Avalanche Page 5

  "Clues?" Dr Stuart asked, looking from Blair to Tom.

  "Oh, ah...seeing if anyone else is missing. You know, day visitors that might have been here for the night skiing."

  "You know, I've been wondering about that. If the ridge was to be blasted the next morning, who authorized the night skiing?" Blair asked, positioning himself in the doorway. "Isn't that dangerous?"

  Tom nodded, glancing around. "Yeah, well. I'm checking in to that, as a matter of fact. Probably a simple case of miscommunication."

  "Simple?" Dr. Stuart asked, raising her eyebrows dramatically. "Tom, two people died in that slide. And two more nearly did."

  "Believe me, doctor, I know. Listen, I have to get back...find a ride to the slopes and see what's what." He quickly left, hurrying down the hallway to the stairs and out of view.

  "Who determines the safety for night skiing, anyway?" Blair asked, watching him go.

  "Well, normally the senior ski patrolman. But he's been gone now for several weeks, there was a death in the family. Tom's next in line, but he's only been on this resort for a few weeks. I guess he wasn't as familiar with the slopes here as they thought." She sighed, shaking her head. "Someone else should have taken over. And you should be in bed. Off with you." She motioned for Blair to shut the door. "Straight to bed, off that leg. And take those pills like a good boy."

  Blair rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. He waited until she walked away before shutting the door. Once indoors, the crutches had proved rather easy to maneuver, so Blair made his way to the writing table at the far end of the room and sat down. There was another chair next to the table and he used that to prop his injured leg on, easing his foot up slowly. The leg throbbed mightily, but as long as he moved slowly, and didn't jar it, the pain was manageable. After situating himself Blair took a better look at the papers Tom was trying to slip under the door. They were hotel records, check in dates, times and names from the beginning of the week, up until the night of the avalanche. He scanned them, going down the list. There was Benchly, checked in Tuesday morning, just three hours before he and Jim had arrived. Mr and Mrs Evans, listed as being in the honeymoon suite, just as Blair had guessed. Mr and Mrs Kelly, arrival on Monday afternoon. They were scheduled to check out that morning, but would be staying just like the rest of them now that the roads were blocked.

  He continued down the list. There were a few other names, people who had checked in either Monday or Tuesday, with the intention of staying one night. Then he found who he was looking for. Mr. and Mrs. Smyth, and two adjoining rooms, each occupied by another Mr. Smyth. The mobster from the dining room. Smyth, how original. He looked up from the papers, glancing out the window to the snow that was falling continuously outside. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. Something about the snow, the avalanche. But he couldn't put his finger on it. Just then there was a knock on the door.

  "Who is it?" Blair called out, not wanting to get up if he didn't have to.

  There was no reply, just another knock, louder than the first.

  Blair picked up the crutches from the floor, eased his leg off the chair and slowly made his way to the door. "Jim, if that's you..." He opened the door.

  "Good afternoon." Mr Smyth said, "I was wondering if I could have a word with you?"

  ******

  "Detective, we really should head back down now. This storm is getting worse." Eddie had to shout to be heard above the wind that was beginning to howl down the mountain.

  Jim looked around one last time. The snow had covered everything. Even the trees that fell during the avalanche were now buried under several feet of fresh snow fall. They had been up there for five hours, searching for...for what?

  "Okay." He followed Eddie to the snowmobile they had shared and climbed on behind the ski patrolman. Glancing behind him for one last look around, he had to squint against the now horizontally falling snow.

  On the ride back down to the lodge, Jim mentally reviewed what he had learned so far, which he had to admit to himself wasn't much. He had found no body, no other evidence of someone else on that slope. There were no tracks other than those made by the ski rescuers who went up the day before and found Mr. Benchly. And the snow had been falling so steadily, even his Sentinel sight couldn't pick up anything. He was going to have to start questioning the guests at the lodge. But how to do that without tipping his hand, he wasn't sure yet. If there was even a hand to tip. He had a murder, a weapon....but no motive, no murderer, nothing. And worst of all, no crime lab or database from which to start. All he had, was a vaguely familiar dead man, a high-powered murder weapon, and a nearly frozen partner.

