Chapter 2
Blood pounding behind her eyes, breath bursting from her chest, Frankie Cash dropped the rowing machine oar and jogged to the next station of her Orangetheory workout.
She surveyed the web of straps and grips, trying to remember how the exercise was done.
Sweat trickled into her eyes. Her brain was moving in slow motion.
Too late.
“Oh, Frankiiiie,” sang the dreaded voice from behind her. “Don’t tell me I see you resting right now, girl.”
Cash turned in defeat. Her instructor, Max, hands on hips, head cocked to one side, evaluated her. The tiniest tank top stretched over his muscled chest, the words RAYS OUT GAYS OUT emblazoned across in green lettering.
“It goes like this.” Max dropped down into a plank and stuck his feet in the straps.
Without breaking a sweat, he scrunched his knees forward and up to the side, keeping his arms parallel and palms on the ground.
“Pull, and twist. Pull, and twist,” he repeated, and looked over at Cash from his position on the floor. “Easy.”
He extracted himself in a single movement, stood up, and indicated with an open palm and dazzling smile that it was now her turn.
“Right …” Frankie said. “Pull, and twist.” She wasn’t so sure about the “easy” part.
She awkwardly got down. Losing weight was pure torture, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to stick with it.
She’d already lost six pounds, and there was no way she was going to throw away the suffering that had required.
As if on cue, a rivulet of sweat stung the corner of her eye.
She flicked it off with determination, stuck her feet into the loops, and got ready to start the ordeal again, Max looking on.
The whistling ringtone of her cell playing the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly swelled into life from her pocket, barely heard over the pumping club music that filled the air.
“Don’t answer that,” said Max sternly. “You’re not supposed to have that in here.”
“I have to,” said Cash, secretly relieved.
Max frowned as she disentangled herself from the apparatus and answered the call. “Cash here. Hold on.” She turned to Max, covering the mouthpiece. “I’ll take it outside.”
As she left, he called out after her, “It better be a murder!”
She took a seat on a bench outside the front door. “Yeah?”
“Frankie,” a familiar voice drawled, “if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you sound glad to hear from me.”
Cash found herself smiling. “If only you knew,” she said.
Sheriff James Colcord got right to business. “We got a homicide call. It’s a weird one. An old guy dead in the Flat Tops Wilderness.” He paused. “You know what that means.”
“Neanders?” Cash sat up straight, alert now.
In the first case they’d worked on together, Neanders—-homicidal Neanderthals de--extincted by the Erebus Resort’s crazy chief scientist, Marius Karman—-had escaped from a laboratory and disappeared into the Flat Tops Wilderness.
Cash knew it was just a matter of time before they’d resurface.
“Probably not, but there’s a ritualistic aspect to it that’s worth looking into.
I’m on my way to the crime scene. Northwest of Burns.
Remote. We have to hike in to the site. Will turn into a media shitstorm for sure.
I’ve already called CBI to assist on this one—-and asked for you. You heard from Holmes yet?”
“Nope,” Cash answered. “But you better believe she’ll be hearing from me. Shoot me the coordinates, will you?”
Her cell chimed immediately, and she loaded them and looked at the map. “It’s on federal land. Do we even have jurisdiction?”
“Feds don’t think it’s connected to the Neanders and don’t want it.
You know how the US Attorneys’ Office is—-they spend more time trying to weasel out of cases than prosecuting them.
Plus, the park rangers agree that CBI should have this one—-they hate working with the feds.
I’m not complaining. I just hope the FBI don’t pull their usual and swoop in and take the case after we’ve done all the work. ”
“So you want CBI to take the lead?” Cash asked.
“Now, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Are the remains in a structure or out in the open?”
“Inside a log cabin. Apparently, the victim was squatting illegally on federal land, but you’re right—-better safe than sorry. I’ve got a deputy writing the search warrant, which should be signed by Judge Greenberg by the time we get to the trailhead.”
They set up a time to meet at the trailhead, and Cash ended the call, wondering why she hadn’t heard from her boss, Blaisdell Holmes, the new director of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. She hoped Holmes wasn’t trying to give the case to someone else.
She had better get to the Lakewood CBI headquarters, and fast.
Cash took one of her famous “dunk and run” showers, barely letting the water run over her body long enough to rinse off the soap, taking care not to wet her hair.
She threw on a pair of black slacks and a Milano blouse.
Luckily, she had put on a pair of Ecco boots that morning, which she could hike in.
A spray of dry shampoo fixed up her unwashed hair, and then she holstered her Baby Glock 9 and clipped her shield to her waist. The Baby Glock wasn’t the standard weapon assigned to CBI agents, but she had asked for an exception; it fit so well in her hand.
Throwing on a black suit jacket, she was out the door.
Cash squinted at the sun, which was barely peeking over the horizon as she took Kipling Street south toward CBI headquarters.
She didn’t have time for her usual post--workout cup of Café Bustelo instant espresso.
She hoped Colcord would pick her up a coffee, but she was disinclined to give the old cowpoke the satisfaction of asking for one.
It was an eight--minute drive to the Lakewood headquarters, but it took Cash only five.
Holmes’s Mercedes CLS glinted at her from the near--empty parking lot of CBI headquarters as she screeched in.
A Model Y Tesla she didn’t recognize was parked a ways down—-some other agent already in at six a.m., and she knew what that meant.
Holmes was giving away her case. She was sure of it now.
Half running, she threw open the doors of the CBI headquarters.
Slowing down to a brisk walk, she threaded her way through the drab hallways to Holmes’s office.
She found her there, door open, seated at her desk, with another agent standing with their back to Cash.
