by Alex Barclay
‘From the detectives here at the Sheriff’s Office, we have a list of people in Breckenridge with priors, and we’re following those up.
‘We got a positive ID from several of the staff members at the Rifle Creek movie theater. And Jean was alone that night.
‘We also found out that she had been to Breckenridge, Wednesday, January third and had shopped at Wardwell’s, an outdoor clothing store on Main Street, owned by Malcolm Wardwell, run by him and his son, Jason. I looked into them both, and it appears Malcolm Wardwell was locked up briefly for child pornography in the seventies. Does anyone from the Sheriff’s Office here have any more details?’
Mike and Bob shook their heads.
‘Has there been any trouble since?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Bob. ‘Model citizen …’ He shrugged.
‘And do people know about him?’ said Ren.
‘It’s not like people are stoning the store,’ said Mike. ‘Some of the locals know, but obviously there’s always new people drifting in and out, people moving away. And I think he was living in Frisco at the time, so that bit of distance helped him out.’
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘Jean was working on some child abuse cases – the most recent in Silverthorne and Dillon. Nothing in Breck, nothing in the last three months, and nothing to do with Wardwell – right?’
‘That’s correct,’ said Gressett.
‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘What we don’t have: there was no cellphone found at the scene. It’s unlikely the unsub left either of them with her, if she was carrying them. And even if he did, the phone was probably lost in the slide. We don’t have Jean’s vehicle – a silver Subaru Forester – but we do have someone who came forward to say, among other things, that he may have seen it in the parking lot at a bar called the Brockton Filly. His name is Salem Swade – a Vietnam vet who lives in an old miner’s cabin up on Quandary.
‘The Brockton Filly is right near the base of Quandary and is run by Jean’s one-three-seven – confidential informant. His name is Billy Waites. Gary Dettling from Safe Streets has more on Waites’ background.’
‘OK,’ said Gary, ‘In the late Nineties, Billy Waites was part of a narcotics operation, run by an ex-Navy Seal, ex-SAS guy, and a German communications expert. And then their distribution network. They were bringing drugs in from Colombia. The drugs would come in on a tugboat to whatever port; the guys who ran the operation would have already rented some luxury home in the area. They’d set up their communications, whatever they needed to do. And they’d go from there.’
‘How were they caught?’ said Cliff.
‘One of the shipments was intercepted by the coastguard and some of the guys turned. They were allowed to complete the drop – this particular time it was in Atlanta. The subordinates were all using throwaway phones so we couldn’t trace them back to anyone. Eventually, OCDEF convinced a judge they had probable cause. They did a Title III, the place was bugged. They had guys sitting on the wires every day who couldn’t get shit. The gang were using codes, talking about their families every couple of minutes – they knew the drill. And that’s where Billy Waites came in. Waites is smart. He was the codes guy. But the code was finally cracked and we were able to take them down. And Waites turned.’
‘Was Waites a user?’ said Ren.
Gary nodded. ‘He was working as a prep chef in a restaurant. There was a lot of blow going around. That’s when he got caught up with the gang. One of the distributors brings in meth, Billy tries it, gets hooked. After a year, he packs himself off to a cabin in the mountains for two months to detox. And he did it. But came right back into the business.’
‘So he cleans up, comes out of his cabin rehab, and throws himself back into the whole scene?’ said Ren. She paused. ‘Will power.’
Gary gave her his patient look. He kept talking: ‘He was dealing again, but not using, according to Jean, who would recount her meetings with Billy Waites to her colleague, Todd Austerval.’
‘But how did she know he wasn’t still using?’
‘She’d know. Jean didn’t have a problem with him. He was relieved to co-operate. He was very grateful –’
‘Aren’t they all?’ said Colin. ‘Grateful … and manipulative.’
‘The head guy in the gang was insane,’ said Gary. ‘By the end, Waites had had enough.’
‘So … Waites and Jean,’ said Ren.
