Nancy had been near tears all morning. Maria could tell she was a sensitive woman, even though she’d told Maria in all confidence that she’d always thought the mayor was up to no good. This comment had surprised Maria. Nancy had been the first person to say something like that. But Maria had learned it was sometimes the “everyday” people who knew more than those who claimed to be best buddies of the deceased. She made a mental note to have a tete-a-tete with Nancy when the station calmed down.
Twenty minutes later the press conference had begun. Nancy had pretty much called it. The journalist from Kanab was there as well as the TV reporter. In addition, the story had drawn in a few media correspondents from several neighboring cities as well as two representatives from other law enforcement agencies—making a grand total of eleven people. They had to grab a chair from the hallway to accommodate everyone.
The simplicity of it brought a smile to Maria’s face, which she quickly forced away. She was used to government debriefings one hundred, even two hundred times this large. She reminded herself it didn’t matter how large the audience. She needed to sound informed, concerned, intelligent, invested, and confident. All of which she truly was, except for the confident bit. But she could fake that. She’d been doing it for the last eight months, ever since the CIA rescue operation successfully retrieved her from the Tehran prison and brought her home. A day she would never forget for several reasons.
A heaviness settled inside her chest. It always did when she thought about the moment she was rescued. Looking around, she told herself to clear her mind. Pete had welcomed everyone and made the initial introductions. He’d only been in law enforcement for one year. A while back he’d gotten tired of his school bus driver career and returned to school to become a cop. Maria wondered if he’d been a little disappointed that he hadn’t been made chief instead of her. So far he’d been nothing but nice. Almost too nice.
“We’re going to turn the time over to Kanab Police Chief Branson for her comments about the case, and then she will take questions for fifteen minutes. At that point, we are going to end the press conference.” Even though Nancy looked a bit mousy, she had a good public presence.
The room was silent as Maria stood in front of the group. Everyone looked at her expectantly. Maria grounded herself and began presenting the public facts of the investigation. She almost sounded like her old self. Everyone in the room sat up taller in their chairs, like her voice commanded attention.
With the investigation so newly underway, there wasn’t much Maria could share with the press except for the cause, manner, and time of death as well as the general location of the crime. She tried to be as vague as possible on that point since she wanted to avoid people hiking in the canyons looking for the cave. The last thing the police or Search and Rescue wanted was fifty ill-prepared, dehydrated, curious onlookers getting themselves lost in the wilderness.
The media questions went smoothly. Sherrie Mercer, from the local Kanab paper, had the most questions, focusing on motive and suspects. Maria had learned long ago how to say, “No comment,” with a heaping plateful of authority. But Sherrie was determined and kept pressing the point.
At the end of the press conference, Sherrie stayed after and introduced herself to Maria.
“Chief Branson,” she said, “I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other. I cover the crime beat as well as just about everything in this town. I’d like to get to know you a little better. Obviously this isn’t a good time, but when things settle down I’d love to do a human interest piece on your background and why we’re so lucky to get such a top notch investigator.”
It was innocent enough. Maria had been expecting it. Every reporter wants to know about the person who is going to bring law and order to their town. All the same, there was a hitch in Maria’s voice when she answered. “Absolutely. We’ll see if we can’t get around to that in the future.” She firmly shook Sherrie’s hand and turned to leave.
Sherrie, however, wasn’t quite through. “I checked your previous employers, and there seems to be some discrepancies in your records from the CIA. They have you working in two different departments—for an entire year. And when I called both departments, they couldn’t give me any information about your position there and why there was a mess up in the records. In fact, one of the secretaries kept saying your name wrong. She called you ‘Mary’ instead of ‘Maria.’ Do you know why?”
Maria leaned her head back and laughed. Then, with a condescending smile, she answered, “Apparently you haven’t gotten your driver’s license renewed lately. There is something called efficiency and then there’s something called the government. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m listed in two CIA offices, but chances are I wasn’t in either. Let’s get together and chat. I’ll do my best to put you at ease.”
But inside of Maria, ease was the last thing on her mind. All that mattered was that no one found out about Tehran. About what she had done to her comrades. The reason she had no soul.
CHAPTER TEN
Freddie Crystal’s search lacked neither support nor excitement. For many long days he trudged back and forth across high mountains and deep arroyos, his eyes peeled for Indian carvings that would match the inscriptions he carried in his pocket. Finally one day, in Johnson Canyon, he came to a sudden stop. Directly in front of him on a large open face red cliff was the inscription for which he had been searching.
DESERET NEWS. “ABOUT TOWN” BY HORACE GREEN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1967.
Perspiration dripped down the back of Maria’s neck and trickled in between her shoulder blades. The dry air was hotter today than it had been yesterday. Every bit of her was sticky and wet. Unfortunately, the terrain was too rugged and the path too narrow in parts to be able to take any kind of a vehicle to the cave. It was either hike there or don’t go. She had the feeling by the end of the investigation she would know the trail well.
