The Mauling at Kinnickinick Pueblo

by Charles Williamson

  Chapter 2

  Steve’s brother, Arthur, came walking up as they approached. He looked so much like Steve, except for his shorter hair, that Mike thought they might be twins. Arthur was also dressed in hiking clothing with a floppy white hat and a hiking stick. He wore a fanny pack with two holders for canteens. After introductions, Mike asked, “Have you seen any sign of the cougar since you guys drove it off?”

  “She poked her head over that pile of boulders about fifteen minutes after Steve left to guide you here. I lobbed a few rocks close to her, and she retreated again. They’re smart animals. She has probably seen human hunters kill pronghorn and elk at a distance, and she clearly understand that we pose a threat. I strongly doubt she took this man down even though she might have finished him off. Let me show you what we found.”

  Steve and Arthur led them to a location within some fallen stonewalls where there had clearly been recent digging. Steve explained, “We believe that this was an ancient burial site. Reporting this sort of destruction of archeological resources and pillage of ancient burials is the reason for the State of Arizona’s site steward program. In this case, especially important burials were sometimes placed below the floors of an existing room. The room was then sealed and never used by the community. High-ranking Sinagua Native Americans were often buried with important artifacts that they used during their lifetime. Notice there are a lot more tools than one man would have used, three shovels and a pick. In the fresh dirt, you can see the tracks of a small off-road vehicle, which looks like it was pulling a wagon of some kind behind it. Also you can see the impressions of objects like pots and staffs that have been removed from the bottom of the hole.”

  “What sort of artifacts would have been buried here?” Sean asked.

  Steve explained, “You should talk to an expert, but the Sinagua often traded for goods over a large area. In similar ruins, there have usually been obsidian projectile points, turquoise jewelry, small carved animals, ceremonial objects like rattles, cups decorated with turquoise tiles, carved replicas of their Kachina spirits, and even necklaces made from shells from the beaches of the Pacific. Of course, clay pots are the most common. At this Sinagua site there are at least six different types of ceramics, five of them were probably obtained through trade.”

  He bent and pick up several pottery shards and showed how different they were. One was black and smooth with pale lines another seemed to be made from a tan coil of clay formed into a basket-like shape. He put them back in exactly the same place from which he’d lifted them.

  Neil Cooper said, “Archeologists can learn a lot from a single intact burial. Once the objects are looted, they are of virtually no use to professionals because they’re removed from the context without documentation and proper dating. Unfortunately, there is a ready market for the looted items. A single burial could bring in thousands of dollars, in a few cases tens of thousands. Since it’s legal for property owners to take whatever they want from their own land, unless it’s a legally protected burial site, items stolen from the National Forest lands can’t be separated from the legally obtained ones once they reach market. Some of these thieves can earn an excellent living from the looting. It’s a problem that has gone on for more than a century, but we have had a recent increase in cases in this area.”

  Mike motioned for Jimmy Hendrix to get impressions of the tire tracks and artifact impressions within the grave. He asked him to prepare the shovels and pick for fingerprint analysis, perhaps even DNA analysis. Everyone carefully avoided contaminating the scene as they followed Steve to the beginning of the blood trail he’d mentioned.

  About twenty feet from the dig, a large pool of blood soaked the stony ground. The smell of the blood and the victim’s remains were far stronger here. There were more tracks of small off-road vehicles in the area, probably at least two. Smeared blood led away from the large pool. It looked as if someone had crawled from the site of the larger pool leaving an easy to follow trail of blood. Sean took out the digital camera and began to photograph the crime scene. Mike had the four deputies, who would later carry the remains to the morgue’s truck, put crime scene tape around the dig site and the blood trail so no one would inadvertently contaminate the scene. Mike now was convinced that a homicide had been committed in this remote and almost inaccessible ruin.

