Old Bones, page 26
Nora gave a brusque nod, then started for the entrance to the inn. Maybe this Chen would be easier to work with.
Corrie turned to follow her. “As soon as the transition is complete, I’ll be headed back to Albuquerque.”
“I wish you the best.” And good riddance.
“Unfortunately, with the storm it may be a few days before I can show Agent Chen the campsite and dig.”
“Unfortunately, you were supposed to hand off the site to me after forty-eight hours. That meant yesterday at two PM. Instead, you didn’t live up to our agreement. You got back after dark—and now we can’t get to the dig, either.”
She walked into the inn, Corrie Swanson still following. “I was late. Sorry. But the fact is, you couldn’t have gone up yesterday afternoon anyway—not with the approaching storm.”
Nora didn’t answer. She knew this was true, given her reception from Burleson just now. But she was in no mood to admit it to this interfering FBI agent.
“I’ve got one last question,” Corrie went on. “It’s just a loose end, but I’m not sure how to write it up in my report. Do you know of anyone who might have been camping near the dig last summer or fall?”
“Nope, sorry.” Nora glanced around the lobby, looking for the urns. Damn, she needed that coffee.
“I ask because yesterday I found a fire ring dating back to last year or earlier, up a side canyon.”
“I didn’t even learn of the site’s existence until December, as you know. It must be just some random camper.”
Corrie frowned. “Okay.”
Nora located the coffee urn and began heading for it, but then something made her hesitate. She recalled her growing feeling that someone had been watching their camp. “Are you sure the fire ring wasn’t more recent?”
“A bunch of pine needles and aspen leaves were lying over the dead coals, along with a stray patch of snow, so I assumed it had to be abandoned before the leaves fell in the fall.”
Nora waited.
“Funny place to camp,” Corrie went on. “No fishing, no scenery, just a dead-end canyon and a big split tree.”
Nora hesitated. A split tree. Why did that ring a bell? “Maybe it was a hunter’s camp?”
“Hunting season starts in late November, after the leaves have fallen.”
This sounded a little strange. “Did you find anything else up there?”
“I scoured the site, but it was pretty clean. Just some trash. A gum wrapper, cigar butt, stray piece of cellophane—that’s it.”
Nora paused. “Cigar butt? Did it still have its label?”
“I didn’t notice. I’d have to check.”
“You saved it?”
“Of course.”
Nora quickly dismissed this as a meaningless coincidence—which, if mentioned to this FBI agent, would only create more unnecessary suspicion. Still, she hesitated, uneasiness tugging at her. “Where was this canyon, exactly?”
Corrie paused to recollect. “If you go down Poker Canyon, cross, um, Hackberry Creek, and go up the canyon on the opposite side—that’s the one. No name on the map.”
Nora took a deep breath. Now she remembered where the memory of the split tree had come from. When they were first riding up Hackberry Creek, before they found the Lost Camp, Clive had mentioned something about a giant tree split in two by lightning. But in what context?
“Where’s the cigar butt?” Nora asked.
“In my room.”
“Can we go take a look?”
Corrie’s gaze turned speculative. “Why?”
“Let’s just check it,” said Nora. “I’ll tell you why later.”
“All right.”
Nora followed Corrie over to the stairs and up to her room. The agent walked over to an evidence case placed on a luggage rack, opened it, and took out a sealed plastic envelope with a few items inside, including the butt end of a fat cigar. She handed the envelope to Nora.
Nora turned it over, feeling an odd tightness in her chest. “Dunhill,” she murmured. She handed it back to Corrie.
“Is that significant?” Corrie asked.
Nora hesitated. Should she tell her? It was only going to lead to more trouble. But she heard herself saying: “Clive occasionally smokes Dunhills.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He said it calms him when he’s feeling frustrated. And…” Now she feared she was really taking a step she’d regret. “You mentioned a tree split by lightning.”
