Sonoran Sun
A Lin Hanna Mystery
By
Sharon Canipe
Copyright 2015
Sharon Canipe
All Rights Reserved
Other Books in this Series
Earthcrack
Sandrift
Fogbound
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Dedication and Acknowledgements
So many friends and family members have supported me in my writing efforts. My husband Steve provides continuous support and much needed assistance in producing the final product. He is my “first” and most important reader. My daughter Marti also provides assistance, especially with efforts to “get the word out” regarding my books. Without the two of them, I would accomplish much less. My son David, brother John, and several cousins also help me to promote my efforts. Friends in my local book club, my church, and in other groups I am a member of have given me the opportunity to share my work and widen my audience as well. I appreciate all of you.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
August 17, 2012
The last morning of Mark Garcia’s relatively young life began in beauty. The soft golds and pinks of the desert dawn were beginning to hit the Tucson Mountains highlighting the giant saguaro cacti as they marched up the rocky slopes. It was already warm, but still comfortable, as he turned onto the freeway heading north. The day ahead promised to be a scorcher, triple digits by midday. A distant line of puffy clouds in the southwest offered a slight chance of a monsoon shower later. The past two weeks had seen little rain, signaling an interruption in the summer pattern that brought welcomed, but sometimes violently destructive, moisture to the Sonoran Desert.
Traffic was light on the freeway at this early hour. Garcia doubted that anyone would be working at the site yet. He hoped to be able to finish photographing the most recent excavations before it got too hot. In spite of the tents erected to provide shade, it was really difficult to get much work done during the middle of the day. It would’ve been preferable to postpone the actual excavation until later in the fall when cooler weather would return, but that wasn’t feasible given the pressures from the developer.
Plans called for an upscale outlet mall that promised to bring welcomed jobs to the area both during construction and later when the new stores brought in lots of shoppers. The original schedule would’ve seen construction well underway by now, but the archeological survey required by state regulations had revealed that the site was once home to an extensive trading village where Garcia’s ancestors gathered more than a thousand years ago to do their own “shopping” and celebrate their own games and rituals. It was a significant site. The initial excavations had revealed the remains of pit houses, fire and roasting pits, a ball court, and numerous trash middens. The most significant find, however, was the area near what had been the village plaza where more than 250 human burials had been found. Site preparation had been significantly slowed by having to work around the excavation site and construction couldn’t begin until burial remains were repatriated to the tribes as required by federal law. This was where Mark’s work began. He was charged with seeing that the remains were handled properly and that they were returned to the Tohono O’Odham Nation where they would be reinterred with the respect they were due. Garcia was the tribal liaison for the project.
Desert Digs, Inc., the archeological consultants hired to work at the site, had been cooperative and easy to work with. They employed trained, experienced archeologists who understood and respected what had happened here in the past and wanted to see things protected and handled properly. They had, thus far, done everything the tribe requested. He’d reassured Dave Jennings of that fact just the week before when that Stevens fellow from Superior Group tried to make trouble. He hoped he’d convinced Jennings that he could handle any issues arising on the reservation. Mark also hoped that Jennings was assured regarding his position as liaison with the tribe. Stevens had hinted that Mark’s reputation was in question. Mark had tried to clarify this. So far things were still OK, but Mark wanted to see the work here completed, and his role ended successfully before any real trouble arose. He hoped that Jennings himself didn’t have any suspicions regarding his own recent activities. Mark felt certain that he could easily complete his survey and have the repatriation underway within the next couple of weeks. What concerned him was the pressure being brought to bear on Dave Jennings to speed things up and avoid further cost overruns. Even before the confrontation with that Stevens fellow last week, Jennings had become quite touchy about moving the project forward. He’d been on Mark’s case to speed things up and had been putting in a lot of late hours himself handling deliveries of building materials and pressuring suppliers to cut shipping times.
Superior Group, Steven’s employer, hadn’t closed on their land deal yet, at least that was true when last Garcia had checked, but the threat of competition was still there. Jennings was likely right that the area couldn’t support two similar shopping outlets, certainly not so close together. Whoever got work underway first would probably win out. Lancer, Ltd. had already sunk a great deal of money into this site and was pushing to have the archeological work completed as soon as possible.
Both archeologists who would oversee the remaining work were now on site. Garcia wanted to photograph all the remains in place where they were found before the actual removal and repatriation began.
Mark also hoped he could convince Doug Davison and his group to hold off on protests until he could arrange a meeting with the company. Davison, a teacher on the reservation, had become the self-appointed leader of a group wanting the village site preserved as an historical park, and Mark knew that wasn’t likely to happen. Jennings had indicated Lancer might support some sort of historical museum on the reservation. Maybe that would keep the protesters happy and head off trouble at the site. Mark felt most of the tribal members involved were willing to talk and to consider alternatives, but Doug Davison was a hothead who seemed determined to cause trouble, no matter what.
