park rangers - broke off from the pack and walked out to meet him.
Sarah Rodgers," she said, extending her hand. "I'm the shift supervisor."
Russell grasped her hand, noting from her grip that she was no stranger to physical labor. In fact, she could probably take him in two rounds without breaking a sweat. "Russell Coates, FBI. Special agent in charge."
You re the 'SAC I've been hearing so much about. I guess I was expecting something in burlap." Sack. Burlap. Funny. First time he'd ever heard that one. He smiled. "Actually, it's the Secret Service that pronounces the word. We only spell it. It's S period, A period, C period. What kind of resources we got working up here now?"
As she talked, Sarah tried to lead him back toward her fellow rangers, but he stood still, bringing her back in closer to him. It's the little things that let people know who's really in command, and he'd lived through enough jurisdictional wars to know the importance of coming on strong at the beginning.
"Well, there's a few of your people up at the scene with the body along with a few of mine, and a few local and state police thrown in for good measure. If you want specific numbers, I'm afraid I don't have them."
Shit. Too many people. "What about hikers? Is the area closed off to them?"
The question amused her. "This is a national park, Agent Coates. People come and go, and they don't always use the trails. I assume your agents are controlling the scene up on the mountain, but if you're asking if we've shut the gates, the answer is no. And if you're about to ask me to do that, the answer again is no."
Why did he have the feeling that they'd gotten off on the wrong foot? He smiled as best he could. "Look, Ms. Rodgers, I don't mean to offend, okay? I'm just a little disappointed that the whole world might have traipsed through this crime scene before I've even had a chance to see it."
"Ditto about the offense," Sarah countered. "Please understand that my people are trained in all aspects of running a national park, but homicide investigations are a bit out of our league. If we've done something to screw up your case, then I assure you it was done accidentally, and with the best of intentions."
Fair enough, Russell thought. "So, where am I?"
Sarah retrieved a weather-beaten, plastic-laminated map from the back pocket of her green trousers and unfolded it. It had been a long time since Russell had had to translate contour lines into meaningful data, but as she traced the map with her finger, it came back to him pretty quickly.
"Here's the spot where we found the body," she said, pointing to a place on the map next to a meandering blue mark that could only be a river. "That's about a mile up that trail" - she pointed to a worn patch of foliage to his left - "which is right here on the map. We call it Powhite Trail Currently, you're standing right here, on Fire Road Seven. Technically, people aren't supposed to drive up here, but many do, just to get a head start on the Powhite."
"You don't ticket them?"
Sarah shrugged. "Not so long as they stay off to the side and don't block fire equipment access. Frankly, we don't get but maybe five or six parties a month that come up this way. It's not an easy hike."
Russell pictured what she had told him and arched his eyebrows high, suddenly struck with an inspiration. "When people drive in, do they come from the top of the mountain or the bottom?"
She thought about that for a second. "Roth, I guess, but the vast majority probably come from below."
Russell nodded as he let an idea percolate. "Okay, Ms. Rodgers -"
"Call me Sarah, please."
"Okay, Sarah." He recognized this as the opportunity for him to return the favor of informality, but he kind of liked his title. "I need to head up there and see what's happening, but while I'm gone, I'd like you to make sure that none of the vehicles I see here are moved. Not an inch. And I want you to make sure that no other vehicles are permitted to come within
Sarah Rodgers," she said, extending her hand. "I'm the shift supervisor."
Russell grasped her hand, noting from her grip that she was no stranger to physical labor. In fact, she could probably take him in two rounds without breaking a sweat. "Russell Coates, FBI. Special agent in charge."
You re the 'SAC I've been hearing so much about. I guess I was expecting something in burlap." Sack. Burlap. Funny. First time he'd ever heard that one. He smiled. "Actually, it's the Secret Service that pronounces the word. We only spell it. It's S period, A period, C period. What kind of resources we got working up here now?"
As she talked, Sarah tried to lead him back toward her fellow rangers, but he stood still, bringing her back in closer to him. It's the little things that let people know who's really in command, and he'd lived through enough jurisdictional wars to know the importance of coming on strong at the beginning.
"Well, there's a few of your people up at the scene with the body along with a few of mine, and a few local and state police thrown in for good measure. If you want specific numbers, I'm afraid I don't have them."
Shit. Too many people. "What about hikers? Is the area closed off to them?"
The question amused her. "This is a national park, Agent Coates. People come and go, and they don't always use the trails. I assume your agents are controlling the scene up on the mountain, but if you're asking if we've shut the gates, the answer is no. And if you're about to ask me to do that, the answer again is no."
Why did he have the feeling that they'd gotten off on the wrong foot? He smiled as best he could. "Look, Ms. Rodgers, I don't mean to offend, okay? I'm just a little disappointed that the whole world might have traipsed through this crime scene before I've even had a chance to see it."
"Ditto about the offense," Sarah countered. "Please understand that my people are trained in all aspects of running a national park, but homicide investigations are a bit out of our league. If we've done something to screw up your case, then I assure you it was done accidentally, and with the best of intentions."
Fair enough, Russell thought. "So, where am I?"
Sarah retrieved a weather-beaten, plastic-laminated map from the back pocket of her green trousers and unfolded it. It had been a long time since Russell had had to translate contour lines into meaningful data, but as she traced the map with her finger, it came back to him pretty quickly.
"Here's the spot where we found the body," she said, pointing to a place on the map next to a meandering blue mark that could only be a river. "That's about a mile up that trail" - she pointed to a worn patch of foliage to his left - "which is right here on the map. We call it Powhite Trail Currently, you're standing right here, on Fire Road Seven. Technically, people aren't supposed to drive up here, but many do, just to get a head start on the Powhite."
"You don't ticket them?"
Sarah shrugged. "Not so long as they stay off to the side and don't block fire equipment access. Frankly, we don't get but maybe five or six parties a month that come up this way. It's not an easy hike."
Russell pictured what she had told him and arched his eyebrows high, suddenly struck with an inspiration. "When people drive in, do they come from the top of the mountain or the bottom?"
She thought about that for a second. "Roth, I guess, but the vast majority probably come from below."
Russell nodded as he let an idea percolate. "Okay, Ms. Rodgers -"
"Call me Sarah, please."
"Okay, Sarah." He recognized this as the opportunity for him to return the favor of informality, but he kind of liked his title. "I need to head up there and see what's happening, but while I'm gone, I'd like you to make sure that none of the vehicles I see here are moved. Not an inch. And I want you to make sure that no other vehicles are permitted to come within
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