Zack gave a shake of his head, sat down. "Not much. Did you have any luck with the boys' rifles? Were they purchased locally? Anyone trying to sell them?"
Short looked discouraged. "None of the above, I'm afraid. Apparently they were not bought locally, and whoever has them is keeping them."
"I didn't expect a lot from that. Sometimes you get lucky, though. I do need to ask you a couple of things."
"Go ahead."
"First, we'd like to get a look at the old map Hatchett has in his possession. I thought a request coming from you might fly better."
"What map is that?"
Zack told Butch the story of Hatchett finding the map in his attic.
"This is turning into a Robert Louis Stevenson novel," Short said, shaking his head. "Sure, I'll float a request by him. What else?"
"We'd like to dig up the crime scene."
"Looking for treasure, or bodies?"
"Maybe both."
Short smiled. "Well, in fact, that's up to you. Sheriff Connelly told me they were done out there. I been keeping it closed until I was sure you were done with it."
"Thank you."
"No––thank you." Short's grin broadened. "It's your investigation now. Your supervisor, Luke Forrestal just called, said the case belongs to the FBI and you are the lead investigator. You can do whatever you want." He laughed. "And I just saved myself some money."
Zack was caught by surprise. Such a turn of events was natural, even inevitable, given a double murder on government land. He just hadn't been thinking about it. Now he'd have to change the way he handled reports, expenses. More work for him, but more freedom of action on the ground.
Short had another interesting question. "How does the FBI view spirits, officially?"
"Why do you ask?" Zack was suspicious.
"There's been another sighting of that big hairy creature at Hidden Springs."
Zack was caught by surprise for a second time. "By whom?"
"By Roberto Castro. He drove up there last night to see the place where his nephew died. He was almost too late, got there around dusk. Said he was right at the yellow tape, trying to figure out our flags when something made him look up the slope at the windmill. He says a large bipedal creature was standing there staring back at him. He couldn't see much detail––the light was behind it. He says it turned away as he watched, took a couple of steps toward the windmill, and vanished."
Short watched Zack's reaction to the story.
"You should see your face," he said, laughing. He spread his hands wide. "This case? It's all yours now."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
That night Zack found another surprise waiting when he returned to his motel room, a large gift basket of fruit on his bedside table. He tore open the attached note.
Dear Mr. Tolliver,
Please accept this gift as an expression of our deep regret. While we have no idea how the snake came to be in your room, we accept full responsibility and assure you we have taken steps to see it never happens again. Please also accept one free night, which we have removed from your bill.
Sincerely,
The Management
Zack was amused. He wondered what steps the management might take to keep human killers out of his room. It's fortunate they had no idea what was really going on, but he intended to enjoy the fruit and those little chocolates, regardless.
The fact the investigation was now a federal case changed little, to Zack's mind. Butch had more or less let him run the show up to now, anyway. He'd simply continue on the same way, the real difference was he could make his own decisions without consultation, thus move more quickly.
As he changed for bed, his mind grappled with the case. They had solid evidence the shooting was a double homicide by a perpetrator or perpetrators unknown. Beyond that, they had suspicions but not much more. With men like Bronc and Hatchett, who spent solitary lives herding cattle and mending fences, he couldn't expect alibis for the time and place of the murders. Zack hoped they'd find something under the sand at Hidden Springs to point them in the right direction.
The team gathered at the Wagon Wheel for breakfast. Susan had Short's Subaru and planned to be at the library. She'd call Zack if she learned anything helpful.
After breakfast, Zack and Eagle Feather went to the hardware store to rent a metal detector and buy a couple of shovels. They planned to stop off to see Tav on the way out to see if he had any new thoughts. After that, they'd go on to Hidden Springs and start digging.
When they carried the two shovels to the counter, the clerk said, "You boys are lucky. Those are my last two. There's been a real run on them recently."
"You don't say."
"I do say. Those two shepherd boys who killed each other out there, they bought two of 'em. The Kellogg Ranch ordered up three of 'em."
"How long ago did the ranch order the shovels?" Eagle Feather asked.
"That was a couple 'a weeks ago" the clerk said. "We dropped 'em out there a week last Thursday."
Zack and Eagle Feather left the store with a half dozen bamboo wands, the metal detector, two shovels, and a 100-foot measuring tape.
"It's good to be back on a budget," Zack said.
As they settled into the Jeep Blue leaned in from the back, gave each man a welcoming lick behind the ear.
"So the Kellogg Ranch bought three shovels. That seems to point a stronger finger at Hatchett and Bronc," Eagle Feather said.
Zack reversed out of the parking space, spun the wheel and turned out into the main road. "It's a ranch, don't forget. They need shovels from time to time, I'd imagine." He glanced at Eagle Feather. "But, yeah, it's a bit of a coincidence."
The morning had been lazy; it was close to noon when they drove up to the Hole-in-the-Wall Information Center. Several vehicles with bicycles attached to them were parked outside the building. Inside, they found Tav busy serving an assortment of tourists, answering questions. Zack and Eagle Feather waited.