Exiting the freeway, Mark turned right toward the parking lot. The sun was moving higher revealing a brilliant blue sky. The huge cranes and earth-moving machines glowed bright yellow in their parking spots where they waited to break ground for construction. The shade tents erected at the site of the village stood still in the morning light—no breeze ruffled their edges. Turning onto the dirt road that led into the property, Garcia observed that there were a couple of trucks parked on the far side of the equipment yard near the trailer that housed the developer’s temporary offices, but he saw no people. One of the trucks was a large red one that looked like the F 250 Sam Stevens had been driving last week, but he couldn’t be sure of that. It might belong to some of the crew. Maybe someone had come in early to do paperwork or start surveying. He pulled into a parking space near the excavation site and reached for his camera bag in the back seat.
Garcia headed for the shade of the tents. He placed his camera bag on a worktable that had been cleared of items from the day before and moved to roll up the tarp t
hat covered the first section of burials. The tents shaded the area but provided scant protection against wind blown rain that could come with a summer storm. The tarp was heavy, but he managed to roll it back half way. He would photograph this location first and then tackle the other end—easier than trying to totally remove the covering, especially working alone.
He took several shots of the overall area from different angles and then decided to get some closer shots of some individual graves. He carefully lowered a small stepladder into a clear area. The level of the burials was about four feet below the modern surface. Taking care not to step too close to the actual burials, Garcia turned his body so that he could have a clearer view. As he raised his camera and focused on the closest gravesite, he heard a sharp crack and felt a heavy impact in his right shoulder. What’s happening he thought? He watched his camera leave his hand and fly across the site as if he had hurled it away. He tried to cry out but no sound came as he felt a searing pain, first in his neck and then between his shoulders. He realized he was falling atop the remains he had been photographing. His last view was of a stream of blood—his own, coursing across the dry bones of his ancestor.
***
One Week Earlier--August 10, 2012
The temporary construction office was already feeling warm as the outside temperatures pushed toward the triple digit highs forecast for midday. The metal building might as well be an oven. Dave Jennings adjusted the AC once more, for all the good it did.
He had tried to get Pete Tedder to come to the Lancer Ltd. regional headquarters in Phoenix, but Pete had insisted that they meet at the site so here he was. Apparently, Tedder wanted to look at the excavation once more. He was the repatriation coordinator working at the Arizona State Museum who was charged with assuring that Lancer met all the state requirements for archeological work.
The discovery of an ancient Hohokam village at the construction site for Lancer’s planned outlet mall was not entirely a surprise. The Santa Cruz River area was home to many such sites. The size and extent of this particular site was what made it exceptional. Apparently the village had been a gathering place for trade and other activities and had included a significant burial place where more than 250 graves had been uncovered. Drs. Chris Dawkins and Neal Smith, who were directing the excavation, had particularly impressed Dave. Chris had recently returned to the site and Neal was expected back in just a few days. The primary excavation work had been done. Now the hard part lay ahead—removal and repatriation. Thus far, things had gone very smoothly. Jennings felt certain that, unless something unexpected occurred, Lancer would be ready to proceed with construction by early September. He certainly hoped that would be the case. His bosses in Phoenix had been pushing him hard recently. Too many delays, too many cost overruns—Jennings felt they were holding him personally responsible for getting this project rolling. The stress, along with the heat, was beginning to get to him. On top of that he was beginning to have misgivings about Mark Garcia. The tribal liaison had been asking a lot of questions recently about the overall project and the long hours Jennings had been keeping. He needed to stick to his own work; that excavation was the real holdup here.
Dave heard someone enter the outer office through the front door. The temporary secretary soon appeared to tell him that Pete had arrived.
“Come, in,” Dave rose to greet his guest, “Close the door behind you, I’ve tried to adjust this AC but…”
“I understand,” Pete extended his hand to shake Dave’s, “ It’s summer in the desert, not a great season for this kind of work. Most folks wait until fall or winter to do excavations, if possible.”
“Not possible, in this case,” Dave responded. “ Superior Group has taken an option up the road at Avra Valley. They’re planning to build a similar mall there. We don’t think there’s room in the market for two such developments so close together. Construction has to get underway as soon as possible. If we can manage to start by September they’ll probably drop their plans. Lancer has already invested a great deal of money here and we can’t afford to take a loss. So, we proceed with the work—doing the best we can with the weather. Right now, we have to complete the archeological stuff so we can move ahead.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Pete responded. “I’d like to see where the excavation stands at this point and learn your schedule for completion of the repatriation. As soon as this phase is done and I can sign off on it, construction can proceed.