‘We have no record of her calling Waites that night, but if this Salem guy is correct, she did pay him a visit around the time she disappeared.’
‘I’ll go talk to him tonight,’ said Ren.
‘OK,’ said Gary. ‘I’ll pass his file over to you. Maybe you could go with Todd Austerval.’
‘Sure,’ said Ren. ‘I just need to go home, pick up my Jeep.’
20
Ren needed a ride back to her house in Golden – an hour’s drive east on I-70 toward Denver – to pick up her newly repaired Jeep and some supplies. Robbie offered to take her. She wasn’t feeling sociable enough for him, but she said yes. She threw him one-word answers, but he had enough questions to keep it going indefinitely. It had been a while since she rode with him.
‘So – big case,’ said Robbie.
Ren glanced at him. ‘Yes.’
‘Murder of a federal agent.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re heading it up.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but …’
Uh-oh.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘Colin thinks you and Paul Louderback … you know …’
‘That’s so weird,’ said Ren. ‘When Gary got Colin to head up whatever, I thought he and Gary … you know …’
Robbie glanced at her. ‘I was just saying what I heard.’
‘Who else was in on this conversation?’ said Ren.
‘A few of the others.’
‘You’re like a bunch of old ladies in a hair salon. Christ. Paul Louderback and I did not … you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘So, how’s Vincent?’ said Robbie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘I might be about to find out.’
‘He’ll be home?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t you call him?’
‘Why? It doesn’t matter if he’s home or not. I’m just going in, picking up clothes and leaving.’
‘Are you sure? I’m not going to sit out in the car like a loser while you have some big, emotional reunion.’
Robbie’s cellphone rang. He answered. ‘Really? Sure. OK. Not a problem.’
‘Slight detour here,’ said Robbie. ‘There’s a body in the cooler I need to check out.’
‘Here?’
He nodded.
‘Did it come in from Summit County?’ said Ren.
Robbie shook his head. ‘No – Clear Creek.’
* * *
The Jefferson County Coroner’s Office was in a government complex ten minutes from Main Street, Golden. Dr Tolman was an on-call pathologist for sixteen counties, including Summit County and Clear Creek County.
‘Male, late forties,’ said Tolman as he let them in. ‘He was found in the Clear Creek River. Some numb-nut deputy coroner brought him here, didn’t call anyone, didn’t quite pick up on the fact that this was a gunshot wound. The water had washed all the blood away.’
‘Even so …’ said Ren.
‘I know,’ said Tolman.
They walked in to where the body was laid out on the stainless steel.
Denis Lasco stood by the scales.
‘Hello again,’ said Ren.
‘Hello, there,’ said Lasco.
‘Back on the job already?’
‘With a heavy heart,’ he said, holding up what he had just taken from the chest cavity.
Ren smiled.
‘When I realized the only thing to jump my bones recently was a corpse, I knew I had to get back out in the world.’
‘I�
�m sure that’s not true,’ said Ren. She gestured to Robbie. ‘This is my colleague, Robbie Truax.’
‘I was thinking of easing my way back into the job,’ said Lasco, ‘start with some paperwork, come down here, bring some notes to the doc. And here I am, suited up, today’s head sawer-offer and chest cracker.’ He looked at them. ‘His assistant called in sick. Next thing two bodies require attention. We had a DWPA,’ said Lasco. ‘And then this.’
Ren was nodding when she realized she had no idea what he meant. ‘What’s a DWPA?’
Lasco smiled. ‘Death With Paramedic Assistance.’
‘Ooh,’ said Ren, smiling back. Robbie cracked up.
‘He was an old guy, heart attack,’ said Lasco. ‘I’m sorry, but these flatlander doctors run all these health checks at sea level, then give people the all-clear to go up two miles on vacation. It’s crazy. It’s sad. I just hate seeing those wives when their husbands are lying dead of a heart attack. Unless those wives are under thirty. Then I’m wondering whose idea was it to take a high-altitude holiday? “Honey, come on up where your heart is going to have to work harder. And maybe in a couple days, my bank balance won’t.”’
