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really ramping up. From her work-study jobs at John Jay—and money left over from the wad Agent Pendergast had pressed on her a year back, when he’d sent her away to stay with her father during a bad time—she had saved up almost four thousand dollars. But at a hundred and nine dollars a night, plus meals, plus the ridiculous thirty-nine bucks a day she was paying for a Rent-a-Junker, she was going to burn through that pretty fast.
    In short, she had no time to waste.
    The problem was, in her eagerness to get her thesis approved, she had told a little lie. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a little lie. She had told Carbone and the faculty committee that she’d gotten permission to examine the remains: carte blanche access. The truth was, her several emails to the chief of the Roaring Fork Police Department, whom she determined had the power to grant her access, had gone unanswered, and her phone calls had not been returned. Not that anyone had been rude to her—it was just a sort of benign neglect.
    By marching into the police station herself the day before, she’d finally finagled an appointment with Chief Stanley Morris. Now she entered the building and approached the front desk. To her surprise it was manned, not by a burly cop, but by a girl who looked to be even younger than Corrie herself. She was quite pretty, with a creamy complexion, dark eyes, and shoulder-length blond hair.
    Corrie walked up to her, and the girl smiled.
    “Are you, uh, a policeman?” Corrie asked.
    The girl laughed and shook her head. “Not yet.”
    “What, then—the receptionist?”
    The girl shook her head again. “I’m interning at the station over the winter vacation. Today just happens to be my day to man the reception desk.” She paused. “I would like to get into law enforcement someday.”
    “That makes two of us. I’m a student at John Jay.”
    The girl’s eyes widened. “No kidding!”
    Corrie extended her hand. “Corrie Swanson.”
    The girl shook it. “Jenny Baker.”
    “I have an appointment with Chief Morris.”
    “Oh, yes.” Jenny consulted an appointment book. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”
    “Thanks.” This was a good beginning. Corrie tried to get her nervousness under control and not think about what would happen if the chief denied her access to the remains. At the very least, her thesis depended on it. And she had already spent a fortune getting here, nonrefundable airplane tickets and all.
    The door to the chief’s office was open, and as she entered the man rose from behind his desk and came around it, extending a hand. She was startled by his appearance: a small, rotund, cheerful-looking man with a beaming face, bald pate, and rumpled uniform. The office reflected the impression of informality, with its arrangement of old, comfortable leather furniture and a desk pleasantly disheveled with papers, books, and family photographs.
    The chief ushered her over to a little sitting area in one corner, where an elderly secretary brought in a tray with paper coffee cups, sugar, and cream. Corrie, who had arrived the day before yesterday and was still feeling a bit jet-lagged, helped herself, refraining from her usual four teaspoons of sugar only to see Chief Morris put no less than five into his own cup.
    “Well,” Morris said, leaning back, “sounds like you’ve got a very interesting project going here.”
    “Thank you,” Corrie said. “And thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”
    “I’ve always been fascinated with Roaring Fork’s past. The grizzly bear killings are part of local lore, at least for those of us who know the history. So few do these days.”
    “This research project presents an almost perfect opportunity,” Corrie said, launching into her carefully memorized talking points. “It’s a real chance to advance the science of forensic criminology.” She waxed enthusiastic as Chief Morris listened attentively, his chin resting pensively on one soft hand. Corrie