Ancient Enemy Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Lukens, Mark

  “There are a couple of other odd things,” Palmer said. He nodded towards the line of vehicles a hundred yards away. “The dead batteries in those vehicles.”

  “These people have been dead for two or three days at least. Maybe longer. It’s been freezing. Not impossible that the batteries in their vehicles died.”

  “And the generator wouldn’t start,” Palmer reminded him. “And the laptop in the trailer was destroyed. What about the radio equipment in the trailer?”

  Klein just shrugged.

  Palmer was sure Klein hadn’t even looked at the radio closely.

  “If these guys were attacked, then why didn’t they use the radios to contact someone right away?” Palmer asked. “Maybe the radio wasn’t working. Just like all of the batteries were dead in their trucks? But if they couldn’t call for help, then why didn’t some of them run out into the desert? How come some of them didn’t get away?”

  “We can figure out the why later,” Klein said. “Right now I think we should concentrate on the who first.”

  “What about the bodies in town?” Palmer said, looking at Klein. “You want to pin that on Navajo activists, too?”

  “I’m not pinning anything on anybody,” Klein snapped. “I’m just exploring theories that make the most sense.”

  Palmer waited patiently for Klein to answer the question.

  He sighed. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Could be another murder altogether that happened around the same time as this one. Husband could’ve killed his wife, and then killed himself.”

  “And then skinned his own face off?” Palmer asked.

  Klein didn’t respond.

  “Or those two murders could have something to do with the slaughter here, and we just don’t know what the connection is yet,” Palmer said. “You have to admit that the display of their bodies seems a little similar to those body parts in that cave.”

  “They weren’t torn apart,” Klein said. “They weren’t displayed like the bodies in the cave.”

  “Yeah, but they were mutilated. Rounded, as the captain said.”

  Klein just nodded.

  Palmer looked at the line of trucks again. “One of those vehicles is gone. Looks like it drove right up that embankment onto the dirt road. In quite a hurry to leave.”

  Klein nodded. “Yeah, looks that way.”

  “Why would Navajo radicals come here, do this, and then steal one of the vehicles?”

  Klein didn’t have an answer for him.

  “Forensics will get a tire tread sample,” Palmer said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. DMV is working on whose vehicle belongs to who among these archaeologists.”

  Klein just nodded again.

  Palmer started walking towards the vehicles. Klein hurried to catch up with him. A forensics tech dressed in a white bodysuit and gloves over his clothes stood at the back of the pickup truck, the camper top open and the tailgate down. He looked Palmer’s way as he approached.

  “What’ve you got so far?” Palmer asked the tech.

  He shook his head. “This is the most bizarre crime scene I’ve ever been to.”

  Palmer waited for the forensics tech to go on.

  “It looks like someone changed the battery in this truck. There’s a battery back here.” He pointed inside the back of the truck.

  Palmer and Klein stared at the battery.

  “It’s dead, just like the one in the front,” the tech said.

  “What are the chances the backup battery would be dead, too?” Palmer asked Klein.

  Klein didn’t answer.

  Palmer turned around and looked back at the cave. The sun was dipping down lower towards the western horizon behind the jagged mountain tops. The shadows from the ridge had stretched completely across the canyon floor now, the temperature dropping even lower. “Who’s in charge here?” Palmer asked while still looking at the mouth of the cave where a short, heavy man in a white suit had just come out of.

  “That’s him over there,” the tech said. “Dr. Alonzo Johnson.”

  “Thanks,” Palmer said. He started marching towards the cave without waiting for Klein.

  Both agents met up with Dr. Johnson, who stood beside a large cooler, drinking a cold bottle of soda even though it was freezing in the canyon.

  “Dr. Johnson?” Palmer called out as he approached.

  The older man looked at Palmer and Klein. His wiry hair was pure white and he had a roadmap of wrinkles etched deep into his dark face. He looked shell-shocked and exhausted from his time in the cave. “Please call me Alonzo.”

