Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

little optimism that they would find Maura alive. This was why she had not informed Daniel Brophy about their return to Wyoming. Even had she been able to penetrate the wall of seclusion that now cloaked him, she could offer him no hope of a different outcome, no possibility that this search would change the ultimate answer. If Maura had been in that Suburban, she was now almost certainly dead. And all they were here to do was find the body.
    The dogs and searchers began their hike down to the wreckage, pausing every few yards as the dogs sniffed the area, seeking the scent they’d now been primed to follow. Sansone moved down with them, but he stood apart, as though aware the team considered him an outsider. And no wonder they did. He was a man of few smiles, a dark and unapproachable figure to whom past tragedies seemed to cling like a cloak.
    “Is that guy another priest?”
    Jane turned to see Loftus standing beside her, scowling down at the invaders on his property. “No, he’s just a friend,” she said.
    “Deputy Martineau told me you came with a priest last time. And now this fella. Huh,” Loftus grunted. “Interesting friends she had.”
    “Maura was an interesting person.”
    “So I gather. But we all end up the same way.” He yanked down the brim of his hat, gave them a nod, and started back to his pickup truck, leaving Jane and Gabriel alone at the edge of the road.
    “He’s going to take it hard when they find her body,” said Gabriel, staring down at Sansone.
    “You think she’s down there.”
    “We have to be prepared for the inevitable.” He watched as Sansone moved steadily down the ravine. “He’s in love with her, isn’t he?”
    She gave a sad laugh. “You think?”
    “Whatever his reasons for being here, I’m glad he came. He’s made things a lot easier.”
    “Money usually does.” Sansone’s private jet had whisked them straight from Boston to Jackson Hole, sparing them the ordeal of scrambling for flight reservations, waiting in security lines, and filing the paperwork to pack their weapons. Yes, money did make things easier. But it doesn’t make you happier, she thought, looking down at Sansone, who appeared as somber as a mourner as he stood beside the wrecked Suburban.
    The searchers were now moving around the vehicle in ever-widening circles, clearly not picking up any scent. When at last Martineau and Fahey started hiking back up the trail, carrying the satchel with Maura’s belongings, Jane knew they’d given up.
    “They didn’t pick up anything?” Gabriel asked as the two men emerged onto the road, both breathing hard.
    “Not a whiff.” Martineau tossed the satchel into his vehicle and slammed the door.
    “You think too much time has gone by?” asked Jane. “Maybe her scent’s dissipated.”
    “One of those dogs is trained to find cadavers, and he’s not signaling anything, either. The handler thinks the real problem is the fire. The smell of gasoline and smoke is overwhelming their noses. And then there’s the heavy snowfall.” He looked down at the search team, which was starting to head up toward them. “If she’s down there, I don’t think we’re going to find her until spring.”
    “You’re giving up?” said Jane.
    “What else can we do? The dogs aren’t finding anything.”
    “So we just leave her body down there? Where scavengers can get it?”
    Fahey reacted to his dismay with a tired sigh. “Where do you suggest we start digging, ma’am? Point out the spot, and we’ll do it. But you have to accept the fact this is now a recovery, not a rescue. Even if she survived the crash, she wouldn’t have survived the exposure. Not after all this time.”
    Searchers clambered back onto the road, and Jane saw flushed faces, downcast expressions. The dogs seemed just as discouraged, tails no longer wagging.
    The last one up the trail was Sansone, and he looked the grimmest of all. “They didn’t give it enough time,” he said.
    “Even if the dogs did find her,” Fahey quietly pointed out, “it won’t change the outcome.”
    “But at least we’d know. We’d have a body to bury,” said Sansone.
    “I know it’s a hard thing to accept, that you don’t have closure. But out here, sir, that’s the way it sometimes is. Hunters have heart attacks. Hikers get lost. Small planes go down. Sometimes we don’t find the remains for months, even years. Mother Nature chooses when to give them up.” Fahey glanced up as snow began to fall