“Dr. Dawkins is on site right now, I think,” Dave said grabbing his hat to guard against the sun, “let’s go see what’s happening.” Pete followed him outside and the two of them proceeded over to the tents that shaded the area of the dig. Chris Dawkins was working at a table, brushing off and sorting various objects that were being brought to him by two workers who were removing them from the actual excavation. Mark Garcia, the tribal liaison, was also there and came over to greet Dave and Pete.
“Things are progressing well here,” Mark smiled, “the tribe is happy with the work so far. Lancer has done everything we asked regarding the burials and artifacts.”
“Good to hear,” Pete replied, “Hopefully, this will continue. This kind of work really can’t be rushed, but if it continues at a steady pace, we should be able to certify the site as ready for construction in a few weeks.”
“We certainly, hope so,” Dave smiled, “Perhaps Dr. Dawkins could show you around while I talk to Mark here and make sure we’re answering all the tribal concerns.” Jennings realized that might sound a bit ‘smarmy’, but he really did want to keep the relationship as smooth as it had been thus far. He didn’t want any doubts or concerns to arise that might affect the relationship with the tribe.
Chris put down his work and came over to accompany Pete on a small tour and Mark pulled up a chair at one of the worktables, inviting Dave to do the same.
“I hope everything at tribal headquarters is as you describe, and everyone is pleased with our work here,” he said to Mark.
“They are. I haven’t heard any complaints from the reports I’ve been filing with the tribal officials but…” he hesitated, “have you heard about Doug Davison?”
“No,” Dave replied, “Who is he?”
“He’s a teacher at one of the schools on the reservation— an Anglo—and he’s been meeting with a group of tribal members who aren’t happy with what’s going on here. No official connection, but they’ve staged a few protests down on the rez. They claim that this site should be preserved as an historical park. Developers have uncovered lots of these villages over the years, but none have been set aside for such a place. I’ve been at a couple of their meetings, and some of these folks have threatened to come up here and demonstrate at the site.”
Dave shook his head in disbelief. He’d heard nothing about any such movement. This was exactly what Lancer did not need. His bosses would be on his case even more than they already were if any such problems occurred. It was his job to get this archeological work done properly and quickly so that they could move on.
“I sure hope that doesn’t happen,” Dave turned to Mark. “Is there anything you could do to head off something like demonstrations? After all, we’re following the law, and we’ve tried to do everything the tribe has asked.”
“I know,” Mark said. “The officials are OK with what’s happened. I guess I could meet with Davison and try to settle him down, but there’s first amendment rights involved and …” Dave cut him off, “Yeah, I understand but give it a try, please. We can’t risk any delays with Superior breathing down our necks with their proposed project. Their site is apparently free of any archeological issues, at least thus far. You know how it is.”
Mark nodded his understanding. “Let me talk to Davison and see what I can learn. They might agree to some sort of plan for something to be developed in another location—maybe on tribal land—a museum or something.”
Dave noticed that Chris Dawkins and Pete Tedder were headed back from their walk around the site. H
e thanked Mark and rose to greet them. Just then a large red F 250 pick up truck sped into the parking area—spraying gravel as it pulled to a halt near where they stood. A young man hopped out. He wore stiff new jeans and cowboy boots that had obviously never seen a working day. A studded western shirt and broad-brimmed hat completed the outfit. He approached them with a certain swagger in his stride.
“Sam Stevens, Superior Group,” he grinned as he held out his hand. “Here to see how you folks are doing with this project.”
“This project is fine,” Dave replied coolly. “Mr. Stevens, we are working here and I don’t recall your making an appointment. Perhaps you might stop by the office and check with the secretary…”
“That’s not necessary,” Stevens almost spat the words, “I’d think you’d appreciate my stopping by to give you a heads up. This project is likely to be shut down soon. I just left a meeting and I think there’re going to be onsite protests here over the weekend. I wouldn’t be surprised if a lawsuit is filed. I’m here to do you a favor.”
“What do you mean, protests? Who’s going to sue?” Dave tried to stay calm.
“I just left a meeting with Doug Davison. He’s going to shut this project down,” Stevens spoke as if it were a done deal. “I’m here to tell you that Superior is going to win this contest. We’re going to crush this project and move forward with our own.” He had moved closer to Jennings whose face was growing redder by the minute.
“Get off this site, Mr. Stevens. If you want to talk to me, or anyone else, make an appointment. We’re working with the state and the tribe and there are no problems so far; take your new cowboy clothes back to where you got them and quit pretending to be something you aren’t. You’re not even dry behind the ears. I’m surprised your bosses let a novice like you get involved in a big project like this!” Jennings was really wound up.
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