Amy drew in a breath, exhaled through her nose, shook her head, ponytail flouncing. "Didn't notice."
"And there was another car?" Maher pressed.
That had been the waitress's implication.
"Yes," she said. Then, proud of herself, she gave the following detailed description: "Something big and black."
Sara hid her frustration, while Maher kept at it, asking, "New or old?"
"On the newer side," Amy said. "Like a Toyota or a Honda-I don't know cars very well. That's Jimmy's thing."
"Jimmy?"
"My guy," she said, with a shrug. "Can I give you a piece of advice, hon?"
"Sure," Sara said.
"Never date a guy younger than you. Young boyfriend, they'll drive you crazy. You feel like you're raisin' a kid, sometimes."
Sara had been in that position once or twice, and smiled in recognition.
Back from mopping the floor, Cormier was sitting down with them again, and had caught the tail end of that. "James Moss," he said, filling in information. "Jimmy. He's a waiter here too." He looked up at Amy. "Wasn't Jimmy supposed to work yesterday too?"
She nodded. "Didn't make it in, in time. With the phones down, I ain't even talked to him."
"You two usually ride in together," Cormier said.
Another nod. "Not yesterday-Jimmy said he had some errands to run. Somebody he had to see, he said."
"That new restaurant in New Paltz is hiring," Cormier said. "Kid asked for a raise last week and I turned him down."
Maher kept his attention on the hotel man. "Did Jimmy call in?"
"I'd have to ask Pearl, but I don't believe so. But lots of the help didn't call in, and of course it wasn't long before the phones were down. Listen, in this part of the world, with this kind of weather, we're used to the help not calling when they can't make it in."
Amy smirked. "Probably holed up playing with his damned Game Cube, praying for snow all weekend…. Folks ready to order?"
They did, and Amy went away.
"Well, the snow has stopped," Maher said. "Any word from the outside?"
"Phones're still down," said Cormier. "I do have a ham radio, though."
"And?"
"Guy I talked to in Mexico hears we had a hell of a storm."
Sara laughed; so, after a moment, did Maher.
Cormier was continuing, "The county guys were probably up all night, with that damned chain reaction accident out on the interstate. If they get out here today at all, it probably won't be till afternoon."
Maher turned to Sara. "Cell phone?"
"Oh, I haven't tried it yet this morning." She took it from her purse, punched in Catherine's work number-it was what, 3:30 A.M. back there? She got nothing, not even the robotic voice.
Sara shook her head glumly, returned the cell to her purse.
"Snow might have screwed up the tower," Cormier said, with a twitch of a humorless half-smile. "Happened before."
The waitress returned with coffee for the men and tea for Sara. "Breakfast'll be up in a few shakes," she said.
"So," Maher said, sighing, "we're still on our own."
"Looks that way," said Cormier.
"If I'm not out of line," Sara said to the constable, "you don't seem horribly disappointed."
A smile flickered on the Canadian's lips. "I like a challenge."
"Me, too. So we're getting to work?"
Maher nodded curtly. "Mr. Cormier's going to help us gather some gear, and I've got some things in my room I brought for lecture purposes. Breakfast first."
Sara sipped her tea. "You're the boss…. Just don't tell Grissom I said that."
He chuckled. "We've got a lot to haul-any problem with that?"
She grinned. "The bellboys went home, so I'm ready. Bring it on."
He nodded to her. "That's what I like to hear."
Amy brought their food and, as they ate, Maher outlined the morning's plan, then turned to Cormier. "I'm going to need a medium-speed snow dispersal device."
Scratching his chin, Cormier gave the Canadian a cockeyed look. "I don't believe I've got one of those, much less heard of one, before."
"Are you sure, Herm?" Maher grinned. "Aka, a leaf blower?"
"Well, hell! Sure, I got a beauty-gas-powered too. Which is a good thing, 'cause I'm not sure there's enough extension cords in the whole hotel to reach up the side of that mountain."
