by Lukens, Mark
“You said on the phone that you found some puzzling things,” Palmer reminded her.
“Yes. We’re going to do a lot more tests, but from preliminary onsite exams … well, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years now, and I’ve never seen anything like this before. I don’t know if I can even believe it.”
Palmer and Begay waited for her to continue.
“Come on back here,” she said, not waiting for them. She headed down the hall to the master bedroom.
The three of them entered the bedroom. Palmer and Begay stayed close to the walls, careful to stay away from the body of the woman on the carpet. Everything still looked the same, and the smell seemed a little better now because one of the windows was open. There were a few air freshener sticks on top of the dresser. Yellow plastic markers with numbers on them were distributed around the room next to the bodies and beside other spots of blood staining the carpet. Some of the dried blood was so dark it almost looked black now.
“Well, okay,” Susan said. “Here it goes. One of the bodies, the body of the woman on the floor … she was dead at least one day longer than the man over there … her husband. Maybe even two days before him. Yet it still looks like she was the one who killed her husband.”
Palmer felt like everything around him had just come to an abrupt stop, and somehow he’d just missed something important. “Wait … what? What do you mean by that?”
“I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Like I said, we’ll do more tests when we eventually get their bodies to the lab, but I’m pretty sure those tests are going to come back just like I stated.”
“But that can’t be possible. If she was dead longer than he was, then how could she have killed him?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a sigh. “As far as I can tell, it looks like she ripped his face off and scalped him.”
“With what?”
“There doesn’t seem to be any weapon or tool marks. The only weapons I can identify are her fingers. She must’ve used her teeth, too. We found three pieces of broken teeth from her mouth embedded deep into his face.
“But it looks like her face … I mean her face looked …” Palmer stepped closer to the woman’s body and crouched down, staring at her head, which was now covered with a clear plastic bag. Her hands were bagged too. Even with the bag on her head, the woman’s face still seemed like it was mashed down into the carpet.
“Skinned, too?” Susan offered, completing Palmer’s unfinished sentence. “I know. I don’t understand this.”
Palmer just nodded numbly. He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “I … I took some photos.”
Susan nodded. “Yes, we took a lot of photos, too.”
“Did you find the pieces of their face or hair anywhere on them?” Palmer asked. “Or maybe … inside of them?”
“Obviously I haven’t investigated their stomach contents yet … we’ll do that when we get to the lab … but I haven’t found any evidence of their skin or hair in the room anywhere.”
“So the killer might have taken their faces and hair with him. But why?” Palmer felt suddenly sick to his stomach. “There has to be some kind of mistake here. If she was injured that badly, how in the world could she have killed her husband?”
Susan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Palmer changed the subject. “What about their kid?”
“David,” Captain Begay said. “His name is David.”
“Yeah, David. Did you find any evidence of him in … in all of this?” Palmer gestured at the gory mess all over the bedroom.
“No. No other traces of blood except these two. Maybe the kid ran away.”
“Or somebody took him,” Palmer said.
Susan didn’t comment.
“What about the cave?” Palmer asked Susan. “Have you been out there?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. The look in her eyes told Palmer that she had been in the cave and seen the body parts on display. “I talked to Alonzo. What we’ve got in there is just as strange as this. It’s actually worse.”
Palmer glanced at Begay who stood impassively near the corner of the bedroom. Palmer looked back at Susan, bracing himself as Susan continued.
“From what Alonzo said, we’ve got the same problems there as we do here. Some of the bodies were dead longer than the others. Maybe as long as two or three days, in some cases.”
“So the perps killed them one by one,” Palmer offered. But why didn’t the others run or call for help? he wondered. Their satellite phones and radios were all dead so they couldn’t call for help. The batteries in the vehicles were all dead so they couldn’t drive away. No one could drain all of those batteries purposely, could they? Maybe all of the headlights were left on at the same time. But even though the vehicles were inoperable, the people still could have run away on foot into the desert. Surely the thought of freezing in the desert had to be better than whatever was happening to the others there at the dig site.
This case was beginning to give him a headache. He needed another drink.
“We’ve got the pieces of the people in piles at the cave now,” Susan said. “And from the ten heads we’ve found, we’re already beginning to make IDs from their wallets and from the photos and background info that the university sent to us.”
“Ten people?” Palmer asked. “There should be eleven of them.”
Susan pulled out her phone and scrolled down the screen for a moment with a practiced flick of her thumb. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “There were only seven men and three women. One man was definitely Navajo, and he must be the man named Jim Whitefeather. One man was ID’d as Jake Phillips. One man we believe is a grad student named Robert Coggins. A woman named Patty LaFontaine, a woman named Julie Warner, and another grad student named Phil Carson. And the other woman has been identified as Wendy Rhinehardt. The other three males are so … fragmented, their faces destroyed so badly, that we’ll have to rely on dental records … hopefully.”
