Free 01 Storm Peak by John Flanagan Page A

of the Heavenly Daze ski run.
    “I doubt he’d try to get out here,” said Jesse. “Too high for one thing. And it’s a bit out in the open.”
    Lee shook her head. “I’m surprised that nobody saw him doing it, anyway. I mean, surely someone in one of the other cabins must have noticed a man hanging by a rope underneath the gondola?”
    Jesse shook his head. “Not necessarily. Take a look around yourself.” He indicated the view around them. The internal light shining on the perspex windows of the cabin created reflections that defeated their vision. The most they could see of the downward moving cabins was an occasional dark blur sliding past.
    The cabins above and below them were hardly more visible.
    “Remember,” he pointed out, “the doors are on the far side, so even if you did look at one of the cabins, chances are you’d see nothing. Besides, most people, if they’re looking out, will look at the lights down in the valley.”
    He indicated the brilliant spread of light that was now far below them.
    “I guess so,” she agreed.
    “Remember too,” he added, “he knew there was nobody ready to get in the cabin directly behind him. And he’d probably seen there was nobody in front either. He could wait and pick his time until he got the right conditions.”
    Lee nodded slowly, thinking it through. It sounded logical. It sounded so damn logical.
    “I guess his biggest risk would be being spotted by people on the ground itself,” she said.
    “Not too many of them around at night,” he said. “Just the groomers and the occasional patrol from the… oh, Jesus!” He stood up suddenly, his head crashing into the low ceiling of the gondola, lined with carpet to prevent condensation forming inside. He dropped back onto the bench, setting the cabin rocking wildly, then craned around to stare back down the mountain.
    “Jesse, what is it?” Lee moved to his side, staring out the window behind them. She could see the headlights and the yellow strobe lights from one of the slope groomers moving down the mountain below them. Huge, tracked vehicles, with a bulldozer blade in front and dragging a heavy rubber mat behind, they were out every night, regrooming the slopes for the following day’s skiing. Smoothing over the ruts and bumps and tracks that had been left behind and restoring the face of the mountain to an immaculate, smooth finish. Lee now knew what had set Jesse off.
    “Oh, Christ, no,” she said.
    The groomer was heading straight for the area they planned to search. In five minutes’ time, there’d be no sign of ski tracks. No footprints. No nothing. Just an immaculate, pristine, groomed slope. She looked at her wristwatch. They had another six or seven minutes before they reached the top. As she’d noted earlier that night, there was no way they could communicate with the top station and get them to radio through and stop the groomer.
    “I don’t suppose,” Jesse said slowly, “you happened to bring your cell phone with you?”
    She looked at him helplessly. The cell phone was in her car, safely nestled in the pocket of her sheepskin jacket.
    “Sonofabitch!” she said angrily.
    Jesse shrugged and sat back on the bench, his long legs splayed out in front of him again. “I thought you wouldn’t,” he said.
     
    The following morning, they examined the site by daylight. As they’d expected, there was little enough to see, once the groomer had gone over the area. Close to the grove of aspens that Lee had pointed out, there were traces of ski tracks in the deep snow that had been left untouched. However, as evidence, they were hardly positive proof that this was where the murderer had left the cabin.
    “I guess,” said Lee heavily, “you’ve got to expect to find ski tracks in a ski resort.”
    Jesse was down on one knee in the snow, getting a closer look at the twin grooves cut in the white surface.
    “Could be cross-country skis,” he said without total conviction. “The tracks