Holmes, wearing her usual crisp black--and--white suit, stood up as Cash knocked once on the open door.
“Christ, Cash. Good morning. Everything all right?” Holmes asked.
Cash looked down at her blouse and realized she had buttoned it cockeyed in her haste. Feeling self--conscious, she smoothed down her hair and tried to ease her agitation.
“I heard about the new homicide in Eagle County …” She swallowed, took a deep breath. “I want it.”
The individual Holmes was chatting with now turned, and Cash saw George Standish, an agent with barely two years on the job.
His black hair was slicked back, a hopeful smile plastered on his pasty face.
He smelled of baby oil, and Cash had to stop herself from wrinkling her nose.
She wasn’t a fan of his; he had always seemed to her the kind of person who brought polished apples to his teachers.
“Agent Cash.” George Standish stuck out a bony hand. “Good to see you in so early.”
Cash glanced at Standish, wondering if he was being sarcastic. She took his hand and realized it was clammy. She discreetly wiped her palm on her pants. Standish caught the movement. He shifted stiffly back toward Holmes.
“You’re in early too,” Cash said to him.
“I listen to the police band with my morning toast,” Standish said defensively. “I heard the homicide reported and figured they might, ah, ask for CBI.”
“Murder on toast. Nice,” Holmes said dryly.
Cash still hadn’t quite figured Holmes out. The new director had handled the media shit show after the Erebus disaster with surprising skill and a laconic sense of humor, while still maintaining a cool demeanor, somehow. But she was hard to read, a woman with depth.
Standish cleared his throat awkwardly and continued, “Yes, ma’am.
As I was saying, I think this case would give me important experience in homicide.
I’ve cleared my last cases. I’ve testified at several trials that resulted in successful convictions pursuant to my assistance of investigations.
I’d like the chance, ma’am, to be AIC.” He glanced at Cash out of the corner of his eye.
Cash watched him lace his fingers together to stop them from trembling.
The guy was nervous. She had to give him credit—-it took courage for a newish agent to request a case this big.
She remembered not so long ago when she was in his position.
But still: It wasn’t good form for him to rush in like this, trying to scoop up a case that he knew very well should be hers. Colcord had requested her, after all.
“Plus, respectfully,” he added, “I was here first.”
Cash tried not to roll her eyes. What a crafty little upstart.
“If I could interject,” she said, “while I admire Agent Standish’s initiative, I think this case might be a little complex as a starter case.
” Cash paused before deciding to play the Neander card.
“I spoke with Sheriff Colcord, and he has reason to believe there’s a ritualistic aspect to this homicide that might be connected to the Neanders. ”
Holmes did not look surprised to hear this. “I know the Neander investigation is of interest to you,” she said, “but as you know, the FBI is handling that case now. If it’s a Neander killing, we’ll have to turn it over to them.”
“That’s exactly my point—-we don’t have nearly enough information to conclude—-” George Standish began.
Cash cut him off. “Given my extensive experience both with the CBI and with the Erebus investigation, I think I’m better equipped to make that call.
I have an established relationship with Sheriff Colcord.
Furthermore, I was told he requested me for this case.
If things were to go south, there would be less blowback if it could be shown you placed this case in the hands of an experienced agent.
” And she added, a little wickedly, “The press might, you know, have questions …” She let the sentence hang in the air.
If this was a Neander killing, and it was shown Holmes knowingly gave the case to an agent with barely two years under his belt, it wouldn’t look good.
Holmes raised her eyebrows. “The press might have questions? Oh my, wouldn’t that be a shock.”
Cash colored, realizing she had gone too far. Holmes wasn’t as big of a media ass--kisser as her predecessor, McFaul, had been.
Holmes paused as if thinking. Finally, she said, “However, your other argument’s persuasive. The case is yours.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Holmes regarded her coolly. “But make sure CBI takes the lead, and not Eagle County, okay? George, I’ve got another homicide for you to work on in the meantime.”
Standish nodded stiffly. He didn’t look too happy. Cash tried not to let it bug her—-she was damned if she was going to let him guilt her into not taking this case.
“And you can assist Agent Cash in digital forensics, should that be necessary.”
Standish was said to be a whiz with computers.
Cash didn’t see how the murder of a crazy old coot in the wilderness would need that skill, but you never knew.
“Of course,” she said, trying not to be cheered up too much by the pained smile fixed on Standish’s face.
“George will be a welcome asset to the investigation, if needed,” with a slight emphasis on if.
Holmes nodded and consulted some notes. “Sheriff Colcord is en route. You’ll have to hike in.
Don’t forget your sat phone, and if you see any sign of Neanders in the area, anything at all, get out of there and call for backup.
We’ll notify the FBI and get the National Guard out there if necessary. No messing around this time, got it?”
Cash nodded, biting her tongue. It had been Holmes’s predecessor’s reluctance to bring in the National Guard during the Erebus Resort disaster that had allowed the Neanders to steal explosives and blow up the labs. But Holmes knew that.
Holmes continued with a brief synopsis. “Victim is William Grooms, age seventy--five, living by himself—-illegally, it seems—-in the wilderness. A man named Paul Brooksfield found his body and reported it. He said something about the body having coins on the eyes, shrouded in white, wouldn’t elaborate.
Romanski’s pulling together a CSI team, and the ME is also on his way. ”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Cash said. She nodded at Standish as she went out the door, feeling satisfied that things had gone her way but a little worried that she’d made an enemy for life.
Burns, Colorado, was about a three--hour drive, and it would take another couple of hours to hike the four miles to the cabin inside the Flat Tops.
Neander territory. Cash shivered at the thought.