24
Colcord was late getting to McMillan Lake, having driven all the way from Eagle and then hiking up a mile-long trail. He arrived, huffing for air, embarrassed at how out of shape he was and thinking he really needed to restart his military calisthenics training.
She had gotten there an hour ahead of him and was waiting. When he came up beside her, she was standing with crossed arms, a fierce scowl on her face, flushed and sweaty in the heat of the day. She looked pissed. Really pissed.
“Fucking vultures,” she said, gesturing. Catching his breath, Colcord was astonished to see a crowd had gathered behind the crime scene tape, extending well into the trees, dozens of gawkers milling about, many with their cell phones out taking videos. There were a bunch of reporters there too. He spied Robin Twen wearing a pair of black velvet corduroys and a collared shirt, standing a distance back and speaking briskly into the microphone, a cameraman and soundman recording.
“What thehellis this?” he said, staring at the seething crowd. He could hardly believe it. “How did they find out so quickly?”
“Some college kid took a video of the body,” said Cash. “It’s all over social media.”
“Jesus. All right, let’s take a look,” Colcord said.
Cash made a motion for him to follow, and he hurried after her. They had to plunge into the crowd to get past it, shoving and pushing. The press of people was formidable, and some of them seemed to be protesting and waving placards. Colcord felt claustrophobic. The smell of sweat andthe frantic pushing of hands and limbs filled him with apprehension—it felt like the restless crowd was about to explode into violence.
“Get back, get back!” he shouted, trying to bull his way through. The usual deference his sheriff’s badge and uniform seemed to award him was lost on these people. He continued forcing his way forward, using his elbows to jab and carve an opening. But a sudden surge of people caused him to stumble backward, and he lost Cash ahead of him in the crush. This was unbelievable.
“Out of the way!” he said. “Law enforcement!” He again pushed forward, jostling a man with long hair who was punching a sign into the air, his face distorted with fury. He was chanting some slogan, but in the general hubbub, Colcord couldn’t make out what it was. He could see what was on the sign, however—a caricature of a Neanderthal, with beetling brows and a sloping forehead, giant nose, and small chin. The profile was slashed through with a red bar, and above were words scrawled in black marker:SHOOT THE BRUTES!
What the hell?They were anti-Neander protestors, it seemed, wearing blue armbands with what Colcord now realized was an anti-Neanderthal symbol, a few carrying signs that saidRE-EXTINCT THE FREAKSandNEANDER KILL ZONE.
“Re-extinct the freaks! Re-extinct the freaks!”
This was nuts. They found a chopped-up body in a suitcase—it had nothing whatsoever to do with Neanders. But lately, it seemed that even public events like concerts in Colorado were attracting anti-Neander protesters. Colcord caught sight of Cash, and he grabbed her arm. Together, they stumbled into the perimeter and ducked underneath the tape.
“We need more deputies up here,” Colcord panted, getting on his radio to call in.
“No shit,” said Cash.
Colcord made the call and re-hooked the radio to his belt. “What a bunch of assholes!”
Cash shook her head. “God knows. So far, they’re staying behind the tape, but if it breaks, we might be looking at a stampede. And the messing up of our crime scene.”
“You see those signs?” Colcord said, pointing to the gaggle ofprotesters wearing blue armbands. They had just forced their way through. “What are they doing here?”
“They seem to think the Neanders did this,” Cash said.
They hurried through the trees to the plastic privacy tent set back from the shore. The tent was askew, appearing as if it had been hurriedly set up. Tyrone, from CBI forensics, greeted them in a shaky voice as they entered, along with Michael Reno, his bald pate resplendent in the sun filtering through the entryway. Four sodden suitcases sat side by side on a tarp laid on the ground. One was open, containing a bluish hand and forearm and a mangled foot and calf, nestled among rocks, evidently put in there for weight. A musty smell of wet leaves and the sweet beginnings of rot filled the air. Aisling, all suited up, was crouched, taking samples. Romanski was perched nearby on a steel folding chair, supervising the scene and taking notes on an iPad, his brows drawn together in concentration.
“Got started without ya. Hope you don’t mind,” Romanski said. “I didn’t want these out in the open longer than needed. Those ink slingers are taking pictures of everything. People are going crazy out there.”
“How many bodies?” Colcord asked, looking at all the body parts.
“Just one,” Romanski said. “I’m pretty sure.”
A cell phone rang among the CSAs working on the crime scene.
“Hey! Silence that shit,” Cash snapped. “We got enough noise around here.” She swung around to Colcord. “When are your deputies gonna get here?”
She was in a foul mood, Colcord thought—and no wonder. “An hour, at least. Coming in by chopper fast as they can.”
“Shit,” said Cash.
Romanski hopped down from the steel folding chair. “You folks wanna hear my exciting summary of how the body was dismembered?”
“I guess,” Colcord grimaced.
“I’ll have a toolmark specialist check it out, but at first glance, it appears there are marks on the bone consistent with a saw. From a naked-eye perspective, the kerf is wider, which generally means a reciprocating blade was used rather than a handsaw—”
