck her hands in her pockets.
They walked up the steps and rang the bell. A man in a blue plaid shirt and jeans opened the door.
‘Patrick Transom?’ said Bob.
‘Yes. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m Sheriff Bob Gage, Summit County, and this is Ren Bryce with the FBI.’
Transom stared back and forth between the two of them. ‘Okaay …’
‘Can we come in?’ said Bob.
‘Sure, but … I’m sorry, what’s this about? You can come in, but … you’re making me nervous. Is everything all right?’
Bob put a gentle hand on the door and sidestepped Transom. Ren walked in after him.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ said Bob.
Transom moved quickly to the sofa and sat down. His eyes were pleading; a sixth sense had taken over.
‘You may have heard,’ said Bob, pulling a chair out for Ren, taking the one beside her, ‘that a body was found on Quandary Peak.’
Transom nodded. ‘I did, yes.’
Bob looked him right in the eye. ‘I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, but we believe it was the body of your sister, Jean.’
‘But … but the body is gone,’ said Transom. ‘I heard it on the news. There is no body.’ He looked like he was about to stand up. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘There is no body.’ He raised his hands like that was that – no body, no Jean, no grief, no heartbreak.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling his cellphone off his belt and flipping it open. ‘Here.’ He hit number two on his speed dial. He held the phone out to Bob. Bob’s mouth opened, but didn’t move. ‘Here,’ said Transom, holding the phone to Ren. She took it from him and saw Jean’s name flashing on the screen. She closed it gently.
‘I’m so sorry, Patrick, but it was Jean,’ said Ren. ‘The County Coroner, Denis Lasco, identified her body before the avalanche hit. He found her FBI credentials. The last time she was seen was ten days ago. She had gone on vacation, as you probably know. That’s all anybody knew. Following the avalanche, Sheriff Gage, Undersheriff Mike Delaney, and the coroner, Denis Lasco, went through what they had seen of the body and the clothing. They met with Jean’s colleagues from Glenwood Springs, they studied photos, and they all agreed that it was Jean.’
