said them,” replied Felix gloomily. He was a thin, short man. What remained of his dark hair was slicked back over the crown of his head and hung long over his collar. The uniform issue gunbelt and handcuff pouch seemed overlarge on his small frame. He reminded Lee of a cross between a dyspeptic squirrel and Josef Goebbels. She wasn’t overfond of him but admitted that he was a good administrator.
And he was right. The press was already using those two words to describe events in Steamboat Springs.
Jesse pushed himself upright from his leaning position at the rear of the room, against one of Ned’s filing cabinets. He ran a hand through the curly brown hair that always made him seem five or ten years younger than he was.
“Not saying it won’t make it go away, Ned,” he said simply.
Puckett raised his hands helplessly to indicate that he appreciated the point. Yet he was reluctant to admit it. “I know that, Jess,” he said. “It’s just that stuff like that coming from us is liable to panic people.”
“How do you suggest we describe it then, Ned?” Lee asked.
Before he could answer, Jesse had spoken again. “I mean, one killing is unfortunate. Two can look downright careless. But once you get to three, there’s nothing for it but to suppose we’ve got a serial killer.”
Ned nodded, his eyes on the unmarked blotter in front of him, accepting the inevitable. He took a couple of deep breaths.
“Lee, are you sure you guys can handle this? Maybe we should be looking for some outside help,” he said.
Lee shrugged. “We’ve already requested it.”
Ned looked at her sharply as she said it, a question in his look. Jesse stepped in and answered it for her.
“FBI,” he said succinctly. Ned switched his gaze to the tall deputy.
“Is there a federal angle in this?” he asked.
Jesse pursed his lips and shook his head in the negative. “Not so far,” he replied. “But the FBI are always available for cases like this.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Ned. “I thought you couldn’t call in the Feebies until someone had crossed a state line, something like that.”
“They’ll advise,” Jesse reiterated. “They keep files on serial killers and they’ve got a lot more computer power than we have. We’ll send them details and they’ll trawl through their records to see if anything matches. We’ll keep doing the groundwork here.”
Felix frowned. “So they’re not actually sending anyone down?”
Lee shook her head. “Not at this stage. It’s not their jurisdiction, after all. As Jesse says, for now, they’ll keep a watching brief and see if they can give us any leads from former cases. Of course, if we find a link, they’ll send in a task force if we want it.”
Ned scowled. “Won’t have any trouble finding somewhere to put them up.” Just about every hotel in town is having cancellations—and in the busiest part of the season too. Managers are screaming. This is the worst season we’ve had since the gas main blew, back in ’94.”
The gas main in Yampa Street had exploded in 1994. The explosion hadn’t harmed anyone directly, but it knocked out heating to more than half the town. Skiers canceled in large numbers while hotels and guesthouses desperately tried to find alternative accommodations. There was a flow-on effect to restaurants, bars, ski rental outlets and the mountain itself. Businesses in Steamboat went broke right and left.
“Tell them we’re doing our damnedest to get this thing wrapped up,” Lee replied.
“Have you got anything new? Any ideas at all?” Ned asked them. He was almost pleading, Lee thought. She tried to make a negative answer sound better than it was. “Jesse’s going through the background of all three victims, looking for some common link,” she began. “Don’t know if something’s going to show up or not yet, Ned.”
The mayor looked from one to the other. He’d hoped for more concrete news, Jesse knew. City officials always
And he was right. The press was already using those two words to describe events in Steamboat Springs.
Jesse pushed himself upright from his leaning position at the rear of the room, against one of Ned’s filing cabinets. He ran a hand through the curly brown hair that always made him seem five or ten years younger than he was.
“Not saying it won’t make it go away, Ned,” he said simply.
Puckett raised his hands helplessly to indicate that he appreciated the point. Yet he was reluctant to admit it. “I know that, Jess,” he said. “It’s just that stuff like that coming from us is liable to panic people.”
“How do you suggest we describe it then, Ned?” Lee asked.
Before he could answer, Jesse had spoken again. “I mean, one killing is unfortunate. Two can look downright careless. But once you get to three, there’s nothing for it but to suppose we’ve got a serial killer.”
Ned nodded, his eyes on the unmarked blotter in front of him, accepting the inevitable. He took a couple of deep breaths.
“Lee, are you sure you guys can handle this? Maybe we should be looking for some outside help,” he said.
Lee shrugged. “We’ve already requested it.”
Ned looked at her sharply as she said it, a question in his look. Jesse stepped in and answered it for her.
“FBI,” he said succinctly. Ned switched his gaze to the tall deputy.
“Is there a federal angle in this?” he asked.
Jesse pursed his lips and shook his head in the negative. “Not so far,” he replied. “But the FBI are always available for cases like this.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Ned. “I thought you couldn’t call in the Feebies until someone had crossed a state line, something like that.”
“They’ll advise,” Jesse reiterated. “They keep files on serial killers and they’ve got a lot more computer power than we have. We’ll send them details and they’ll trawl through their records to see if anything matches. We’ll keep doing the groundwork here.”
Felix frowned. “So they’re not actually sending anyone down?”
Lee shook her head. “Not at this stage. It’s not their jurisdiction, after all. As Jesse says, for now, they’ll keep a watching brief and see if they can give us any leads from former cases. Of course, if we find a link, they’ll send in a task force if we want it.”
Ned scowled. “Won’t have any trouble finding somewhere to put them up.” Just about every hotel in town is having cancellations—and in the busiest part of the season too. Managers are screaming. This is the worst season we’ve had since the gas main blew, back in ’94.”
The gas main in Yampa Street had exploded in 1994. The explosion hadn’t harmed anyone directly, but it knocked out heating to more than half the town. Skiers canceled in large numbers while hotels and guesthouses desperately tried to find alternative accommodations. There was a flow-on effect to restaurants, bars, ski rental outlets and the mountain itself. Businesses in Steamboat went broke right and left.
“Tell them we’re doing our damnedest to get this thing wrapped up,” Lee replied.
“Have you got anything new? Any ideas at all?” Ned asked them. He was almost pleading, Lee thought. She tried to make a negative answer sound better than it was. “Jesse’s going through the background of all three victims, looking for some common link,” she began. “Don’t know if something’s going to show up or not yet, Ned.”
The mayor looked from one to the other. He’d hoped for more concrete news, Jesse knew. City officials always
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