The Summit County Medical Center stood on Highway 9 in Frisco. The Flight-for-Life helicopter hadn’t moved from its hangar outside. Two hours after the avalanche hit, an ambulance had carried Denis Lasco and Mike Delaney from the trailhead. Lasco’s deputy had arrived to take Sonny Bryant to the morgue in the van he used to call the Deathmobile.
Bob Gage stood by the window in Mike Delaney’s hospital room. Mike was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in a navy sweatshirt and baggy track pants, pushing his feet into sneakers.
‘We were pretty fucking lucky up there,’ said Mike.
‘No shit,’ said Bob. ‘No shit.’ He shook his head. ‘Christ Almighty, though, Sonny Bryant …’
‘Poor kid.’
‘Harve’s a mess. He wanted to know every detail. He was clinging to me, thanking me – for what, I don’t know – then asking me to go through what happened over and over again. I was half-thinking of saying that Sonny said to tell them all he loved them. Then I thought that would be a shitty thing to do. Then I thought yeah, it would mean Sonny would have known he was going to die, which would mean that that would have been absolutely frightening –’
‘Bob, Bob …’ said Mike. ‘Take a breath, OK? Take it easy. You did everything you could for Sonny, and I’m sure you’ll do everything you can for Harve, if he needs you.’
Bob didn’t say anything for a little while. When he finally spoke, his voice was showing cracks. ‘I just … don’t want to be elevated to some special status because I was the last person to see his son alive. Or he thinks I’m this great hero who tried to save him. I mean, there you were, Mike, with all your mountain experience; there’s Lasco, a guy who knows all about the human body. So when you think about it, I am literally the last person who could have saved Sonny Bryant.’
‘Bob, that’s bullshit. None of us could have saved Sonny. Look, it makes no sense, but someone up there thought it was his time to go.’
‘At nineteen,’ said Bob.
‘At nineteen.’ Mike stood up. ‘Life fucking sucks.’
Bob followed him to the door. They took the elevator to the floor below. In a room at the end of the hallway, Denis Lasco lay sleeping.
‘Damn that Heavy D,’ said Bob, looking through the window. ‘Here I am, giving a shit.’
‘The laxative of concern,’ said Mike.
‘Where’s my camera?’ Lasco shouted, trying to struggle up from his bed.
Bob and Mike rushed into the room.
‘Whoa,’ said Bob. ‘Lasco, lay back down for Christ’s sake.’
Lasco collapsed on to the bed, freaking out when he saw the IV line, the hospital bed, the incongruity of worry in Bob and Mike’s faces.
‘Hey,’ said Bob, putting a hand on Lasco’s. ‘You’re all right, you’re all right. Take it easy.’
‘Don’t cry on us,’ said Mike, smiling.
Lasco squeezed his fingers to his eyes. ‘Jesus. That was the worst … that …’ He paused ‘I’ve never …’
‘Damn right it was,’ said Bob. ‘And here we all are, OK? We’re good. We’re living to tell the tale.’
‘Have I been out long?’ said Lasco.
‘Not long enough,’ said Bob.
‘Where’s my camera?’
‘In a snowy grave,’ said Bob.
‘That was brand new,’ said Lasco. ‘Top of the range. And all the photos I took of the scene …’
Bob’s phone rang. He held up a finger to Lasco and took the call.
‘You have to be shitting me,’ said Bob. He paused. ‘Jesus Christ. Sit on this for now. I’ll call you.’ He snapped his phone shut. ‘Your camera’s the least of our problems,’ said Bob. He stared up at the ceiling. ‘It turns out the body’s gone too.’
‘What?’ said Mike.
‘Search and Rescue weren’t able to locate it,’ said Bob. ‘That’s it. Swept away in the slide.’
‘What?’ said Lasco. ‘What? It was on top of me! How’d you get me out without pulling the body off of me?’
‘It wasn’t there when I checked on you,’ said Bob. ‘I guess you blacked out when it landed on you. It probably slid right over your head, kept on trucking.’
Lasco turned his head into the pillow, pressing his hand to his stomach.
Mike turned to Bob. ‘Are they going back up there to get it?’
‘Hell, no. They got us out. Hung around as long as they had to. But it’s way too unstable. They won’t risk anyone else.’ He shrugged. ‘Shit. No body. We’re going to have to have a press conference.’ He shook his head. ‘So … let’s get in agreement about a few things. OK. Victim – female, aged between thirty and forty –’
‘Or male,’ said Lasco.
‘What do you mean “or male”?’ said Bob.
‘The body was wedged right in. We could only see from the chest up, really.’
‘So you’re saying you didn’t see tits and a va-jay-jay, so it could be a male? Give me a break. This noncommittal thing of yours is starting to get ridiculous.’
Lasco looked patiently at him. ‘Well, I’m still not sure you’re getting it,’ he said. ‘How many scenes have I been to where you guys have messed with shit before I show up? Pulling up people’s pants, taking weapons and laying them on a night stand … You guys walk in and take a guess at what happened. What you need to do is go on exactly what is there in front of you. Not what you’re adding to the picture. I could imagine all kinds of things happened to that body, but it doesn’t mean I would be correct.’
Bob stared through him. ‘FEMALE, aged thirty to forty, maroon jacket, white stripes down the arms. A navy blue wool hat?’
‘Fleece,’ said Lasco.
‘Fleece,’ said Bob. He was writing as he spoke. ‘What about eye color?’
‘Hard to say,’ said Lasco. ‘I wouldn’t be happy making that call.’
‘Hair?’
‘Hat.’
‘Nothing sticking out?’
‘I don’t recall.’
Bob looked patiently at Mike.
‘Obviously, neither do you,’ said Lasco.
‘Yeah,’ cos you’re so good about letting us get
