Page 14 of Not This Night

"Got them," she muttered, her eyes not leaving the screen as she sent the images to their secure server. A breeze kicked up, sending grains of sand swirling around her boots. She squinted against the glare of the sun, her gaze traveling beyond the edge of the cliff.

There it was—a subtle inconsistency in the rocky façade. Her pulse quickened. "Ethan," she called out, her voice sharp with excitement. "To your left. There's a path."

"Where?" His voice carried a note of skepticism, but he moved as directed, his own eyes searching.

"Keep going." She tracked his progress, her hand shielding her eyes from the harsh desert sun. "Just past that bulge in the rock."

"Got it." Ethan's figure grew smaller as he edged along the narrow ledge, his movements cautious but deliberate.

"Be careful," Rachel added, her concern for her partner momentarily overriding her focus on the mission. He was more than a colleague; he was the closest thing she had to family in this desolate expanse.

Ethan's boots crunched on loose gravel as he inched around the bulge, the ledge underfoot threatening to crumble. His breaths came short, sharp. The world tilted vertiginously. Then he saw what she’d spotted from above. She could tell by the way he tensed, his body rigid. A still form sprawled below, oddly twisted, disturbingly silent.

"Rachel?" He didn't turn his head, eyes fixed on the grim tableau. "Is that...?"

"Is it a body?" Her voice floated down, taut with urgency.

"Yeah." The word was a leaden weight on his tongue. "It's a body."

CHAPTER SIX

Having descended again to join Ethan on the ledge with the body, Rachel edged forward, boots scraping the rocky surface. Eyes sharp, she surveyed the grim tableau. The crime scene was narrow, treacherous. One of the victim’s legs dangled over the edge towards the steep fall thirty feet below.

Ethan stood on the other side of the corpse where he’d navigated to while Rachel had descended to join him.

Ethan mirrored her caution, his hand skimming the rough wall for balance.

"Watch your step," she murmured, voice low against the howl of the wind.

Every crunch of sandstone underfoot felt like a shout in the silence. Thirty feet might as well have been a mile. The drop loomed, unforgiving.

"Over there," Rachel's finger jabbed towards the ground, where specks of color clashed with the dirt. Ethan frowned, bending over, his hand trailing along the wall.

She couldn’t help but notice the small trail of pebbles knocked loose by his movements.

She winced as he bent to acknowledge the small shards of turquoise she’d spotted.

Rachel crouched, her hand hovering above the earth, inches from a crudely fashioned pattern in the dust, near the victim’s head.

"Look here." Rachel pointed to a pattern of stones arranged in a deliberate shape—a circle broken by lines, an amateur's attempt at symbolism.

There were other aspects that also pointed to familiarity with native burial rights. Ritual marks, etched in the woman’s skin—especially along the arms.

Superficial cuts…

She frowned at the severed tissue, the lines of red in the pale skin. She scowled, shaking her head. “Heather Sinclair was similar…”

She glanced down off the cliff towards the abandoned farmstead in the distance. "Why is someone posing white women as if they're Native?”

Ethan shifted where he stood, but then winced as he realized just how little ground remained between him and the edge.

“Her purse,” Ethan said suddenly, nodding.

Rachel hadn’t spotted the item from where she stood on the treacherously narrow ledge. The wider stone platform was behind her, the rocky bulge they’d navigated to find the body jutting out like a pregnant body blocking their egress.

“How did he bring her onto this ledge?” Rachel muttered, her back against the cold stone to keep herself from falling.

Ethan had gingerly moved forward, and now reached out, plucking the purse from where it had fallen under the woman’s left arm. He tugged gingerly, careful not to pull too hard lest he fall.

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