Today's Reading
When she'd found her balance, she said, "Love you, Moonflower."
From the back, her daughter's voice heavy and weary, "Love you, Mom."
CHAPTER TWO
Special Agent Marc Donner was met by a Jefferson County Sheriff 's Deputy at Denver International Airport. It occurred to Donner as he followed the deputy to the parking lot that he'd bounced through Denver countless times on his way to somewhere else but never actually left the airport. At least this was a first.
Foster was the deputy's name, a brawny young man, buzz cut hair and thick forearms. Probably polished his service weapon more than he needed to. He steered the cruiser, a Ford Interceptor SUV, out through the crisscrossing lanes, away from the terminal, and onto a wide road with nothing but stretches of dry eternity on either side. Then, suddenly, a towering dark horse, rearing toward the sky, its eyes blazing red. Like the devil's own steed bucking against its rider.
"What the hell is that?" Donner asked, pointing at the sculpture as they passed.
"Blucifer," Foster said. "Blue Mustang, to give it its proper name. You remember that Osmonds song? Crazy Horses, waaah, waaah!" He splayed out his fingers as he wailed, wobbling his jaw, then gave a bellowing laugh. "You know, the guy who made that thing? It fucking killed him. I shit you not."
Donner looked back over his shoulder at the sculpture. "No kidding. How?"
"Damn thing fell on him. Killed him dead."
"Jesus," Donner said.
The road straightened, more wilderness spreading out on either side of the road. Flat as a plate and rough as sand. The suggestion of buildings on the horizon, settlements, industry, life in the far distance. So much space made Donner's skin crawl. The isolation of it. He was used to walls, high and tall, all around. The sky a punctuation between buildings, not this great blue blanket that hung over all creation. Nature was for parks and playgrounds, not growing wild and free in places like this. He pulled his coat tight around him.
The deputy cleared his throat.
"You're here to look at the body, right?"
"Yeah," Donner said.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why's a fed want to look at this particular corpse?"
Donner fussed at his shirt collar. "I don't know, maybe it's relevant to my interests, something like that."
Foster stared at him, hard, then looked back to the road. "It's a serial, right?"
Donner didn't answer.
"Right?"
Donner raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture. "I don't know. Could be."
"Holy shit," the deputy said, rubbing his fingers across his smiling mouth. "A fucking serial killer. Goddamn."
"Maybe," Donner said. "Probably not. Probably just some random shit that went down, some poor bastard got his throat cut for no good reason, but I gotta look at it. I gotta see."
"Holy shit," Foster said again. "So, it's just you? I thought maybe they'd send down a whole team for something like this. Like forensics and psychologists, all that. Like Jodie Foster in her brown suit and flat shoes and shit."
"No, just me," Donner said. "I gotta look at it first, try to figure out what it is. Then, maybe after, we send for Jodie Foster. Her and Hannibal Lecter tied to a hand truck."
Foster laughed.
"Tell you what," he said. "You need anything while you're here? You need a ride someplace, or some local intelligence, whatever. Just call. Night or day. I'll see you right."
Donner nudged his shoulder. "Thanks, man."
He was good at that. Making friends.
Avista Adventist Hospital stood on the hinterland of housing developments and strip malls between the city of Boulder and the town of Superior, a squat complex of buildings covering acres of ground. Trees and shrubbery lined every path throughout, graying drifts of old snow piled at the edges.
...
