Agent Ren Bryce Thriller Series Books 1-3: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss

Casey Bonaventure, auburn-haired and full-lipped, stood in front of her cameraman at the base of Quandary Peak. Mike Delaney and Bob Gage stood a few feet away from her.

‘That wardrobe choice must have slayed her this morning.’ Mike’s voice was low in Bob’s ear. ‘Serious, glamorous, outdoors. Crime scene, pretty mountain, viewers …’

Casey was dressed in a green ski jacket and matching pants. She sucked in an icy breath and started.

‘A chill wind has blown through the picturesque resort town of Breckenridge …’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ said Bob quietly.

Casey went on. ‘On the snow-white slopes of Quandary Peak, the discovery of the body of a dead female set in motion a chain of events that ended in a second tragedy when an avalanche claimed the life of a local volunteer rescuer. And a third tragedy when the body of the dead female was swept away in the slide. Sheriff Robert Gage and Undersheriff Mike Delaney, also at the scene, escaped with minor injuries. County Coroner Denis Lasco remains in a stable condition at Summit County Medical Center.

‘In contrast to the sun you see shining here this afternoon, a dark cloud has descended on the quiet community of nearby Breckenridge as they awoke to a terrifying tale of high-altitude horror. Mystery surrounds both the death and the identity of the female, who has been described as “in her thirties or forties”. A source close to the investigation has indicated that this was not a skiing accident, that this woman was the possible victim of a homicide.

‘Law enforcement officers are working tirelessly to develop leads, their task made all the more difficult by the absence of the body. The FBI arrived early this morning, no doubt to offer up additional resources.’ She paused. ‘Let’s hope, for all our sakes, this is one trail that will not run cold. I’m Casey Bonaventure –’

When she had finished signing off, she saw Bob to her left. He had turned at an angle to talk to Mike. ‘No one can accuse the girl of not writing her own reports.’

‘Shit. Here she comes,’ said Mike, quickly stepping back to his right.

‘One, two three,’ said Casey, signaling to the cameraman. She paused. ‘I’m here today with Sheriff Robert Gage of the Summit County Sheriff’s Office. Hello, Sheriff Gage.’

‘Hello, Casey.’

‘How are you holding up?’ she asked with a concerned face.

‘I’m doing OK,’ said Gage. ‘My thoughts now are with the family of the brave young volunteer who lost his life.’

‘As are all our thoughts,’ said Casey, ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about yesterday’s events?’

‘I think you got it all covered, Casey. I can confirm that the body of a woman in her thirties or forties was discovered yesterday afternoon on Quandary Peak. During our recovery of the body, an avalanche was triggered.’

‘And the body?’

Bob paused. ‘Was lost in the slide.’

‘And this morning’s search is to recover that body?’

‘Yes, it is, Casey.’

She kept the microphone to his mouth. Bob was done.

She held her breath, then struck up again. ‘And the volunteer rescuer? Do we have any more information on him or her?’

‘Not until next of kin have been notified. No.’

‘And the FBI presence here today? That would confirm reports of a homicide?’

‘The FBI presence here today is a welcome addition to the team investigating yesterday’s events.’

Casey held the microphone steady. Seconds went by before she nodded. ‘Thank you, Sheriff Robert Gage.’

She turned back to the camera. ‘We’ll see you at the top of the hour with an update on the story unfolding here at Quandary Peak. Who knows where this particular trail will lead? I’m Casey Bonaventure …’

After sign-off, she turned back to Bob. ‘Bob –’

‘Casey, sweetheart? Don’t come crying to me when your producers prematurely ejaculate all over a story. They send you out too early for anyone to make any sense of my crime scene, your story, the victim’s ID, what in the hell happened – everything. Every time you show up, we tell you we have nothing yet. And every time, you stick that damn camera in my face and expect me to do the hard work. To do your job. I have my own job.’

‘You know where I’m coming from,’ said Casey.

‘You’re paid to talk,’ said Bob. ‘I’m not. But, if I have to, I’d rather have something to say.’ He muttered as he walked away. ‘How about a snowy cascade of suspects, a winter wonderland of weirdoes, an icicle of … something that begins with “i” …?’

Chapter 12 (#u8bb60e53-87b4-54e1-a600-62c12d8c99b9)

Ren sat at her desk in the Sheriff’s Office, a bigger, cheaper, shinier desk than the one she had at Safe Streets. She was thinking about self-sabotage – not for the first time. Altitude sickness could happen to anyone. But she had drunk a lot of contributory factors. There was a bottle of Fiji in front of her. And three more on the floor beside her. Robbie Truax, Colin Grabien and Cliff James walked in.

‘Aw, look at her,’ said Robbie.

Ren smiled patiently.

‘The loser,’ said Colin.

‘Are you feeling better?’ said Robbie.

Ren nodded. ‘I am. I have drunk more water in four hours than –’

‘Alcohol, hopefully,’ said Colin.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. ‘I actually wasn’t drinking last night,’ she said. ‘I had just arrived here, as you know.’ She turned to Cliff. ‘So, what did I miss?’

‘Not a lot, I’m afraid,’ said Cliff. ‘The cadaver dog sat down, barked – his “alert” to show he picked up a scent – but his handler said that could have been from Sonny Bryant. Apparently the smell of death kicks in the moment a person dies. And we all smell the same dead, so it’s not like the dog can distinguish …’

‘Do we?’ said Robbie.

‘Yup, apparently,’ said Cliff.

‘That’s kind of depressing,’ said Ren.

‘Oh, you want to smell especially different when you’re dead?’ said Colin.

‘Shut the fuck up, Colin,’ said Ren.

‘So the dog was indicating there was a scent there, but he didn’t physically find anything,’ said Cliff.

‘So,’ said Ren, ‘what’s the plan for going back up?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Robbie. ‘It was risky heading up there to begin with. SAR’s saying no way.’

Ren took another mouthful of water. ‘Shit.’