The pack Maria carried was full of every kind of cave exploration tool possible. She and Pete had brought floodlights, black lights, and lasers. Added to that was a chemical testing kit, video and audio recording equipment, and the list went on. She’d even brought her sleeping bag and tent. It seemed silly for her to keep hiking back and forth, when she could just sleep for a few hours on site and then continue with her in-depth investigation of the scene.
Waiting for Pete and Maria at the crime tape was a deputy from the Sheriff’s department and a Search and Rescue volunteer. They’d spent the night and the better part of the day there. Their dry lips and bloodshot eyes made it clear they needed to go home.
Pete and Maria set up a large tent they planned on making the command center. The engineer Maria had called was on his way as well as a few more Search and Rescue volunteers. In the large tent, Pete worked on getting a radio system set up since cell service was unavailable.
“I think we’re all set,” he said, testing the radio one last time. “We should get pretty good communication with anyone at the first command station by the highway turn off.”
“Thanks, Pete.” Maria was organizing the tweezers, swabs, and specimen containers. She would use them to collect samples of the dirt and any other possible material in the cave. Her goal was to find something out of the ordinary. Something that shouldn’t be there.
“Are you going to be okay?” Pete pointed to the rock that hung over the mouth of the cave. He obviously wondered if he had a volatile female on his hands again today.
“I’ll be fine,” Maria said. “Let’s go.”
Setting up the lighting system inside the cave took a while, but it was worth it. The darkened space came to life like a dentist office—almost so bright you couldn’t open your eyes in some areas. Of course, if the passageway at the far end of the cave hadn’t been blocked off by fallen rocks and debris, the lighting wouldn’t have made the main room so luminescent. The tunnel’s darkness would have sucked in the beams.
All-in-all, the effect w
as just what Maria had hoped for. The cave felt nothing like it had the day before, which did wonders helping her tense lungs breathe easier.
“Hardly seems like the same place,” said Pete, looking around.
Maria agreed and got to work. The first samples she collected were clumped patches of dirt caked with Mayor Hayward’s blood. The main area where the mayor had bled out was not what Maria was interested in. Instead, she had her eye on the blood “splatters.” A quick test would let her know if all of the samples were from the mayor, or if someone else had left a DNA trail.
While Maria meticulously collected bloodied dirt, Pete used a magnifying glass to scour every inch of the ground.
“Finding anything, Sherlock?” joked Maria after they spent half an hour in silence, each focused on their own task.
Pete ran his fingers through his hair. “I think so.”
Maria looked up, surprised. “What is it? You were being so quiet I thought you were coming up empty handed. What do you have?”
Holding up a small clear evidence container, Pete answered, “Pieces of glass.”
For a second Maria stopped labeling her samples of dirt and where they’d been found on a map of the interior of the cave drawn to scale. “Glass, huh? Any ideas?”
“Several of them are thin and rounded, but one of them is thick—more like the stem of a champagne flute.”
“Interesting.” With that observation, Maria set down what she was doing and scooted closer to Pete. He showed her his find.
Sure enough. It was glass. And he was right. It did look like the remains of a champagne glass. Her mind ran through the possibilities. “We’ll have forensics run tests on the pieces and see what they come up with. Good job, Pete.”
Maria ran her hand through her hair, twisting the ends. “I wonder . . .”
“You wonder what?” asked Pete.
“What does an extra set of footprints, a champagne glass, and a dead body in a cave sound like to you?”
Pete’s face reddened.
“Now, we really have no idea if the champagne glass was the mayor’s or not, but from the onset of things, it sure looks like the mayor was in this cave for a purpose.”
“Like a . . .” Pete grimaced.
“Like a tryst.” Maria helped him get the word out.
“That’s not good news.” Pete huffed.
Maria had forgotten that Pete had known this man. He’d probably worked at his side for at least the last year. Maybe longer. Maria needed to be a little more tactful in her postulating.
“Pete,” she said, “do you think you might need some distance from the case? Were you and the mayor close friends?”
“No . . .” he stammered. “It’s just that the mayor’s wife is my second cousin. Personally, I never saw much in the man, but I know at some point she really loved him.”
“At some point?” repeated Maria.
“I-I think they may have been struggling a bit. I just don’t want to have to tell her that her husband was unfaithful. There are already so many other rumors going on about him.”
Maria threw up her hands. “First of all, we obviously need to chat about everything you’ve heard about the mayor, and, second of all, who said the mayor’s tryst couldn’t have been with his wife? Married people do that sort of stuff, you know.”
“B-but then . . .” Pete stammered, “she would have been the one to kill him.”
“Murder is a nasty thing, Pete.” Maria’s voice softened. “Kanab probably doesn’t have a lot of these kinds of investigations.”
Pete nodded. “It’s my first.”
“It’s hard to stomach. Especially in a small town. But honestly, the person who killed the mayor probably lives here. He wouldn’t have gone into this cave with a stranger.” Maria watched Pete closely. He had a tender heart, and she didn’t want to be the person who broke it. However, if he wanted to be a cop he had to learn the truth.
“There’s one thing you always have to remember, Pete. Everyone is suspect. And I mean everyone.”
