Page 8 of Silent Road

"What is it?"

"Greenwald's social media."Tommy held out his phone."Look at his last post."

Sheila stopped walking.The image on the screen showed Bradley Greenwald caught in mid-turn, early morning light catching the spray of powder behind him.He was in the exact same position they'd just found his frozen body in—the same angle of his knees, the same tilt of his torso, even the same positioning of his poles.

The caption read: 'Perfect form comes from perfect practice.#MountainLife #SkiGoals'

"Posted yesterday at 7:13 AM," Tommy said quietly."But who took the photo?Was someone with him, or did he have a tripod or something?"

Sheila said nothing as she stared at the photo, suppressing a shiver.Their killer hadn't just posed Greenwald in a technically correct skiing position.

They'd recreated his final moment of glory, turning it into a frozen tableau of death.

CHAPTER THREE

The security office doubled as Michael Wright's personal museum of Mountain Peak Resort history.Vintage ski equipment hung on the walls alongside black and white photos of the resort's early days.Michael himself fit right in with the decor—a former Army Ranger turned ski patroller who'd worked his way up to head of security over the past fifteen years.Sheila had known him since her days as a deputy, when they'd collaborated on several search and rescue operations.

"Coffee?"he asked, already pouring three cups.His movements were precise, efficient, like everything else about him.Even his salt-and-pepper beard was perfectly trimmed.

"Thanks, Michael."Sheila accepted the cup, breathing in the familiar aroma.Michael always kept the good stuff on hand—a habit he claimed he'd picked up during his deployments."Show us what you've got."

Michael settled into his chair, his weathered face illuminated by the glow of multiple monitors."I've got footage from every operational camera on the mountain.But..."He tapped a few keys, bringing up a map covered in red dots."We've got significant blind spots, especially in the more remote areas.It's just too much ground to cover."

Tommy leaned forward, studying the screens."Where was Greenwald last seen?"

"Upper Horizon, around 8:45 PM."Michael pulled up the footage.The grainy video showed Greenwald skiing alone, his form distinctive even in the poor lighting."Temperature was already dropping by then.We hit negative fifteen overnight."

"That's unusually cold for this time of year," Sheila said.

Michael nodded grimly."Coldest night we've had all season.Perfect conditions for freezing a body."

They watched as Greenwald disappeared into one of the blind spots.He never emerged on any other camera.

"So our killer struck between 8:45 PM and dawn," Tommy said."Attacked Greenwald, posed him while his body was still flexible, then used stakes or poles to hold him in position until he froze solid."

"Smart kid," Michael muttered, giving Sheila an approving look.

Her phone buzzed.Finn.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping into the hallway."Hey, partner.How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," Finn said, but she could hear the smile in his voice."Physical therapy's kicking my ass, but doc says I'm making good progress."

"That's great."Sheila closed her eyes, suddenly missing him fiercely.Right then, she wanted more than anything to curl up on the couch with him and put a movie on, free from all responsibilities—no cases to solve, no calls to make or take—the rest of the day.

But she couldn't allow those feelings to break out.She needed to keep herself under control, logical, steady.There was work to be done.

"Missed you at breakfast," Finn said."I thought you and Star might drop by."

"Shit, Finn, I'm sorry.Caught a case and I completely forgot.I should have called."

"Hey, no worries.I get it."Sheila heard the click of a TV remote, then a thump as the remote was tossed aside."What kind of case?"he asked.

"Body found at Mountain Peak Resort.Killer posed him like some kind of frozen statue."

"Seriously?"She could hear him shifting in his hospital bed."What's your theory?Why would someone do that?"

Sheila leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.She wanted to tell him everything—about how the killer had recreated Greenwald's final social media post, about the careful positioning of the body, about all the questions racing through her mind.Finn would understand her instincts, help her sort through the chaos of possibilities.That's what partners did.

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