Page 17 of Dead Mountain

They had to get down on their hands and knees to reach a spot where Morrison had cleared more of the small cave-in. Wedged into the narrow passageway, the second body came into view—a body that, it appeared, had wriggled deeper into the cave, perhaps in hopes of finding better shelter. It too was dressed in outdoor clothing: a down jacket, snow pants, and boots—this time on both feet. It also wore a warm woolen hat. Corrie speculated that these two individuals had been able to make it farther from their tent because they were more warmly dressed. But why were they traveling north at all? Were they looking for something? Or escaping something? Why hadn’t they gone west, toward a lower altitude? The discovery only seemed to deepen the mystery.

Sharp played his light over the corpse’s face. The body was lying on its side, hands drawn up to its chest, knees flexed almost to a fetal position. It had a thick black beard and a mouth gaping wide as if screaming. Corrie knew that could be misleading—in death, the mandible often fell open and remained that way.

“That’s Gordy Wright,” said Sharp.

It was a tight spot to work, and Nora had to lie on her side, moving stones and brushing away sand and gravel near the head, while Stan Morrison worked at the far end. In half an hour the body was free.

“We’re going to have to slide it out,” said Nora. “It’s wedged in pretty tight.” She grasped the jacket and Stan a pant leg, and they carefully eased the corpse out of the slot. Corrie brought over another body bag, and the four of them put it in.

“Are there any more back there?” Corrie asked, almost hopefully.

“No,” said Nora. “It’s clear.”

Corrie glanced at Sharp. “I guess we still have a body missing.”

“I believe you’re right about that.”

“I’d also guess this means the FBI is back in the game.”

“I know you’re right about that.” And Corrie could detect a definite gleam of interest behind the sleepy eyelids of Agent Sharp.

11

CORRIE DECIDED TO ride with the body bags in the ERT van back to the Albuquerque FO. The FO’s forensic lab director had recently retired in disgrace, and the job was still open—which meant there was no one at the lab Corrie trusted to receive and process the two bodies. She’d do the job herself. Sharp had said he would join her later.

The ride out of the mountains was bumpy, jostling the cadavers, which occasionally emitted dry, crackling protests. Corrie hoped they weren’t falling apart. The cadavers were husks, as fragile as eggshells. When the van finally reached a paved road, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hours later, the ERT van pulled up at the rear entrance of the FO. The head ERT guy, Nate Findlay, came around to the back and flung the doors open. With his red beard and long hair, he looked more like a Viking marauder than an FBI crime scene technician.

“Sorry about the rough trip,” he said. “Stiffs make it okay?”

“They complained about riding in coach.”

He laughed. “Just tell us where to take ’em, Agent Swanson.”

“To the forensic lab,” she said, as she climbed out of the back and stood aside while the team rolled out the gurneys with the body bags, unfolded the wheels, and pushed them into the building. With Corrie following, the ERT guys cracked more corpse jokes as they trundled the gurneys along, wheels squeaking. There was a jocular, almost festive atmosphere among the team—this case was a big deal, and everyone knew it.

They came to the double doors leading into the lab vestibule, and Corrie unlocked them with her key card. The laboratory and surrounding area had been rebuilt after a fire four months earlier, transforming it from a shabby, rather outdated space into a state-of-the-art forensic lab, with an adjacent morgue, two operating rooms for autopsies, and a brand-new biological evidence storage area.

“Where do we park them, Agent Swanson?” asked Findlay.

“Can you take them directly to OR 1, please? Transfer them to the two empty gurneys under the lights. I’m going to start work on them right away.”

“Gotcha, ma’am.”

They wheeled them through and transferred each body bag onto a lab gurney. An evidence container holding items retrieved with the corpses was placed on an adjacent table.

“Anything else?” Findlay asked with a grin.

“I’ll take it from here. Thanks, guys.”

He bowed and they left, wheeling away their gurneys. The door shut and silence fell, leaving Corrie alone in the lab.

She exhaled, gazing at the two body bags, then glanced at the clock. Four PM. This was going to be a big job, and she’d better get started. She wished she had someone experienced to work with, but the lab director position hadn’t been filled yet. She could call on Nate if needed.

She laid out the steps to follow in her mind. The remains had to be treated with the utmost dignity and respect, of course—but at the same time, her objective was to extract every possible morsel of evidence from them. The two goals—evidence extraction and dignity—were at odds, since the cadavers would need to be stripped, autopsied, and cut to pieces, then have the organs removed, toxicology tests done, and much else besides. By the end of the process, very little would remain intact. On top of that, the extreme desiccation of the cadavers would make everything more difficult.

Corrie had a degree in forensic anthropology, but her expertise was in the analysis of bones. These were not bones, but fully intact, naturally mummified bodies, and they would be engaging a medical examiner to conduct the autopsies. The Albuquerque FO did not have one on staff, and that meant calling in the state’s Office of the Medical Investigator, located at the University of New Mexico. But before an OMI pathologist could be contacted, she had to do the preliminary examinations and then get the corpses legally identified.

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