by Sylvia Nobel
Listening to the muffled thud of my footsteps, I hurried along the path which finally widened into a clearing that contained a series of small pools, some no more than fifteen or twenty feet in diameter. I knelt beside the first one, dipped my fingers in the cold water and sat back on my heels surveying the amazing desert sanctuary. I rose and continued along the winding pathway until I came to a much larger body of water encircled by oleanders and massive cottonwood trees. Standing there listening to the lonesome rush of the wind through the treetops brought home how perfect this solitary place was to have committed a murder.
The temperature was dropping, so I zipped my jacket to the neck and pulled the hood over my head. I continued circling the perimeter of the pond searching for anything unusual, even though chances of finding anything significant were slim considering that the authorities had swept the area a multitude of times. But, it couldn’t hurt to look. I kicked over stones and used a stout stick to rummage through bushes and tall waving grass alongside the well-worn trail that eventually led to a gate where a sign advised hikers that they would be entering a wilderness area with no facilities. The terrain looked rocky and daunting as I looked beyond the gate towards the Praying Nun.
I turned to retrace my steps and had walked only a few yards when a shrill screech from above startled me. I glanced upward to see a brightly colored parrot staring down at me. No doubt the bird had escaped from somewhere nearby and I wondered how this domesticated creature could survive in this remote area. My attention distracted, I didn’t see the tree root sticking up in front of me. I caught my toe and went sprawling, the sudden impact with the ground knocking the wind out of me. My chin in the dirt, it took several seconds to catch my breath. When I pushed to my knees, the bird let out a cackle that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Very funny,” I called out, watching it flap away. Afterwards I would marvel at the fact that if I hadn’t been in that exact spot looking up in the tree, I wouldn’t have seen what looked like a piece of white cloth fluttering in the breeze among the brown leaves. Curious, I rose to my feet and tried to reach it, but it was just beyond my grasp. Balancing on a nearby rock, I used the stick to pull the end of the branch towards me. Carefully, I removed the white object. Hmmm. It looked like a piece of raw cotton, like the little puffs that come inside a prescription bottle. Probably nothing important, but I stuck it in my pocket and moved on past the pool. I halted in surprise at the unexpected sight of what appeared to be a dirt road flanked by dense foliage. Apparently Hidden Springs was not as hidden as I’d thought. On closer inspection, the road looked freshly carved and underbrush had been cut away to form a crude trail. Perhaps a hundred yards beyond, situated on a gentle rise, stood an unfinished structure with concrete blocks piled adjacent to it. Must be the new bathhouse La Donna had mentioned. I hiked up the hill and peeked inside. It was difficult to see clearly because of the low light, but I made out four shadowy alcoves with benches that would no doubt be changing rooms. Along the back wall were two bathroom stalls. Not a bad idea considering how far the springs were from the hotel and cottages.
I ambled back to the narrow road, knelt down, and ran my fingers along a multitude of recent tire tracks. With this back entrance a host of possibilities opened up as to who the perpetrator may have been. It was feasible the judge had been killed nearby, but it was just as likely that the body had been brought in and dumped. That actually made a lot more sense and would explain its discovery nearly two weeks after the judge’s disappearance. Had the killer performed the gruesome task of removing his head before or after arriving at this idyllic spot? The lack of incriminating physical evidence present seemed to indicate the former, but if he had been killed near Flagstaff, where had the body been all this time and why would the killer go to all the trouble of hauling the corpse here?
Huge drops of rain began to spatter on my head. I looked up, shocked to see low black clouds gathered overhead. Unlike the swift-moving summer monsoons that charged in leading a powerful entourage of wind, lightning and deafening thunder, the winter storms kind of sneaked up on me. Time to go. I stood up, pulled the hood tighter and made a beeline for the path, flinching when a blinding bolt of lightning struck nearby. Then the sky opened up. Whoa! That was unexpected. According to Tally, electrical storms this time of year were rare events.