  “I’m special agent Palmer, and this is Agent Klein.”

  The older man nodded at both of them like a weariness was pressing down on him.

  “You got any ideas yet about what’s going on here?” Palmer asked Alonzo.

  Alonzo took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with fingers that were wrinkled like prunes from wearing latex gloves for too long. He sighed and seemed so tired it looked like he might fall over at any moment. The generator was humming along twenty yards in the background, and he walked away from the noise of it. Palmer and Klein fell in step beside him.

  “We haven’t run many tests yet,” Alonzo said. “We’re still trying to figure out what we’re dealing with in there.”

  Palmer nodded.

  “The pieces of the bodies … they don’t look cut apart. They look like they were torn apart. The flesh is ragged with tears, bones pulled right out of the sockets, some of the bones snapped in half like someone would snap a twig. I haven’t really found any signs of tools or weapons used at all. No knife cuts or ax marks in the bone or on the flesh so far. Nothing.”

  Alonzo stopped walking and stood near the twisted trunk of tree. Palmer and Klein watched him—he seemed like he had more to say.

  “Of course, these are just preliminary investigations. We need to get the bodies … I mean the parts … back to the lab in Albuquerque. We’ll be able to run a lot more tests there. Right now we’re just doing a lot of bagging and tagging. We’re going to be working all night and well into tomorrow. We’ve got some ice trucks coming tomorrow afternoon to start transporting the … the evidence back to lab.”

  “Who do you think could do something like this?” Palmer asked Alonzo. “Tearing people apart like that. Snapping bones.”

  The older man shook his head slowly in frustration, sighing again, his breath misting up in front of him in the quickly-dropping temperature. “I don’t really know. I don’t believe a human could’ve done damage like that with his bare hands. Nobody could be that strong.”

  “So what are you saying?” Palmer asked.

  Alonzo shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t have any answers right now.”

  “What about the other crime scene?” Palmer asked. “The one in town?”

  “I sent Susan Dorsett over there. The chief of police here,” Alonzo looked around like he might spot the large man somewhere.

  “Captain Begay,” Klein corrected.

  “Yes, Captain Begay. Sorry. He told me that he would have a twenty-four hour guard on duty outside the home while Susan was there.”

  Palmer looked towards the Navajo police vehicles; all three of them were grouped together and parked the farthest away, closest to the dirt trail that led out of this canyon. The three Navajo police officers stood together in a small group watching everything in silence. “Captain Begay seems to be trying to help as much as he can,” Palmer said and looked back at Alonzo.

  “Sorry, guys,” Alonzo said. “This one’s going to take a while before we can find anything useful. And speaking of that, I need to get back to work.”

  The doctor finished his bottle of soda in a few swallows. Then he turned to head back to the mouth of the cave, the interior lit up in the darkening afternoon now that the construction lights were on.

  “You guys working through the night?” Palmer asked Dr. Johnson.

  “Yeah,” Johnson said, turning back around to them. “Some of us mi
ght try to catch an hour or two of sleep in one of the vans. Sleeping in shifts.” He paused for a moment and then added: “It’s going to be a long night.” He nodded and walked away.

  Palmer looked at Klein. “What about you? Are you working through the night?”

  “I’m going to stay for a little while, but there isn’t much to do until forensics comes up with some more evidence or the DMV comes back with whose vehicles are still here and which one might be gone.”

  “You got some people you can talk to about your Navajo radicals theory?”

  “Yeah,” Klein said. “And remember, it’s your theory too.”

  Palmer didn’t want to argue with him.

  “I’m staying at a motel in town,” Klein said. “There’s plenty of other rooms there.”

  Palmer nodded. “Thanks, but Captain Begay asked me to stay the night at his place.”

  Klein looked shocked. “He did? Lucky you.”

  “We’re going to grab a bite to eat in town. He said he wants to tell me some things.”

