4
The cabin became fully visible, perched on the edge of the lake, looking like it only needed a good shove to send it spilling into the water. It commanded a view across to Derby Peak, still covered with snowfields, and beyond it Flat Top Mountain itself.
“Solitary Lake,” Cash said out loud. It certainly lived up to its name. Even more solitary now, with the Flat Tops almost devoid of backpackers and hikers out of fear of the Neanders.
The lake reflected the mountain as if in a mirror. Not too far out, a fish broke the surface, and the expanding ripples disturbed the image around it into a myriad of glittering points.
“Should’ve brought my fly rod,” said Colcord.
“So you can fish while I do all the work?”
“Why do you think I let you take the lead?” Colcord winked at her, then began to scrape his mud-covered hiking boots against an unlucky stump.
Cash spied an enormous man sitting on a tire outside the cabin. He was large in a way that spoke of manual labor, wearing cowboy boots and a denim shirt with pearl snap buttons. He certainly didn’t look as if he had been out here to hike. He sat in the shade of a blooming dogwood—a tree that must have been planted, since it was not native. He wasn’t carrying anything but a water bottle, and Cash immediately wondered why he didn’t have a backpack for such a strenuous hike. The man had an impressive red beard that took up half his face and chest. He lurched to his feet and held out a palm. Cash took it.
“Paul Brooksfield,” the man said, giving Cash a formidable squeeze.
“Frankie Cash, agent in charge, Colorado Bureau of Investigation. This here is James Colcord, sheriff of Eagle County.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Colcord said. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Paul nodded curtly.
“Mr. Brooksfield, if you wouldn’t mind moving over there to wait by that tree? We need to set up a perimeter. We’d like to talk to you after we’ve looked over the scene,” Cash said.
Paul nodded, and as he seated himself farther away from the cabin, Cash and Colcord strung crime scene tape.
They finished, and Cash turned to Colcord. “What do you think? Do a walk-through or wait for Romanski?” Romanski was always a stickler for getting first looks with his team—but she was itching to get inside.
“I ain’t waiting. We can legitimately tell Romanski we were securing the site.” He unzipped his pack and pulled out a couple of sealed plastic packages. “Booties, hairnets, gloves.”
“Damn, you’ve got everything. Must’ve been a Boy Scout,” said Cash.
“Eagle Scout with twenty-one merit badges,” Colcord said with a touch of pride.
They put on the protection and crossed the yard to a rickety porch, stepping over empty vodka bottles strewn about.
Guy must have really liked his vodka, Cash thought. “Wait,” she said aloud, something catching her eye. “Look at this.” She pointed to an upside-down bucket. There was a mark in the ground where it had previously lain. “And this.” She gestured toward an old frying pan next to the porch steps. It too had been moved slightly, and recently, exposing some blades of grass that were yellow from lack of sun.
“Curious,” Colcord said.
“You know,” Cash said, “I get the feeling someone was looking for something among all this junk—but carefully. Wonder why? And for what?”
Colcord grunted. “Yeah. Interesting.” There was a silence, broken by the whistling wind through the trees. “Well,” he added, looking a little nervous himself, “we’ve got an appointment with a body. Are you ready, Agent Cash?”