It was difficult to see even three feet in front of me. I slowed my steps, thinking that I could either make a run for my car and get thoroughly soaked or wait out the cloudburst in the unfinished bathhouse. At that instant, the downpour turned into a barrage of hail. That settled it. I sprinted up the hill and ducked inside the building. There were no exterior doors, but I felt thankful that at least the roof had been completed as I stood listening to the steady percussion of hail clattering from above. The hail vanished as quickly as it had come, but heavy rain resumed. Every now and then a flash of odd violet-colored lightning and a loud clap of thunder added to the drama. I thoroughly enjoyed the rip-roaring excitement of a good thunderstorm. Rivulets of water cascaded down the hill while the cottonwood trees pitched madly in the fickle wind, which suddenly blew the rain horizontally through the doorway, soaking my jeans and shoes.
Reluctantly, I retreated to the rear of the building, slapping the water from my clothing. I bent down to tie one sodden shoelace and froze. There was a dark mound beneath one of the closed stall doors. I stared breathless, waiting for another bolt of lightning. A brilliant, sustained blaze confirmed my suspicions as, clearly visible, was a pair of muddy, black boots.
12
In the space of a nanosecond several scenarios streaked through my mind, the uppermost being that the boots belonged to the murderer. I rose and dashed for the doorway. At the same instant the stall slammed open and I collided headfirst with someone. We both went sprawling on the wet floor. A searing pain ricocheted through my head and white pinwheels danced before my eyes. Several seconds passed until my vision cleared enough for me to make out the form of an athletic-looking young woman dressed in jeans and a tan jacket. With a groan of pain, she pushed to a sitting position, holding one ear. When I sat up, the hood of my windbreaker fell back and damp tendrils tumbled around my cheeks. I reached up and gingerly touched the lump growing on my forehead. A deafening roar of thunder shook the building and through the hazy curtain of rain slanting in the open door, the stranger and I made eye contact. I could see my own apprehension reflected in her startled gaze, apparently each of us thinking the same thing.
Patting the floor around her, a look of relief softened her face when she picked up a pair of glasses and slipped them on. She stared at me hard. A slight twitch began at the corner of her mouth and bloomed into an incredulous grin. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped. “Stick? Is that you?”
My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t heard my childhood nickname for fifteen years, and only one person had ever called me that. We both scrambled to our feet and as I moved closer to get a better look at her, a warm glow of recognition flooded my veins. “Fitzy? Oh my God? What the…? I mean…how…? You scared the ever lovin’ crap out of me!”
“Ditto!” Her greenish hazel eyes danced with humor as she pushed aside dark brown curls to massage her right ear. “I always knew you were hardheaded but did you have to knock me on my ass to prove it?”
Tears of joy stung my eyes while fond memories of our eight years as inseparable buddies marched through my head. I threw my arms around Nora Kay Fitzgerald, my best friend from third grade, and she returned the hug affectionately. Then I pulled back to study her oval face, which had changed a lot and yet seemingly not at all. “I don’t know what the odds are of us both being at this particular spot at the exact same time, but they have to be astronomical. I am just blown away.”
“If you hadn’t been wearing that hood I would have recognized that frizzy red hair earlier,” she remarked, wiping mud from the sleeve of her jacket. I noticed that the knees of her jeans were also soiled, as if she’d been crawling around in the dirt. “And you’re still s
tick thin, damn you.”
“This is amazing. I still can’t believe it,” I murmured, overwhelmed with a sense of wonder. “The last time I saw you we were standing in your front yard crying our eyes out while your dad and brother were loading the U-Haul for your move to Idaho.”
“I know. That seems like light-years ago.”
“I remember we vowed to never lose touch,” I remarked softly, “but after you got married and moved to Los Angeles I didn’t hear much from you. Then my Christmas cards started coming back. I called your folks and they said you’d moved to San Diego and were going through a divorce…gosh, was that seven years ago?”
The force of the rain was diminishing and the remains of thunder rolled over the ridgeline, rumbling like felled bowling pins.
