He came out five minutes later.
‘What is that crap?’ he said, turning off the radio. He started the engine. ‘Right, we’re taking a little detour to the hospital. You can meet Corpses Maximus, our County Coroner.’
Denis Lasco was sitting forward in his bed with his back against three giant pillows. He was freshly showered and watching a DVD on a portable player. He pulled the earphones out when he saw Bob and Ren.
‘Lasco,’ said Bob, ‘I see your goddamn name in the paper every week, now this.’ He threw the Summit Daily News on to Lasco’s bed. ‘This is what the townsfolk will be having with their breakfast tomorrow morning. This time you’re not delivering the bad news, you are the bad news.’
‘Right, so I’m bad news as the victim of an avalanche,’ said Lasco. ‘A near-fatal blunt force trauma.’
‘This lovely lady is Special Agent Ren Bryce from the Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force in Denver,’ said Bob. ‘And at least I don’t have to say that every day. She’ll be coming to talk to you – not right now, but I thought I’d have you guys meet.’
‘Well, nice to meet you,’ said Lasco.
‘You too,’ said Ren. ‘How are you doing?’
Lasco shrugged, then winced. He picked up the paper.
‘See the nice shit I said about you,’ said Bob.
Lasco read through it. ‘I see the bullshit you said about me. Blah, blah, blah … “we had to make a call. We knew we had a body and a possible crime scene. And Denis Lasco was committed to getting on up there to do his job. But that’s what we’ve come to expect from Denis Lasco.”’ He glanced up at Bob. ‘I like the ass-covering. Don’t think for a second, people, that the Sheriff’s Office marched him up the mountain.’
‘Christ,’ said Bob. ‘Zero to whining … Listen, we’re going to talk to Patrick Transom, the victim’s brother. Is there anything you can give us?’
‘What – to ease the blow? Like, she didn’t suffer, or something?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the coroner.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lasco. ‘I’d love to be able to say something, but lying? Not so much.’ He turned back to the paper. ‘Ha,’ he said, ‘it’s like you thought I wouldn’t make it. It’s like a frickin’ obituary. “We love Lasco. We love Lasco. We are anticipating his demise.”’
‘You know you are, actually, a bitch,’ said Bob. ‘Next time a corpse slams into you, I’m going to tell the world you’re a whiner. Who lives in his pajamas.’
‘I’m in hospital.’
Bob rolled his eyes. ‘I swear you go out of your way to piss me off.’
‘It’s why I couldn’t die.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe next time a real live person’ll take you out. An elected official with the trust of the county.’
‘I’m an elected official with the trust of the county.’
‘All the better – you kill yourself, I don’t have to get involved.’
Lasco let out a long breath. ‘I think I need some quiet time.’ He turned away.
‘The drama,’ said Bob. He pulled the paper from under Lasco’s fingers and walked to the door. ‘Anyway, welcome back from the dead.’
‘To the dead.’
‘Your pals.’
‘My income.’ Lasco sighed. ‘Goodbye.’
Patrick Transom lived with his wife and four kids in a four-thousand-square-foot log home in Vail, thirty minutes from Breckenridge. Bob drove slowly up the steep curved drive and parked.
‘Wow,’ said Ren, getting out of the car. ‘Nice.’ She kept her face neutral in case anyone was looking out the window.
‘But as my mother used to say – for all their money …’
‘Yup,’ said Ren. She buttoned the top of her jacket and stuck her hands in her pockets.
They walked up the steps and rang the bell. A man in a blue plaid shirt and jeans opened the door.
‘Patrick Transom?’ said Bob.
‘Yes. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m Sheriff Bob Gage, Summit County, and this is Ren Bryce with the FBI.’
Transom stared back and forth between the two of them. ‘Okaay …’
‘Can we come in?’ said Bob.
‘Sure, but … I’m sorry, what’s this about? You can come in, but … you’re making me nervous. Is everything all right?’
Bob put a gentle hand on the door and sidestepped Transom. Ren walked in after him.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ said Bob.
Transom moved quickly to the sofa and sat down. His eyes were pleading; a sixth sense had taken over.
‘You may have heard,’ said Bob, pulling a chair out for Ren, taking the one beside her, ‘that a body was found on Quandary Peak.’
Transom nodded. ‘I did, yes.’
Bob looked him right in the eye. ‘I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, but we believe it was the body of your sister, Jean.’
‘But … but the body is gone,’ said Transom. ‘I heard it on the news. There is no body.’ He looked like he was about to stand up. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘There is no body.’ He raised his hands like that was that – no body, no Jean, no grief, no heartbreak.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling his cellphone off his belt and flipping it open. ‘Here.’ He hit number two on his speed dial. He held the phone out to Bob. Bob’s mouth opened, but didn’t move. ‘Here,’ said Transom, holding the phone to Ren. She took it from him and saw Jean’s name flashing on the screen. She closed it gently.
‘I’m so sorry, Patrick, but it was Jean,’ said Ren. ‘The County Coroner, Denis Lasco, identified her body before the avalanche hit. He found her FBI credentials. The last time she was seen was ten days ago. She had gone on vacation, as you probably know. That’s all anybody knew. Following the avalanche, Sheriff Gage, Undersheriff Mike Delaney, and the coroner, Denis Lasco, went through what they had seen of the body and the clothing. They met with Jean’s colleagues from Glenwood Springs, they studied photos, and they all agreed that it was Jean.’
Bob had shifted forward in his seat, but hung there, mute. Transom