  "If I were you I'd get into the lodge and stay there, this storm is nearing a white-out!"

  Eddie was shouting above the engine as he pulled up in front of the garage. "If this keeps up, whatever you were looking for up there is going to stay buried until spring!"

  "I'm going to the aid station first, check up on my friend." Jim replied. They were inside the garage now and Eddie shut the motor off. Jim glanced around out of habit, noting the other two snowmobiles parked there. "Could one of these make it over the slide covering the roads?"

  Eddie looked up as he dismounted, "Maybe, depends on the conditions of the snow. But that's irrelevant now."

  "Why's that?"

  "That one is out of gas." Eddie pointed to the one Jim and Tom Hanks had used the night of the slide. "And that one, blew a head gasket this morning."

  "What about yours? There's gas pumps here."

  Eddie shook his head, "They freeze up sometimes. The pumps aren't working right now. That's why Tom couldn't join us up there. His ran out of fuel last night."

  Jim nodded then left, pulling his jacket tightly around his neck against the bitterly cold wind as he ran across the parking lot to the aid station. As he opened the door to hurry in he nearly knocked over Dr. Stuart, making her way out.

  "Doc, I'm sorry, didn't see you."

  "That's okay, Mr. Ellison. I was just on my way over to the lodge. Your friend isn't here, by the way. He's over there, in your room."

  Jim motioned for her to come out and shut the door. Together they made their way across the road to the lodge, entering as quickly as they could to escape the storm. "You said Blair's here? Is he okay now?"

  She shook off the snow that had accumulated on her head and shoulders even in that brief moment outdoors and shrugged out of her coat. "Yes and no." she replied. "There's no sign of congestion as of yet. And his leg is doing well."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, I would have kept him in the aid station, where we could keep a closer eye on him. But, he was insistent."

  "Yeah, he gets that way sometimes."

  "So, we struck a deal." They finished shrugging off the snow and proceeded into the lodge, pausing beside the large fire to warm cold hands. "He stays off his leg, and takes his pills, and I let him get out of there and come over here." She rubbed her hands together rapidly. "Really, it's for the better. After what he's been through, staying in that room was doing him no good at all. And I can still keep an eye on him."

  "You're going to have to do more than that." Jim replied. At her raised eyebrows he elaborated. "Blair's got this thing about what he calls 'artificial medicine'."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning, he has most likely dumped every pill you gave him down the drain and is looking for some fungus or something to take instead."

  "Ah, Mr. Sandburg prefers a more homeopathic approach to medicine?"

  Jim shrugged, making a face. "Mr. Sandburg prefers his own brand of reality."

  Dr Stuart smiled, "You know, natural remedies and herbs can't be discounted just because you don't understand or like them. All of today's medicinal practices are based on original, tribal cures. We Westerners are the only society that has taken all tradition and religion out of our medicine and separated the two."

  Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised you two haven't been discussing this all day."

 
"He's been in bed all day. I was just on my way up to check in on him. Care to join me?"

  "This I wouldn't miss." Jim indicated for her to proceeded him up the stairs. In bed all day, and taking his pills. This I have got to see.

  As he unlocked the door to their room, Jim noticed a strong smell of aftershave lingering just at the entrance. He recognized the smell, one of the guests? But which one? Suddenly concerned he opened the door quickly and rushed inside, startling Blair who was hopping from the desk to the couch.

  "Just what do you think you're doing?"

  "Jim?!"

  "Blair?"

  The three of them spoke at once. Blair had stopped mid hop and was now reaching out for the back of the couch for balance. Jim noticed both crutches laying discarded on the floor beside the table, where papers were strewn about. Dr. Stuart was standing, hands on hips, staring from Jim to Blair.

  "Hey, doc." Blair said grinning sheepishly.

  Jim quickly glanced around the room, looking for the source of the aftershave that was even stronger inside.