“Three women?” Palmer said. “There should have been four. There was another woman with them, a woman that Jake Phillips called from Arizona State University. She was an expert on the … on the …”
“The Anasazi,” Begay helped.
“Yeah.”
“You’re taking about a woman named Stella Weaver,” Susan said, glancing down at her phone. “We haven’t found her head, and we’re trying to get matches of the legs, arms, and torsos. Right now we’re sure these body parts are from only ten people.”
Palmer thought for a moment. This woman Stella Weaver was summoned to the dig site by Jake Phillips, and now she’s the only one missing. He wondered if she’d ever made it to the dig site at all.
But at least it was something to go on, somewhere to start.
“Excuse me a moment,” Palmer told Susan and stepped out of the bedroom. He walked back to the living room with his phone in his hand. He dialed Debbie’s number back at the Denver office.
“Hi, Debbie.”
“How’s it going down there?” she asked.
“This is a strange one. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Can you find out any information on a woman named Stella Weaver? She’s an archaeologist working out of Arizona State University, but she was supposed to be heading to this dig site. Check her DMV records too while you’re at it. See what kind of vehicle she owned.” Palmer thought of the missing vehicle in the line of trucks at the dig site near the dirt trail.
“I’m on it. I’ll call you back as soon as I get any info.”
“Thanks, Debbie. You’re the best.”
“I know.”
Palmer hung up and slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. If Stella never made it to the dig site, that was one thing. But if she made it to the site and now she wasn’t among the missing bodies … what did that mean? And if that missing vehicle was hers ... Could the killers have taken her truck? Cou
ld they have taken her? Could they have taken David, too?
Palmer turned around to walk back to the bedroom, but Captain Begay was right behind him. He hadn’t even heard the man approach. “You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“You got any theories yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. I need to get back out to the dig site.”
“I’ll show you the way. Just follow me.”
*
Palmer followed Begay out of town, the landscape turning to desert wilderness in no time at all. He allowed himself a small nip from his bottle of vodka as he drove.
He was only halfway to the dig site when his cell phone rang. It was Debbie.
“Hey, Debbie. What did you find?”
“We found Stella’s vehicle.”
“Great,” Palmer said.
“It’s at a crime scene in Colorado. A remote area between the towns of Destin and Cody’s Pass.”
“A crime scene?”
“A cabin was set on fire and there were multiple bodies inside. Her SUV was found behind the cabin, the vehicle partially burned.”
“Shit. Can you get me a flight back up there?”
“Of course. You’ll leave out of the same airport in Farmington you came in at. You’ll fly into a town called Destin. We’ll have a car waiting for you there. From there you’ll need to drive south on Route 217. I’ll send the directions to your phone.”
“As quick as you can, Debbie.”
He hung up and thought about calling his SAC, Cardenelli, and telling him that he was leaving the crime scene down here in Agent Klein’s hands and heading to Destin, Colorado.
But then again, maybe he would wait on that phone call for a little while.
CHAPTER 23
Near Cody’s Pass, Colorado
Travis drove his snowmobile down the snowy road back to his house. He wanted to stick around at the crime scene, but Sheriff Hadley wouldn’t allow it. Travis offered to lead Deputy Ronnie, who was on his way there with a police snowmobile, but the sheriff told him that Ronnie was perfectly capable of following the tracks all by himself.
Travis was a little dejected about not being allowed to help, but it had still been an exciting day. He even thought he might want to pursue some kind of law enforcement career someday. He figured he had pieced together the clues pretty quickly on his own; he’d done a pretty good investigation of the crime scene. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he decided that he would start reading true crime books and watch some documentaries, start studying up on this kind of stuff. He couldn’t believe it—he’d been looking for a path in his life for so long now, and now he might have finally found it.
He was excited. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother about his idea for a career. Of course she would be happy for him, but she would also be secretly sad and frightened that he would be leaving her someday. If she could have her way, neither he nor his sister would ever leave home.
As he neared the driveway that led through the woods to their property, Travis slowed his snowmobile down to a stop. He sat there for a moment with the motor running. He stared at the snowmobile tracks that continued south down the snowy road. He thought about ignoring the sheriff’s command to go home and keep watch over his mother and sister … he thought about following those tracks. He just wanted to help, and if he could spot one of those bank robbers …
But he decided not to. Maybe the sheriff was right; he should go home and protect his mother and sister. It wasn’t unbelievable that the bank robber (or maybe the two robbers) had only ridden half a mile down the road and then escaped into the woods only to circle back through the trees to find his house. It wasn’t that unbelievable to think that they might already be at his house, holding his family hostage.
A chill ran through him as flashes of desperate men aiming guns at his mother and sister ran through his mind.
