White Fire

4

The Roaring Fork Police Department was located in a classic, Old West — style Victorian red-brick building, impossibly picturesque, that stood in a green park against a backdrop of magnificent snowy peaks. In front of it was a twelve-foot statue of Lady Justice, covered with snow, and — rather oddly — not wearing the traditional blindfold.

Corrie Swanson had loaded up with books about Roaring Fork and she had read all about this courthouse, which was noted for the number of famous defendants who had passed through its doors, from Hunter S. Thompson to serial killer Ted Bundy. Roaring Fork, she knew, was quite a resort. It had the most expensive real estate in the country. This proved to be annoying in the extreme, as she found herself forced to stay in a town called Basalt, eighteen winding miles down Route 82, in a crappy Cloud Nine Motel, with cardboard walls and an itchy bed, at the stunning price of $109 a night. It was the first day of December, and ski season was really ramping up. From her work-study jobs at John Jay — and money left over from the wad Agent Pendergast had pressed on her a year back, when he’d sent her away to stay with her father during a bad time — she had saved up almost four thousand dollars. But at a hundred and nine dollars a night, plus meals, plus the ridiculous thirty-nine bucks a day she was paying for a Rent-a-Junker, she was going to burn through that pretty fast.

In short, she had no time to waste.

The problem was, in her eagerness to get her thesis approved, she had told a little lie. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a little lie. She had told Carbone and the faculty committee that she’d gotten permission to examine the remains: carte blanche access. The truth was, her several emails to the chief of the Roaring Fork Police Department, whom she determined had the power to grant her access, had gone unanswered, and her phone calls had not been returned. Not that anyone had been rude to her — it was just a sort of benign neglect.

By marching into the police station herself the day before, she’d finally finagled an appointment with Chief Stanley Morris. Now she entered the building and approached the front desk. To her surprise it was manned, not by a burly cop, but by a girl who looked to be even younger than Corrie herself. She was quite pretty, with a creamy complexion, dark eyes, and shoulder-length blond hair.

Corrie walked up to her, and the girl smiled.

“Are you, uh, a policeman?” Corrie asked.

The girl laughed and shook her head. “Not yet.”

“What, then — the receptionist?”

The girl shook her head again. “I’m interning at the station over the winter vacation. Today just happens to be my day to man the reception desk.” She paused. “I would like to get into law enforcement someday.”

“That makes two of us. I’m a student at John Jay.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “No kidding!”

Corrie extended her hand. “Corrie Swanson.”

The girl shook it. “Jenny Baker.”

“I have an appointment with Chief Morris.”

“Oh, yes.” Jenny consulted an appointment book. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”

“Thanks.” This was a good beginning. Corrie tried to get her nervousness under control and not think about what would happen if the chief denied her access to the remains. At the very least, her thesis depended on it. And she had already spent a fortune getting here, nonrefundable airplane tickets and all.

The door to the chief’s office was open, and as she entered the man rose from behind his desk and came around it, extending a hand. She was startled by his appearance: a small, rotund, cheerful-looking man with a beaming face, bald pate, and rumpled uniform. The office reflected the impression of informality, with its arrangement of old, comfortable leather furniture and a desk pleasantly disheveled with papers, books, and family photographs.

The chief ushered her over to a little sitting area in one corner, where an elderly secretary brought in a tray with paper coffee cups, sugar, and cream. Corrie, who had arrived the day before yesterday and was still feeling a bit jet-lagged, helped herself, refraining from her usual four teaspoons of sugar only to see Chief Morris put no less than five into his own cup.

“Well,” Morris said, leaning back, “sounds like you’ve got a very interesting project going here.”

“Thank you,” Corrie said. “And thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

“I’ve always been fascinated with Roaring Fork’s past. The grizzly bear killings are part of local lore, at least for those of us who know the history. So few do these days.”

“This research project presents an almost perfect opportunity,” Corrie said, launching into her carefully memorized talking points. “It’s a real chance to advance the science of forensic criminology.” She waxed enthusiastic as Chief Morris listened attentively, his chin resting pensively on one soft hand. Corrie touched on all the salient points: how her project would surely garner national press attention and reflect well on the Roaring Fork Police Department; how much John Jay — the nation’s premier law enforcement college — would appreciate his cooperation; how she would of course work closely with him and follow whatever rules were laid down. She went into a revisionist version of her own story: how she’d wanted to be a cop all her life; how she’d won a scholarship to John Jay; how hard she’d worked — and then she concluded by enthusing over how much she admired his own position, how ideal it was having the opportunity to work in such an interesting and beautiful community. She laid it on as thick as she dared, and she could see, with satisfaction, that he was responding with nods, smiles, and various noises of approval.

When she was done, she gave as natural a laugh as she could muster, and said she’d been talking way too much and would love to hear his thoughts.

At this Chief Morris took another sip of coffee, cleared his throat, praised her for her hard work and enterprise, told her how much he appreciated her coming in, and — again — how interesting her project sounded. Yes, indeed. He would have to think about it, of course, and consult with the local coroner’s office, and with the historical society, and a few others, to get their views, and then the town attorney should probably be brought into the loop…And he finished off his coffee and put his hands on the arm of his chair, looking as if he was getting ready to stand up and end the meeting.

A disaster. Corrie took a deep breath. “Can I be totally frank with you?”

“Why, yes.” He settled back in his chair.

“It took me ages to scrape together the money for this project. I had to work two jobs in addition to my scholarship. Roaring Fork is one of the most expensive places in the country, and just being here is costing me a fortune. I’ll go broke waiting for permission.”

She paused, took a breath.

“Honestly, Chief Morris, if you consult with all those people, it’s going to take a long time. Maybe weeks. Everyone’s going to have a different opinion. And then, no matter what decision you make, someone will feel as if they were overridden. It could become controversial.”

“Controversial,” the chief echoed, alarm and distaste in his voice.

“May I make an alternative suggestion?”

The chief looked a bit surprised but not altogether put out by this. “Certainly.”

“As I understand it, you have the full authority to give me permission. So…” She paused and then decided to just lay it out, completely unvarnished. “I’d be incredibly grateful if you’d please just give me permission right now, so I can do my research as quickly as possible. I only need a couple of days with the remains, plus the option to take away a few bones for further analysis. That’s all. The quicker this happens, the better for everyone. The bones are just sitting there. I could get my work done with barely anyone noticing. Don’t give people time to make objections. Please, Chief Morris — it’s so important to me!”

This ended on more of a desperate note than she intended, but she could see that, once again, she had made an impression.

“Well, well,” the chief said, with more throat clearings and hemmings and hawings. “I see your point. Hmmm. We don’t want controversy.”

He leaned over the edge of his chair, craned his neck toward the door. “Shirley? More coffee!”

The secretary came back in with two more paper cups. The chief proceeded once again to heap an astonishing amount of sugar into the cup, fussing with the spoon, the cream, stirring the cup endlessly while his brow remained furrowed. He finally laid down the plastic spoon and took a good long sip.

“I’m very much leaning toward your proposal,” he said. “Very much. I’ll tell you what. It’s only noon. If you like I’ll take you over now, show you the coffins. Of course you can’t actually handle the remains, but you’ll get an idea of what’s there. And I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow morning. How’s that?”

“That would be great! Thank you!”

Chief Morris beamed. “And just between you and me, I think you can depend on that answer being positive.”

And as they stood up, Corrie had to actually restrain herself from hugging the man.