Ice Cold (17 page)

“That can’t be right. Maura would never forget to buckle her seat belt. That’s the kind of person she was.”

“I’m afraid this time, she neglected to do so. At any rate, wearing a seat belt probably wouldn’t have saved her. Not in an accident this traumatic.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, something’s wrong here,” said Jane. “It’s completely out of character for her.”

Draper sighed and flipped off the viewing light. “Detective, I know it must be hard to accept the death of a close friend. Whether she was belted in or not, it doesn’t change the fact that she is dead.”

“But how did it happen? Why?”

“Does it really make a difference?” Draper said quietly.

“Yes.” Again, she felt tears prickle her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense to me. I need to understand.”

“Jane,” said Gabriel. “It may never make sense. We’ll just have to accept it.” Gently he took her arm. “I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Not yet.” She pulled away from him. “There’s something else I need to see.”

“If you insist on viewing the remains,” said Draper, “I can show them to you. But you won’t be able to recognize anything. There’s not much except charred flesh and bone.” He paused and said softly: “Trust me. You’re better off not seeing her. Just take her home.”

“He’s right,” said Gabriel. “We don’t need to look at the body.”

“Not the body.” She took a breath and straightened. “I want to see the crash site. I want to see where it happened.”

A
LIGHT SNOW WAS FALLING THE NEXT MORNING WHEN
G
ABRIEL
and Jane stepped out of their car and walked to the edge of the road. There they stood in silence, staring down into the ravine where the burned hulk of the Suburban was still lodged. A path of trampled snow marked the winding trail that the recovery team had hiked down the day before to retrieve the bodies. It would have been an exhausting climb back up to the road, carrying the stretchers up switchbacks, boots sliding on icy rocks.

“I want to get closer,” she said, starting down the trail.

“There’s nothing down there to look at.”

“I owe it to her. I need to see where she died.” She kept walking, her gaze focused on the slippery path. Beneath the fresh dusting of powder, the snow was icy and treacherous, and she had to move slowly. Her thighs soon ached from the steep descent, and melting snowflakes, mingled with her sweat, trickled down her cheeks. She began to spot debris from the crash, scattered down the slope: a fragment of twisted metal, a lone tennis shoe, a scrap of blue cloth, all of it starting to vanish now beneath fresh powder. By the time she finally reached the blackened vehicle, it was covered by a light coating of snow. The scent of fire still hung in that cold and pristine air, and she could see the scars left by the fire: the charred bushes and the scorched pine branches. She thought of the Suburban’s terrifying trajectory as it plummeted off the cliff. Imagined the shrieks as the last split seconds of life flashed before Maura’s eyes.

She halted, releasing a shaken breath as she watched falling snow slowly erase the ugly evidence of death. Footsteps crunched closer, and Gabriel came to a stop beside her.

“It’s so hard to believe,” Jane said. “You wake up in the morning, thinking it’ll just be another day. You get in a car with some friends. And suddenly it’s over. Everything you knew and thought and felt, in an instant, it’s all gone.”

He drew her close beside him. “That’s why we have to enjoy every minute.”

She brushed snow off the vehicle, revealing a streak of blackened metal. “You never know, do you? Which little decision will end up changing your life. If she hadn’t come to this conference, she wouldn’t have met Doug Comley. She wouldn’t have climbed into his truck.” Abruptly she lifted her hand from the Suburban, as though the touch of it burned her. Staring at the ruined truck, she imagined the last days in Maura’s life. They now knew it was Comley whom they’d seen with Maura on the surveillance tape. They’d viewed his photograph on the staff physician website of the San Diego hospital where he’d worked as a pathologist. Forty-two years old, a divorced single father, he’d been an attendee at the same medical conference. Attractive man spots equally attractive woman, and nature takes its course. Dinner, conversation, all sorts of possibilities swirling in their heads. Any woman would be tempted, even a woman as levelheaded as Maura. What kind of future, after all, could Daniel Brophy promise her, except a lifetime of furtive meetings and disappointments and regrets? If Daniel had given her what she needed, Maura wouldn’t have strayed. She wouldn’t have joined Douglas Comley on his doomed excursion.

She would be alive.

