Detective Kerrigan Saints rubbed the sides of her temples with her hands as her workstation booted up. The 52nd precinct was always loud. Phones going off, perps getting walked in or out of jail, and then there was the construction… The mayor had decided to make renovations a part of his re-election campaign promises during a close race for office. Now, three years later, he was actually following through. So, Saints got to add the fun sounds of large machinery doing whatever-the-fuck during her morning routine. Sounds that were now doing wonders for the headache she’d woken up with. Wonders armed with angry cymbals.

Sergeant Jeffords dropped a folder on her desk just as she finished swallowing the headache meds she kept in her desk drawer. "Good job on that Browns’ case. Pity it didn’t keep you long, but a thief is a thief I guess… Still need your paperwork finished up though."

"First item of the day, Sergeant." She promised with false vigor, unable to look up without completely compromising her ‘enthusiasm’ for the pencil pushing ahead of her this morning. The Browns’ case had been your standard ‘My parents didn’t give me everything so I stole all their shit’ spoiled brat. The funny part of it, to her at least, had been when she discovered about five minutes in that he somehow hadn’t realized his parents had installed a door camera since the last time he pulled the same trick. Hardest part of ‘solving it’ had been tracking him down.

Criminals were dumb sometimes. Some of her colleagues, understandably, didn’t mind. But she hadn’t gone through years of training to catch the easy ones, even if they did make her job easy. The problem with criminals like the Browns’ son was simple. Arresting him was pointless. She’d bet every dollar in lockup right now that his parents were going to forgive him… again. They’d drop the charges sometime right before the actual trial, unless Saints missed her guess. Conveniently, no doubt, right after she’d filed all this useless paperwork.

“Actually, I’ve got something better for you to start with. The 53rd is overworked and they’re requesting we send someone over to handle a murder up in the new pass. Right up where they’re building that new highway.” Jeffords handed her a department notepad with the address jotted down.

Saints’ mouth twitched at the corners. “The 53rd? Overworked? After those stoners passed the new drug laws?” She’d watched the voting with amused interest, as had most of the non-hardliner cops on the force in Colorado City. Potheads hurt nobody, generally, so the only people who cared about locking them up these days were politicians and the old guard officers. The 53rd’s captain happened to be one of them, even if all he nailed them on was an ounce over the legal carrying limit. “Color me surprised.” She drawled as she took the notepad and peered at it. Jeffords snorted in response.

“Yeah, well… It’s still our duty to help, so take a car and get moving. Solve this for them quick and I’ll put in a good word. Maybe get you off the captain’s bad side.” Saints winced at that, but nodded. A good word from Sergeant Jeffords could help after the cluster of crap her last murder case had been. The drive over would probably help her headache, too. Seeing she got the message… Jeffords left. She stood up as he did, grabbed her gear and gun, and walked out of the precinct. Minutes later Saints was speeding down the highway towards the mountains.

A pale-faced patrolman was the first to greet her as she arrived. He looked… sick. Like a man who had just tossed his lunch and wasn’t entirely sure breakfast was far behind. The man even had some dribble still on his uniform, right on the nametag. “You alright, man?” She asked cautiously as she stepped out and shut the door. The 53rd handled mostly small time thefts and petty drug dealers these days... but they were still cops. Movies be damned, cops don’t toss up food like that at murder scenes. Not after their first grisly one, anyway. Maybe this was his.

“Y-yeah. You the detective?” Saints nodded, looking him over. His shoes were covered in mud and yellow chunks. Cornflakes? “Good… Good. I’m uh… gonna go report in, then. I’m not cut out for this wackjob cult-killer bullshit.” And with that, the patrolman - whose nametag had been covered by the dirt on his uniform - jumped in his car. Saints shook her head, more out of commiserating pity for the man than anything. She’d have to speak with him, get a statement later, but she didn’t stop him now. Everyone had been there before and if the crime scene ahead really was that bad, even his buddies wouldn’t blame him. First time was always a free pass.

As he rounded the bend, the evidence crew started to arrive. Time for her to get to business, then. Saints pulled her necklace badge out for display, greeted the crew, then headed up the hill with them. When they got to the top a few witnesses in brown uniforms were being interviewed by a slightly older cop whose lunch had apparently stayed down. She didn’t recognize him either, but that was hardly surprising. She gave him a questioning look and he pointed his pen further up without interrupting the witness. Once she crested the hill… no further directions were needed. And it became immediately obvious as to why greenhorn cop had been so eager to leave.

The hillside was fucked. A bullet-ridden trailer rested on blown out wheels next to a gravel lot. Two white ‘Redemption Road’ company trucks sat beside it with the R&R symbol prominently displayed. The tires of both were shot out. Those weren’t too out of the norm for a murder scene. What was however, was about 20 feet in front of the trailer. A smoking black mess of melted rock and mud lay there in the sun. In the center was an adult-sized mass of melted human flesh complete with protruding skeleton. A headless skeleton. The corpse’s skull was about a foot away from the body, face down in the mud and impaled by thin, smoking metal.

