hi. It’s me. I got a call from Gary.’
‘Yup – I’m on my way to the scene right now.’
‘Oh, OK. I was going to ask you.’
Ren could hear a child screaming in the background.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Paul. ‘I’m in a madhouse. We’re packing for … Breckenridge.’
‘What?’
‘Well, this is when we come – same time every year. For the Gold Panning championships. The kids love it. And they always find some gold.’ Ren could hear the smile in his voice. ‘They just don’t realize their daddy has dropped it in their pans when they’re not looking.’
‘That is so sweet,’ said Ren. There’s so much of your life I don’t know about.
‘So, yes, the timing’s a little strange.’
‘Well, if the body was ever going to show, it was going to be around now.’
‘True,’ said Paul.
‘I’ll call you when I know more,’ said Ren.
‘Good luck.’
Ren and Mike followed the snaking path up through the trees. They passed hikers who had been at the summit when the body had been found and who had been rushed down to the bottom.
‘“I didn’t hit the body” – I liked that,’ said Ren.
‘I know.’
They hiked for another forty minutes until they came to the bottom of a rich, green space that sloped left off the main trail. They ducked under the crime scene tape and made their way down.
Denis Lasco stood up and waved. ‘Anyone got water?’
‘Sure,’ said Ren, handing him her bottle.
‘Hey, Ren,’ said Bob. His tanned face was sweaty and blotched red. ‘Ladies always carry Kleenex, right?’
‘Not this lady,’ said Ren. ‘You’ll have to use your shirt. How’ve you been?’
‘I dropped fourteen pounds,’ said Bob, patting his stomach.
‘I think I found it,’ said Ren, patting her hips.
‘Finders keepers,’ said Bob. ‘Did you find anything else I lost? My self-respect, my dignity?’
Everyone laughed, then hung in silence for a moment.
‘Right,’ said Ren, ‘now that we’ve gotten through our defensive laughter …’
Bob gave a sad smile. ‘Wait ’til you see this,’ he said, gesturing behind him.
Ren felt rooted, but she was quickly car-crash drawn to the body. ‘Whoa … ly fuck. That is … Jesus Christ.’ She held a hand to her mouth, squeezing her nostrils shut at the same time.
‘Holy shit,’ said Mike, moving up behind her and quickly turning away.
They had lost Jean Transom’s body once – nature had swept it away and kept it hidden for months. And they had almost lost it a second time – to the mercy of the sun, the animals and the insects. Ren had seen bodies like this before – split-screens; one half of the body exposed to different elements than the other – one side mummified by a heater, the other turned toward a window open to the cold; a head on a pillow, a body cooking inside an electric blanket.
The left side of Jean Transom’s body lay under a fallen tree. The right side, turned away from the splintered trunk, was marbled, bloated and blistering. Her hands and fingers were curled and desiccated. One eyelid had been stripped away by birds, her eyeball pecked out. There was little flesh left on her face – the rest had been eaten, then pared back to the bone by maggots. Her teeth were exposed, her face frozen and grotesque.
Ren looked up at the sky to hold back tears. She said a silent prayer, then looked down at the body that lay at her feet.
I wish you could have been found perfectly preserved, Jean Transom.
Dr Tolman worked with his assistant on Jean Transom’s autopsy. Denis Lasco, Ren Bryce, Paul Louderback, Bob Gage and Todd Austerval watched, suited up, masked and wearing booties Ren had brought for everyone.
Ren hadn’t eaten for fifteen hours. Her head was spinning and the only thing that was keeping her concentrating on an empty stomach was Jean Transom, her sweet, simple life, her easy-listening CDs, her pastel shirts, her teddy bears …
‘She has an extensive tattoo,’ said Tolman.
‘What?’ said Ren.
‘Look,’ he said. They had turned the body over, exposing Jean’s back and the jagged, gaping gunshot wound. ‘At the base of her back.’
Ren stepped forward, giving herself a better view and another opportunity to retch. What was left of the tattoo was made up of black, heavy-inked shapes – angular and masculine.
‘What is it?’ said Ren. ‘Does it say something?’
‘I can’t make out what it is,’ said Tolman.
‘Can you guys?’ said Ren.
The others moved closer. No one even took a guess.
Robbie took a photo of the tattoo for Ren.
People who wanted to be noticed got tattoos, people who liked beautiful art on a medium of skin, people who wanted to cover something up, people who had been damaged … But Jean Transom with her plain underwear, her neutral clothes, her makeup-free face, didn’t seem to fit anywhere in that line-up.
So who was Jean Transom before Special Agent was put before her name?
Patrick Transom was doing his best to fight the weariness of grief and the presence of the FBI in his house again. Ren sat beside him at the kitchen table and showed him a photo of part of the tattoo.
‘I was wondering if you could confirm Jean’s identity from this,’ said Ren.
‘What is this?’ he said.
‘It’s part of her tattoo.’
‘Jean had a tattoo?’
He shook his head. ‘Another thing I didn’t know about. When Sheriff Gage came here last night to tell me they had found the body, I … It was a shock. I can’t keep having these … surprises. I know that’s not the right word.’
‘Well, you’re her brother,’ said Ren. ‘And this tattoo was across her lower back …’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But just that I never knew …’ He