  Klein nodded and pretended to not look intrigued.

  “I think he knows more about what’s going on here than he’s letting on,” Palmer said.

  CHAPTER 12

  Captain Begay left one officer at the dig site and worked out a schedule so there would always be one police officer there near the edge of the dig site, watching over things. Palmer told Begay that he didn’t need to do that, but the captain insisted and Palmer thanked him for all of his help so far.

  Fifteen minutes later Palmer was following Begay’s Bronco as the afternoon quickly turned to evening. And forty-five minutes later they were back in the small town of Iron Springs. Begay pulled into a diagonal parking space in front of the Mexican restaurant. Palmer parked his rental car a few spaces down from Begay’s Bronco and he got out. He met the captain at the front door of the restaurant.

  “The food’s good here,” Begay told him.

  Palmer nodded—he believed him.

  They entered the restaurant. It was bigger than it looked from the outside. The place was about half-full and looked like it could seat a hundred people at full capacity.

  A plump waitress met the captain before he was barely inside. “Captain,” she called out, and then she escorted him and Palmer to a table in the back that must’ve been “Captain Begay’s table.”

  Palmer sat down at the table so he could face the door; an old habit of his. He had noticed the patrons nod and greet the captain as they walked by, and he noticed the lingering stares directed his way. He was wearing his FBI “uniform,” a dark suit and tie with black sunglasses. But it was more than that, people just seemed to get a feeling that he was the law, the authority, and most people tensed up around him whether they realized it or not.

  Palmer took his sunglasses off and tucked them away inside his suit coat as the waitress laid down a simple-looking menu in front of him. No menu for Begay, Palmer noticed.

  “I’ll have an iced tea,” Begay told the waitress.

  Palmer glanced down at his menu, turning it over to where the alcohol would usually be listed. He was pretty sure that liquor wasn’t served here on the Navajo Reservation, but even a few beers would be okay right now.

  “Sorry, no alcohol served here on the Rez,” Begay told Palmer with a smile.

  Palmer locked eyes with the man, and then opened his menu. The captain was sharper and more perceptive than he had given him credit for.

  “It’s been a tough day,” Palmer grumbled, using that as his excuse for searching for something to drink.

  Begay nodded in agreement. “Eat something if you’re hungry. I told my wife we would stop by here and pick something up. I’m going to grab a to-go box for her.”

  Again, Palmer nodded and then studied the menu again.

  “Enchiladas are good here,” Begay offered.

  Palmer just nodded. He wasn’t a connoisseur of food, especially since his wife had left him. He just ate these days to satisfy his hunger, and only that much, which often amounted to only a small meal or two a day. He didn’t have favorites or cravings. His freezer in his condo was packed with frozen dinners, his pantry with cans and boxes of convenient foods. A lot of times he would just pick something up, a hamburger or some kind of sandwich, whatever was easy. He didn’t need anything to interfere with the only thing he even cared about in his life anymore: his work and catching these monsters who roamed in the darkness, monsters that many citizens never even knew about. His life now was made up of mere functions to serve the higher purpose of his work. So, yeah, the enchiladas would be fine. They would provide the calories and the nutrients that his body needed to keep going. What he really craved right now was a few sips from one of the pints of vodka in his duffel bag, which was now locked in his car.

  “Enchiladas sound great,” Palmer said and closed the menu and pushed it towards the edge of the table. He looked around and caught the stares of a few of the citizens of this small town. Most of the people seemed to be Native Americans, but it seemed that there was a healthy mix of whites and Hispanics in the group as well. The eyes that looked back at him were eyes of shock, suspicion, fear, and curiosity.

  “I guess everyone in town has heard about the murders,” Palmer said in a low voice when he looked back at Begay.

  “News like that travels fast in a small town. Cops talk. People talk.”

  Palmer nodded. He was sure that in the homes of people in this town guns were being loaded, threats and promises were being made to loved ones to protect them from the killers lurking out there in the darkness.

