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about who else was there?”
    â€œNo, but we do know someone else was at that campsite. We matched Howie Abbott’s fingerprints to some of those on the beer cans that were in the trash bag, but we found other prints that don’t match his. Neither Howie nor his friend reserved or paid for the campsite, though, so we don’t know yet who was drinking with him.”
    â€œCould you match the prints to the CBI database?” Mandy knew the Automated Fingerprint Identification System maintained by the Colorado Bureau of Investigation wasn’t complete by any means, but sometimes they got lucky.
    â€œNot yet,” Quintana answered. “But we haven’t finished pulling all of the prints off all the evidence. And, it takes time to do the comparison analysis.”
    â€œWhat about campers at other campsites?”
    â€œSteve only found one reservation for last weekend at Vallie Bridge.” Quintana peered at her. “You guys need to police your campgrounds better.”
    Mandy rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. We know we’re losing revenue like crazy, but it takes money to make money. Right now we can’t afford to pay for extra ranger shifts to do campground checks. And the word is getting out that campers can get away with not paying.”
    â€œI sympathize. We’ve got the same problem with parking violations in Salida. Anyway, I assigned a patrol officer to interview the family who made that one reservation. Hopefully they saw something—or someone.”
    â€œSo, nothing yet.” Mandy sighed and stood. She tapped the photo of the missing girl that she held. “I’m going in to do the paperwork on the body discovery. I’ll copy and post this photo while I’m at headquarters. We’ve also got some big meeting this afternoon about the fly-fishing tournament next week. You involved in any way?”
    Quintana shook his head. “Too busy trying to catch a killer to catch flies—or fish, for that matter.” He stood. “Thanks for the tip about Newt Nowak. We’ll keep in touch. You going to see Cynthia soon?”
    â€œTonight.”
    â€œPlease give her my condolences about her uncle.”
    While Mandy walked back to her car, she rehearsed what she could say to Cynthia about her uncle’s death, but everything came out lame. Even though Mandy had been to hell and back after her own beloved uncle’s death and could relate, Cynthia had never mentioned her uncle and how close she was to him. So, Mandy had no idea how upset her friend might be upon hearing about his death—by the hand of a hatchet and pepper-spray wielding assailant.
    What a way to go! An involuntary shudder shook Mandy’s spine.
    _____
    Mandy slipped through the conference room doorway at the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area headquarters building a few minutes after two. Juggling a much-needed mug of coffee and a notepad and pen, she searched for an empty chair. All the chairs around the long oval table were taken, as were most along the two side walls and the back wall in the crowded room. Spotting an open seat along the far wall under the window, she shuffled sideways past knees and conference table chair backs, nodding to familiar faces, until she could plop her butt in the empty chair.
    A fireman she’d gone through whitewater rescue training with that spring winked at her. “Welcome to the sardine can.”
    â€œLet’s just hope it doesn’t start to smell like one,” Mandy replied.
    She took a sip of her coffee and wished she’d thought to make it an iced coffee. With all these bodies, the room would heat up soon. The room was crammed with rangers, firemen, ambulance crew, sheriff’s deputies, and anyone else involved with emergency rescue situations in the Arkansas River Valley who wasn’t currently out on assignment.
    Mandy spotted Steve Hadley standing at the front of the room. He was chatting with the