Page 5 of Dead Mountain

“Oh. Right.” Findlay turned to her expectantly. “Ma’am? We’re all set.”

Ma’am was the FBI equivalent of Sir, but Corrie hated it. Couldn’t they come up with a word that didn’t make her feel like a wizened old lady? “Thank you, Mr. Findlay, let’s go take a look.” She turned. “Deputy Baca, could you please escort us to the site?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “It’s rough going.”

When nobody said anything, he set off down the slope, picking his way on bow legs. There were about four inches of snow, trampled from people coming and going. The slope quickly grew steeper and rockier. It amazed Corrie that two drunken kids could have come this way after dark without breaking their necks. A quarter mile of cautious walking brought them to the edge of a small ravine. There were a couple of officers at its bottom, passing around a thermos of hot coffee. A retractable ladder had been placed against the opposite side of the ravine, and its top end rested against a cave opening.

Again, Corrie was amazed. Those boys were lucky—they could easily have missed that cave and died of exposure.

“Deputy,” she asked, “where are the individuals now? Are they still around?”

“No, they were taken away for a medical evaluation—they’d had a pretty tough morning, hungover from a lot of drinking the night before—and then we let them go.”

“We—you mean the sheriff’s department?”

“Yes.”

“Why not question them?”

“We’ll do that if necessary, after we evaluate the site and see if there’s any reason to press charges.”

“Right.” She made her way down to the bottom of the ravine, through some slippery boulders covered with ice. Sharp and the ERT followed. There wasn’t a lot of space at the bottom. “I don’t see a perimeter,” she told the deputy.

“We figured the FBI would want to set that up themselves.”

She nodded. “Let’s string some tape here, and here.” She directed Findlay to block off the bottom of the ravine below the cave, then turned to the others. “You guys go ahead and suit up. And I’d like a suit for myself.”

“Of course, ma’am,” said Findlay.

A head suddenly stuck out of the cave entrance. “Hey, Baca, we got a second body up here.”

Corrie stared up at the man. “Who are you?”

The man looked down at her. “I’m Sheriff Hawley—and who are you?”

Corrie held up her lanyard and shield. “Special Agent Swanson, FBI.” Distantly, she could hear another voice from behind Hawley.

“Sheriff, could you and your men please exit the scene?” she said.

The man had a fleshy face and aviator sunglasses pushed up on a shaved dome. “We’re working. We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

Who was actually in charge at the site? Was it the county sheriff, FBI, or National Forest LE guys? It just wasn’t clear. Corrie made a quick decision: she was going to take charge. If that turned out to be wrong, it was still better than not taking charge when it was her responsibility—especially in front of Sharp.

“Sheriff Hawley,” said Corrie, “you and your men are at a potential crime scene without protective covering.”

He stared down at her, his face darkening. “Don’t you tell me how to do my job.”

Corrie was afraid to glance over at Sharp—she needed to handle this on her own. She took a deep breath and tried to muster an authoritative tone of voice. “Sheriff Hawley, according to standard law enforcement protocol, you should not be in proximity of a potential crime scene without protective covering until an evidence team has processed the area. So I would respectfully ask you to vacate the site so our Evidence Response Team can enter and perform their work.”

The sheriff continued to stare at her. He didn’t look very bright, and Corrie realized she might have thrown too many big words at him, too fast.

Nevertheless, he’d gotten the message. “Who the heck are you, young lady, to tell me and my deputies what to do on our own home ground?”

For a moment, Corrie was taken aback by this open defiance. Then she felt a surge of anger. Young lady. But before she could say anything, Sharp spoke up.

“Sheriff? You are going to have a very serious problem with the FBI if you don’t come down from there. Now. Is that understood?”

Sharp’s voice was not loud, but somehow remarkably full of menace. Almost immediately, the sheriff pulled his head back, spoke to the other person in the cave, came out, fat-ass-backward, and climbed down the ladder, a deputy following. They said nothing as they slipped under the fresh tape and stood to one side, arms crossed. Corrie looked down, feeling the burn at the thought of Sharp needing to intervene—but the senior agent had retreated once again and was standing behind her almost deferentially.

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