Page 14 of Dead Mountain

“In the file? Aren’t they on somebody’s desk?”

This time, Sharp’s smile was a little different. “Not anymore. They’re just sitting in cold case storage, waiting for more evidence to turn up.”

7

THE BLACK TAHOE carrying Corrie, Agent Sharp, Nora, and her assistant Stan eased around the now-ineffectual Forest Service berm and back onto the dirt road, drove down it a brief distance, then pulled off to the side. The snow from two nights ago had already started to melt, and the road was a muddy mess. Having shown her the route the day before, Sharp let Corrie drive today, apparently preferring to ride shotgun. That was unlike her previous mentor, Morwood. But maybe that had just been his style, and he’d preferred driving himself in that confiscated candy-apple-red pickup.

They all got out, Nora and her assistant removing their tools, backpacks, and equipment. Stan was an eager-beaver type, nerdy in a good way, clearly thrilled to be part of the team. Even though he’d recently completed graduate school, he looked about sixteen. Corrie reminded herself that she, too, looked young for her age, and this was something she had to push back against all the time.

She was disappointed to see a Torrance County sheriff’s vehicle also parked at the turnoff. She hoped it wouldn’t be Hawley at the cave.

Nora and Stan were soon kitted up, and the four of them began hiking down the slope along the muddy trail formed from the comings and goings of the past twenty-four hours. After a quarter of a mile the ravine came into view, followed by the cave and ladder. The yellow crime scene tape was still in place, and two Torrance County deputies were there: Baca and another man, seated on folding chairs outside the tape at the bottom of the ravine. The other guy was smoking.

They jumped up. “Hello, Agent Swanson,” Baca said. “Agent Sharp.”

“Thanks for watching the site.” Corrie introduced the two specialists. Since the site had now been forensically processed, there was no need to wear monkey suits. Corrie led the way up the ladder, Nora and Stan following with their gear.

“I think I’ll stay down here,” said Sharp. “Don’t want to crowd your work.”

Once in the cave, Nora made a beeline for the two exposed skulls. She and Stan began taking photographs and examining the area as Corrie watched. Nora was clearly excited. She leaned over and took several close-up photos of the exposed pot.

“What a tragedy,” she said.

“Was that pot broken by the vandals or already broken?” Corrie asked.

“This just happened, unfortunately. These broken edges are very fresh.” She stepped back. “This pot is rather interesting. Years ago, I led an expedition in Utah that uncovered a large cache of these micaceous pots. I believe they were at the heart of the myth of Quivira: the fabled lost city of gold. The Spanish conquistadors carried samples of gold to show the Indians, and they asked where more of it could be found. The Indians talked all about pots and plates made of gold—but they turned out to be not of gold, but this micaceous pottery. A distinction lost in translation, apparently.”

“That’s fascinating,” said Corrie. “I’d like to hear more about that expedition.”

At this, Nora’s face momentarily clouded. “That’s when I met my late husband, Bill. I’ll tell you the story sometime, although it might take a few drinks.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Corrie said. “Or not. Up to you.”

Nora turned her attention back to the two skulls and assorted scatterings of bones. She and Stan continued brushing away sand from the burial site and clearing the area. Then Nora took out a large drawing pad from her backpack and opened it up. Grabbing a pencil and tape measure, she began to map the site by hand, jotting down various distances on her sketch.

After a while, she glanced over at Corrie. “Let’s have a look at those petroglyphs,” she said, pointing to the back of the cave. Corrie followed while Morrison continued to work on the burials, humming to himself under his breath.

“What a shame,” Nora said, running her finger over the gouges and scratches. “I hope you throw the book at those assholes.”

“That’s up to the sheriff.”

Nora took a suite of photographs. “Is there anything farther back in the cave?” she asked. “I’d be surprised if there weren’t more burials back there.”

“Nobody’s been back there, as far as I know—at least not beyond where those rocks fell from the ceiling.”

“We’ll take a look in a moment.”

Corrie shone her light beyond the pile of fallen rocks and into the space behind. The cave was made of rough lava that had filled with sand on the bottom, but the roof was still fractured and riddled with cracks. Although the ceiling sloped down, the cave itself seemed to go back farther than she’d originally assumed. She could get a better view if she moved aside a couple of the fallen stones. She looked back at Nora, busy again with the petroglyphs, and Morrison, stabilizing the burials. With both hands she grasped a fallen rock and rolled it out of the way, then another, and then crouched, shining her light into the cavity she’d just exposed.

“Got another body back here,” she said to Nora.

Nora looked over sharply. “Just as I thought. Could you please back away? It’s vital that we don’t disturb any more prehistoric burials—the Isleta people will decide what to do with the remains.”

“I don’t think the Isleta people are going to care much about this particular body.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because the foot of this one’s rocking a North Face hiking boot.”

---