When the last visitor drifted away, Tav turned to them. "Sorry for the wait. Folks drive out here from the city and have no idea what it's about. They expect a McDonalds over the next rise. You'd be amazed how many people drive in here without enough gas, food, or water. The Preserve is so accessible from Las Vegas and LA people just don't understand how wild it is."
"You seem busier than usual," Zack said.
"Middle of the day, like now, tends to be busiest. People drop by here on their way somewhere else. The ones who come later in the day are generally the campers, and don't need as much hand-holding." He peered at Zack, then Eagle Feather. "What's up?"
"We stopped by to let you know this is now an official FBI case. I wondered if you've had any new thoughts about the murders."
"If you mean do I have any new suspects in mind, the answer is no. I can think of no solid motive, either. Maybe those two young guys had some trouble of their own, like a bad debt, or were involved in something that has nothing to do with anyone around here." Tav put a sales receipt in a tin box under the shelf, glancing up at Zack. "They could have brought their own problems along with them, you know."
"Very true." Zack turned away. "If you learn anything helpful, you know how to reach me."
They had become very familiar with the route and the drive from Hole-in-the-Wall to Hidden Springs seemed to take no time at all. For Zack, the barren beauty of the landscape had not lost its enchantment. At the well enclosure, the gate was shut, the lock was on it, but unfastened. The yellow police tape was in place, the site undisturbed.
The sun was high, a breeze helped allay the heat. Blue bounded out of the Jeep the moment it stopped and went to visit a nearby mesquite.
Eagle Feather pulled out the two shovels. "Where do you plan to start?"
Zack unwedged the map sketch from his shirt pocket, studied it. "I don't know where this map starts or finishes. Let's assume the boys had it figured out correctly, and start to dig in a direct line between the spots the bodies were found." He folded up the
map. "I'll start to the right, you start to the left. We'll work toward each other."
Eagle Feather nodded. They went to work.
Work it certainly was. Despite the breeze, the sun beat down, and the men were soon covered with sweat. The sand was dense, packed down like soil. Shovel-loads were heavy. Blue found shade nearby and watched the men work.
They dug holes two feet deep, a foot apart. They pushed the probes down in the bottom of the pits to search deeper. Other than the occasional perforated food tin or small piece of unidentifiable rusted metal, they found nothing. Later in the afternoon the breeze died completely and the heat draped over them like a living thing. Eagle Feather dropped his shovel and went to the Jeep for a long drink of water. He stared at the line of holes across the level sand. Zack flipped out a last shovelful, dropped his shovel, and joined Eagle Feather in the shade of the Jeep.
"I guess its time to move over a few feet, dig another line of holes."
"I've got a better idea," Eagle Feather said. "Why don't you take the metal detector along the line where you want us to dig. Maybe we can save some time."
"If it's treasure down there, maybe so. A body, maybe not."
Eagle Feather passed the water to Zack. "I'd rather find treasure than a body anyway."
"Okay, we better get at it. It'll be dark in another few hours."
Eagle Feather waved a hand. "Be my guest, White Man."
Using the metal detector, Zack moved along the projected line at a slow pace, far faster, however, than it took to dig the pits. Eagle Feather followed behind with a probe. In another hour they had covered much more ground, but had found nothing. They set the depth on the detector lower, tried again. Still nothing.
By now the entire area of level sand was covered either by probe holes or pits. "That's it," Eagle Feather said. "We've perforated the entire area."
The sun hovered above the hills in the west as if undecided. It would drop quickly after this.
Eagle Feather studied it, calculating. "Another two hours and we won't be able to see what we're doing here without flashlights."
Zack leaned against the Jeep fender, reached two fingers into his shirt pocket, and pulled out the map yet again. He studied each leg of dashes.
"I expect if anything had been buried recently in the patch of blackbush, it would be evident," he said, thinking aloud.
"Not if it was buried a hundred years ago. To be certain of that, we'd have to tear it all out."
"The map does not show those area as destinations, just passages," Zack said, hoping he was right.
"Why do you suppose the map maker drew those zigs and zags? Why not simply measure paces from the tree directly to the place of burial?"
"I dunno, to throw people off? To make it more difficult?"
Eagle Feather took the map from Zack, turned it this way and that. "What if there were obstacles, say here and here, at the time the map was drawn." Eagle Feather pointed to the space enclosed by the three legs. "Obstacles you had to walk around, like buildings."
Zack stood up straight. "I think you're on to something. Let's think about how a building might have fit in that space. Maybe we can approximate its size––draw it on this map. Theoretically, we can eliminate that area from our search and concentrate on what remains." He took back the map. "Look here," he said, feeling his excitement grow. "Another cabin might have fit––"
He felt Eagle Feather grip his arm, looked at him. Eagle Feather was watching Blue. The big bloodhound''s nose pointed toward one of the holes they had just dug, his whole body was tense.
"He's fixed on a scent," Eagle Feather said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The big bloodhound crept toward the hole the men had just dug. Blue was trained to hunt humans, and only humans, whether runaways or rescue victims. He had caught a scent from beneath the sand that was drawing him to the hole. The scent must be strong and it had to be human.
Blue thrust his nose down into the pit, whined, clawed away at its edge, his huge forepaws efficient as shovels. The hole grew to twice its size in an instant. Blue's eager whines grew louder, then halted as if by command. The big dog stopped digging, turned to look toward Zack.