After breakfast, they went off respectively for their outdoor apparel, collecting their various equipment, and reconvened outside the rear entrance, for one last check. Sara had both her case of equipment and Grissom's (Pearl at the desk had loaned her Gil's spare room key), her camera and tripod. Maher also had two cases, one of which held his metal detector. Cormier looked as though he'd cleaned out the toolshed-scattered around the edge of the parking lot were a leaf blower, two shovels, a push broom, a kitchen broom, a whisk broom, a roll of garbage bags, and a toboggan.
"That's your wish list," the hotel manager said to Maher.
"Good job, Herm," Maher said. "Leaf blower gassed up?"
Cormier said, "You could disperse snow from here to New Paltz with that sucker."
"And the toboggan's a fine idea."
"Thanks."
Sara asked, "Too steep for snowmobiles?"
"Yeah, too steep and too many trees up there, too easy to wind up twisted around one of 'em. Rocky, too. Toboggan's safer."
They loaded their equipment aboard the sled, then Cormier and Maher lashed everything down. Though clouds still covered the sun, daylight filtered through, and the reflective shimmer of ice crystals on the snow was breathtaking. That the snow had stopped was a blessing. A good foot of white had fallen since Sara and Grissom had come upon the burning corpse, and despite the Canadian constable's confidence, she wondered if there would truly be any evidence left to collect.
"At least it was a wet snow," Maher said.
He and Cormier still looked like Eskimos to her, in their parkas.
"Is that good?" she asked.
"Real good, for us-limited drifting."
"Won't that make snow dispersal harder?"
"It'll be harder to blow; but as long as it doesn't go slushy on us, it'll hold together better, and give us good detail." Nodding to himself, he added, "If there's such a thing as an ideal winter crime scene, this should come close."
Then they marched up the hill, Maher and Cormier taking turns leading the way, and pulling the sled; Sara offered to take her turn dragging the heavy toboggan, but somehow it never happened. Instead, she wound up bringing up the rear, to one side of the thing, making sure nothing tumbled off, due to hitting a rocky patch.
The walk to the crime scene-which before had taken just short of half an hour, in the deep snow-took nearly an hour as the load constantly shifted, causing them to stop again and again, and check it and reset everything.
After the fourth time this happened, Sara said, "I thought this was the twenty-first century."
"Back at the lodge it is, just barely," Cormier said. "Out here, time isn't just relative, it's pret' near nonexistent."
They were already late and Sara started to worry that maybe they'd get up there and find Grissom frozen to that tree. Or maybe that lynx would be standing there studying Grissom, with Grissom more than likely studying it back.
When they arrived at the site, however, Grissom was already pawing in the snow near the body, like a kid on Christmas morning who hadn't waited for his folks to get up before getting at his presents.
"Dr. Grissom!" Maher called.
The CSI supervisor continued on as if he hadn't heard. Leaving the toboggan with Cormier, Maher strode on ahead and called Grissom's name again. This time Grissom, looking comical in the stocking cap and muffler, turned.
"Plenty of time to do the body later," Maher said.
"All right," Grissom said, stepping away. "What's first?"
Maher was at Grissom's side now. "If this was a crime scene back in Vegas, what would you do first?"
/> "Take photos of everything-I presume Sara brought her camera today." Grissom was nicely ambiguous about that, Sara noted.
Maher was nodding, saying, "What else?"
"Look for footprints."
"Then let's do that." Maher gestured to the white landscape. "We don't want to risk trampling the killer's footprints, so let's find them."
Sara had joined them, by now, and asked, "How, exactly?"
Maher extended a hand, like a hypnotist before a subject. "Grid it out in your mind-like you would any other scene. Ignore the snow."
She stared at him, eyebrows arched. "Ignore the snow?"
Maher gave her a gentle smile. "Just for now."
She looked all around the buried crime scene. "All right, Gordy…I've got it."
Grissom said, "Gordy?"
Maher said, "That's my name. Feel free to use it, too, Dr. Grissom."
Grissom said nothing, just glanced at Sara, who shrugged.
"Mr. Cormier," Maher said.
"Yes, sir?"
"Would you unpack the leaf blower, please?"
"You got it."