“Yes. It was right next to the fire ring, one half leaning out like it was about to fall. I’d never camp there for fear of getting clobbered while I slept.”
“When we were looking for the camp, riding up Hackberry Creek for the first time…Clive said something about a split tree.”
“In what context?”
“I can’t fully recall. I think he was joking about the danger of being struck by lightning up in those mountains. He mentioned a spruce he’d seen that was split top to bottom. Very dramatic, he said. Is the tree…visible from the trail?”
“No.”
Nora went silent, thinking.
Corrie asked, “Is Dunhill a common brand of cigar?”
“No idea.” This was precisely what she’d been afraid of, setting off more speculation. “Look, anybody could have left that cigar. It wasn’t Clive. Why would he be camping up there last year? He told me he’d never been in this area before.”
Corrie took a moment to answer. “Looking for the gold.”
“Come on. Really? Then why bring this project to the Institute? Why didn’t he just take the gold himself?”
“Maybe he tried but couldn’t find it. So he enlisted your expertise in locating the camp.”
“That makes no sense. Once we found the gold, how was he supposed to get his hands on it? Steal it from the Institute?”
Corrie said slowly, “Perhaps he’s already found the gold. And that’s why you haven’t found it yet.”
Nora laughed mirthlessly. “You’re hanging this entire theory on an old stogie.”
“And a split tree.”
“There must be dozens of those in the forest.”
After a moment, Corrie took the evidence bag from Nora. “There’s going to be DNA on this. Maybe even a fingerprint. Let’s show it to him and ask if he was camping up there last year.”
“He’ll say no.”
“Of course he’ll say no. But we’ll get a chance to gauge his reaction to our question.”
“Your question. I’m not going to ask him that to his face. He’s a partner in this expedition—and a friend.”
“Fair enough.” And Corrie led the way to the door.
46
BUT WHEN THEY knocked, Clive didn’t answer.
Standing just outside his door, they spoke in low tones. “Think he’s still asleep?” Corrie asked.
“He always seemed to be an early riser.”
“Well, he wasn’t downstairs at breakfast. And there’s not a whole lot of other places to go in town this early in the morning, with a storm bearing down on us.” Corrie knocked again, harder this time. As she did so, the door came ajar.
“That’s funny,” Corrie said, inspecting the knob. “Looks like the lock is stuck. If the shower in my room is any indication, the hardware in this fleabag is in as bad shape as the plumbing.”
Nora stuck her head past the open door. “Clive?” She could see the room was a whirlwind of disorder—suitcases open, drawers ajar, personal items scattered around. About the only thing that wasn’t a mess was the bed—it was still made.
“Doesn’t look like Clive went to bed last night,” she said. “But whenever he left, he left in a hurry.”
“That probably explains the door,” Corrie replied. “He locked it, but didn’t check to make sure he’d pulled it tight. Hey, wait—!”
As she was speaking, Nora stepped into the room.
“You can’t go in there,” Corrie said. “Not without a warrant.”
“What warrant? I’m the expedition leader. A friend. Clive left something in his room that belongs to me. I came to get it and found his door open.”
“What thing of yours would that be?” Corrie asked.
“I’m not sure. But I’ll know it when I see it.”
“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”
Nora gazed around at the disorder, trying to make sense of things, her friendship with and respect for Clive at odds with the inexplicable mess surrounding her. It didn’t look like he’d taken any clothes. Even his camera was still sitting on a nightstand. She approached the desk, which was covered with historical documents. Riffling through them, she found photocopies of old letters; contemporary newspaper reports; yellowed reproductions of microfilm pages; even penny dreadfuls purporting to tell the gruesome and unadulterated story of the Donner tragedy. There were dozens of items; Clive was nothing if not thorough in his research.
“Do you see a coat?” Corrie said, looking in through the door.
“No. He must have gone out.”