  "I thought I told you straight to bed?" Dr. Stuart stormed across the room to retrieve the crutches from the floor. "And off that leg?"

  "Oh, well...I was just..." Blair turned carefully, glancing at Jim for support.

  "Told you." Jim replied to Dr Stuart, smiling.

  "And I suppose you haven't been taking the antibiotics?"

  Blair just shrugged, looking around the room as if in search of a friendly face.

  "Don't even start with the mushrooms and wild roots, Chief." Jim interjected. "Just sit down before she hauls your ass back across the street."

  Blair obliged quickly, using the crutches that were tossed to him to make his way around the couch and sit down. "Jim, we have got to talk."

  "Later. Right now, I think the doc wants a few words with you. And I need a hot shower." He turned away then, hiding the smile on his face from the silent 'don't leave me with her' plea in Blair's eyes.

  Part 6

  * * *

  He found a change of clothes, and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Even with the water running, Jim could hear Dr. Stuart's raised voice, chiding his friend for not following orders. He stood under the running water for a long time, letting the steam work tired muscles lose. The smell of aftershave was nagging at the back of his mind. Obviously someone in the lodge the other night had been wearing it, but there were always so many smells in a group like that, he did his best to filter them out whenever possible. He closed his eyes, willing his sense of smell to fall into the background, and replaced it with his visual memory. He could see each face from that night, sitting in the lounge just before the avalanche. The mobster, I have got to find a name for him, his girlfriend, the other man with them. Then there was Mrs Kelly, and Mr Evans. They were there, sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Well, that was normal, they didn't know each other. Then Mr Benchly's face flashed across his mind's eye. Only there was something wrong with the vision. He heard the door slam shut from the living room and turned off the water.

  "Blair?!"

  "Yeah?"

  "What was that?"

  "Just Dr Stuart, leaving." Blair called back. "Jim, we need to talk."

  "In a minute, Sandburg. Let me get dressed." Jim was toweling off, gazing at his reflection through the steam on the mirror. He hadn't shaved in two days and was beginning to look a little scruffy, so he set about rectifying the situation. Once cleaned up, and dressed, he joined Blair in the living room.

  "What happened to the crutches?" Jim noticed their absence as he entered the room.

  "She took them." Blair replied dejectedly. "Something about, what's best for me."

  Jim laughed. "And the pills? You tossed them didn't you?"

  "No, I didn't toss them. Jim, do you realize that at the base of the evergreens here there's a mushroom...."

  Jim held up a hand, "Don't even start with me, Sandburg. You can either take the pills, or I can give them to you." He paused, looking around for the bottle. "If Lash could do it, I think I can." The sudden look of panic that crossed Blair's expressive face made Jim instantly regret that reference. "Hey, I'm sorry." he said, meaning it. Blair just looked at the floor. "Is it that vivid?"

  He nodded slowly, swallowing. "Like it happened yesterday."

  Jim paused, watching his friend. "You had a rough night. The doctor said delirium is like a drug, sometimes you flash back." Blair was still nodding, looking anywhere but at Jim. "It will pass, okay? It's just a memory. Memories can't hurt us, remember?" Blair looked up then and Jim held his gaze. "Now, what is it we needed to talk about?"

  Blair perked up right away, "I had an interesting talk with our mobster this afternoon."

  "What?"

  "Yeah, his name is Smyth, and at first I thought that was a little too obvious, but it's true. That Hanks guy brought you the records from the front desk. They're over there." Blair tried to get up but Jim put out a restraining hand.

  "I'll get them. When did he bring these by?"

  "This morning. I thought he was up on the slope with you, but he was standing outside the door when I came up."

  Jim picked up the sheets that were strewn about the writing table and returned to the easy chair beside the couch. "Did he come inside?"

  "No, why?"

  "Never mind. So this Mr Smyth, I suppose you played Detective?"

  "Well, sort of. He came up to see how I was doing." Blair replied. Jim was scanning the papers while he spoke. "Jim, that night vision scope he had...he makes those things. He's not a mobster after all."