Daniel was no doubt tormented by those same thoughts. They had left him at the hotel without telling him where they were going. This was not a visit he should make. Now, standing in the gently falling snow, she was not sure that she should have come, either. What purpose did it serve, to see this blackened hulk, to visualize the vehicle’s plunge through the air, the flying glass, the explosion of flames? But now I’ve seen it, she thought. And I can go home.

She and Gabriel turned and headed back up the trail. The wind had picked up, and fine snow swirled into her face, stinging her eyes. She sneezed, and when she opened her eyes again, something blue fluttered past. She picked it up and saw that it was a torn airline ticket envelope, the edges blackened by fire. A scrap of the boarding pass was still inside, but only the five last letters of the name were visible.

inger
.

She looked at Gabriel. “What was the name of the other man in the car?” she asked.

“Zielinski.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He frowned at the scrap of boarding pass. “They identified all four bodies. Comley and his daughter, Zielinski, and Maura.”

“So who does this ticket belong to?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s leftover litter from an earlier rental car customer.”

“It’s one more thing that doesn’t fit. This and the seat belt.”

“It could be totally unrelated.”

“Why isn’t this bothering you, Gabriel? I can’t believe you’re just accepting it!”

He sighed. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

“I need you to support me on this.”

“I’m trying to.”

“By ignoring what I’m saying?”

“Oh, Jane.” He wrapped his arms around her, but she remained stiff and unresponsive in his embrace. “We’ve done what we could. Now we need to go home. We need to get on with our lives.”

While Maura can’t
. She was suddenly, achingly aware of all the sensations that Maura would never again experience. The cold air rushing in and out of her lungs. The warmth of a man’s arms around her. I may be ready to go home, she thought. But I’m not finished asking questions.

“Hey!” a voice shouted from above. “What are you people doing down there?”

They both looked up to see a man standing on the road above.

Gabriel waved and called back: “We’re coming up!”

The climb was far harder than the descent. The new accumulation of powder masked treacherous ice, and the wind kept puffing snow into their faces. Gabriel was first to reach the road and Jane scrambled up after him, breathing hard.

A battered pickup truck was parked at the side of the road. Beside it stood a silver-haired man holding a rifle, the barrel pointed to the ground. His face was deeply weathered, as though he’d spent a lifetime in the harsh outdoors, and his boots and ranch coat looked equally well worn. Although he appeared to be in his seventies, he stood as straight and unyielding as a pine tree.

“That’s an accident scene down there,” the man said. “Not a place for tourists.”

“We’re aware of that, sir,” said Gabriel.

“It’s also private property. My property.” The man’s grip tightened around the rifle. Although he kept it pointed at the ground, his stance made it clear that he was prepared to bring it up at an instant’s notice. “I’ve called the police.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Jane. “This is ridiculous.”

The man turned his unsmiling gaze on her. “You’ve got no business scavenging down there.”

“We weren’t scavenging.”

“Chased a buncha teenagers out of that ravine last night. They were hunting for souvenirs.”

“We’re law enforcement,” said Jane.

The man shot a dubious glance at their rental car. “From out of town?”

“One of the victims was our friend. She died in that ravine.”

That seemed to take him aback. He stared at her for a long time, as though trying to decide whether to believe her. He kept his gaze on them, even as a Sublette County Sheriff’s Department vehicle rounded the curve and pulled to a stop behind the pickup truck.

A familiar police officer stepped out of the vehicle. It was Deputy Martineau, whom they’d met at the double homicide a few nights earlier. “Hey, Monty,” he called out. “So what’s going on here?”

“Caught these people trespassing, Bobby. They claim they’re law enforcement.”

Martineau glanced at Jane and Gabriel. “Uh, actually, they are.”

“What?”

He gave a polite nod to Jane and Gabriel. “It’s Agent Dean, right? And hello, ma’am. Sorry about the misunderstanding, but Mr. Loftus here’s been a little jumpy about trespassers. Especially after those kids came by last night.”

“How do you know these people?” Loftus demanded, clearly not convinced.

“Monty, they’re okay. I saw them over at the Circle B, when they came by to talk to Fahey.” He turned to Jane and Gabriel, and his voice softened. “I’m really sorry about what happened to your friend.”

“Thank you, Deputy,” said Gabriel.

Loftus gave a conciliatory grunt. “Then I guess I owe you folks an apology.” He extended his hand.

