3
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Cash arrived at Forest Service Road 610, leading to the southern edge of the Flat Tops boundary. She was high in the mountains now, her GPS reporting over nine thousand feet of elevation. She eased her black CBI Tahoe into the forest road and slowed. It was a typical Colorado four-wheel-drive nightmare, the right side of the road gullied out with exposed rocks. But there was a strip of passable track on the left, which she edged along with care. She wondered how in the hell Romanski would get the crime scene van out here.
Tall firs rose like silent sentinels on either side, darkening the way. Cash gave an involuntary shiver, thankful for the sheet of glass between her and the surrounding forest.
Fifteen minutes later, she rounded a bend to see Colcord seated on the open bed of his truck. He was sporting his usual Stetson, boot-cut jeans, and a pair of muddy hiking boots. To her relief, two Starbucks cups rested next to him. He smiled and tipped his cowboy hat as she lurched up behind him and parked.
“Top of the morning, Cash.” He eased off his truck and handed her a cup, throwing her an apologetic smile. “It’s half empty. The other half is all over my front seat.”
“No apologies necessary, as long as it comes with a curtsy.”
He grinned and gave her an elaborate bow. “That satisfy you?”
She took a sip. The coffee was cold, but she was grateful for the caffeine. At the edge of the forest, everything was still and silent. Lofty fir trees closed ranks around them, trunks seeming to lean in toward her.Two warring red squirrels flitted and chattered through the understory. Now that she was out of the Tahoe, the feeling of unease grew.
“Let’s get going,” she said, busily checking the GPS on her phone. Even out of cell range, the GPS worked, but she’d had to remember to download the maps ahead of time—or all she’d see would be a dot for her location on a blank screen.
A footpath followed a stream that gurgled on their left: Middle Fork Derby Creek, according to the GPS. The path itself was overgrown and faint, sometimes disappearing completely. Thankfully, after five minutes of hiking, they passed their first trail marker: a faded message informing them that they were entering the Flat Tops Wilderness, with Solitary Lake four miles distant.
“Well, at least there’re some trail signs,” Colcord said, negotiating his way over a fallen tree trunk. “Wouldn’t want to get lost in Neander territory.”
After the disaster at Erebus, the FBI had taken over the case from CBI and the sheriff’s office. They had been going at it hammer and tongs now for eight months with no success: The Neanders seemed to have vanished. The popular consensus was that they’d moved northward in the Rockies, into Wyoming, or possibly even as far as Canada.
“Speaking of Neanders,” he went on, “any news from your FBI pals? I heard a rumor the SAC is about to be fired.”
“Normally, they don’t tell us shit,” said Cash. “But we did hear they’re bringing in a new guy who’s supposed to be a badass. CBI just got notice. His name is Makoto Ota. He’s starting next month.”
“You met him yet?”
“We liaise with him and his team on the twentieth. Seems he might be bringing CBI back into the case.”
“About time,” Colcord said. “Things are really getting out of hand. All these Neander admirers with their costumes and demonstrations—who would’ve believed it? And the ‘Sapiens supremacists’ who think the Neanders should be ‘re-extincted’?”
“It’s the world we live in today,” said Cash, shaking her head.
“God, I miss the old days—before the internet messed everything up. I used to hike into the Flat Tops as a kid, fishing in Trappers Lake. Some mighty fine native brown in there.”
“You know the Flat Tops?” Cash was surprised.
“Just a part of it. It’s a huge wilderness.” Colcord paused to slap a mosquito on his neck. “So what’s going on with the woolly elephants over in Erebus?”
“Mammoths,” Cash said. “Being taken care of by wildlife biologists, along with the other megafauna. The valley’s closed and being maintained by a nonprofit while the investors fight over ownership and liability.”
“I’ll never forget the size of those things.”
They continued to hike in contemplative silence, the kind shared between old friends. The firs gave way to aspens, rustling in the wind. Despite the dappled sunlight, it was chilly, and she pulled her fleece around her.
As they crossed a meadow, it warmed slightly. Colcord stopped abruptly and pulled a pair of binocs out of his pack, motioning for her to stop.
“You see something?” Cash asked, mildly alarmed.
He peered into the trees. “Western tanager.”
“We got a dead body up there and you’rebird-watching?”
Colcord lowered the binocs, a grin stretching across his face. “I’d never let a stiff interfere with adding another bird to my life list.”
“Life list?”