Beyond that horror show, just a short way up the dirt road, an avalanche of rocks had crashed over most of the north side of base camp. Upended, smashed machinery could be seen poking out amongst the rubble.

“Mother of God.” Saints breathed, surveying the scene. As she did, a tall, corporate-looking man in a tan suit with the R&R company logo walked over, his expression a practiced neutral. She turned towards him as he got closer. “Detective Saints. Colorado Springs PD. Are you the site foreman?” she asked, falling in to her interrogation tone as she did.

“No, he was… caught in the rocks, we think.” The man replied gently, gesturing with one hand in the direction of the avalanche. “We’re not sure. Waiting on the rescue team to say for certain. They should be here any minute. Waiting on them before we reach out to family.”

“Volunteers or city?” she asked, pulling a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket.

“Neither, we have our own teams. They’re trained for just this sort of thing.” The man peered at her badge for a moment, curiously. “I hope that’s alright, detective? The city said it would be at least a few hours before anyone could respond. Said they’re busy responding to lost hikers at the incline.”

Saints groaned internally. The captain wouldn’t appreciate her authorizing a break in protocol, but if lives were on the line then there was no choice. “That’s fine, just tell them not to disturb the scene. This whole area, really.” She gestured with both hands at the space containing the trailer, the smoking black mess, and the parking lot. “And if they see anything unusual while on the search, I want to be notified of it immediately.”

“Of course. One moment, detective.” He said, then lifted his wristwatch and tapped it a few times. “We’ve been authorized to proceed. Keep away from the trailer and report anything out of the ordinary to the on-site officer immediately.”

“Understood, coming in now.” came the voice on the other side of the call. As if on cue, a helicopter came into view in the distance, headed for where the avalanche had started. Saints was impressed. Apparently R&R took company safety more seriously than she’d thought. Or someone higher up was aware of the pending PR disaster. Still, they were here. Gift horses and mouths and all that.

Saints turned back to the man, hoping to get some clues out of him while she waited on evidence to work their magic. To their credit, the crew that’d shown up right behind her was already busy setting up. Interviewing gave her something else to focus on besides the stench of death rising off the body, so that was nice. “Alright. Let's start with your name. Who are you and what do you know about what happened here?”

"Leonard. Leonard Black." He replied curtly. "I'm Redemption Road's project manager for this highway… as well as other projects in the area"

"Were you here when… any of this happened, Mr. Black?" She asked, mentally noting how calm the man seemed despite the situation. Cool as a cucumber in front of a cooling, melted corpse. Didn’t appear to be Mr. Black’s first brush with death today, then.

"No. I was called by our site supervisor when demolition reported the unforeseen, and unfortunate, effects of the blast." He responded smoothly. Saints raised an eyebrow and glanced at the rocks piled up down the mountain. Unforeseen and unfortunate indeed. Hell of an understatement. A political guy, then. Hoping to do damage control already, no doubt.

"Uh...huh." she said, unimpressed by the distancing play Mr. Black was attempting. "And did your site guy have anything to say about the trailer, the spent rounds, or the corpse over there? Let me guess, unforeseen and unfortunate?"

Mr. Black’s lips pursed in distaste. His eyes narrowed slightly at the edges, but the annoyance was gone from his face almost as soon as it appeared. "I am told my people were attacked by some sort of raving lunatic armed to the teeth. According to my foreman, it is also possible he may have been responsible for the unfor— regrettable incident caused by the blast. He fled the scene with his co-conspirator shortly afterward."

That got her attention. "Fled the scene? When? In what?" she asked, wondering why nobody had mentioned this crucial bit of information earlier.

Mr. Black pointed to a spot in the parking lot where rocks had been turned up into several small holes. “They stole one of our trucks to escape. Slashed or shot the tires from the rest.”

“GPS?” she asked, her mind racing ahead to review vehicles she had seen on the way up. There had been several white trucks, but given the area, that hadn’t exactly been suspicious. Had she passed right by the ones who’d done this?

“Of course. Though without knowing which truck it was, I can’t tell you where it is. We have about twenty in the area. The checkout logs that could tell you, however, are inside the trailer.” Mr. Black nodded his head towards the bullet-soaked portable building.

Saints stared at the man in disbelief at that. Then she put her pen away and put a hand on her gun. “Has anyone cleared the building?”

“The first responders did, yes.” Saints relaxed the grip on her gun, but her temper was still bubbling up. She started to jog towards the trailer. “Wait here, I’ll go get them. Then you and I’ll see if we can’t find that truck.” With that, she left the man behind, passing the smoking corpse as she went.

The interior of the trailer was all bullets and brown, tasteless office furniture. Most of it upended in the middle of the room, angled towards the door. Long score marks trailed from one corner of the room to where a metal filing cabinet lay on its side, filled to the brim with paperwork. Strange, but not her immediate concern. Moving quickly, she found the checkout log near the upturned desk - right next to a bloody section of cheap carpeting. “Why the hell didn’t you start with this?” she muttered under her breath as she grabbed it. “Fuckers could be halfway to hell by now.”