Archer Mayor - The Marble Mask

Knowing that somewhere high on its slopes, an old, near mummified corpse had mysteriously been deposited made me wonder for whom that meaning boded ill.

I entered the police department lobby, unbuttoned my coat in the sudden warmth, and stepped up to a counter blocked by a sliding glass window.

“Hi. Is the chief in?” I asked a slim, middle-aged woman through the open half of the window.

She looked up from her typing and smiled. “May I have your name?”

“Joe Gunther. Vermont Bureau of Investigation.”

She stared at me for what felt like a long count. “I’m sorry?”

I extracted my new shield from an inner pocket and showed it to her. “Joe Gunther. I’m a cop.”

She rose and approached the window, her face expressing pure wonder. “No… I mean, yeah, but what was the other thing-the Bureau?”

I gave her the badge for closer scrutiny. “The Vermont Bureau of Investigation-new statewide unit.”

She returned it cheerfully, seemingly recovered. “Neat. I just never heard of it. The chief expecting you?”

“Not by name, but he knows we’re coming.”

Looking mystified again, she said, “I’ll check,” and disappeared.

Moments later, a tall, large, barrel-chested bald man dressed in a white uniform shirt and black cargo pants entered the reception area and stuck out a meaty hand. “Joe Gunther? Frank Auerbach. Glad to meet you at last. You’re a famous guy.”

“So was Son of Sam.”

He laughed and waved me through the inner door. “Oh, oh-wobbly self-image there. People giving you shit about this VBI thing?”

I thought back to the woman at the counter. “Assuming they even know about it.”

He led me into an office just off the small dispatch area. It was cramped, unassuming, and had two doors he left wide open, one looking out into the building’s central hallway, the other leading to the squad room in back. There was a symbolism here that apparently reflected the man.

“This is your first case, right?” he asked. “For VBI, I mean.”

I sat in the chair he offered me. “Yes, and I’m sorry about the way you were approached. Must’ve seemed a little lacking in subtlety.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t bother me. You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“The way I figure it,” he resumed, pouring himself a cup from a Thermos parked on his windowsill, “you people have resources I don’t, and you’ll be falling all over yourselves trying to make a good impression. You are going to give me the spiel about how I get all the credit afterward, aren’t you?”

I gave him a hapless look. So far, I instinctively liked this man, but with that comment I wasn’t sure I could distinguish bluntness from irony-I didn’t know him well enough yet. “That is the spiel. We’ll work under your command, talk to the press only by your say-so, and vanish as soon as you don’t want us anymore.”

He nodded. “Sounds okay. ’Course, BCI already does all that.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “with the difference that they wouldn’t actually work under your command. They would work with you. Not that it usually makes any real difference,” I added quickly, sensing he might still send us packing. “But it’s a point I’m sure you can appreciate. In any case, this isn’t a competition. I didn’t dream up this unit, and didn’t apply for it when it was born. But I ended up joining because I think it’s right to have a major crimes squad that’s open to all that’re qualified. Again, that’s not meant to be disrespectful to the VSP-just more democratic. And the best of BCI will end up in VBI anyhow.”

Frank Auerbach smiled broadly, obviously enjoying himself. “Okay. That’s great. Between you and me, I don’t really care. I’m happy where I am, and I’m happy for any help I can get. How you and the state police duke it out is your business. Just so long as you don’t make me the kewpie doll,” he added, his smile fading.

“That’s the deal,” I promised.

“Good,” he concluded. “How many people are you bringing on board?”

“Five right now, including me. More later if we’ve got them. And our own special prosecutor to help us through the shoals, especially if we end up in Canada, and since both the governor and the commissioner are cheering us on, money won’t be a problem, either.”

“Any of you speak French? It’s going to be a pain in the ass otherwise.”

“Supposedly Paul Spraiger does, late of the Burlington PD. We’ve never worked together before.”

“I know Paul,” Auerbach said. “He’s good-quiet, real smart. What about Jean Deschamps? You done any digging yet?”

I shook my head. “Despite our pushy manners, I didn’t want to presume. We’d like you to take the lead on how to proceed. I should add, though, that my boss, Bill Allard, has a contact with the Sûreté in Sherbrooke-one of their investigators he met at a conference.” I handed him a slip of paper. “Gilles Lacombe. Apparently, they hit it off, and Lacombe was singing the praises of cross-jurisdictional cooperation.”

“Thanks. I already sent faxes to the Mounties, the Sherbrooke police, and the Sûreté,” Auerbach said, taking the note, “asking them to check their old files, but given the way this is looking, we’ll need all the inside help we can get. I’m assuming Hillstrom told you what she told me, that the guy’s probably been dead fifty years or more.”

“She did. What gets me, though, is why he was frozen in the first place, why he’s surfaced now, and how the hell did he get on the mountain?”

“Airplane?” Auerbach suggested. “He was found in a pretty deep hole, and there were no signs anyone dragged him there.”

I was glad to have that suspicion confirmed. “You have an airport just north of here, don’t you?”

“Morrisville, yeah, like a dozen others all over Vermont. Morrisville is unmanned at night and doesn’t have a tower, so we’ll check it out. But you gotta wonder: If all you’re going to do with a dead body is dump it across town, why go to all the trouble of airmailing it? We got dumpsters like everyone else. Plus, the guy was a Canadian,” he added meaningfully.

I saw his point. “I’m guessing you didn’t find any spare body parts on the mountain.”

Frank Auerbach shook his head. “No, but we also haven’t done a total site search. It was getting late when he was found, and I wanted to know what Hillstrom would say first. The area’s been cordoned off-not that it matters way up there-but it needs a better look. Come to think of it, it’s our busy season and I’m pretty shorthanded, so that might be where you and your guys could really be a help. Are they in good enough shape to hit the mountain? It’s not much-a gondola ride most of the way up and the Hazardous Terrain Evacuation Team will be running the show-it would free me up something wicked.”

“I’ll ask them,” I said slowly. “I can probably guarantee at least three of us. How much is ‘not much’?”

“You’ll have snowshoes and crampons. It’s not like a stroll in the park, but it’s not too bad, and it’s a hell of a view. Basically, if you’re even near fit-like you-it’s no sweat, and the hazardous terrain folks really know their stuff.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering if he wasn’t overselling this a bit. “I’ve heard about them.”

“Great.” He rose to his feet like a happy used-car dealer. “By the way, what do I tell BCI when they come knocking?”

“Indirectly, they already have,” I answered, thinking Stanton might’ve known what he was doing after all. “One of my team is a BCI liaison-Tom Shanklin.”

Auerbach glanced at his watch. “I know him, too. Sounds like you got good people.”