Zack glanced at Eagle Feather. "I think Blue found something, and I don't think it's a treasure." He walked toward Blue with measured steps, reluctant, knowing what he would find. He patted the great bony head and peered into the hole.
A face was exposed in the depth of the pit, eyes and mouth filled with sand. Zack saw a high forehead, a patch of black hair. Even in the dusky hole, he could see the dark complexion, wrinkles from age near the mouth and eyes.
Eagle Feather was next to him. "That must be Old Juan."
Zack reached down, carefully nudged sand from the hollows of the eyes and mouth. The eyes were rolled up, whites exposed, a mustache came into view, then chin covered with white day-old beard. A prominent scar, light against dark skin coursed from right eyebrow to near the right ear.
"That scar should make an ID simple, " Zack said.
"It must be Juan," Eagle Feather said, again.
Zack glanced at his phone; saw he had no signal. He turned to Eagle Feather.
"Get your shovel. We need to dig him out as best we can without messing up forensic clues. I'd like to know how he died. After that, I'll drive out to where there's a signal and call in some backup."
The sun edged beyond the far hills, the shadows lengthened and deepened, the songs and chatter of birds ceased The silence of the night settled in as the two men set about their grim task.
* * * * *
Susan returned to her room after breakfast, satiated and sluggish. She opted for something more comfortable than the spring dress she wore to breakfast with the men, settled on slacks and a blouse with flats. She peered in the mirror for a final hair adjustment.
Susan had no expectations from the men's plan. The ground at Hidden Springs had been covered quite thoroughly with the metal detector. Even with the limit set to a foot to obtain a stronger signal, if some large metal resided even a foot or more below that, the machine would have reacted. Oh, well, let them mess about.
Her phone found the nearest Starbucks several miles north on Route 95 at Fort Mojave. She wavered, but the taste of the hot bitterness came to her memory and edged her toward it. The directions took her across the bridge over the Colorado River and on north. Forty-five minutes later, her coffee craving fixed, she was back in Needles nearing the Needles Public Library with a large lidded brew in hand.
The same librarian was at the checkout desk. When he opened his mouth to object to food in the library, she tried on her most beguiling sultry smile and blew away his defenses. Soon after, she was ensconced in the situation she enjoyed most; a coffee at hand, several books nearby, and a computer screen open to a search engine.
The hours passed unnoticed. The Styrofoam cup, now empty, sat neglected and cold. Susan was completely engaged by the information supplied at Genealogy.com, where she tried different combinations of birthdates, spouses and parents. Her search had narrowed to an attempt to trace the lineage of just three names: Simmons, Skaggs, and Hatchett, but so far with limited success. If anyone alive today in southeastern California could claim those three men in a family tree, it wasn't obvious.
Susan wasn't as concerned about Hatchett. She felt assured he had been truthful in his description of his parents and grandparents during their interview. Her search of Simmons was short, and disappointing. The results came in the form of an obituary, printed in the Arizona Sentinel, circa 1915. Robert Simmons, age 45, of Yuma, AZ, previously Fairfield, California, died from an accidental self-inflicted gunshot wound. No known family members. That lineage ended before it began.
Somewhere around two o'clock she found a family tree posted by Eleanor Skaggs Roper. She read with growing excitement the name and date for the woman's father, and then her grandfather. Andrew Lionel Skaggs, occupation farmer. No location was given. Susan looked for accompanying documents, found a c
ensus report from 1900. She opened it; her eye scanned the surnames. It was handwritten in columns yet legible. There he was––listed with no family members in his household, his property evaluated at $500. But where was this?
Susan scrolled to the top of the page for the location. The place given was––San Bernardino County. Eureka! Susan tabbed back to the family tree, found a 1910 census with Andrew Skaggs, head of household, spouse Emily, child Peter. The location given was Los Angeles. So he had married and moved. Susan plugged in more variables; found the same family members in the same location a decade later. No other child was present. That made things easier, she need only follow Peter's branch. Peter did not remain in LA, she found, but moved at some point to Flagstaff, Arizona. Further search found Peter married to someone named Alicia, with three children: Eleanor, the oldest, James, and a baby sister, Aretha.
Well, she knew about Eleanor. James had married a Susan Pfeiffer. Aretha married––Susan drew in her breath, unable to believe the name she read neatly typed on the appropriate line of the family tree. She glanced at her watch––four o'clock.
Susan dug in her purse for her phone, dialed Zack's number despite the library admonishment not to use cell phones. She had to warn him.
Zack's phone rang and rang.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dusk cloaked the desert, isolated shadows merged; yucca and barrel cacti were lonely black sentinels against a fading sky. The two men, first with shovels then with hands unearthed Old Juan's body. He lay on his back, arms folded across his chest. Blood caked with sand marked where two bullet holes had slammed into his body, near his heart.
The digging done, Zack and Eagle Feather stood together next to the impromptu grave, and stared down at Juan.
"The shepherd boys got too close to finding Juan, and Juan got too close to finding something else," Zack said.
Under Desert Sand Page 19
