Two calls in one night? She blinked. “Maybe you should come work with the FBI. We get more sleep.”
His chuckle as he exited the room lightened her spirits, and she smiled, almost immediately dropping back into her dreams.
The buzzing of her phone jerked her awake early in the morning, and she lifted it to her ear, noting that Huck hadn’t returned yet. Then she took a quick moment to hope that Jason Abbott had been found.
“Agent Snow,” she whispered sleepily.
“Hey, boss,” Walter said, his voice somber. “We have a body.”
Chapter 2
The body lay yards from Iceberg River at the base of Snowblood Peak, face down, frozen to the unforgiving ground. Standing at the edge of the parking area, Laurel shivered and stared up at the mountainous peak with its jagged edges rising high into the fierce gray clouds. “We seem to have come full circle,” she murmured.
FBI agent Walter Smudgeon shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, his gaze on the body. “The way up and the way down are one and the same.”
Laurel looked over at her partner. “Heraclitus?”
Red tinged his broad cheeks. In his midfifties, he had intelligent hazel eyes and thinning gray hair that he’d lately begun to style with gel. “I’ve been reading a lot these days. Ena likes philosophy.”
Fascinating. Walter had been shot in an earlier case, and he’d decided to invest in a longer existence, exercising his wounded body to a healthy muscle mass, dedicating himself to a new romantic interest, and apparently studying philosophy. Ena was a Fish and Wildlife officer who worked under Huck, and Walter seemed to adore her.
Laurel noted the state crime scene techs setting up a tent over the body, close to the broken ice. “Heraclitus also said that one cannot step twice in the same river.”
“Huh,” Walter said. “Haven’t read that one. Those thoughts seem to contradict each other.”
“They’re compatible statements.” Laurel angled her head for a better view. The victim had longish blond hair and was still fully dressed in a short black wool coat, dark jeans, and scuffed brown boots. She appeared to be a female in decent shape. “Everything flows and nothing stays.”
Walter reached into his back pocket to draw out a pair of thick gloves. “Who said that?”
“Plato, but I believe he paraphrased Heraclitus.”
Walter settled shiny and unscuffed snow boots on the icy ground. “So it’s about the river? The movement of the water beneath the ice versus solid ground?”
Her current proximity to the victim prevented a detailed analysis of the possible crime scene. “Our perception is subjective, as is any conclusion when becoming philosophical.”
He gestured for her to precede him. “Who said that?”
“Me.” Having been given a wave from the crime scene tech dressed in thick white coveralls, Laurel gingerly picked her way across the rough terrain, her rugged boots finding purchase on the ice. “Philosophy involves asking questions with few true answers.” Which had always irritated her to no end.
Every question should have an answer. In fact, each one most certainly did, even if she couldn’t find it. She slipped, and Walter instantly grasped her arm, straightening her. “Thank you.”
“No problem. You’d think we’d be finished with the snow and ice, considering it’s April first,” he grumbled, walking closer to her now.
She shrugged. “We’re thousands of feet above ocean level, Walter.” At least the snow might melt soon down in the town of Genesis Valley. “We’re fortunate snowmobilers found the body.”
“Huh. The body is just a short distance away from the parking area. Somebody would’ve found her.”
They reached the now-tented area just as the wind increased in force, blowing Laurel’s hair away from her face. Her breath caught from the cold as she crouched to better study the body. “There are no obvious signs of murder, and she still has her hands.” Jason Abbott had liked to cut off the hands of his victims, but he’d had an ax easily available each time.
Unlike now.
Fish and Wildlife Captain Monty Buckley stepped out of a rig in the parking area and strode toward them, his countenance pale from recent cancer radiation treatments. “I radioed Huck to fill him in as he drove. He’s on his way now.” Monty walked gingerly, his movements jerky.
Laurel stood. “Did Huck find the missing person?”
Monty shivered in the cold, even though he wore a heavy jacket and gloves. “Yeah. They found the old guy not too far from the retirement home, with hypothermia and possible frostbite. He’s alive at least.”
So Huck would be in a good mood. The man blamed himself when he couldn’t save a victim, and even though that was irrational, Laurel could empathize.
