LC 02 - Questionable Remains

by Beverly Connor

  Lindsay stopped pacing and drummed her fingers on the hood of the Land Rover. "I assure you, Dr. Kerwin, that under the circumstances, I am very calm."

  "They asked about your identification of the teeth of Lenny Fergus."

  "Denny Ferguson."

  "Yes, well, I had to say that is not the way we usually do things."

  Lindsay was livid. "We who? You don't know your olecranon from your coccygeal vertebrae." She looked up to see that Sally and Emily had come over to the car; both looked wide-eyed.

  "Dr. Chamberlain, I don't think-"

  "That's your problem. You don't think, Dr. Kerwin. Think about this. How you answer the reporters' questions will influence whether or not I bring suit against you, the department, and the university."

  "Dr. Chamberlain, I-"

  "If that is not clear, I'll have my lawyer write you a letter clarifying it for you."

  "It's not necessary to carry on like this-"

  "It is necessary. Good-bye." Lindsay hung up the phone.

  "Lindsay," said Sally. "I've never, ever, seen you angry like this before. You weren't this mad at that Patrick guy for stealing your underwear." Emily raised her eyebrows. "You sure told Dr. Kerwin off," Sally added. "I wanted to tell him off when he was getting so anal about my program of study."

  "Well, I don't think it got me anywhere, except letting off a little steam. I just don't understand what Kelley Banks has to gain by smearing my name. She can't take innuendos and lies to the appeals court. And if she smears everyone she loses a case to . . ." She left the sentence unfinished, deep in thought.

  "Maybe it's not her," said Sally. "Maybe it is Ferguson's people."

  Lindsay shrugged and threw up her hands. "Could be, I suppose."

  Sally gave Emily a brief description of the past events as Lindsay remained lost in thought. She reached for the phone again and dialed the district attorney's office.

  "Hey, Lindsay. What's up?" said Max Gilbert.

  "That's why I'm calling. I'm on vacation and I keep hearing the strangest things about myself."

  "You mean the news stories? Don't give it a thought. We know what your credentials are. I would never have put you on the stand if I hadn't investigated them thoroughly."

  "Thanks."

  "No thanks to it. This is monumental sour grapes. I can't imagine what Ferguson's relatives or Dalton expect to come of it."

  "Gerald Dalton is spreading these rumors?" Lindsay was surprised.

  "I don't know. Doesn't sound like him. Wish it did. I'd like to get something on him. However, I can't imagine the press paying that much attention to Denny."

  "Could it be his cocounsel, Sarah Kelley Banks?" asked Lindsay.

  "Could be. Do you have a reason to suspect her?"

  Lindsay told him about the encounters with Kelley and how angry she seemed about the outcome of the trial.

  "Hmmm . . ." Lindsay could almost see Max rubbing his chin. "She's just out of law school, what, three years? You know, some people can't take the pressure. Maybe she just doesn't like to lose, and wants to give you a hard time, even if nothing comes of it. Anyway, I wouldn't worry. Nothing will come of it."

  "Thanks again."

  "Sure thing, Lindsay. Say, while I've got you on the phone, I've got this question. Say you got a skeleton that shows indications on the ribs that the individual was stabbed, but you can't tell if the stabbing took place from the front or the back. Is there any other way to tell the direction?"

  "Sure, the exit side of the cut on the bone will have a rougher edge than the entry side. You can usually feel it with your fingers. You have a skeleton you suspect of being stabbed?"

  Max gave a little self-conscious laugh. "No, it's for a story I'm writing."

  "I didn't know you're a writer," said Lindsay, smiling for the first time since she discovered what had been going on.

  "I'm not sure my writing class knows either."

  "I'd like to read it sometime."

  "I might let you do that. Right now, what I've got going for me is authenticity. I'm having to work at the writing style."

  "Sounds like everything's okay after all," said Sally after Lindsay hung up.

  "Max seems to think so. I must say, I'm relieved."

  "You must be good at your job if people are trying to destroy your credibility," said Emily.

  "I like to think so," said Lindsay. "This is the first time anything like this has happened."

  The sun set around 8:30. The darkness brought with it a loud chorus of tree frogs and crickets. Sally was out on a date with Brian, and Lindsay was alone. She opened the flap of the tent and lowered the mosquito netting to catch any breeze that consented to shift around the hot summer air. Lindsay had planned to read, but she saw the envelope of pictures the Lamberts had given her tucked into the bottom of her suitcase. She pulled out the photos of the three unfortunate cavers. "I don't know what they expect me to do with these," she said aloud, searching around among her things for a hand lens, finally finding it in the pocket of a pair of jeans. Using the lens, she scrutinized every part of the images carefully. Nothing revealed itself to her. She saw that the back of one skull was crushed, but that could have happened in the cave-in. She examined the hands for any signs of defensive wounds. Nothing. There was no way the pictures could tell her whether the cave-in was intentional or accidental. She returned the pictures to the envelope and picked up a book. She was still reading when Sally came back.

  "Have a nice time?" Lindsay asked.

  "Not bad." Sally smiled. "Not bad at all."

