Blood Runs Cold

‘I know, I know. I overthink.’

‘I underthink.’

‘Yin–yang.’

‘Dumb–dumber.’

13

Mike Delaney walked in to Bob’s office with two large bottles of water and a giant, battered-looking bottle of Vitamin C tablets. He handed them to Ren.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How you doing?’

‘Much better, thank you. Dr Barger confirmed our findings …’

He smiled.

‘Thanks for these,’ said Ren. ‘You’re very kind. Now, what I also need is a list of people who regularly go up Quandary Peak.’

Bob and Mike shot glances at each other.

‘Undersheriff Delaney,’ said Bob, ‘could you call in the three thousand residents and, let me see, five thousand tourons currently spending time in Breckenridge. Rustle up some sandwiches and soup, keep them talky.’

‘Tourons?’ said Ren.

‘Tourist plus moron,’ said Bob.

Ren smiled. ‘What I meant,’ she said, ‘was, you know, people who have a reason to be up there –’

‘I repeat,’ said Bob, ‘Undersheriff Delaney …’

Ren laughed. ‘For example, Search and Rescue, Forest Services, the groomers, gondola people …’

‘People employed to be up there,’ said Bob. ‘Does it matter? Employed, up there to ski, up there to snowboard, up there for the holy hell of it …’

‘Just go with me,’ said Ren. ‘Please. I have to start somewhere and I might as well have a list that doesn’t run into the – as you may have mentioned a few times – thousands.’

Bob smiled. ‘OK, we’ll put that together, but it’ll still be a long list.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Ren. ‘With the kind help of your team, we should be able to get through it quickly enough. And, Bob …? You should move your desk. It’s bad Feng Shui to have your back to the door. Something about being stabbed in the back.’

Bob smiled.

‘Anyway, thanks again,’ said Ren.

‘I’ll call if I need any more decorating help,’ said Bob.

‘I’ll draw you up some plans …’ said Ren. ‘OK, I’m going to head over to Glenwood. And when I get back, I’ll be just three doors down from you with the other Safe Streeters. Please thank whoever had to vacate that nice office for us.’

‘Yeah,’ said Bob. ‘Your desk’s the one facing away from the door.’

Conoco was Ren’s last landmark when she drove off I-70. She took the next left and swung into the small parking lot of the Glenwood Springs RA. She looked up at the building: three stories, pale yellow brick, normal. No history like the Livestock Exchange Building – not a place to harbor a giant urinal. She walked into the quiet foyer and took the elevator to the third floor. The door was jammed open. She rang the bell and walked in.

‘Hello? Agent Gressett? Agent Austerval?’

‘Hello,’ she heard back. ‘Be right with you.’ Tiny Gressett came out with one hand on his belt. ‘Oh … Ren. It’s nice to see you again.’

‘You too.’

They both looked at each other as if they were thinking the same thing; the number of sentences in life that were assigned to bullshit.

‘Follow me,’ he said.

They walked a short hallway into the office. Gressett gestured around the room. ‘This is … was Jean’s desk right here.’

‘It’s terrible what happened to her, so unfair.’

‘What’s fair?’ said Gressett with an explosive snap.

Jesus Christ.

‘What’s fair?’ he said again. ‘Have you any idea? Do you know something none of the rest of us don’t?’

‘I’m … I just meant I’m sorry.’

Gressett paused and let out a breath. He pointed to the wall beside Jean’s desk. There were plaques, certificates and framed awards. Ren leaned in. She had most of them herself and a few others.

‘Very impressive,’ said Ren.

‘I’d take Jean Transom as my right-hand man any day of the week.’

Ren nodded and moved toward Jean’s seat. ‘I’m just going to have a look through her desk and files, see if there’s anything …’

‘Go ahead,’ said Gressett. His tone said you’re not going to find anything. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

‘Thanks, that would be great.’

She sat down and pulled the files on the desktop toward her. They were a mix of cases: drugs, bank fraud and embezzlement, child abuse, one crime aboard an aircraft, domestic abuse, theft from interstate shipments, robbery, unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. There was a folder called ‘RUTH’. Inside were photocopies of child sexual assault files. There were eight files – each marked with colored, numbered tabs – twelve different girls and the abuse they had suffered. It spanned almost thirty years of offences, including indecent exposure, fondling, attempted abduction, and rape, carried out across Summit and Garfield Counties.

Ren casually started re-arranging the files in date order. She could see Gressett almost climbing over his desk to look at what she was doing.

‘Was Jean working this file alone?’ said Ren, holding it up. ‘The little girls and the perverts. These appear to be photocopies of original files whose numbers I’m guessing are the references here on these little tabs.’

Gressett came over from his desk and looked at the file. He leaned in and closed the cover. ‘RUTH – yes, I’ve seen this on Jean’s desk. She handled any of the child sexual abuse cases here in the RA.’ He opened it again. ‘These are all different girls.’

‘Yes,’ said Ren.

‘Oh,’ said Gressett. ‘I had assumed it was just one girl called Ruth Something.’

Ren went through the photocopies. ‘OK – there is one girl here called Ruth. But the file doesn’t have a tab on it. Actually, it seems to be the only one that doesn’t have a tab … or a photo … or a last name … or a location … or a date. So I’m wondering,’ said Ren, ‘what it’s doing here.’

‘Well, I can’t help you with any of that,’ said Gressett going back to his desk.

‘I guess Jean must have figured all these cases were linked.’

Gressett nodded. ‘I guess so.’

The two most recent assaults were on top of the pile and had happened within the previous twelve months. Ren cross-referenced the numbers and pulled out the files. The assaults – indecent exposure and attempted abduction – had originally been reported to Frisco PD and Silverthorne PD. Jean had then interviewed the little girls and typed up the transcripts.

Ren read through them. Impressive. Jean had clearly developed a way of interviewing children that elicited a lot more information than a traumatized child would normally volunteer.

‘I guess it is just one of many files Jean was working on,’ said Gressett.

Subtle.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t exactly occupying her time any time recently. The latest incident was in October