Gabriel shook it. “No apologies needed, sir.”

“It’s just that I spotted your car and thought we had more of those souvenir hunters down there. Crazy kids, all into that death and vampire nonsense.” Loftus looked down at the charred Suburban in the ravine. “Not like it used to be when I was growing up here. When folks respected property rights. Now anyone thinks they can come hunting on my land. Leave my gates wide open.”

Jane could read the look that flickered across Martineau’s face:
I’ve heard him say this a thousand times before
.

“And you never show up in time to do anything, Bobby,” Loftus added.

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” protested Martineau.

“You come by my place later, and I’ll show you what they did to my gates. Something has to be done.”

“Okay.”

“I mean
today
, Bobby.” Loftus climbed into his pickup truck, and the engine rattled to life. With a gruff wave, he called out, grudgingly, “Sorry again, folks,” and drove away.

“Who is that guy?” asked Jane.

Martineau laughed. “Montgomery Loftus. His family used to own like, a gazillion acres around here. Double L Ranch.”

“He was pretty pissed at us. I thought he was going to blast us with that rifle.”

“He’s pissed about everything these days. You know how it is with some old folks. Always complaining it ain’t the way it used to be.”

It never is, thought Jane as she watched Martineau climb back into his vehicle. And it won’t be the same in Boston, either. Not with Maura gone.

As they drove back to the hotel, Jane stared out the window, thinking about the last conversation she’d had with Maura. It was in the morgue, and they’d been standing at the autopsy table as Maura sliced into a cadaver. She’d talked about her upcoming trip to Wyoming. How she’d never been there, how she looked forward to seeing elk and buffalo and maybe even a wolf or two. They’d talked about Jane’s mother, and Barry Frost’s divorce, and how life always kept surprising you. You just never know, Maura had said, what lies around the corner.

No, you never do. You had no idea you’d be coming home from Wyoming in a coffin
.

They pulled into the hotel parking lot, and Gabriel shut off the engine. For a moment they sat without speaking. There was still so much to do, she thought. Make phone calls. Sign papers. Arrange for the coffin’s transportation. The thought of it all exhausted her. But at least they’d be going home, now. To Regina.

“I know it’s only noon,” said Gabriel. “But I think we could both use a drink.”

She nodded. “I second that.” She pushed open her door and stepped out, into the softly falling snow. They held on to each other as they walked across the parking lot, their arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. How much harder this day would have been without him here, she thought. Poor Maura has lost everything, while I am still blessed with this man. Blessed with a future.

They stepped into the hotel bar, where the light was so subdued that at first she didn’t spot Brophy sitting in one of the booths. Only as her eyes adjusted to the gloom did she see him.

He was not alone.

Seated with him at the table was a man who now rose to his feet, a tall and forbidding figure in black. Anthony Sansone was notoriously reclusive, and so paranoid about his privacy that he seldom ventured out in public. Yet here he was, standing in their hotel bar, his grief in full view.

“You should have called me, Detective,” said Sansone. “You should have asked for my help.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Maura was my friend, too. If I’d known she was missing, I would have flown back from Italy in a heartbeat.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done.” She glanced at Brophy, who was stone-faced and silent. These two men had never liked each other, yet here they were, a truce declared between them in Maura’s memory.

“My jet’s waiting at the airport,” said Sansone. “As soon as they release her body, we can all fly home together.”

“It should be this afternoon.”

“Then I’ll let my pilot know.” His sigh was heavy with sadness. “Call me when it’s time to make the transfer. And we’ll bring Maura home.”

I
N THE COMFORTABLE COCOON
of Anthony Sansone’s jet, the four passengers were quiet as they flew east, into the night. Perhaps they were all thinking, as Jane was, of their unseen companion who rode below in cargo, boxed in a coffin, stored in the dark and frigid hold. This was the first time Jane had ever flown on a private jet. Were it for any other occasion, she would have taken delight in the soft leather seats, the spacious legroom, the myriad comforts that supremely wealthy travelers are accustomed to. But she scarcely registered the taste of the perfectly pink roast beef sandwich that the steward had presented to her on a china plate. Although she’d missed both lunch and dinner, she ate without enjoyment, fueling up only because her body needed it.