Frozen by Jay Bonansinga Page B

told me where he found it—by the 10k trail marker—I was even more puzzled. That part of the trail is one of the most traveled areas on the mountain. It’s like this crossroads where the beginner trail gives way to the intermediate. I’d guess about a million people have been over that spot since the park opened back in ‘27. Nearly eighty spring thaws. And it’s this idiot who finds the thing!
    Finally I told the two of them to go ahead and have a seat in my shack, and I would be right with them after I called the cops.
    I’ll never forget that couple: Helen and Richard Ackerman from Wilmette, Illinois. Later I found out all about their rich midwestern lifestyle, their dogs, their cars, their sailboat, and all that nonsense, as I was trying to piece together the chronology of their discovery. But anyway, I finally got them safely tucked away in the shack and then I took out my cell phone and dialed the sheriff’s department.
    The only person on duty at the sheriff’s department at that time of the morning was this young deputy named Nick Sabitine. I knew Nick from county softball games. He was a decent guy, kind of shy . . . anyway . . . Nick was also kinda fond of looking over the shoulders of detectives. I guess he had written a number of memos to his superiors requesting future placement in training programs. Anyway, needless to say, when my frantic call came over radio dispatch that morning, Nick Sabitine’s ears perked right up.
    The deputy made the drive up to the trailhead in less than 20 minutes. By the time he got there, I was a bundle of nerves, trying to simultaneously keep the gawkers away from the body while keeping the Ackermans from tearing the ranger shack apart.
    Taking one look at the body—especially the expression on its face—Nick got everybody out of there and cordoned off the area with yellow crime scene tape. He put the Ackermans in the back of his prowler (which wasn’t easy, I have to say), then he called in the crime lab.
    Another thing I should mention: Nick had no proof at that early stage—other than that hideous expression on the mummy’s face—that this case was anything other than an unlucky climber or a hiker who had wandered off the trail and into a ravine. Any suggestion that there was foul play involved or whatever would not come until about an hour later, when Lieutenant Alan Pinsky, a detective from the Anchorage District 7 Homicide Squad, showed up at the scene.
    Pinsky showed up around eleven o’clock, I think it was, and he totally took charge. I don’t know whether this guy has some kind of Napoleonic complex or what. He’s a little guy, totally bald, but he’s a powerful personality. Dressed in his Columbo trench coat. With those little cunning beady eyes. Anyway, I’m not complaining. He treated me with nothing but respect and courtesy. But he took charge immediately.
    I remember him saying that he thought the body might be the last missing member of that climbing team that got stranded a couple of years ago. I also remember the little detective’s eyes sparkling with interest as he knelt down by the corpse and looked it up and down.
    I told Pinsky we were keeping the folks who had found the mummy in the prowler.
    Pinsky looked up at me and he goes, “Do you think they found this poor schmuck’s johnson up there?”
    I went, “Huh?”
    And Pinsky says, “His penis, his cock.” And then he pointed at the mummy’s groin.
    Pinsky examined the body for a few minutes, and then he told Nick to call the college, the one in Anchorage, the one with a department of physical anthropology.
    By that point Nick already had his notebook out, and had his ballpoint pen clicked, and he was writing like crazy.
    So then Nick goes roaring off in his cruiser, leaving Pinsky and me to deal with the crowd of hikers gathering on the other side of the tape, and also with the Ackermans, who