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Another burst of static, then the deputy’s garbled voice, barely intelligible. “We’re past the ravine, about a mile farther up. Nothing so far.”
Kay climbed on the ATV and thanked the deputy with a nod. “K-9 here too?”
“Not yet. They had to bring one from Marin County.” She looked around cautiously. The parking lot was empty. “One more thing,” Farrell said, lowering her voice as if anyone could hear them. “Logan wanted you to call him as soon as you got here. He sounded pissed.”
Great. She’d been expected to hear from Sheriff Logan sooner or later, ever since she’d noticed that news van trailing them. There was no keeping the reporters away once they’d caught the whiff of blood. In a small place like Mount Chester, the opportunity rarely presented itself and they couldn’t waste it.
Groaning, she speed-dialed Logan’s phone on speaker. He took the call with a short, “Yeah,” against an auditory backdrop of wind gusts and nearby voices.
“It’s Kay Sharp, sir, and I have Elliot with me. You wanted to speak with us?”
He mumbled something unintelligible, as if he’d covered the mic with his hand and spoken with someone else. “Mainly you I wanted, Sharp. What the hell happened out there at the Jerrells?”
She drew air sharply into her lungs and was about to blurt out a reply when he continued.
“Did you see it coming?”
“Y—yes, I believe I did,” she replied, bracing herself.
“Damn,” he muttered. “There was nothing you could’ve done, was there?”
In the brief silence that followed, she heard the sound of a lighter being flicked. He was probably lighting up one of his famous Cubans, his most dangerous vice as he liked to advertise it.
“My professional code of ethics leaves very little room for interpretation, sir.” Her voice was calm, measured, cold as if she was delivering a review of someone else’s lacking performance. “I should’ve reported it.”
“And had him locked up?” Logan reacted. “Can you imagine the press after that?”
“Sir, we don’t service the press—”
“No, we don’t,” he cut her off abruptly, then exhaled what sounded like a lungful of smoke mixed with frustration. “But some of us have to get elected every few years if we want to keep our jobs. You went there as a cop to deliver a death notification, Sharp, not as his therapist.”
She was about to start an argument with him when Elliot gestured with his hand that she should take it easy. He was right. Getting into an argument with her boss over the ethical dilemmas of her other profession would’ve been meaningless, if not damaging. “Then, what can I do for you?”
“I’m almost up at the ridge, and we haven’t found anything so far.”
“You’re here?” she reacted, surprised.
“Yeah, and I ain’t got all day. Take the ATV up along the chairlift and leave it at the upper terminal. Then you can cross the meadow and climb the eastern versant.”
“Copy that,” she replied with a slight frown, looking at her watch. That would save her some time.
“I’ll take the ATV down, and K-9 can bring it back up. Daylight’s running short, and rain’s about to start.”
“Understood.”
“While you’re on your way, figure out how to hold the press at bay. Contain the shitstorm for me, Sharp. Do your best.”
The call ended abruptly. Elliot started the ATV and drove it as the crow flies toward the chairlift path. The system was built as a near-surface lift and opened seasonally as soon as a thick layer of snow covered the ground, luring skiers from all over the state.
She was just about to call Barb Foster, her only connection in the local media when she noticed the chairlift was working. Empty chairs moved up and down the mountain, whirring and clanking.
“Head over to the terminal first,” she said, looking at the cloudy sky with concern.
Their approach drew the attention of the lift operator, who came out of the terminal with one hand propped on his hip and another holding shade above his eyes. He wore a knitted hat low on his sweaty brow, although it was one of the hottest summer days the mountain had seen in years.
Elliot flashed his badge, and the man immediately frowned, shoving both his hands into his pockets and taking a step backward. “Detectives Young and Sharp, FCSO.”
He nodded. “You here about the girl who died yesterday?”