‘Grim,’ said Ren.
‘Totally,’ said Lasco. ‘And, natural causes, ski accidents, ODs – it’s unbelievable how mercenary the families are. They’re the ones with the death grip, know what I mean? I have pried credit cards and jewelry out of their hands. Can you imagine? Now I photocopy every single personal belonging that comes in with the body. It’s disgusting. It really is disgusting. I’m laying out wallets and ski passes and drivers’ licenses and frickin’ Chapstick on my photocopier …’ He shook his head.
‘Karma will get them,’ said Ren. ‘I really believe that. You can’t live a greedy life like that without it coming back and biting you in the ass …’
Robbie nodded.
‘I hope so,’ said Lasco. He pointed to a shelf unit by the wall. ‘OK – suits and masks are over there.’
Ren and Robbie put them on. When they were done, they looked around for a box of booties. Ren noticed that Tolman’s stylish leather shoes were uncovered. Lasco caught her.
He spoke quietly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t wear them. And I’m sorry, these are mine. I’ve no extras.’
Ren looked down at her two-hundred-dollar lace-up hiking boots.
‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I’ve done the chest already,’ said Lasco, when they were standing at the body.
‘So,’ said Tolman, ‘GSW to the back of the head. Exit wound here in the lower jaw … Denis, help me out here.’
He and Lasco turned the body over. Ren couldn’t take her eyes off it. She didn’t notice the liquid draining from the chest cavity on to the floor. The men stepped back in time. Ren’s boots took a hit.
‘Aw, shit,’ she said.
Lasco ran and got her some paper towels, coming back to hand them to her with a face that said they both knew it wouldn’t make much difference.
‘Shit,’ she said again. But she barely drew her eyes away from the body.
‘Do you want to go take them off some place?’ said Tolman, pointing to her boots.
She shook her head, motioned for him to continue.
‘Anyway, what I was showing you was this,’ said Tolman, drawing his finger down the spine. ‘The victim’s cachectic, so you can –’
‘He’s what?’ said Robbie.
‘Look at him,’ said Ren, pointing to the body. ‘What do you think it means?’
Robbie glanced at her. So did Tolman. Ren would have blushed if she was able.
‘Skinny?’ said Robbie.
‘Basically,’ said Dr Tolman.
Ren was staring at the body. ‘He’s … got scoliosis.’
There was a crooked man
And he walked a crooked mile
‘Yes,’ said Tolman. ‘Yes. That’s what I was going to show you – how clearly you can see the curvature of the spine.’
Robbie elbowed Ren. ‘Ren … are you there?’
‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Yes, sorry. OK – so this dirtbag was found in the Clear Creek River …’
‘Yes,’ said Tolman. ‘In a foot of water. Hadn’t gone too far, no injuries from rocks and not there very long.’ He looked at them. There was hope in his expression. ‘I guess I was on high alert because of your colleague on Quandary. I don’t know any details, I’ll be waiting for Denis here’s report, but anything suspicious …’ He was talking faster to get it over with in case he was wrong. ‘’Cos of where this guy was found, I was thinking maybe he was on the back way out of Summit County. It could mean something.’ He shrugged.
‘It does,’ said Ren.
They all looked at her.
‘But my guess is he wasn’t on his way out of Summit County. He was leaving Denver on his way to Summit County, until he heard the news that the FBI and God-knows-who-else would be heading along I-70 that way too. Instead, he and his buddies went through the Canyon and something this guy did pissed off the posse.’
‘Specific,’ said Robbie.
‘A hunch,’ said Ren.
21
Robbie dropped Ren at her house in Golden.
‘I won’t park in the driveway,’ said Robbie. ‘In case …’
‘In case what?’
‘Vincent might think … you and me …’
‘He knows me better than that,’ said Ren, too quickly. ‘What I mean is … he knows I wouldn’t run from him directly into the arms of another – albeit handsome – younger man.’
