Dead Mountain, page 5
“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.”
8
CORRIE LEANED OUT of the mouth of the cave. Sharp was chatting with the two deputies, getting along well.
“Agent Sharp?” she asked.
He glanced up.
“There’s something you should see up here.”
She waited while Sharp climbed the ladder and crawled into the cave entrance, then stood up. He looked at Nora and Stan Morrison, then at Corrie, his face expressionless. “Yes?”
“Back here.” Corrie led Sharp to the rear of the cave. He stopped abruptly, staring down at the booted leg sticking out from underneath the rubble. The other foot was covered only in a felt bootie—a valenki. Corrie watched as his eyes widened.
“Holy mother of God,” he breathed.
“Yeah,” said Corrie. “Looks like we found one of . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.
Sharp nodded. A long silence ensued while he stared at it. And then he looked up. His surprised expression—the first she’d seen—slowly fell away, like ripples on a pond. He glanced once again at Corrie.
“It’s still your case . . . for now, at least.” He let the sentence hang in the air.
“Right.” Corrie—who until this moment had been merely excited by the ramifications of the discovery—felt a sudden sense of panic, as if she’d been thrown into the deep end of the pool and ordered to swim. She looked at Nora and Stan Morrison. “Fortunately, we have two archaeologists already on site—we ought to make use of their expertise in excavating the body and any others that might come to light. And we need to get the Evidence Response Team back in here to process the rear section of the cave.”
Sharp looked at her, face unreadable once again.
“Dr. Kelly,” she asked, “are you able to do a little more work for us? I realize you’re busy, but it would be a great help.”
She found Nora looking back at her with a half-amused, half-exasperated face. “On the ride out, you mentioned Dead Mountain. You think this is one of the missing victims?”
“You know about the Dead Mountain case?” Corrie asked.
“Everyone in New Mexico knows about it.”
Except me, thought Corrie.
Sharp spoke quietly into the silence that followed. “According to the footprints that were originally found, one of the hikers fled their tent wearing a boot on one foot and a bootie on the other. This corpse fits that description perfectly. It beggars belief this isn’t a Dead Mountain victim—and there’s a good chance the two others still missing are in the back of the cave as well.”
“So,” Corrie asked Nora, “would you consider expanding your work here?”
“Of course. This is an amazing discovery and I’d be grateful to be part of it.”
“You can get the time off from the Institute?”
“I have no doubt they’ll be happy to let me assist the FBI, pro bono—our field season is shut down for the winter. But it’s going to be awkward with the Indian burials in here. We’re almost done with them: we’ll finish up and then cover them to make sure they aren’t disturbed any further.”
Corrie felt a surge of relief. She glanced at Sharp and thought she could now detect approval, or at least satisfaction, in his gaze.
“Thank you,” said Corrie. “Tell us what you’ll need to protect the burials.”
“Some sheets of plywood; two-by-fours to build a structure that will keep the plywood off the ground; stakes; caution tape. I’ll do some more measuring and get you a detailed list.”
“We’ll see that you get everything you need,” Sharp assured her.
“Once we’ve built a cover of sorts to protect the burials, Stan and I will begin working on the body in the back of the cave. Sound like a plan?”
9
BY ONE, NORA Kelly had finished putting the last screw into the pitched roof structure she and Stan had built over the Native American burials, with materials brought to them in a second FBI Tahoe. Now she was looking down at the two legs sticking out from underneath the rubble: one with a boot, one without. She remembered vividly fifteen years ago, when the Dead Mountain disaster had occurred. She was an assistant curator at the Institute—her first paying job out of graduate school. It had been a huge deal: the disappearance of the hikers, the search, the discovery of the tent and the first three frozen bodies—and then the bizarre developments in the months that followed as additional bodies were found, each circumstance seemingly stranger than the last. Since then, dozens of theories had been advanced, some reasonable but most improbable or even preposterous. Russian spies, UFOs, a homicidal cult . . . the list went on and on, filling the vacuum left by the absence of real evidence. Until now.