He revved the motor and turned down the driveway through the trees. Moments later he pulled up to his house, driving through the same tracks he’d created when he’d left. He drove his snowmobile around the house to the large, free-standing garage and parked it next to the wood and metal awning where his mother’s SUV was parked. He cut the motor and got off his snowmobile. He trudged back through the calf-high snow to the front of the house. He climbed the steps up to the wood deck and kicked the snow off of his boots. He unlocked the front door and entered. He closed and locked the front door, and then he kicked off his rubber boots onto the small tiled entryway. He was sure his mother and sister couldn’t wait to hear what he’d found.
Travis was about to rush into the living room, but he stopped suddenly.
The first thing he noticed was the overpowering stench inside the house, the smell of something rotten … something dead.
The next thing he noticed was the silence. His mom should’ve had the local news blaring on the TV by now. Breakfast should be cooking in the kitchen.
His heart skipped a beat. He’d thought only moments earlier that it wasn’t unfathomable that the fleeing criminals could stop at their house, but now he felt certain that it had happened. His skin felt tingly, his mouth went instantly dry, and his muscles felt a little weak and rubbery.
“Mom!” Travis called out.
No answer.
“Nicole?”
Still no answer.
Oh God, something had happened to them. They were still here because his mom’s SUV was parked underneath the awning. But why weren’t they answering him? Why was the house so quiet? And where was that terrible smell coming from?
This was his time to be a hero, to fight for his family. He yanked his father’s pistol out of the waistband of his pants and he rushed into the living room.
And then he froze in his tracks.
His mom and his sister sat rigidly in two dining room chairs that had been moved into the living room. There was nothing binding them to the chairs, but they were frozen like they were too afraid to flinch or to even call out to him. Their skin was pasty white with fear and their eyes were large circles of shock, rimmed in redness and tears.
They were afraid.
And Travis saw why.
The thing that stood near them in the shadowy living room couldn’t be possible … it couldn’t be real. It was his dead father.
Travis’s dad had died of a sudden heart attack six months ago. He had been buried in the cemetery behind the New Hope church in the southeastern part of Destin.
“What … how …” Travis croaked.
“Shut up,” the monstrosity growled at Travis. The decaying thing looked like his father. He was dressed in the black suit he’d been buried in, but now the clothing was filthy with dirt, some areas torn and hanging in tatters. His grayish face was sunken, his mouth pulled back in a rictus smile that revealed jagged yellow teeth. His eyes were bulging, his gray hair wild and dirty. Loose black stitches hung from the corners of his mouth and eyes.
“You’re … you’re dead,” Travis breathed out. His leg muscles felt like jelly and he was afraid he was going to collapse. He had never believed people could faint or go into shock, but he could believe it now.
Travis realized that his mother was cradling an injured hand in the other. Blood was seeping out of a rag she held around her hand.
He looked back at his dead father. “What did you do to her?”
“I took one of her fingers off,” his dead father said and his smile widened. He lifted up the pale white severed finger clutched in his hand, the end of the finger a gory and ragged mess.
Zombie … that’s what Travis thought of. It was the only explanation. Either that or he was in the middle of a very realistic nightmare. Or he had wrecked his snowmobile and he was trapped inside a coma.
“I assure you this is real, my boy,” his dad said like he’d read Travis’ mind.
Travis looked down at the gun in his hand like he’d just remembered he was holding it. He raised it up and aimed it at the thing that looked like his father. He could shoot it, but he needed t
o put a bullet through its brain—that was the only way you could kill a zombie, everyone knew that.
His father smiled.
“I don’t know what you are,” Travis said. He was suddenly brave with the pistol clenched in his trembling hand. He glanced at his sister and saw hope in her eyes. That was enough to spur him on. He was going to save his sister and his mother from whatever this thing was. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re going back to where you came from.”
Travis was a good shot. He practiced all the time. From this far away, he knew he could put a bullet right through his father’s forehead, but his trembling hand was the problem right now. But as soon as he squeezed the trigger it was like the alpha waves of his brain kicked in at the last second and his hand steadied just long enough for him to shoot.
The bullet hit his father dead square in the forehead. It rocked his head back, but then his head snapped forward again, the smile never leaving his father’s ghoulish face. A stream of grayish fluid blew out of the back of his father’s head with the bullet, splattering the wall behind him, part of it spraying across a painting, the grayish goo dripping off the frame. More of the same grayish fluid dripped out of the neat hole in his dad’s forehead.
But Travis’s father didn’t collapse. He wasn’t even knocked off balance by the gunshot. He just stared at Travis with the bullet hole in his face now.
“You can’t kill me,” Travis’s father said in a guttural voice. “I’m already dead. Now I’m going to take your mother and sister apart, piece by piece, if you don’t do what I want.”
“What … wait,” Travis croaked.
“I took your mother’s finger off,” his father continued. “I broke the bone and then twisted it around and around until I could pull it off.”
Nora looked on the verge of vomiting on herself. Her skin was so white, her body trembling so badly. She looked like she was on the verge of shock.
“I could take another finger off,” his dad said.
“No … wait! Don’t! What do you want?”
“Put the gun away,” his dead father growled at him. “You will need it soon.”