  They followed the blood trail back into the main Kinnickinick Pueblo structure. As they passed a four-foot high stonewall, they saw the mauled body spread eagled and face up. Even Mike, who had been to over a hundred murder scenes in his time with the LAPD, was shocked. The entrails and genitals had been eaten. Most of the liver was gone and the intestines trailed away from the corpse. His strongest shock was from the horror on the undamaged face of the victim. From his contorted expression, Mike had no doubt that the man had lived to experience the first stages of his viscera being eaten by a cougar.

  Neil Cooper explained, “Cougars don’t eat carrion, only fresh kills. Unless he died only minutes before, the cougar wouldn’t have done this. From his expression, I think the cougar got him before he died.”

  Mike pointed to the blood spray on the stone remains of the pueblo. “That’s arterial spray. His heart was beating when the cougar began feeding.”

  Sean said, “Mike, what do you think. A falling out among looters, or an innocent man who came on the scene?”

  Mike took a closer look at the body. The man had been young, very fit and probably in his late twenties. He was shirtless and hatless, and wore only cargo pants with the crotch ripped away by the cougar attack. He wore tan military boots in the style used in Iraq and Afghanistan. His hands were callused but not actually dirty from digging. Mike put on latex gloves and lifted the right shoulder to get a better view of the blue ink tattoo. It was a US Marine insignia with the words, “Rest in Peace My Fallen Brothers.”

  Arthur said, “Good God, all the horrors of those mid-eastern wars and he died like this in Arizona.”

  Mike nodded. He stood and said to Sean, “I want you to lead a search using the four deputies and walking in a grid. I think you’ll find the camp of a backpacker somewhere within the sound of the digging that took place at this site.”

  “My brother and I will help,” Steve offered. “We know the area quite well from our regular visits. There is only one nearby spring up near the beginning of Kinnickinick Canyon.”

  Mike nodded in agreement and said, “Watch out for cougars. We know at least one is in the area, and I believe they normally hunt by stealth.” He went to find Jimmy Hendrix.

  Jimmy had finished wrapping the tools for transport and was letting the impression of the tire tracks and artifact impressions set before removing the imprints. He had used his whole supply of the material he used for making permanent impressions at a crime scene to get evidence of both the tire tracks and the missing artifacts.

  Mike said, “Hey Mr. Mojo Man, I need you to take a look at our victim, poor Mr. Bad Luck.”

  “Shit Mike, I don’t even know those trite old songs, but I’ll be Drifting toward the body. We need to process this crime scene and leave before dark or get in a lot of portable lights out here. I don’t want to be Burning the Midnight Lamp on this job.”

  Mike had been kidding Jimmy about his name since the first day they met. They continued to make Jimmy Hendrix references as they walked along the blood trail to the remains of the marine. They both examined the body for a few seconds before Jimmy said, “Excuse me a minute Mike.” He walked over to the side of the canyon and vomited over a ledge.” He took a drink from his canteen and spit it out before returning to Mike.

  Jimmy resumed examining the remains. “Mike, I don’t want you to think I’m a Bleeding Heart, and I think you probably know what I’m about to say. This man was eaten alive. The arterial blood spray and facial expression make that clear. We’ll need Dr. Sumter to give us a full and conclusive report, but I think this man’s abdomen and genitals were eaten while he was still alive, and from his face, I’d conjecture he
was conscious for the first part of it. I’ve never seen a similar case. I’ve never been involved in a cougar attack, but the bite marks on the remaining tissue will be conclusive when compared to bite samples of other cougars.” Jimmy pointed to a small lead pellet. “My guess is that he took a shotgun blast in the lower abdomen, crawled to this spot, passed out, and awoke as the cougar attacked. I suspect gut shooting a man with a shotgun and leaving him here this far from help was a deliberate murder, an especially cruel one.”

