Page 6 of Dead Mountain

Findlay, meanwhile, handed a monkey suit to Corrie. She slipped into it, followed by booties, hood, and mask. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind,” she said, then climbed the ladder, the team following.

Lights had been set up inside the cave, hooked to a battery. The place was a mess. On one side a recent fire was now dead, soot smudging the ceiling. In a sandy area nearby were two exposed human skulls, with some loose bones scattered about. It appeared that someone—maybe the sheriff, maybe the frat boys—had partly dug them up. There was the sour smell of puke, and she located the offending puddles on the far side of the fire. Broken glass lay scattered about, along with cigarette butts, marijuana roaches, and some toilet paper. There were footprints everywhere, so numerous it would be impossible to separate which were the boys’ and which belonged to the sheriff, his deputy, and whoever else had been in the cave. To the rear a portion of the roof had fallen in, with a bunch of fresh rocks and debris scattered about, and to the right of that was a wall containing some prehistoric petroglyphs, with fresh gouges, dents, and scratches made by thrown rocks that littered the cave floor beneath.

“Can you believe those jackasses?” murmured Nate.

“Asinine,” said Corrie.

She turned her attention to the human remains. She could see right away, from the deep mahogany color of the bones, that they were old—almost certainly prehistoric. A piece of desiccated flesh clung to one cranial dome, a partial braid of hair attached to it: more evidence of antiquity.

An edge of fabric was just exposed in the sand. She gestured to Findlay. “Can you hand me a brush, please?”

With short, careful strokes, she exposed a woven fabric that, as she uncovered more, was clearly part of a prehistoric blanket. A little more brushing revealed that the backs of the two crania were ritually flattened: a dispositive indication that these were Ancestral Pueblo Indian burials. This was further supported by the ancient petroglyphs. She brushed some more and soon uncovered the rim of an ancient painted pot—freshly broken.

She looked at Nate. “Prehistoric.”

He nodded.

“So what we should do now,” she said, “is, since we’re here, we’ll collect evidence of vandalism to support local law enforcement—photos, documentation, samples of trash, footprints, whatever might be needed as evidence if they decide to prosecute.”

“Gotcha,” said Findlay.

She went back to the mouth of the cave, descended the ladder, and took off the monkey suit. She was glad to see the sheriff and his deputy had gone. This would be a good reason, she thought, to call up Sheriff Watts: say hello, inquire about Hawley.

She found Sharp looking at her. “It’s a prehistoric burial site,” she said.

She was surprised when the phlegmatic Sharp looked deflated—even disappointed. “Definitely prehistoric? No chance of it being more recent?”

“Not a chance. Those kids damaged ancient petroglyphs. And it looks like they may have even triggered a small cave-in with their shenanigans. I told the ERT to collect evidence in order to assist local law enforcement.” She hesitated. “I hope that was the right call.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“Bottom line,” Corrie concluded, “it doesn’t appear to be a case for the FBI.” She hesitated. “Thank you, though, for straightening things out with the sheriff.”

He gave her a long, appraising look. “When jurisdictional issues are unclear, the FBI’s in charge. Always.”

Corrie felt herself color. “Yes, sir.”

“You say it’s not our case. Probably right. But we’re here now, and our reputation is in play—and there’s the possible desecration of a Native American burial site to be considered. That has a tendency to turn into a hot-button issue.” He paused. “So, Agent Swanson—do you have a recommendation on how to proceed?”

“I think we should interview the two students. I’m not sure I trust the sheriff’s department to handle that properly.”

He inclined his head in agreement.

Corrie asked, “How far are we from Isleta Pueblo land?”

“Six, maybe eight miles to the north.”

“So they’d be the NAGPRA-designated tribal custodian of these remains?”

Sharp nodded.

“We should be in touch with them right away. And we also need to get a trained archaeologist out here to document the site and confirm for the record that the bones are prehistoric.”

Another nod.

“I have a recommendation along those lines. Dr. Nora Kelly, Chief of Archaeology, Santa Fe Archaeological Institute. I’ve worked with her before.”

A beat. “She sounds pretty high-powered for a small job like this.”

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