  Jim looked up then, smiling at the disappointment in Blair's voice. "Oh?"

  "No, he's in the, as he put it, 'gadget business'. This guy manufactures and sells high tech equipment for just about anyone. You know, the kind of toys you can buy at say, Sharper Image, or the Spy Shop. He's loaded, man. This guy sells to just about everyone, including Cascade P.D."

  "Is that right? What about his friends? There's still one missing."

  Blair shook his head, "Not friends. His sons. He's married to that VERY young woman, and his two sons follow him everywhere. Probably waiting for him to drop dead or something so they can pounce on the family fortune. Anyway, one of them has the flu. He's been in the room down the hall since lunch that day. I mean, I didn't go check or anything, but I believe this guy."

  "Oh you do?"

  "Yeah, I do. Jim, he was just checking out the slope with that night site of his to try it out. It was just a coincidence. That's why he came up. He said watching that avalanche really freaked him out, and he just wanted to talk about it. And his wife, well she just met Benchly in the bar to talk business. She's Smyth's manager, believe it or not. I guess she figure Benchly for an accountant or something. Go figure."

  Jim was nodding, taking it all in. He figured a real mob boss up there in the snow was too convenient. And having found no trace of a body anywhere near where Eddie said he found the rifle was beginning to worry him. If the killer did survive the avalanche, then he was still there at the lodge, with them. "This still doesn't tell me who Benchly was, that someone would want him dead."

  "I've been thinking about that, too."

  Jim could see him getting excited again, like he did when he was ready to put Jim through some new Sentinel trial. He replied by simply raising his eyebrows.

  "You said he seemed familiar to you, right? Benchly, I mean."

  "Yeah...as a matter of fact, that's been bugging me." Jim admitted, thinking about the flash of memory he had in the shower.

  "Okay, so maybe you do know who he is. And if so, then you might also know why he would be the target of a murderer."

  Jim shook his head, "I've tried. I can't recall this guy other than seeing him on the couch down there by the fire."

  Blair moved around on the couch, trying to sit facing Jim instead of sideways with his leg up. "Okay, we're going to have to filter all that out. Just sit back, close your eyes, and picture his face."

&n
bsp; Jim reluctantly obliged, not understanding how that was going to help. "Okay. I've got his face. Now what?"

  "Now, just filter the rest out. Concentrate on his face only. Filter out the fireplace, the lodge, everything. Okay?"

  Jim nodded. He was concentrating on Benchly's face. Slowly the background images began to blur and fade away. "Okay. I've got it, now what?"

  "Now, try to pull back visually. See if there's anything around him now, anything other than the lodge. See where he is now."

  Jim let his mind's eye follow Blair's voice, pulling back slowly away from Benchly's face. Nothing happened at first. Then, almost imperceptibly, he saw the background change from a blurred image of the fire to something much more recognizable.

  "That's it!"

  "What? What's it Jim? Did it work?"

  Jim sat up, "A courtroom. I remember now. It's been a few years, but he was a Federal witness to a money laundering scam. That's where I remember him. I was part of the team keeping him in hiding until the trial. He's lost a lot of weight." Jim paused, remembering. "He should have disappeared years ago, into the witness protection program. His name was Cummins then, I think."

  "So, what was he doing here?"

  Jim stood then, pacing around the room, trying to fit this information into what little he knew. "Okay, so he went from Cummins to Benchly. And he should have disappeared three years ago."

  "What happens when someone changes identity like that? Don't they go to some completely opposite side of the country and start a new life or something?"

  Jim nodded, still pacing. "Yes, they do. Unless..."

  Blair had to turn around on the couch a few times to follow Jim's pacing. "Unless what?"

  "There's always one contact, a Federal Agent in charge of the case that the witness can contact. If something goes wrong, or they get found out. That has to be it." Jim stopped pacing and sat on the arm of the couch. "He must have been here to contact the agent in charge of his case. Maybe for another relocation."

  "That would mean...?"

  "That means someone did find him. A hit man, most likely. And got him before he made contact with the agent."