  Piaquay learned fast. It did not surprise Roberto. The Indians had a facility with languages, perhaps because there were so many different ones and so much movement among the Indians. For several weeks Piaquay had learned basic vocabulary. Now he practiced conversation. He particularly wanted to talk to Roberto about the life of the Spaniards, as Roberto had taught him to call them. It had offended Roberto's sensibilities when he learned that Piaquay called him something akin to a devil.

  Roberto Lacayo told Piaquay about how the Spaniards had been trying to colonize this new world and kept failing. Piaquay listened closely as Roberto told him how Menendez had fought with the French, who were also trying to colonize the new world, how the Spanish town of Santa Elena had almost failed until Juan Pardo and the Governor Menendez came with provisions and rescued it.

  "Now tell me your story, Roberto," commanded Piaquay. "How did you come to be across the great water and live among us?"

  "I was lost here about twenty-five years ago. That's a long time," he said almost to himself. "I was a poor man, and I wanted to marry." Piaquay's lips turned up very slightly. A man seeking to better his prospects and marry well was something he understood. However, when Roberto mentioned the name Hernando de Soto, Piaquay scowled.

  "You have heard of him?" Roberto asked.

  "The enemy of enemies. When I was a youth, he traveled through our lands, raping our women and massacring my people. You rode with him?"

  "For a time," said Roberto carefully. "I was lost early in the journey, and I did not approve of all his acts." He grasped the beads on his belt. Piaquay knew that when he did this, he told the truth. "I was always faithful to Cristina when 1 traveled." Tears sprung unbidden to Roberto's eyes. "It was only when I realized that I would probably never be going home that I took a wife, and I was good to her. "

  "Where is your wife?" asked Piaquay.

  "An epidemic swept through the village. It took her and my daughter. "

  Piaquay nodded. "The sickness took many in my villages, too."

  Roberto could remember Cristina's face now. His time with Esteban Calderon had awakened his memory. It was an uncertain blessing. "1 needed money to marry Cristina because she was from a good family. The only prospect I had of becoming rich was to come here and find gold."

  "What is this gold?"

  "It's a shiny metal the color of the sun. It's of great value there."

  "We have no gold."

&
nbsp; "I know. Believe me. I tried to tell them. On his first trip to this new world, de Soto became rich in his travels to the south of here in the land of the Incas. De Soto returned home to Spain, but he believed that there was more wealth to find here in this northern land. I joined him so that I might have enough riches to marry Cristina.

  "Cristina saw me off. I remember her excitement. She wanted to come, too. At that time Calderon was rich. He did not need to seek his fortune in La Florida. That is what we called the place where we were to disembark-the feast of flowers."

  "How did you lose your way?"

  "De Soto was going from village to village looking for gold. He heard a story about a village from a young Indian boy traveling with a group of Indian traders, and he sent me, Sancho, Ruiz, and the youth to the village while he continued westward." Roberto shrugged and shook his head. "The villagers were friendly at first, then they attacked. I was taken prisoner. For a long time I didn't know what happened to Sancho and Ruiz. First I was told they were dead, then that they escaped. I was kept as a slave for a long time, and gradually the village became my home, until the disease wiped out most of the people. I was allowed to move about freely by then. I explored on my own, made it to the coast, and saw the ship. It was a new expedition led by Juan Pardo. It was a remarkable coincidence that my old friend Esteban Calderon was on the ship. I became their interpreter, and they were going to take me back to Spain." Roberto fingered his beads.

  "Does this Juan Pardo expect to find gold?"

  "No. He would like to, but I don't think he expects it. He was sent to explore the land and secure it for Spain, and to discover what kind of riches the land does have. It's Calderon who seeks gold. I suppose his family wealth ran out." Roberto laughed. "He married my Cristina. He told me so . . ." Roberto stopped, staring out to nothing. He was struck with a thought like a blinding holy light that was so clear, he knew it was right. Roberto gripped his beads.

  "Something ails you?" asked Piaquay.

  Roberto said nothing, merely kept staring into his memory. He recalled the surprise and fear on Esteban Calderon's face when he had shown up, literally, out of the wilderness and into Captain Pardo's camp. He remembered the taunting way Esteban had told him of his marriage to Cristina, pretending he was assuring Roberto that Cristina had been well cared for. "She did not grieve long" were his words. He remembered that Sancho and Ruiz were cousins of Calderon. He arranged it. Esteban Calderon had always wanted Cristina. He told his cousins to find a way to get rid of me, and they left me.

  Roberto slammed his fist into his hand. "iMe dejaron!"

  The council house was built like the domiciles, in the shape of a square with rounded corners, upright timbers anchored in the ground about two feet apart, sticks woven between the timbers, dried mud and clay covering all. The roof was slanted upward like the skirt of a woman and made from thatch placed on large roof timbers held up by pillars inside the structure. A hole in the peak allowed the escape of smoke from a central hearth.