Soon the hotel owner was bending over the toboggan, untying ropes.
"Now, Dr. Grissom," Maher said, "and Sara-you two remember about where the footprints were, correct?"
"Well," Sara said, pointing, "the victim ran a fairly straight line. So…from the body down the hill."
Grissom said, "The other four sets-the two up and the two back-were scattered sort of on either side of the victim's."
Maher nodded, breath pluming. "We're going to have to work these from the outside in. Where would you say the tracks were the furthest out?"
Pointing to a tree slightly downhill from their position, perhaps ten feet to their left, Grissom said, "Just this side of that tree."
"All right." Maher turned toward the old boy at the toboggan. "How you doing there, Mr. Cormier?"
"Comin' along!"
Maher turned back to the Vegas CSIs and said, "Okay, for a few minutes I'll be doing all the work…but it won't be long and there'll be plenty for everybody, eh?"
They nodded.
"For now, Sara, you better start finding a way to warm your camera."
"It's digital."
"Yes, and you won't want the lens fogged, and the batteries don't like the cold, either."
"How about inside my coat, Gordy?"
"That may be a little too warm, but it's better than any idea I've got."
Sara went back to the sled, carefully unpacked her camera and slipped half-out of the coat-God, it was bitter!-and withdrew an arm from one sleeve, slung the strap over her shoulder and put the camera against her side. Then she tugged the coat back on and zipped up. Maher's concern wasn't misplaced-the camera already felt cold, even though it had made the journey up here in its leather case. She hugged it close and hoped it would warm up quickly.
Grissom followed Maher as the constable circled down to the point the CSI had indicated, and they stood just on the wrong side of the tree from where the footprints had been before being buried under all that snow.
"This is the tree?"
"Yes," Grissom said, pointing toward the area on the other side. "The prints were right over there."
With a Cheshire cat grin, Maher asked, "Do you get a kick out of experiments?"
Grissom said simply, "Yes," which was the understatement of the new century.
"This isn't exactly an experiment, Doctor, but I think you're going to like it."
Before very long, Maher fired up the leaf blower, yanking the cord, and aimed it at the new-fallen snow. Wet though it was, the white powder still flew in every direction as the leaf blower eased over it. Despite the use of forced air, the Canadian worked carefully.
Moving down to join them, careful to take the same path they had taken, Sara and Cormier came down to watch the show. The camera felt warm against her now and Sara decided to snap off a couple of preliminary shots, getting photos of Maher at work. She looked over at Grissom, who studied Maher in rapt fascination and even admiration.
Quiet and still, Grissom seemed mesmerized as the leaf blower cleared layer after layer. Within a few minutes Maher shut down the leaf blower and signaled them to join him. He had blown open a circle about fifteen by fifteen inches and-in the bottom, dug into the five inches of snow already packed there when they'd arrived yesterday-Sara saw a pristine boot impression.
She turned to Grissom. "No way."
Shaking his head, Grissom said, "I just saw him do it."
They had a little sunshine now, but Maher's smile was brighter. "Medium-velocity snow dispersal device. Pretty cool, eh?"
"Pretty cool, indeed," Grissom said. "I trust the term is designed to sound impressive in court?"
"That, and 'leaf blower' just has no charm."
Looking like an overgrown demented kid in that stocking cap, eyes gleaming, Grissom asked, "May I?"
"Sure," Maher said. "You saw how I did it-just be careful and don't hit the area too directly."
"I'm all over it."
"Just be all over it-carefully." The Canadian refired the leaf blower and handed the business end to Grissom. "Take her for a spin."
Grissom moved just under a yard downhill and a little to the left. The impression Maher had unearthed-or more accurately, unsnowed-was of a right footprint. That meant the next one should be a left, which was the reason for Grissom moving just a few inches off line.
While Grissom worked with the blower, Sara put a ruled scale next to the footprint and snapped a couple of photos.
"Wait," Maher said. "You need the scale, you're exactly right…but for it to be accurate in a photo, it should be at the same depth as the impression." He dug out beneath the scale and set it down. Sara took two more photos, then slipped the camera back inside her coat to keep it warmed up.