  “I concur, Jimmy. We’ll wait for Kay Sumter’s official report, but this is now a homicide crime scene, at least until we learn something that refutes that. You can begin to photograph the body and prepare the remains for transport. You’re right about needing to leave before dark. I believe that cougars are usually nocturnal hunters. Be sure to get excellent impressions of the artifact imprints at the bottom of the looting hole. The looted artifacts left some very clear impressions of what was once buried next to the ancient remains. That evidence might tie whoever has them to the scene of this homicide.”

  Jimmy gave him an annoyed look at stating the obvious, and Mike walked back toward the site of the looting. Mike examined the pile of dirt and stones that had been removed from the grave. There were bones and bone fragments in the mound, confirming that the looters had found a burial site. Once the investigation was complete, the Hopi descendants of the Sinagua Native American who’d been buried here would be allowed to reinter the remains using their ancient burial rites.

  As Mike examined the prehistoric remains, Sean came running up. “Steve led us right to a backpacker’s camp near the only spring in the area. There is a flannel shirt and a desert bonnie hat hanging from a tree. The camp is less than a mile away. I found his wallet in the backpack. His name was Paul McFarlane, and his driver’s license has the victim’s photo. It lists an address in Warroad, Minnesota. He also had honorable discharge papers from the Marine Corp dated last December 31st in his wallet and about three hundred dollars. He was using an extra large backpack like the type used for very long hiking trips. I also found a map of the 800-mile-long Arizona Trail that leads from the Utah border to Mexico through Arizona. It looks like he was doing a long backpacking hike, and he may have been headed to Mormon Lake for supplies before resuming the hike. He was twenty-seven, the same age as me.”

  Sean had been involved in the criminal investigation unit less than a year and this was only his second murder scene. The victim was both the same age, and physically, the deceased had resembled Sean. Mike thought he was both bothered by the horrible manner of death and anxious to get to the bottom of the crime. Both of those things were in his favor. Mike never wanted to work with officers who could not be bothered or upset by what they had seen of the murder at this remote ruin.

  “Sean, please go back to the camp and take photos. Pack up the gear and bring it back here. We need to get back to our vehicles before it’s fully dark. That jeep road was a mess even in daylight.”

  When Steve and Arthur returned, Mike took down their information so he could question them later in the investigation if the need arose. He was surprised when he saw their driver’s licenses. They were both about a decade older than he’d guessed.

  Three hours later, as the group packed up the gear and prepared to leave, Mike held the driver’s license of Paul McFarlane next to the victim’s face. He had no doubt; the victim was the former Marine sergeant. He motioned for the men to close the body bag and lift it onto the stretcher. They headed toward their vehicles as the sun was nearly setting. They completed their trek in the twilight and headed back to Flagstaff on the demanding jeep road. Steve and his brother headed to their homes in Sedona after giving Neil Cooper a hand written report about the looting at Kinnickinick Pueblo together with a thumb drive containing photos of the hole dug by the looters. That fulfilled their obligations as site stewards until their next quarterly visit.

  Neil Cooper thanked them and explained, “The Forest Service appreciates your efforts to protect our historical sites. We’ll have hidden cameras in place at this site by tomorrow. If they come back, at least we’ll have a video record of who they are and what they looted.” Steve and Arthur nodded and left. Hidden cameras had been used to monitor another of their sites, and they understood the procedure had often been quite successful. The criminals often returned to a site that had yielded valuable artifacts.

  However, Mike thought it was very unlikely that the looters would return to this specific site because it was now the scene of a murder. He certainly hoped he was wrong, but he didn’t put much faith in the cameras.

  Chapter 3

  Once he had a cell phone signal, Mike made the painful call to Paul McFarlane’s parents in Minnesota. It never got easy even though he made more than fifty such notifications in his life. He called his wife Margaret and left a message on her cell phone to let her know he would be home late. Margaret was always anxious to hear about his new cases, especially homicides. Next, Mike checked the password protected log of the medical examiner’s office and found the earliest time for the examination of the remains by Dr. Kay Sumter would be 10:30 the following morning. Mike always attended the autopsies of the victims in his cases.