Nora continued sorting through the documents on the desk. She picked up a stapled photocopy of what she quickly recognized as Tamzene Donner’s journal. Clive, of course, had left the original back in Santa Fe for safekeeping. As she turned the well-thumbed pages, a single sheet fell out.
Curious, she picked it up. This was something new—new and strange. It was another photocopy, written in an uneven spidery script, with names and dates and biblical quotations and even grim little drawings that served as punctuation: tombstones and weeping angels and sheets of fire that, apparently, depicted the apocalypse. Here and there, she could see newer markings: a few highlighted lines and brief notes scribbled in the margin—in Clive’s handwriting.
This looked like an important historical document. But she had never seen it. If Clive had found it stuck into Tamzene’s original diary, he’d never mentioned it to her.
“He must have gone out,” Corrie said. “Let’s go.”
“Just a minute.” Nora carried the photocopy to the door and showed it to Corrie.
“What’s that?” Corrie asked. “Looks like the doodlings of a madman.”
“Maybe that’s what it is.” Nora folded the sheet and stuffed it in her pocket. “All right. Lead the way.”
* * *
At the front desk, the receptionist said Clive had left that morning before dawn, with a day pack. He had not said where he was going.
They looked at each other. Corrie pulled out her cell phone and dialed Clive’s number. It went straight to voice mail. She dialed again, this time the Red Mountain Ranch.
She spoke for a few minutes, then hung up.
“The folks at Red Mountain Ranch found one of their horses missing this morning,” Corrie told Nora. “Burleson thought it might have been you.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Of course not,” Corrie said, arching her eyebrows.
“Come on. Clive, a horse thief? Why would he take a horse—and in this weather?”
Corrie didn’t reply.
“You keep jumping to conclusions,” Nora said, her tone dubious. “Clive’s no criminal.”
“Everyone’s a potential criminal,” Corrie replied. “All it takes is the right incentive.”
47
BURLESON CAME OUT on the porch to meet them, coffee cup in hand, face red. “We’ve never had a security problem here before,” he said, fuming. “But someone came and helped themselves to a horse, a saddle, and tack.”
“When?” Corrie asked.
“After the morning feeding. One of my hands turned the horses out in the corrals, as usual, for exercise. That was at six—around the time the rain started, maybe an hour before Nora here arrived and woke me up. At eight, I noticed someone had latched the back gate wrong; went out—and saw Blaze was missing. Not only that, they took my .30-06 Springfield down from over the damn fireplace in the lodge. Brazen bastards.”
Corrie looked at Nora, then back to Burleson. “Blaze was the horse Dr. Benton rode, correct?”
“That’s right. You think it’s Clive?”
“I do,” Corrie said.
“But why? I’d have loaned him Blaze once the weather cleared. Why would he steal a damn horse he could have for free?”
“Because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing,” said Corrie. “And the gun? What about ammo?”
“I don’t keep loose ammo around, and the gun was unloaded.” Burleson was shaking his head in disbelief. “You really think Clive stole my horse? To do what—ride up to the dig?”
Corrie nodded. “I need to go up there, too. I hope you can spare another horse.”
“I already told Nora here that I can’t let my horses out in this—”
“One’s out already. I’ll bring him back. Don’t force me to requisition Sierra.”
Burleson cursed under his breath. “Well, if you’re going to put it like that, I’ve got an excellent wrangler that—”
“No wrangler,” said Corrie. She couldn’t involve any citizens in this.
“You can’t go up there alone. You’re no horsewoman, and you’ve only got a handgun. I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“I’m going with her,” Nora said.
Corrie turned to Nora. “Excuse us for a moment,” she told Burleson.
She took Nora off to the far end of the porch and lowered her voice. “You can’t come with me. This is a law enforcement matter.”
“And it’s my dig site. It’s crazy for you to ride up there alone. It’s already raining, and look at the damn sky. If you won’t take me, at least get the sheriff and some others.”
“No time. I’ve got to get up there now.”
