Stephen White - Cold Case

Flynn pressed a button on the stainless-steel panel that was recessed in the stone pillar supporting the gate. Nothing happened. To no one in particular she said, "Percy said he'd meet us here. I hope he wasn't kidding" A voice projected loudly from the speaker. Someone wanted Flynn to identify herself.

She did. The gates began to swing open as though they didn't know a thing about hurrying.

Kimber stuck his hands on his hips, spun on his heels, gazed to the north and then to the east, smiled broadly, and said, "This is an incredibly pleasant valley."

I bit my tongue.

We climbed back into the cars. Kimber once again chose the backseat. But this time he didn't lie down.

I preceded Russ and Flynn through the gate. Near the ridge that climbs up from the creek bed toward the house I turned right onto a dirt track that I guessed would lead across the meadow to the stable and bunkhouse. Russ followed right behind me.

As soon as we cleared the ridge it was apparent that the bunkhouse was a total loss. The structure was little more than a blackened framework of toasted timbers. The glass had burst from the window frames. Waves of sticky ash had oozed through the busted-out doorways, carried along by rivers of water from the firefighters' hoses. A three-foot-high stone wall that supported the exterior walls acted like a dike, containing the rest of the muck inside. The adjacent stable stood intact, mocking the ruined bunkhouse like a prizefighter who has just vanquished an opponent.

Flynn jumped out of the car and took long strides toward the ruins. Without hesitation she dropped into a catcher's crouch and began to finger the sooty stone knee wall that had once supported the post-and-beam walls of the cowboys' living quarters.

Kimber, Russ, and I congregated around her. She said, "I need to get some of the samples of this stone and mortar to the petrologist so she can put them under a microscope, but I would guess that this rock wall might be what we're looking for. Although I'm no expert, I think this is limestone, and the petrologist said we're looking for limestone. For now we certainly can't rule it out."

I gazed inside the building. A section of the floor structure had collapsed into the crawl space below. The top of an incinerated refrigerator poked back up into what had been a kitchen. The beam structure was blackened and blistered into huge reptilian scales. I asked, "But what about the wood we're trying to find-the ebony? Maybe someone knew about the splinter and they were trying to hide evidence of the ebony by doing this." Flynn said, "Whatever it was they were hoping to destroy might still be here.

We'll get plenty of wood samples. Fire doesn't destroy evidence as well as most people think."

Kimber spoke, his voice suddenly rich enough to fill the horseshoe canyon.

"We need to remain cautious. The fire may indeed have been intended to destroy evidence. It may also have been intended to mislead us into believing that this was the site where we should be focusing our attention. We must proceed with our search as originally planned.

Agreed? Sheriff Smith is waiting for us at Dr. Welle's home, correct? Why don't we join him there now?"

Percy Smith was waiting on the front porch. He was perched on the arm of one of the two Adirondack chairs. Pork chop Phil Barrett completely filled the other chair. As we got out of the cars Flynn whispered to Russ, "Look. They used the exact same stone to build the knee walls and chimney trim for the house up here.

Damn-that will make our job more complicated." Phil said, "Hi, Alan. See you already stopped to check on last night's fire.

When I first saw it, it reminded me a little of the hash browns I made the last time I tried to cook myself breakfast." He laughed at his own joke. No one else thought he was funny.

I nodded.

"Hello, Phil. Percy. Yeah, we just saw the ruins-I'm learning my way around the ranch pretty well. Surprised to see you here so early, Phil-I got the impression from Percy that no one was at the house last night."

"I sure wasn't. I've been visiting with my mama at the old folks' home she lives in down in Hay den. Drove up to the ranch with Percy this morning after I heard about the fire." He smiled at Flynn.

"Want to introduce me around?"

I didn't like the fact that Phil and Percy seemed so chummy. But I proceeded with the introductions. Phil was definitely distracted by Flynn and her eye patch du your. This one was hand painted to look exactly like her other eyeball.

It was my favorite one of her patches so far. Phil sneaked his attention away from Flynn long enough to acknowledge Russ and to pander to Kimber.

"The famous Mr. Lister. It's a pleasure. My friends on the Hill speak highly of you, sir.

I'm sure you know that Congressman Welle sits on the committee that oversees the FBI. You are quite a legend in those halls, sir. Quite a legend."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Barrett. We at Locard are grateful for your assistance with our work. I'm sure it was an inconvenience to fly here from Washington just to supervise our search. We are also appreciative of all that the congressman has done to help us to keep this inquiry from the eyes of the press."

Kimber was warning Phil about the stakes that had already been anted up in the investigation.

Phil hesitated long enough to capture everyone's attention.

"One thing I've learned over the years is that Ray Welle protects those who promote justice the way a mama bear protects her cubs. Which is to say, wholeheartedly."

Phil was saying, Don't screw around with me.

So far I was enjoying myself. I wished Lauren had come along. She would have enjoyed this, too.

Kimber asked, "Is it possible that we could move this meeting inside?" His voice wavered a little, and I noticed that a couple of dozen tiny beads of sweat were dotting his upper lip.

Flynn noticed, too.

"Yes, let's go in," she said.

Phil said, "Doesn't get any prettier than this porch. I'll get us some more chairs and have the girl bring us all some iced tea. Maybe some sandwiches."

The girl? I wondered whether Phil had learned about Kimber's discomfort in wide-open spaces and was trying to take advantage of it.

Flynn pressed.

"You know, Phil, this light-it's so bright-it's kind of hard on my eye.

Sunglasses aren't really an option with the patch. I'd be grateful if we could meet indoors."

Phil stared at Kimber and pulled himself from the confines of the Adirondack chair.

"Done," he said. I thought I saw him swallow a chuckle.

We moved into the massive living room with its post-and-beam framing. I grabbed a leather side chair close to a sofa that was as big as a car and wondered if I was sitting precisely where Brian Sample had sat as he sipped tea with Gloria Welle. I said a silent prayer that Sylvie didn't serve Girl Scout Cookies.

A knock on the front door brought a plainclothes investigator from the Routt County sheriffs office into the mix. Her name was Cecilia Daruwalla-I guessed that she was of Pakistani or Indian heritage-and I assumed she was there to ensure the chain of evidence of everything that would be collected. Kimber and Phil Barrett retreated with her to the dining room to review the written agreement that authorized the search of Glorias Silky Road Ranch and stipulated the ground rules under which the search would be conducted. The search would not include the right for Locard to view or retrieve any documents or personal belongings other than those in plain view. The agreement was intended to allow Flynn to retrieve samples of soil, rock, brick, mortar, paint, lumber, carpet, flooring, cabinetry, countertops, and other materials used in the construction and maintenance of the primary and secondary structures of the ranch. The details of the agreement had already been hammered out via fax and E-mail. The jousting at the big dining-room table was proforma.