  Kay Sumter, the Coconino County Medical Examiner, was known as a self-assured and extremely competent medical professional who had no patience with any trace of incompetence. He had felt her sharp tongue more than once, especially the time his deputies had dropped the stretcher carrying a homicide victim three hundred feet down the side of Humphrey’s Peak. Most of the Sheriff’s Department and Flagstaff Police officers were too afraid of her scorn to attend her autopsies, but Mike had almost always gotten along with her. She had moved to the Flagstaff job from the much larger office in Saint Louis. Considering that Dr. Sumter was on her sixth assistant in the past four years, Mike was very glad that he didn’t work for her, but he was also very glad that a small town had a medical examiner as competent as any he had worked with in LA.

  He drove into his garage about nine-thirty that evening, long past the time when he could have admired the astonishing views from their Sedona home’s hilltop location. Margaret, his wife of over thirty years, came out into the garage to hug him.

  “Mike honey, tell me about your new case. It’s your first new homicide in six months, but first let me get some of my chicken and green chili stew into you. I made homemade flour tortilla to go with it. You must be famished since you missed lunch.”

  Margaret had been helping him solve cases for decades, and often, her fresh insight was just what he needed to get on track. A couple of years earlier, she had taken a cooking class from a famous chef in Santa Fe, and her specialties were now mostly southwestern dishes. Her next project was a two-week cooking class for English speakers in Paris. She’d been planning that vacation for months.

  Mike had called home after he left the Flagstaff Law Enforcement Building, so she had time to reheat the stew and make fresh tortillas. They sat at the kitchen table. Mike drank a Negra Modelo and ate the excellent meal. Margaret, who had already eaten, had a small glass of vintage port that a friend had given them for Christmas.

  “It’s probably not something you want to talk about while eating chicken stew, but the idea of a cougar being involved has me intrigued. The Sedona Red Rock News had a photo last month of a cougar looking into a kitchen through a sliding glass door over in the Kachina neighborhood. They are certainly around Sedona even if you almost never see them.”

  “Wow honey, this is the best green chili stew you’ve ever made. What’s different?”

  Margaret smiled. She realized he didn’t want to talk about the murder until he’d finished eating. “It may just be your hunger, but I also think some stews have a richer flavor when they’re reheated.”

  There had been some animal predation of corpses in other cases that Mike had solved, but never one that involved a cougar and a living victim. All of Margaret’s customers at the bank branch where she’d worked for the past five ye
ars would want to discuss it tomorrow. She assumed it would make the local radio news tomorrow morning and probably the morning TV newscasts in Phoenix.

  Mike finished the second flour tortilla with a heavy dollop of crema. He took a second beer from the refrigerator, and they moved into the living room to watch the full moon rise over Snoopy Rock. Mike told her about the site stewards who found the body and chased off the cougar. The body was still warm, so they must have arrived just minutes after the cougar attack occurred. They had been close enough to hear the victim’s final anguished scream.

  “Oh, I know both Steve and Arthur. They’re both customers of the bank. They’re really nice men and so are their wives. Both wives are volunteers with lots of local charities, and the brothers are involved in local politics.”

  “Is Steve the same guy with the talk radio show? I thought his voice sounded familiar.”

  “Yes. I almost always listen to him on Monday mornings on the way to work. His show is not always about politics; they cover other things like the local wine industry and local events like the annual Plein Air Art Festival. It was Steve’s show where I first learned of that small but wonderful restaurant in Flagstaff, Café Daily Fare where we ate last week.”

  “Well, the brothers drove away the cougar by throwing rocks. They had seen a cougar at that Sinagua ruin on several previous visits. The victim, Paul McFarlane of Warroad, Minnesota was dead by the time they reached him, but indications from blood splatter suggest he wasn’t dead when the cougar attacked.” Mike decided not to mention the horror shown on the corpse’s face. Rigor sometimes did strange things to a person’s expression, but the body was not in rigor when they discovered it.