A look of chagrin flickered in her eyes. “It’s my fault. I just…lost touch. I kept meaning to write or phone. I don’t have a good excuse except time got away from me. I was pretty depressed and life got really crazy after Larry and I split up. I went back to school, I was working two jobs, and then I met a really nice guy by the name of Eddie Bartoli. He swept me off my feet and we got married. He sells medical software and travels a lot, we moved to Houston, then he got transferred to Denver…” she hitched her shoulders. “So, what are you doing here in Arizona? Last I heard you were still working at your dad’s newspaper there in Spring Hill and engaged to that pharmacist. Did you marry him?”
I nodded. “Major disaster. It lasted barely two years. After that I moved to Philly and worked at the Inquirer on the investigative team. I got engaged again and then developed severe asthma so he dumped me. My doctors suggested a warm dry climate so here I am. I work at the Castle Valley Sun now.”
She nodded sagely. “I see. So you’re here on assignment and you suspected I might be the murderer, right?”
I grinned. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing about me?”
“In spades.” We both laughed.
“Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here in the boonies? Are you a guest here? I didn’t see any other cars out front. Where are you parked?”
She pointed behind me towards the makeshift road. “At the bottom of the hill. I’m investigating this case too.”
I stared at her blankly. “You are? Why?”
“It’s part of my job.” She swept her hand down indicating her muddy jeans. “I’ve been here all afternoon crawling around in the bushes looking for evidence that may have been missed. I got a little jittery when I saw you skulking around because it’s not unusual for the suspect to return to the scene of the crime.”
Bewildered, I repeated, “Return to the scene? Are you a detective?”
“No, I’m a forensic anthropologist.”
I gave her a blank stare. “Bartoli? Oh my God, you’re Dr. Nora Bartoli?”
“That’s me.” Her animated smile accentuated the dimple in one cheek and brought back fond memories of sleepovers where we’d laugh and talk until the wee hours of the morning.
“I don’t know why I should be surprised,” I remarked, still in awe. “Everyone else in biology class was close to retching, but you loved dissecting worms, frogs and those poor little bunnies. And now…you’ve moved on to people.”
“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart.”
“Do you like this line of work?”
“I love it. I couldn’t do it otherwise. It’s got its high points and some days, really low points,” she said with a solemn nod, “but all in all it’s stimulating and challenging.”
We both flinched when another gigantic roll of thunder shook the building and the rain started hammering the roof again in earnest. I looked out the door at clouds that seemed close enough to reach up and touch. “Doesn’t look like this is going to stop anytime soon. We’d better get out of here. If the washes are already running, we may be spending the night at the hotel.”
Her eyes darkened with concern. She dug her cell phone from her pocket and flipped it open. “No signal,” she said with a sigh of annoyance. “Rain or no rain, I’ve got to be back in Phoenix by six o’clock.”
“Oh. Can’t you stay? Why don’t you come into town and have dinner. We have a ton of catching up to do.”
“Can’t. As usual, Eddie’s out of town and my sitter has other plans this evening.”
“Your sitter!” Fists on my hips, I exclaimed with mock severity, “That’s a rather important piece of information to leave out of your life’s story. So, how many kids do you have?”
Grinning, she waved away my comment. “Just one. Mason will be six in March.”
“Wow, we definitely have to talk and now that I know what you do, I’d like to discuss the Gibbons case with you.”
Her gaze turned guarded. “Actually, I’m not at liberty to disclose much at this point in the investigation.”
“How about off the record…for an old friend?”
She hesitated and seemed to be considering my request. “Depends on what you want to know.”
“Anything that would help me narrow down the list of suspects. Turns out I have a personal connection with this case.”
Little frown lines crinkled her forehead. “How so?”
I filled her in on the sketchy details of my relationship with Tally, his tie to Riley Gibbons, our recent engagement—which she congratulated me on—and his mother’s surprising request. She nodded morosely. “Well, you do have yourself boxed into a corner.”