"You'll see the difference once you get those up on a computer screen," Maher continued. "Use your tripod too-that and some oblique lighting should raise the detail."
"Thanks. I will."
Maher moved to where Grissom was blowing away more snow. With a small amount of guidance from the Canadian, Grissom eventually uncovered another footprint.
"Got a left foot," Grissom said, his smile almost feral.
"You comfortable doing this?" Maher asked.
"I'm always at my most comfortable," Grissom said, "at a crime scene."
Maher said, "All right, then-you keep moving. Do one more set from this row, then try to find the other three and we'll do two molds each from each row."
"Sounds good."
"And while you're doing that, Sara's going to take more pictures, while I'm melting the sulfur."
Grissom just nodded and went back to work.
"Sulfur?" Sara asked.
"Never made sulfur casts?" Maher asked her, as he led her back up the hill.
"Can't say I have."
"Just dental stone, huh?"
"That's what works best in our climate."
Opening one of his cases on the toboggan, Maher withdrew a Sterno burner and handed it to Sara.
"Take this," he said, then pulled out a small saucepan and handed it to her. "And this."
Finally, he brought out a yellow block slightly smaller than a brick and a cooling rack with extended legs.
"Come on, Sara," Maher said, "and I'll show you how this alchemy works."
Clearing a spot in the snow, he lit the Sterno burner and-while it got going-he dumped the yellow brick into the saucepan. As Sara watched, Maher put the saucepan on top of the cooling rack he'd opened up and set over the flame.
"Okay, Sara-this is going to start stinking to high heaven before long, so why don't you set your tripod up, and take your pictures, before I pour the sulfur in. We're only going to have a small window before our sulfur smells real ugly."
"Anything you say, Merlin," she said, and grabbed her tripod off the toboggan.
"And while you're there," Maher said, half-turning, "could you bring me that can of
gray primer?"
She looked in the nearest bag and found the paint. "Got it."
As she set up the tripod, so that the camera would be directly over the footprint, Maher shook the paint, then sprayed a light layer of primer over the print.
Alarmed, Sara said, "Hey-you're disturbing evidence!"
He shook his head. "I'm enhancing the visibility. And besides, you already have pictures of it, au naturel."
Grissom turned off the leaf blower and, watching where he was going, walked over to them.
"Look what the Mountie did," she said, pointing at the print.
Maher was taking out his own mini-MagLite; he set it in the hole he'd cleared, so that it shone at an oblique angle across the impression.
"The visibility is a lot better," Grissom said. "I've read about this a couple of places."
"You have?" Sara asked.
"Kauffman's guide to winter crime scenes is pretty much definitive; and there's a good paper, done by two Alaska CSIs, Hammer and Wolfe. Still, reading about it's one thing-working it out in the field…that's the ticket."
"But paint?" she said.
Her supervisor shrugged. "No different than us using hair spray on tire tracks."
Sara thought about that.
"That's a good one," Maher said, giving them a thumbs-up. "I love my Aqua Net."
With a quick nod, Grissom turned and moved back to the leaf blower.
Looking through the viewfinder, Sara had to admit, the prints seemed better-defined. She snapped off several shots from various heights. The rotten-egg smell of the sulfur floated down to her and she fought the urge to gag. It wasn't her way to give in, and she prided herself on her strong stomach, so she decided to risk her breakfast and get a closer look. Edging up, she saw Maher stirring the sulfur as it melted into a translucent amber liquid.
"You were right," she said. "That impression looks great, Gordy. Sorry I snapped at you…"
"It may smell like Daffy Duck's backside," he said, "but, damn-it works, eh?"
"You prefer it to dental stone?"
"Detail with sulfur is even higher. Cures faster too. The downside is, it's a lot more expensive, and a pain in the ass to work with, sometimes. You let it get too hot, it'll either ignite or get flaky…. Then you have to cool it down and start from jump."
Sara wondered if any of this would ever come in handy at home. Chances were, probably not; still, it never hurt to learn new techniques.
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