Page 54 of Dead Mountain

“That case . . .” His face clouded. “That case.” He gestured toward the front of the house, where the muted chanting could be heard. “Did you hear that? Calling me a liar, heaping abuse on me right in front of my neighbors—when I devoted fourteen months of my life to seeking answers and ruined my life.”

“You want me to post a detail?” Sharp asked.

Gold shook his head. “No. I can take care of myself.” He cast a glance at the gun on his desk.

“We’ve got all the files,” said Sharp, “so why don’t you just tell us about the case in your own way—an overview, as it were.”

“When I got the word I was to be lead,” said Gold, “I was happier than a tornado in a trailer park.” He shook his head. “You never saw a man go to the guillotine with a bigger smile on his face. But first, I’d like to hear more about what you found up in that cave. I only know what I hear on TV and read in the papers. Who did you find? Rodney? Paul? Gordy?”

Corrie could hear the sudden urgency in his voice, and she had a sudden sharp mental image of a younger Gold leading the investigation, poring over interview transcripts, walking the mountains, doing everything he could think of, and then doing it all over again.

“Fair enough,” Sharp said, and briefed Gold on their investigation while the old man listened, frowning.

“Good God,” Gold murmured as Sharp finished. “They fought, you say?”

“Tolland stabbed Wright to death and then took his own life.”

“Jesus.” Gold looked stunned. He had sat forward in his chair, hands clasped tightly. “I can’t make head nor tail out of that, can’t connect it to anything that makes sense.”

“So,” said Sharp, “let’s hear your tale.”

Gold began to tell his story—pretty much everything Corrie already knew, but with an injection of rage and grievance Gold had obviously carried on his shoulders ever since. The Dead Mountain case ruined his career and his peace of mind. As he spoke, Corrie hoped to hell she wouldn’t end up in the same boat, with an unsolved case and a wrecked career, practically before it had started.

“And that’s all there is,” said Gold. “I took my retirement early and retreated down here, the case went on ice, and in time things grew quiet. Until now. I assume you read all my weekly summaries, up through . . . through the last one?”

They nodded.

“Everything I know, everything I did, is in there—going over the same ground a dozen times, tracking down each lead no matter how crazy, listening to every damn false confession and moronic anonymous accusation called into the hotline.”

“Thank you, Agent Gold,” said Sharp. “Now, may we ask a few questions?”

“Ask away.”

Sharp settled back on the couch and looked at Corrie, a clear indication for her to take the ball. She quickly flipped to her prepared questions in the notebook she’d brought in with her. “The tent site was compromised, but what about the improvised campfire where the three bodies were found?”

“What about it?”

“Did you do a survey?”

“There was a couple feet of snow at the site, but we did what we could. The search and rescue teams were in such a hurry. A few days had passed—we still had hope we’d find some of them alive.” He paused. “If you’ve read the reports, you’ll know that the discoveries . . . of the bodies, of the remains of the campfire . . . it all took a while to put together. The discoveries overlapped. It was only later we were able to reconstruct what might have happened there. The big mystery was why those bodies were burned the way they were—feet, heads even.”

“And after the snow melted? Did you survey the area then?”

Gold looked at her for a long moment. “There was no reason to.”

Corrie glanced at Sharp. She recalled his warning: poker face. Now she understood—don’t do anything to put the man on the defensive. But the answer was odd and almost, it seemed to her, deceptive.

“Okay,” she said. “I know this question might sound a little strange. But did your sixth sense . . . well, pick up on anything that maybe didn’t, or couldn’t, go into your reports? Something you might not have thought appropriate to put in writing?”

Gold hesitated for what felt like a long time. “The answer is no: hard facts, hard evidence, verified statements went into those reports. No speculation. I mean, every jackass has a theory. My goal was to keep my head down and focus on the facts.”

Corrie turned a page. “One thing we’re curious about in particular were the tests for radiation—why they were ordered, who sent the samples.”

“I have no idea.”

“Where did the results come from—what lab?”

“No idea. The file folder had no ID on it, no cover information. And then, just like that, the report was suddenly withdrawn—classified. No one would answer my questions, even though I had a security clearance, of course.”

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