It surprised Maria how quickly time passed when she was focused on a project. Boredom had nearly killed her when she’d been imprisoned in solitary confinement. This afternoon, however, spending three hours in the cave where the dead body was found had flown by in minutes.
Maria still had several soil samples from around the deceased that needed to be analyzed. And there were other things that intrigued her. For example, how long had the soot on the top of the cave had been there? And how old was the cave-in in front of the left tunnel? These things probably didn’t relate to the murder. Regardless, everything at a crime scene was suspect, right?
“Can I get you a sandwich?” asked Maria’s deputy Pete Richins. He had just finished eating his own ham on rye. “You’ve been at it a long time.”
“In a minute,” Maria responded. She adjusted her gun holster and paced back and forth in front of the blocked passageway. Large boulders mixed with rocks the size of basketballs to create a naturally made blockade. But was it really natural?
The question bothered Maria.
“Pete,” she said, waving him over, “do you see how the rocks on this side protrude from the wall more than on the other side?”
Pete licked the last few crumbs of his sandwich off of his fingers and stepped in closer. His eyes squinted in the cave’s murky light, trying to see where she was pointing.
“Not really,” he finally answered. “I’m sorry. I think it’s been here forever. I don’t think it has much to do with whoever killed the mayor.”
Maria shook her head. “No, something’s off. The rock on this side looks stable, like it hasn’t been touched in centuries. But these look like they’ve been moved … recently.”
Pete shrugged. “I’m no expert on what an old pile of rocks looks like versus a new pile.”
The engineer Maria had called up to take measurements was outside having his dinner. Maria was about to leave the cave and ask his opinion when Pete did something totally unexpected.
Especially for Pete.
“I guess there’s one way to find out.” He picked up one of the rocks from the suspicious pile and moved it away from the wall several feet. He did the same to the next rock and the next.
It was completely against policy. It was sloppy. And it was very, very dangerous.
“Screw protocol.” Maria bent down and pushed on a large boulder. While heavy, the rock moved and she was more sure than ever it had been dislodged previously.
In less than ten minutes, they had removed enough of the pile to see the edge of the wall where several inches of pictograph drawings were now exposed.
Pete whistled. “Why do you think someone wanted to hide those? There are other pictographs all over this mountain. It sure was a lot of work to . . .” His voice faltered. He looked around and registered the mess he’d made of the crime scene. “Oh, sorry. I guess I should have asked first.”
Maria ignored his apology. “Someone didn’t want these particular pictographs to be seen. The question is, was it the person who killed the mayor? Or someone before that?”
Pete waggled his shoulders up and down. “Not sure.”
“And what kind of pictographs are they?” Maria moved a few more rocks to better see the ancient drawings. A snake with feathers attached to it took shape.
“Hey,” said Pete, “that looks like one of those Aztec glyphs your grandfather had pictures of, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Now why the mayor chose this cave, out of all the others, to meet someone who decided to kill him?”
The question hung in the air as she studied the drawings on the wall. She was deep in thought when a low rumble grabbed her attention and she was on high alert.
Had they dislodged something?
More noise. No, it was definitely not coming from the rocks.
Pete’s stomach?
Possibly.
“Pete, is that—” Before she could finish the sentence Pete was out of the cave. Maria shrugg
ed, grabbed her camera, and started snapping pictures of the pictographs. It was time to call her former professor, Ryker Jephson.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was on the last Sunday in November 1922 that the impossible happened–-the incredible thing that changed the lives of the careless youngsters and affected the temperature of easygoing Kanab for years to come.
THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. “ANYBODY’S GOLD MINE,” BY MAURINE WHIPPLE, OCTOBER 1949, PAGES 24, 102-108.
Maris hadn’t felt this good in months. Actually, it had probably been a couple of years since she’d had such a strong feeling of satisfaction. It was tragic, of course, to have to investigate a murder, but if the murder was going to have happened whether or not she was there, then it didn’t hurt to feel pride in her work. The investigation was coming along nicely, and she hadn’t even started her interviews yet. They were scheduled for tomorrow.
The broken pieces of glass, an extra set of footprints, and now strange pictographs on the cave wall were all clues. She knew it. Call her crazy—and you’d be right, thought Maria—but this was the same feeling she always got when important things were on the horizon.
The simple dinner of cold cuts and sandwich bread tasted delicious to Maria, who had never been a picky eater. And ever since Tehran, she had viewed eating as a privilege, regardless of what it was.
Taking a few minutes to put up her tent and stow her sleeping bag inside, Maria readied herself to guard the crime scene for the night. Already at least five random “hikers” had “stopped by” to see the cave, and the area was completely off the beaten path. People would always be curious. It was a part of human nature that you had to deal with in law enforcement. Rubber necking was just one small example of it. Add a murder to the mix and people were … dying … to see what it was all about. She smiled to herself. It was a lame pun, but Maria was pleased she’d thought of the word “death” in a way that hadn’t invoked even the slightest bit of anxiety symptoms. She inhaled deeply.
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