‘Your Jeep is looking very nice and shiny,’ said Robbie.
‘It is,’ said Ren. ‘I better head in. You can come with me if you like.’
He glanced at her. She was half-smiling.
‘I don’t think there’ll be any reunion,’ said Ren.
‘I really like Vincent,’ said Robbie. ‘I approved of Vincent.’
Ren smiled and patted him on the leg. ‘Thanks for the ride. See you back in Breck. I won’t be long.’
Vincent came to the door barefoot and dressed in sweats. He had a bottle of Bud in his hand.
‘Hi,’ said Ren.
‘Hi.’
‘You’re drinking early.’
‘Well, it’s later than when I started …’
‘And when was that?’ said Ren.
Vincent shrugged, slowly.
‘I … just dropped by for the Jeep and to pick up some stuff. Did you know it is almost impossible to find any nice underwear in Breckenridge?’
‘I did not,’ said Vincent.
‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘It looks like I’ll be staying in Breck for the next while – which might make things a little easier.’
‘How do you figure that?’
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Give me a break.’ Her tone was gentle.
‘Why should I?’ said Vincent.
‘I’m not here for long, OK? I don’t want to get into anything.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘We’ve got a dead agent up there.’
‘I meant with us. But shit – who?’
‘Jean Transom. She worked out of Glenwood. Nice woman, according to everyone; great agent. No one knows what happened.’
‘Was it homicide?’
‘Yup. And the body’s gone.’
‘What?’
‘In that avalanche.’
‘I saw it on the news.’
Ren nodded. ‘So, it’s all snowstorms and shit-storms. And I’m leading the case.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Thanks.’
She looked past him. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure. Sorry.’ He stepped back.
Ren walked past the kitchen and saw a pile of empty beer bottles on the floor and a bumper bottle of Advil, cap off, on the counter above them. What have I done to poor Vincent? She couldn’t look at him. She went quickly upstairs, gathered more than she needed, packed it into one of his nice suitcases and dragged it do
wn to the hallway. Vincent was knocking back his beer and smiling sadly at her.
‘You know, some day, Ren? All those negative emotions you run away from will pick up the pace and they’ll catch up.’
Ren shrugged. ‘If they haven’t yet …’
‘They will. I shouldn’t care, but I do.’
‘Look, I’m about to work an important –’
‘You need to work on yourself.’
Ren rolled her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Christ, how can you take responsibility in work like that and, like, absolutely none in your personal life?’
‘That’s not true and you know it. It just feels true to you right now.’
‘It is true.’
‘Whatever. You love holding things over me, don’t you? You’re all stable and reliable, and I’m on the run from shit.’
‘You’re the only person I know who says “whatever” and then keeps on defending themselves. Most people say “whatever” and they mean “whatever”. They mean “whatever you think”, so they don’t bother saying any more.’
‘Jesus, you are anal. You try to shut me up based on linguistics? You think that’s going to work?’
‘Oh Lord, no. Nothing works with you. Nothing.’
Ren stared at him, her eyes alight.
‘So, do you think you’re better off without me?’ said Vincent.
‘What do you want me to say to that?’ said Ren. ‘No answer is good. I’m fine, OK?’
‘I know I shouldn’t, and I don’t really want to, actually, but I care about you, Ren. So much.’ He touched a hand to her cheek.
She looked into his eyes and could feel hers well up too. ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit.’
‘Hey, at least you’re having an emotion,’ said Vincent.
* * *
Salem Swade looked like he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel he had no recollection of going into; it was in the angles of his thin gray hair, the speed of his blinks, how he spun on his heels.
He stood, dressed in a giant green parka, gray cotton pants and leg-warmers, with the smoking attorneys outside the Sheriff’s Office. He had watercolor-blue eyes that should have been called striking or beautiful, but on a disheveled old man, talking and walking alone down Main Street, people looked at them like they were stolen.