“Why? What’s the hurry?”
“I’m sure you can guess. I think Clive has gone up there to retrieve the gold he already found.”
Nora’s dubious expression returned. “You really think so?”
“I do. It’s the only theory that fits the facts. He couldn’t find it on his own, so he enlisted you to locate the Lost Camp. As soon as the camp was established, he began a determined search for the gold—and found it. And now, with the camp shut down, he has a chance to recover it.” She took a deep breath. “If I catch him with the gold, it’s an open-and-shut case. Otherwise, I’ve got no case at all—just supposition.”
“What about that new FBI agent you mentioned? Wait and go up with him.”
“Clive started up the trail maybe two hours ago. By the time Agent Chen arrives, it could be too late.”
“All the more reason you need me. You can’t go alone.”
“Forget it. You’re a civilian.”
“I’m also an expert horsewoman, and you can’t ride worth shit.”
“You’re wasting my time with this arguing,” said Corrie hotly. She turned back to Burleson. “Get Sierra ready, I’m leaving now.”
“And get Stormy for me, too,” Nora said.
Burleson stood motionless a moment, staring at them. Then he told Corrie firmly: “I’m saddling two horses, one for you and one for Nora. And I’m issuing rain gear. That’s my decision, or neither of you go—law or no law.”
* * *
As they started up the trail, the gray skies grew darker, bringing with them a feeling of dusk despite the early hour. So far the rain was relatively light, though it was terribly cold. Thank God Burleson had given them rain jackets and pants. Corrie trotted on her horse behind Nora, gripping the saddle horn with one hand, feeling like she was being jackhammered.
Corrie had her Glock and an extra magazine. But Clive was armed with a .30-06. She wondered if he’d managed to get ammo; realized she needed to assume he had. If they were going to confront him, her handgun—accurate out to about fifty feet—was no match for that rifle.
Of course, all this depended on whether her theory about Clive and the gold was right. She wondered once again if she was jumping to conclusions. But the historian’s abrupt departure, the condition of his room, and most especially the stealing of the horse all struck her as additional reasons for suspicion.
What would Morwood say about all this? She hadn’t been able to raise him by phone. And Chen…maybe she should have waited for him. She should not have taken Nora. She should have rousted the sheriff and his deputy.
But who knew when Chen would arrive in this weather, and coaxing the sheriff out from his comfortable hole would have taken at least an hour. Besides, she wasn’t sure they’d be an effective backup. But Nora? She had to admit, Nora was resourceful, smart, and tough.
After a while the trail turned slick and muddy, and she could clearly make out the hoofprints of Clive’s horse. They had been moving fast, and despite his head start weren’t all that far behind him—at least, judging from the freshness of the prints. When they turned off the established trail, along Hackberry Creek, she could see where Blaze had left prints in the damp grass and pine needles.
“Nora? Hold up for a moment.”
Nora reined in her horse and swung it around.
“That .30-06 is a hunting rifle with a range of a thousand yards. If Benton really is the killer, it’d be suicide to just ride in on him.”
“I was thinking the same thing. But I can’t believe he’s a thief and a murderer. How sure are you—exactly? We don’t want any mistakes that might end in tragedy.”
This was true, and Corrie answered carefully: “I’m not sure. But Benton is up to something, and we need to find out what it is. And he did steal a gun, which suggests he’s ready to use it.”
“Then what we should do,” said Nora, “is find a way to observe him from afar—before we determine how to respond.”
“Makes sense. Any ideas?”
“Yes.” Nora plucked the portable GPS from her pocket, gave it a moment to acquire satellites, then consulted its small screen. “We can ride up Sugarpine Creek to where it tops out, then climb the ridge between it and Poker Canyon. From the top, we should be able to see down into the valley.”
“Is it rideable?”
“We can probably get at least halfway up the ridge, but the last part we’ll have to hike.”
Corrie nodded. “Let’s go.”
