Page 15 of Silent Past

The Search and Rescue command post buzzed with activity. Team leaders huddled over maps while technicians checked radio equipment. Kelly and Mike stood off to the side, now properly outfitted in Search and Rescue gear, their earlier exhaustion hidden behind determined expressions.

"We're breaking into four teams," Marcus said, gesturing to the map. "Bishop and Ramirez will each lead a team through the sections they've already explored. The other two teams will work the known passages. Full radio contact, buddy system, no exceptions."

Finn stepped closer to examine the map. "What about these unmarked areas?"

"That's the problem," Kelly said. "The old surveys don't show everything. The spring floods changed the cave structure. There could be dozens of new passages."

"Or old ones that were previously blocked," Mike added. "The water level drops this time of year, opens up lower tunnels."

Sheila nodded, her mind racing. "How long will the sweep take?"

Marcus checked his watch. "With four teams? At least six hours for a preliminary search. More if we find anything that needs processing."

"Keep me updated," Sheila said. "I want to know about anything out of place—recent camp signs, equipment, anything that suggests our killer's been living down there."

As the teams geared up, Finn touched her arm. "We should head to Dr. Mitchell's place, see what we can learn about her work."

Sheila watched Kelly check her climbing harness, the young woman's hands steady despite what she'd been through. Something about her determination tugged at Sheila's memory—a similar drive she'd seen in Natalie, back when her sister was still alive.

"Sheriff?" Marcus called. "Teams are ready to move out."

Sheila pushed the memory aside. "Be careful down there," she told the assembled group. "Our killer's already shown they're willing to murder to protect whatever's in those caves. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

The teams moved out, their headlamps cutting through the morning fog. Sheila watched until they disappeared into the cave entrance, then turned to Finn. "Let's go see what Dr. Mitchell was hiding."

The drive to Mitchell's house took them through the university district, past coffee shops and bookstores catering to students. Fall leaves skittered across the sidewalks, and the mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks already dusted with early snow.

"You're worried about them," Finn said as they turned onto a quiet residential street.

"The spelunkers?" Sheila kept her eyes on the road. "They've been through enough already."

"That's not what I meant." Finn's voice was gentle. "Kelly Bishop. She reminds you of Natalie, doesn't she?"

Sheila's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Sometimes she forgot how well Finn could read her. "Same determination. Same need to prove herself." She paused. "Same disregard for personal safety."

"She's got backup this time," Finn reminded her. "The whole Search and Rescue team, Mike watching her back."

Sheila wanted to be reassured by this, but she wasn't. She kept thinking of the sight of Natalie's body on the floor of her cabin. Kelly Bishop wasn't her sister, but then again, death was death. And Sheila didn't want another one on her conscience.

She took a breath, trying to focus on the present. "Mitchell's house should be just ahead."

The anthropologist lived—had lived—in a modest craftsman-style home with a small front garden. Dead leaves cluttered the porch, suggesting no one had been here for days. A ruby-red SUV sat in the driveway.

"That's not Mitchell's car," Finn said, checking his notes. "She drove an Impala."

Sheila was already moving, her hand near her weapon as she approached the house. The front door stood slightly ajar, and voices drifted from inside.

She exchanged a look with Finn, who nodded and moved to cover the back. Sheila drew her weapon and approached the door.

"Sheriff's Department," she called out. "Anyone inside, make yourself known."

The voices stopped. Footsteps creaked across old hardwood floors.

A woman appeared in the doorway, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a tailored blazer and carried herself with academic authority. "I'm Dr. Elena Martinez, head of the Indigenous Studies program at Arizona State. Tracy Mitchell was my colleague." She held up a university ID. "The department asked me to secure any sensitive materials."

Sheila didn't lower her weapon. "Why didn't you contact law enforcement first?"

"Because some of these materials are protected by tribal privacy agreements," Martinez said. "They need to be handled according to specific protocols." She gestured inside. "My assistant is cataloging everything now."

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