Snow Blind by P.J. Tracy

Detectives. Please have a seat.”
    Even Gino, who rarely missed an opportunity to comment on the Chief’s sartorial savvy, was subdued and respectful and got straight to the point. “Morning, Chief. You did an excellent job with the press conference last night. That couldn’t have been easy, just standing there looking composed while all those reporters kept busting your balls.”
    Malcherson ignored him. If he ever thought too hard about Detective Rolseth’s compliments, he would probably have to fire him.
    â€œWe need to move very quickly on this case, Detectives. The press has its teeth in the serial-killer scenario, and we are going to have to address that, and hopefully eliminate it as a possibility. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything in your reports last night that would do that.”
    â€œNeither did we, Chief,” Gino said. “But it could have been the ex-con with a grudge, like you said, or some nut-bag out of the asylum or who knows what. Serial killers aren’t the only sickos out there. The press just gloms onto them ’cause they’re ratings grabbers. And that’s the difference between us and the press. They jump to conclusions; we have to wait for the facts.”
    Malcherson nodded, closed the folder containing last night’s reports, and filed it in a drawer. He never cluttered his pristine desk with anything he wasn’t using at the moment, including photos of his family, which were neatly arranged in their own cubbyhole in a bookcase. “Do you have anything new for me this morning?”
    Magozzi nodded and laid a fat manila folder on his desk, feeling almost guilty for messing it up. “Copies of the ME’s and the BCA’s preliminary reports.”
    Malcherson looked wearily at the volume of paperwork. “Can you summarize the new information for me?”
    Magozzi opened his own folder and started ticking off points. “All the slugs from the scene were. 22s, and ballistics is working on them now. We should hear something by noon. There’s some trace, but both scenes were so contaminated, Jimmy Grimm isn’t optimistic it will yield anything. Also, the BCA found a blood trail after we left the scene yesterday that matched Toby Myerson’s blood type, along with one of his gloves.”
    â€œSo we’re thinking this is how it went down,” Gino continued. “Tommy Deaton was ahead of Myerson on the trail, and the killer was waiting for him under the cover of trees and surprised him point-blank just as he was skiing out of the woods. Myerson sees his friend get shot, takes off a glove and goes for his gun. But the killer either gets lucky or is a dead-eye dick and hits him in his shooting arm, which explains the blood trail. Myerson skis all the way to the other side of the field, which is no mean feat, considering the arm shot shattered the ulna; then he caught one in the back of the neck, probably real close to where the snowman was built around him, because that slug most likely paralyzed him instantly.”
    Malcherson took a moment to process the scene Gino had just laid out, his mask of Scandanavian ice still intact. “Unfortunately, what bothers me most about this scene does absolutely nothing to dispel the serial-killer notion. In fact, it may support it.”
    Magozzi asked, “What’s that, Chief?”
    â€œThe carrots.”
    Magozzi smiled at him. Underneath the great suits and polished personna of the Chief, there was still an investigator, alive and well and still thinking like a cop. “Good call, sir. A lot of people carry rope in their cars for emergencies, but the carrot’s a dead giveaway. Whoever it was came prepared to build a snowman.”
    Malcherson’s phone lit up. “Please excuse me a moment, gentlemen.”
    Magozzi smiled a little at the Chief’s pervasive politeness, then watched Malcherson answer the phone and reach for a fresh tablet. For