  “John and Deena were good people. Now they’re dead … slaughtered. And their son is missing.”

  The waitress came back for their order. Begay ordered two enchilada plates and a sweet iced tea for Palmer. He also asked the waitress if she could have an enchilada plate ready to go for his wife when they left. It seemed like a common request from Begay.

  Palmer felt suddenly anxious and fidgety. He usually liked the challenge of solving a puzzle, but this puzzle felt so different. For the first time in his life Palmer felt like he was out of his league, like he was dealing with someone (or something) much more cunning and dangerous than he was used to. There were too many things that didn’t make sense about these murders.

  The food came fifteen minutes later and Palmer was happy with the distraction. He commented that the food was good; it was something he always said to be polite. They made some small talk as they ate.

  “Married?” Begay asked Palmer.

  “Divorced.”

  “Kids?”

  “One,” Palmer told him. “My daughter Eliza. She’s at college.” He thought about adding that they didn’t stay in touch with each other much since the divorce, but decided not to.

  It turned out that Begay had two kids away at college; there would be no following in their father’s footsteps into law enforcement. Maybe they were the kind of kids who couldn’t wait to escape this small desert town and explore the world, Palmer thought.

  Begay seemed to have reached his quota of small talk for the night, and talk turned to the murder case. “What do you think? You got any theories yet?”

  Palmer pushed the pieces of his second enchilada around on his plate with his fork, dragging it through the salty red sauce it was drenched in. He didn’t have to tell Captain Begay anything; he really wasn’t supposed to discuss anything about the case with him now that the FBI had taken over, but Begay’s query seemed innocent enough, just curiosity for curiosity’s sake. And it also seemed like Begay had some ideas of his own, ideas that Palmer would like to find out about. Begay had already proven himself to be a very perceptive man, and he was a worried cop because thirteen people had been slaughtered in his county under his watch.

  Palmer shrugged as he stared at Begay. “Not really. No theories yet. I’m going to check in with the forensics team tomorrow morning. See what they’ve come up with.”

  Begay seemed like he wanted to say something, like
he was wrestling with how to phrase it. But before he could speak, he was interrupted by a high-pitched screeching noise.

  A tiny woman, who could’ve easily been a hundred years old, rushed up to their table, her dark eyes wide with fear, her nearly toothless mouth opened in a scream. Her hair was wild, her clothes a little disheveled. She was screaming something to Begay in Navajo, pointing a crooked finger right at Palmer.

  Captain Begay stood up and laid a gentle but firm hand on the woman’s bony shoulder. Another woman rushed up to them and tried to escort the ancient woman back outside, but the old woman didn’t want to leave. She kept shouting at Begay.

  Eventually the younger woman got the old lady calmed down enough to get her to leave.

  “What was that all about?” Palmer asked him.

  Begay leaned in closer to Palmer and spoke in almost a whisper. “She says she knows who the killer is.”

  Palmer didn’t expect that. “Who did she say it is?”

  “Come on back with me to the house,” Begay said. “You can sleep in one of the kids’ rooms.”

  Palmer waited for an answer to his question.

  “We’ll talk about it at my house,” Begay said in an even lower voice. “You can bring your bottle of vodka inside if you want to.”

  That sounded good to Palmer. He stood up and grabbed for his wallet, but Begay waved him off. “It’s already been taken care of.”

  Palmer nodded, but he opened his wallet and left a generous tip for the waitress.

  CHAPTER 13

  Captain Begay’s home

  Special Agent Palmer followed Captain Begay to his house. They drove farther down the main street, leaving the buildings and streetlights of the town behind them. Without the streetlights the world was so dark. An amazing display of stars glittered above the desert landscape. The buildings of downtown gave way to houses of different types and styles. The homes looked shut up tight, doors and windows locked and then double-checked now that a killer was on the loose.