She had moved the lights farther back in the cave and was contemplating the scene. The illumination revealed that the back of the cave went on another twenty feet or so before narrowing to a crack. There was a lot of rubble on the floor of the cave that could be hiding more corpses.
She would start with this one and take it from there. She knelt to take photographs and a few more measurements.
“I hate to say this,” Corrie said, “but both of you are going to have to put on monkey suits before going any further.”
It took some time to bring the protective suits and several body bags from the Tahoe. While Corrie and Agent Sharp stood well back by the cave opening, Nora and Morrison returned to the body sticking out from under the rubble.
“Let’s shift some of these rocks,” Nora said.
They got to work. Morrison was stronger than he looked, and as he began picking up rocks and placing them to one side, the rest of the body was gradually revealed. It was desiccated, nearly free of decay, and its clothing looked rummage-sale fresh, save for some chewing and nest-building by mice. The altitude and dry atmosphere were almost ideal conditions for preserving a body.
“Interesting,” said Sharp, looking on from the mouth of the cave. “This victim appears to be more fully clothed than the ones found originally.”
He was right: Nora noted the body was wearing a pair of snow pants, a down vest but no jacket, a woolen hat, no gloves. It lay on its stomach, arms tucked underneath, legs splayed, head turned to one side. It was a grim sight, the desiccation having drawn the lips back from the teeth and left the eye sockets empty, giving the corpse a grinning, Hallowe’en-like aspect. A faint smell of decay arose.
After about forty minutes the body was fully uncovered. Nora turned to Stan. “Could you please bring over a body bag?”
Stan quickly returned with the body bag, unzipped and open, which he and Nora laid out next to the corpse. Then she turned toward the mouth of the cave. “We’re going to need four pairs of hands.”
Nora lined Corrie and Agent Sharp up on either side of the corpse, showing them where to grasp. “On the count of three, we lift, rotate the body face up, and lay it down in the body bag. Gently.”
Corrie slipped her hands under the body’s hip and thigh, while Sharp took the shoulder and head.
“One, two, three, lift. Turn. Now: lower.”
The body was surprisingly light, and the operation went perfectly—but it was followed immediately by a shocked silence. The body’s two mummified hands were clutching a knife, buried to the hilt in its breast.
“What the hell?” Stan Morrison blurted out, stepping back in involuntary horror. “The guy stabbed himself to death!”
10
CORRIE STARED AT the body. The face was frozen in a rictus of pain and suffering, its skin drawn so tight it had cracked in several places, the facial bones coming through. The eyes were dark hollows. It was hard to tell what he might have looked like in life, but her experience with forensic facial reconstruction helped her form a mental picture: a narrow, handsome face, longish hair, very white teeth. Tall, over six feet.
“Do you know which victim this is?” she asked Sharp.
“I’m fairly confident it’s Paul Tolland. He was, ah, six foot two, brown hair.” A pause. “I’m sure it’s him, in fact.”
“Any idea why he might have stabbed himself like that? It’s a hell of a way to commit suicide.”
“Why is everyone assuming it’s suicide?” Sharp asked.
Corrie thought about that. “I guess someone else could have stabbed him in the chest, and he died trying to pull the knife out.”
“That scenario is just as likely.”
Corrie nodded. “Nora, with your okay, let’s get this body out of the cave and into the back of the Tahoe before we proceed further. As I mentioned, we’ll need to get the ERT back here, but in the meantime Dr. Kelly should probably look for more bodies.”
Sharp nodded.
Corrie zipped up the body bag. Sharp took one handle and she took the other, then they lifted it. The corpse crackled as they carried the body bag to the mouth of the cave, then lowered it gently. After reaching the bottom of the ladder—and the astonished deputies—they carried it back up to the Tahoe and placed it in the rear. By the time they returned to the cave, they found Nora and Stan Morrison in the back waiting for them.
“There’s another body,” Nora said. “Also recent.”
Corrie nodded. “Could you please excavate it? I want to make sure we’ve thoroughly searched this cave for bodies before we leave.”
“It’s over here,” said Nora.
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.
