‘Right, you’re going back down,’ said Mike.
‘No way,’ said Ren, taking a step forward, then swaying on her feet.
‘You’ve got altitude sickness,’ said Mike.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Oh, please. Yes, you do.’
Someone once described altitude sickness to Ren as your body trying to suck your brain down through your spinal column. She couldn’t shake the image.
‘It’s not altitude sickness,’ said Ren.
Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Down,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet you down there.’
‘No,’ said Ren. ‘No. I need to see what’s going on up there.’
‘We’ll have photos.’
‘Yeah, but –’
Mike gave her the look that told her to stop. ‘Will you be OK getting down?’
‘Sure, I’ll –’
‘Whoa …’ He reached out and she sank against him. He held her upright to stop her fall.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘I thought I was going to black out.’
‘I’m waiting here, radioing ahead, and you are going to see a doctor –’
‘No way. I’ll feel like a loser going to a doctor for altitude sickness when I’m coming from Denver … and I’m –’
‘What? An FBI agent? People expect FBI agents to be dumb.’
Ren smiled. ‘Yeah, I’m still not going.’
‘I have no idea how you forgot to keep drinking water when you arrived. Do you think your brain needs less oxygen that everyone else’s?’ He paused. ‘Or just more alcohol?’
‘Just the alcohol,’ said Ren. ‘Partying at altitude – cheap, but not so cheerful.’
‘Right, here’s the deal,’ said Mike, ‘go see Charlie Barger – on Ridge Street.’
‘Is everything on Ridge Street?’
‘It’s a long street.’
‘Charlie Barger sounds like a thief. The name, I mean. Like a Dickens thief.’
Mike stared at her. ‘Now I think the altitude is really starting to work on your brain. Charlie is a retired doctor. And I can promise you he won’t steal anything …’
Up on Quandary, the charge of the avalanche had been replaced by an unjust calm, like the smile of a man who had gotten away with murder. And the day before, Quandary Peak had, twice-over. The area looked untouched, except for the tree limbs – broken by the force of the slide – that protruded from the snow. The hole that Sonny Bryant had been pulled from was still there; his glove, with a light dusting of snow, lying beside it.
Search and Rescue moved in with probes. Anyone who had cameras took pictures. And the dog handler released her beautiful border collie to track the smell of death.
Charlie Barger lived in a three-story Victorian house, all peeling paint and haunted charm. The garden was an overgrowth on the pretty street – moments away from a council warning. Ren rang the doorbell. A redhead opened the door, dressed in pink thermals with tiny dogs on them. She was wearing frayed imitation Uggs.
‘Hello,’ said Ren.
‘Yeah.’
‘Mike Delaney from the Sheriff’s Office sent me to see Dr Barger. I was up on –’
The woman was staring past her.
‘I’m sorry. Is that OK?’ said Ren.
The woman faked a smile. Her clothes made her look younger than she was. There was something worn about her face, the skin dry and loose.
‘Yeah, come on in.’ She had no interest. ‘He’s out back in his study. It’s past the bathroom on the right.’ She called out: ‘Dad. It’s for you.’
Ren walked into the hallway after her. Her sour air seemed to have tainted the entire place.
Ren knocked on Dr Barger’s door. He opened it and from the grim hallway she was brought into a warm, old-fashioned study, a blend of academia and small-town, personalized medical attention. Leather, mahogany, walls of photos, ethnic artifacts, a thick bunch of laminated conference IDs on lanyards hanging from a nail in the wall. Lying on the floor along one wall were curving stacks of papers and files.
Ren pointed to them. ‘Don’t you worry they’ll fall over?’
Dr Barger turned his drooping eyes to her and smiled. He was in his late sixties, early seventies, with a lined, but healthy face.
‘I know most of what’s in there,’ he said. ‘So you’re Mike’s friend?’
‘Yes,’ said Ren, ‘we’re working together.’
Barger nodded. ‘I’m guessing it’s the body on Quandary.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Mike was worried that, with your headache, you’d end up being another corpse.’
Ren smiled. ‘Probably.’
Barger ran through all the checks and sat back on the edge of his desk. Ren eyed him with panic tugging at her chest. Every time she went to the doctor, she secretly expected him to tell her it was all over, that he had uncovered something terrible.
‘Water, water, water,’ said Barger. ‘No alcohol. No coffee.’
I don’t know which is worse. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘How can you function otherwise? You’re dehydrating yourself. If you were at sea level, there’d be twenty-one per cent oxygen in the air. Up here, it’s eleven. And there’s a lot of tissue fighting for that. Your brain needs the most, so it’s the first thing to go.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘You could end up with the cognition of a small child …’
‘I don’t need oxygen deprivation for that.’ Ren smiled.
Barger smiled back. ‘You can’t fool me.’
‘I can’t do no coffee, though,’ said Ren. ‘That would mess with my brain more.’
‘Then just drink extra water.’
‘OK. Thank you. And thanks for taking the time to see me.’
