dead man was a mess. He had a broken neck and shoulder—probably from the fall from the train—so that he lay in an awkward, impossible way that one saw only in broken dolls or crashtest dummies.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“Your first body?”
“First, in person,” she corrected. “Listen, Tyler …,” she said, looking past him at the corpse.
“Yeah?”
She seemed to snap out of it. “Nothing.” But she had wanted to tell him something.
“I’m listening.” “Another time,” she said.
“Sure,” he answered. “Whatever.” He wanted to roll the body and search it for ID. He wanted fingerprints, any body markings or piercings. He wanted a name. A history. A story to follow.
He wanted whoever had done this, even though he found himself already leaning toward self-defense as an explanation. This was no longer about expense accounts or trying to win a better job—the crime scene made it real to him. It was about a death now, a murder. A manhunt.
“This is our hatchet man,” Tyler announced, a bit prematurely, but confidently.
“You think?” she asked.
Tyler nodded. “And that begs an even bigger question,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, awaiting his explanation.
“If this is what happened to the one wielding a hatchet, then what the hell does the other guy look like?”
A state trooper the size of a Sasquatch approached Tyler and Priest, who sat on a frozen log awaiting the evidence report from the technicians. Their interview with the cross-country skier had confirmed that she was nothing more than an innocent outdoorswoman who had happened upon a frozen horror.
“You Tyler?” the statie asked.
“Frozen and accounted for,” Tyler answered.
“You got some ID?”
Tyler showed him the credentials provided by Loren Rucker, the NTSB deputy director who had hired him. The trooper studied the creds and handed them back to Tyler.
“You want to talk in private?” he asked Tyler, eyeing Priest.
“She’s with railroad security,” Tyler said.
“Word is,” the officer told him, “that our guys came across a report they thought might interest you.”
Tyler had requested a statewide Be On Lookout for reports of thefts and break-ins, knowing that a killer on the run might steal a vehicle, or cash, or even provisions. He nodded. “I’d be all ears, if mine hadn’t frozen off,” he said.
“An individual reported a possible break-in with clothes stolen.”
“Men’s clothes?” he inquired.
“Don’t know, sir. Can’t answer that. My commander—I guess you’ve already spoken with him—radioed that I wassupposed to tell you ‘bout it, and that if you needed more, you should be in touch directly. Much as I know.”
“Same number I called last night? State police headquarters?”
“Commander Marshall,” the man answered.
Tyler thanked the man, who then walked away without another word. Tyler asked Priest, “If this is something that bears looking into, are you willing to work with me on it? Are you willing to
share
it?” She looked inquisitively at him. “Because I don’t dare let this body out of my sight—as attractive as it is—for fear these guys’ll mishandle it. Not that I don’t trust Iowa farmers in blue uniforms.”
“Illinois,” she corrected.
“My point exactly,” he said. “Whoever did this to our frozen friend left behind hair and fiber evidence. Count on it. Maybe prints on the clothing. That body is our ticket to close this case.”
“Would we still be sitting here if I didn’t already know that?”
“But these stolen clothes,” he said. “That could be just as good, even better.”
She encouraged, “I’ll share anything I find.”
“Everything,” he corrected, emphasizing the word. “You don’t trust me?”
“A private security officer with her company’s reputation and market image to protect. Should I?”
She grinned. “Probably not.”
He said, “You’ve been itching to tell me
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“Your first body?”
“First, in person,” she corrected. “Listen, Tyler …,” she said, looking past him at the corpse.
“Yeah?”
She seemed to snap out of it. “Nothing.” But she had wanted to tell him something.
“I’m listening.” “Another time,” she said.
“Sure,” he answered. “Whatever.” He wanted to roll the body and search it for ID. He wanted fingerprints, any body markings or piercings. He wanted a name. A history. A story to follow.
He wanted whoever had done this, even though he found himself already leaning toward self-defense as an explanation. This was no longer about expense accounts or trying to win a better job—the crime scene made it real to him. It was about a death now, a murder. A manhunt.
“This is our hatchet man,” Tyler announced, a bit prematurely, but confidently.
“You think?” she asked.
Tyler nodded. “And that begs an even bigger question,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, awaiting his explanation.
“If this is what happened to the one wielding a hatchet, then what the hell does the other guy look like?”
A state trooper the size of a Sasquatch approached Tyler and Priest, who sat on a frozen log awaiting the evidence report from the technicians. Their interview with the cross-country skier had confirmed that she was nothing more than an innocent outdoorswoman who had happened upon a frozen horror.
“You Tyler?” the statie asked.
“Frozen and accounted for,” Tyler answered.
“You got some ID?”
Tyler showed him the credentials provided by Loren Rucker, the NTSB deputy director who had hired him. The trooper studied the creds and handed them back to Tyler.
“You want to talk in private?” he asked Tyler, eyeing Priest.
“She’s with railroad security,” Tyler said.
“Word is,” the officer told him, “that our guys came across a report they thought might interest you.”
Tyler had requested a statewide Be On Lookout for reports of thefts and break-ins, knowing that a killer on the run might steal a vehicle, or cash, or even provisions. He nodded. “I’d be all ears, if mine hadn’t frozen off,” he said.
“An individual reported a possible break-in with clothes stolen.”
“Men’s clothes?” he inquired.
“Don’t know, sir. Can’t answer that. My commander—I guess you’ve already spoken with him—radioed that I wassupposed to tell you ‘bout it, and that if you needed more, you should be in touch directly. Much as I know.”
“Same number I called last night? State police headquarters?”
“Commander Marshall,” the man answered.
Tyler thanked the man, who then walked away without another word. Tyler asked Priest, “If this is something that bears looking into, are you willing to work with me on it? Are you willing to
share
it?” She looked inquisitively at him. “Because I don’t dare let this body out of my sight—as attractive as it is—for fear these guys’ll mishandle it. Not that I don’t trust Iowa farmers in blue uniforms.”
“Illinois,” she corrected.
“My point exactly,” he said. “Whoever did this to our frozen friend left behind hair and fiber evidence. Count on it. Maybe prints on the clothing. That body is our ticket to close this case.”
“Would we still be sitting here if I didn’t already know that?”
“But these stolen clothes,” he said. “That could be just as good, even better.”
She encouraged, “I’ll share anything I find.”
“Everything,” he corrected, emphasizing the word. “You don’t trust me?”
“A private security officer with her company’s reputation and market image to protect. Should I?”
She grinned. “Probably not.”
He said, “You’ve been itching to tell me
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