Free Blood Runs Cold by Alex Barclay

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 knowswhere 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” …?’

12
    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 cadaverdog 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.’
    ‘You want to look at the photos?’ said Robbie.
    ‘Sure. I love your photos. You really are very good,’ said Ren. ‘You could have an exhibition – Truax: Scenes from Scenes.’ If the location was interesting, Robbie shot landscapes from crime scenes.
    Ren reached out for the digital camera.
    ‘Am I going to find any photographs of an intimate nature here?’ she said.
    ‘Only the ones we took on Colin’s desk that night,’ said Robbie.
    Ren turned on the camera. The first series ofphotos were exterior shots of a bank the task force had been surveiling. She ran through them quickly and got to the morning photos at the trailhead and up at the site. She reached for her bag and her USB cable and downloaded them into iPhoto.
    She put her elbow on the desk, rested her chin on her hand, and started to go through the photos slowly. The guys took seats at different computers and started searching databases and making calls. When Ren reached the last of the photos, she went back to the start. She stopped at one, zoomed and leaned in