Nick was shaking his head, his expression discouraged. 'A year's a long time,' Nick said.
Brass heaved a sigh, then said, 'I'll talk to the Mortensons tomorrow-maybe they can tell us something.'
'It's no wonder we found ice inside Missy,' Warrick said, 'with a case gone this cold.'
And they got in their vehicles and drove back to HQ.
5
WALKING SINGLE FILE THROUGH THE SNOW, HERM CORMIER remained in the lead, followed by Sara, with Grissom bringing up the rear. They had trudged through a winter landscape tinted blue by twilight, though by the time they could see the hotel again, night had swallowed dusk, and the lights of the wonderfully ungainly conglomerate of buildings glittered in the darkness as if the lodge were a colossal jewel box.
By the time they reached the back parking lot, Sara's breath was coming in short, raspy gulps. Despite the cold, she was perspiring, her hair lank and wet against her cheeks, forehead and nape of her neck, and inside her coat she could feel a trickle of moisture down her back. Mostly it was from the exercise of the forced march down the mountain; but some of it was excitement, nerves.
Less than a dozen cars were scattered about the mostly deserted lot, all of them covered by various depths of powder, ice particles sparkling back the reflected lights of the hotel. The snow showed no sign of letting up-if anything, it seemed to be coming down harder now, as if God couldn't wait to sweep their evidence under a gigantic white rug.
'Is Maher going to be all right out there?' Sara asked, as they stopped in the lot, convening in a little huddle. 'Storm's getting worse….'
'The constable knows what he's doing,' Grissom said. 'He's better suited to thrive under these conditions than we are.'
With a chuckle, Cormier said, 'Constable Maher lives in weather like this, Ms. Sidle…. He'll be fine. We just don't want to leave him up there alone for too long a spell.'
A spell? she thought. This guy was a fugitive from a Pepperidge Farm commercial.
Sara, who was usually game for anything in an investigation, was not looking forward to her own shift at the snowy crime scene. And she found it difficult to accept that the cold and snow would preserve the crime scene; she was glad to have those photos to fall back on, digital or not.
'Any idea how long this'll keep up, Mr. Cormier?' Grissom asked, looking up into the falling snow, white shimmering along his eyelashes.
Squinting up into the snow himself, the hotel man said, 'Storm like this'll usually blow itself out, oh, in a day or so…no more'n two.'
'What happens to the conference?' Sara asked.
Shaking his head, flinging snow, Cormier said, 'It may be just you two and Constable Maher. Not many were coming in early…instructors like you folks mostly…and those that come in today on later flights, well they sure as H aren't gonna join us. Only a few other guests got here before the downfall commenced…but when we get inside, I'll check the register, just the same.'
'You don't expect anyone to trail in tomorrow,' Grissom said.
As if the storm had its own answer for Grissom, a howl blew through the parking lot, stirring up a new storm of snow.
'We won't see anyone else make it in for at least twenty-four hours…unless it's by sled or sleigh.'
Grissom wiped moisture from his face and asked: 'Did anyone leave, after the storm started?'
Cormier shook his head again. 'Can't rightly say-guests usually check out no later'n one or one-thirty, but somebody mighta had somewhere to go tonight, in town maybe, and when the snow started, tried to beat the storm to where they were goin'.'
'You can check, though.'
'I'd have to-I don't know who come and went, while we were in the woods.'
'The victim could've been a guest.'
'That's a fact.'
Sara said, 'And the killer or killers may well still be in the hotel.'
Cormier said, 'Seems reasonable, too. Don't cherish the thought, but I can't rightly argue with it.'
'You have neighbors?' Grissom asked. 'Anyone live in a cabin nearby, for example? Is there a private home tucked away up here?'
'No. The hotel owns all this land-everything your eye can see, Mr. Grissom.'
Glancing around at the billowing storm, Grissom said, 'My 'eye' can't see much right now, Mr. Cormier.'
'Well, if the sun was shining, and I made that statement, it'd still be no exaggeration.'
'Any of the staff live on the premises?'
'Only my wife and me-rest're in New Paltz, and drive up here to work. Just before we went lookin' for you two, I let the bellboys and the housekeeping staff go on home…and I'm pretty sure none of the night shift even tried to make it in.'
Grissom glanced at Sara, then said to the hotel manager, 'Who does that leave, Mr. Cormier?'
'Well, let's see…. Me and the Missus, Jenny, the desk clerk, Mrs. Duncan, the head cook, and maybe two or three more of the kitchen staff, maybe a dozen or so other guests, and the three of you.'
The wind wailed.
'We have to consider them all suspects,' Sara said.
'It's not as many as I thought we might be dealing with,' Grissom admitted. His gloved hands were in the pockets of the black varsity jacket. 'But questioning them indiscriminately won't get us anywhere.'
Sara nodded, sighing, 'We could use Brass about now, couldn't we?'
Cormier, not understanding, said, 'Oh I wouldn't say that, Ms. Sidle-I got the utmost confidence in you folks…and the constable, of course.'
Grissom smiled a little and said, 'Thank you, Mr. Cormier. But what Sara means is, interrogation isn't our strong suit. We follow the evidence.'
'Although if it leads us to a suspect,' Sara said, 'we will interrogate that person, to the best of our abilities. It's just not our specialty.' Then she turned to Grissom and said, 'Trouble is, the evidence is two miles that way…' She pointed up the mountainside. '…under a foot of snow.'
Grissom twitched a smile. 'Some of it is. But that's not the only evidence…. The killer got to that body the same way we did-he walked.'
'Or killers,' Sara reminded him. 'We saw two sets of tracks coming and going before they got buried, too. That is, two sets besides the victim's.'
Grissom nodded. 'And from what direction were the tracks coming?'
'Well, right down here.' Sara thought back, imagined the footprints she'd photographed. She could have checked on her digital Toshiba, but she did not want to reveal to Cormier that she had the camera with her. 'There were three sets, the victim and the other two.'
'Go on,' Grissom said.
'Probably pretty close to the route we took to get back. As if they came straight up from this rear entrance.'
'So what should we be doing now?' Grissom asked.
'Looking for boot or shoe prints.'
Moving carefully, Grissom and Sara started toward the edge of the lot that bordered the incline. Sara had gone barely ten feet across the lot when Grissom said, 'Whoa, Sara…don't step down.'
She froze (not hard in this weather), with her foot hovering just above the snow.
'There's an indentation just under your boot,' Grissom said, making his way toward her, watching his own steps carefully. 'These prints have almost filled in-hard to spot.'
'I'm gonna lose my balance here!'
'Just put your foot down to the left-a good six or seven inches, please.'
Sara did so. Grissom, at her side now, pointed to a series of the indentations-they were so nearly filled in, she had missed them; the snow coming down-and the accumulation the occasional wind gust was blowing around- had been no help, either.
