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