Page 42 of Dead Mountain

Trinidad proved a pleasant town, with a historic district and enough mesas, trails, and art galleries to satisfy day-tripping tourists. Up ahead now, she saw the well-groomed entrance to Tolland’s gated community—Piñon Canyon Estates—and she pulled up to the guardhouse. She gave her name to the woman inside, waited while she phoned ahead, and then followed the directions. She knew they could have just shown up unannounced and flashed their badges, but Sharp had vetoed that idea. “It’s better if he knows we’re coming,” her mentor had said. “He’ll know why. It’ll give him time to prepare.”

Corrie pulled into a spot reserved for visitors and they got out. Tolland’s townhouse was an end unit, tidy and understated except for the expensive-looking bow windows on two sides. It was painted in community-approved colors. As she looked it over, Corrie thought back to the question she’d asked Sharp earlier: why exactly they were here now, before the coroner had conducted his autopsy. “The FBI are servants of the people, and we need to show we care” was his response. “And the fact is, we do care. Now that we have an ironclad ID, it’s our immediate duty to inform the next of kin—in person and without delay.”

He climbed the front steps and pushed the doorbell. Corrie, following behind, saw a series of painted-over holes beneath the nearest bow window that made her think a planter had once hung there, perhaps before Tolland’s wife died.

“Agent Swanson,” Sharp said quietly, “I’m going to handle this interview myself—if you don’t mind.”

This was unexpected, and although Corrie hadn’t exactly been looking forward to delivering the news, she realized that, in fact, she did mind. Why hadn’t he told her before? She’d spent a good part of the drive running over in her head just what she’d say. But then the doorknob turned, there was a faint chuff of weatherstripping, and a tall, stooped man stood in the entryway looking out at them.

He’d been an endodontist, she recalled, and a very successful one. In middle age, he would have stood six foot one or perhaps a bit taller. But age, kyphosis, and tragedy had shrunken his frame. He wore a cardigan with a dress shirt and tie beneath, along with well-pressed wool trousers. As Sharp made the introductions, Corrie looked the man over as inconspicuously as possible. His eyes were red, and a little rheumy, but she didn’t think this was from tears. She wondered if he’d put on the tie for their benefit.

“Is there anyone else at home—a relation, perhaps—that you’d like to have as part of this conversation?” Sharp asked.

The man shook his head. Using few words—like many doctors, Tolland seemed used to speaking with brevity—he ushered them into a neat and well-appointed living room. He offered them tea and coffee, which they both declined. Glancing around, Corrie didn’t detect what she would once have called a woman’s touch.

Tolland waited until they were both seated, then sat down himself in what was obviously his favorite chair—the stand beside it held a couple of magazines and a book on Roman history, lying with its spine open.

“Dr. Tolland,” Sharp went on, “I’ll skip the small talk and get to the point, as you seem to be someone who would respect that.”

Tolland gave that a nod.

“No doubt you’re aware that two bodies were recently found in the Manzano Mountains in the general location of the Dead Mountain incident.” He paused for only a second. “We’re very sorry to inform you that one of those two has been identified as your son, Paul Jr. Agent Swanson and I extend our sincerest condolences.”

Corrie glanced at her mentor. He was sitting on the far side of the couch, legs folded—not as if he’d made himself comfortable, exactly, but neither in the hands-clasped position of attention she would have adopted. He spoke in his usual manner, a little formally but without needless filigree. The approach seemed to work: as Sharp spoke, Dr. Tolland relaxed visibly in his chair. His hands, which had grasped the armrests, lost some of their stiffness.

Sharp went silent, allowing their host to digest what, in his heart, he’d already known. This, too, surprised Corrie a little—she might have let the facts, such as they were, come tumbling out to fill an awkward gap. But Sharp allowed—or at least, appeared to allow—Tolland to direct the conversation.

After a minute, the dental surgeon cleared his throat. “It’s been five days since the bodies were found—or six, maybe, as nobody has given us a clear timeline.”

Sharp nodded.

“If my son—if Paul—was one of the two who were discovered, why am I learning about it only now?”

“Because, Dr. Tolland, it’s our policy not to inform next of kin without a positive identification. That only came last night.”

“Dental records?” Tolland asked abruptly, his hands stiffening again on the arms of the chair.

“Exactly. That’s when our lab at Quantico completed matching the dental records to the remains. You’re the first person we’ve informed, and until such time as there’s an official press release, we will tell no one else.” He paused. “Naturally, I’m willing to answer any questions you might have.”

Corrie marveled at the concise yet relaxed way Sharp presented the information. It seemed unredacted, logical, cool, and smooth as marble—but, like marble, slippery and leaving little room for questions.

Tolland slowly nodded as this sank in. “You say you didn’t make a positive identification until last night?”

“That’s correct.”

“What took you so long?”

Sharp took this blunt question in stride. “Dr. Tolland, it’s hard to describe the process we must go through in such cases without seeming—well, a little cold and robotic. Our first concern, of course, was that the remains be treated with the utmost care and dignity. That alone—removing them from the cave where they were found—took more than a day.”

“That still leaves four days.” Tolland’s voice quavered slightly as he made this statement. He’d been so composed up until now . . . Corrie hoped to God he wouldn’t fall apart.

“To be precise, three—or slightly less. Then we had to retrieve your son’s dental records from years back, which took two days, and finally have our lab compare them to the X-rays we took of the remains.”

“Surely you found some ID with the body?”

Sharp continued in the same voice, the same semi-relaxed posture. “We did, yes, but in an investigation of this nature, evidence like a driver’s license can’t be considered official or legal. You can imagine the unnecessary pain we’d cause if we made an error.”

“You didn’t ask me to identify the body,” Tolland said.

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