“Tell me about it. I still haven’t told Tally and when I do, it’s gonna hit the fan.”
“I’d like to help, but I’m still conducting tests on the tissue samples…and they’re not conclusive.” Her eyes softened at my obvious disappointment and she added, “I can tell you this much in confidence. The cause of death was from the gunshot wound to the chest, so you can assure…what’s her name?”
“Ruth.”
“You can assure Ruth that he was already dead when his head was removed.”
I was silent a moment as I reordered my thoughts. “So, in your professional opinion, when do you think that happened?”
“I’m still in the process of establishing that.”
“I’ve got to tell you, this missing head thing creeps me out, but I’m guessing you’ve worked on cases like this before.”
“Each situation is unique, but yeah, I’ve seen it happen before. Perhaps the thinking is we won’t be able to identify who it is, but with advances in forensic science, that’s less and less the case. I don’t know why but some criminals feel compelled to hang onto some of the victim’s body parts. In cases like this one,” she said, giving me a mischievous smile, “I call it keeping a trophy head.”
“Trophy head? Whoa. That is so sick.”
Her nonchalant shrug seemed to convey that this type of bizarre behavior did not surprise her.
I looked at her sharply. “What do you think? Was he killed here or someplace else?”
“The authorities conducted standard line and grid searches, lake patrol divers searched the pools and so far there’s no evidence to indicate that he was killed here. No blood, no bullets, no shell casings, no identifiable footprints. So,” she said, spreading her arms wide, “I don’t know for sure where it happened, but I came here today to satisfy myself that we haven’t missed anything.”
“What kinds of things are you looking for?”
“Drag marks, hair, fabric, skin, fingernails… nothing so far. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure that his body was transported here. My guess is the suspect came in that back road, drove right up to the edge of the pool and…splash.”
“I assume the body was weighted down with something?”
“Yep. Tied to a couple of the concrete blocks just like the ones piled up outside.”
“Were there any identifiable tire tracks?”
“They’re still working on that. Unfortunately, two weeks of rain and snow and other vehicles driving in and out have made it difficult to isolate one particular track. B
y the time I got here it was just a big muddy mess, but we did get a variety of soil samples that we’re now analyzing.”
“What about the handyman, the guy who found the body? Anything to tie him to the murder?”
“Can’t say right now.”
“Okay. According to the sheriff’s report, besides his vehicle, a flower delivery van was here that day along with several other trucks transporting construction materials. And apparently some of the posse members drove in here the night the judge’s body was discovered.”
She made a wry face. “It would be nice for me if the crime scene was uncontaminated, but it doesn’t always happen that way. I get called in on a lot of cold cases where someone’s stumbled upon a couple of bones in the desert and that’s all that’s left for me to work with.”
My admiration for her grew by the minute. “I’ve watched some of these crime scene investigation shows on TV. What do you think of them?”
Her laugh was scornful. “In some ways, they’ve actually made my job a little harder because criminals are mindful of the progress in forensics and they’re more careful not to leave behind incriminating evidence.” She shook her head. “I find it kind of funny that the job is made out to be exciting and glamorous.”
“And I’m sure it’s not.”
“Anything but. People seem really impressed now when they find out what I do. I call it the ‘cool factor,’ but I wonder how those same people would react if they could have been with me a month ago while I was prying the ribs apart on a mushy torso found in a trash barrel after it had baked in 100-degree-plus temperatures for a week. Bet they wouldn’t think that was too cool. Truth be told, it’s tedious, exacting and smelly.”
“Doesn’t sound like something I’d want to do for a living. You must have an iron stomach.”
“I guess. But, I’m able to deal with it because when it turns out to be relevant, it feeds something in me. There’s a lot of satisfaction in solving the mystery of how someone died.” Her eyes grew animated. “There’s nothing quite like that moment—that ah-ha moment when I know. Then I can give people an answer as to what really happened to their loved one.”