  Roberto was not allowed inside the council house, so he sat near the entrance listening for fragments of discussion he could understand. Piaquay and all the elders had gone inside the council house late in the morning after they had drunk the black brew and vom ited. Roberto had tasted the concoction once. It was foul, but afterward he felt good and clear-headed. He heard them talking and arguing, but he understood little except that Piaquay had some desire and he had to persuade the tribe of its soundness. Piaquay was not chief now, Roberto knew that. The woman was chief. She despised Roberto, and it worried him. He was not sure why Piaquay relinquished his place to the woman Cacheci. It had something to do with the massacre. He had thought about running away, but he knew he could not get through the territory of Piaquay's friends without being caught. So Roberto listened.

  "I had the dream for three nights," Piaquay told the gathering. He, Cacheci, and the elders sat around the fire.

  The men wore dearskin breechcloths. Some wore leather necklaces holding large round gorgets of shell carved with birds, serpents, or spiders. Cacheci sat on her heels with her legs tucked under her, unlike the men, who sat cross-legged. She wore a deerskin skirt from her hips to her knees. Her skirt was decorated with drawings to please the gods. Like the men, she wore nothing above her hips, and like the men, she had elaborate tattoos around her arms and legs and around each breast. Cacheci wore necklaces of shells and pearls. She had a handsome face, made all the more so by the flowerlike tattooing across her forehead and on her chin and cheeks. Some of the men wore turbans of animal skin around their heads. Others, like Piaquay, wore their hair long and straight.

  "I dreamed," he continued, "that an eagle swept down to the lake and snatched a snake in its claws and rose to the heavens."

  "A good omen," said the shaman, "but your war party would take you far and distant."

  "The devils have spread across the land of our friends and our enemies," said Piaquay. "They are like the drought that takes the corn and leaves us but scorched earth."

  "Will you return?" asked Cacheci.

  "I don't know," answered Piaquay. "I know only that I must do this."

  "We can't afford for you to take a war party of twenty," said an elder.

  "The war party must be small," said Piaquay. "1 will take my brother, Tesca, a young warrior to feed us, and the slave Roberto. Nayahti the trader wishes to go. That would be good. He knows the land through many chiefdoms."

  "Four men is not the right number," said the shaman, who did not count Roberto. "Find two more to take with you."

  "Then you favor this journey?" said Cacheci.

  "Yes. His dream is a good dream," the shaman said to the new chief. The shaman turned back to Piaquay. "Be observant in all things on this journey. It will be dangerous. I'll give you new things for your medicine bundle. Don't allow your thirst for revenge to blind you to bad omens. Listen to your dreams. Return if they are not good. Take and keep afire from this village, and read the crystal every morning."

  Roberto sat in the deep shadows watching Piaquay and the braves dance in the flickering firelight. The way Piaquay danced with the bladelike war club was both elegant and fierce. The whoops and shouts of the braves sounded like a celebration, but Roberto knew better. His captors were deep in grief for their loved ones killed by Calderon. He understood that. Seeing Calderon again had brought to Roberto a longing for his family and for Cristina that had been numbed for years. The knowledge that Calderon had plotted his ruin lit an anger deep inside Roberto. He did not doubt that Calderon arranged his capture years ago, even meant him to die. Everything fit together like a giant puzzle that suddenly came together of its own resolve. Slowly, he rose and danced the war dance.

  Lindsay had spent four days at the Royce Site enjoying excavating and visiting with her friends, but she was also looking forward to moving on to the next place on her itin erary. She stood looking at the map spread out on the hood of her vehicle. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses, her long red-brown hair in a ponytail and threaded through the opening in the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. She was ready to go.

  "Where to next?" asked Sally.

  Lindsay pointed to a spot on the map. "Jane and Alan are digging a small campsite in a rock shelter not far north of here," she said. "They think it may have been used by the Spaniards. This highway route," she traced her finger along the roads that led her to the next site, "runs parallel to several routes that explorers might have taken. Interesting, huh? I guess a good route is always a good route."

  "Good trails make good roads. Isn't that akin to 'central place' theory or something?" asked Sally.

  "Yeah, I guess it is," Lindsay said, folding her map. "Well, I'll say good-bye. Thanks for the hospitality."

  "Where to after Jane and Alan's dig?" asked Sally.

  Lindsay grinned. "Derrick's Cold River Site."

  "I'll bet you're looking forward to that," said Sally, grinning back at her. "Derrick's taking you dining and dancing, I
imagine?"

  "He said he has a special evening planned," replied Lindsay.

  "Derrick's a special friend?" asked Emily, walking up to say good-bye.

  "Yeah," said Lindsay, nodding her head. "He's my very best friend."

  Emily stuck out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Lindsay. I don't think we can ever agree about the burials of my people, but I still enjoyed talking with you."

  Lindsay shook her hand. "Me, too."

  Brian came over to say good-bye; so did Gerri and some of the others she worked with. She hugged Brian, then Sally. "Do you know where I can get gas and ice?" she asked.

  "You'll pass Caleb's Grocery about ten miles on down the road," Brian said.

  Lindsay drove away from the site and turned onto the road that went through a deep mountain forest. It was relatively early in the morning, and she had her window down while the day was still cool. A light fog still clung to the trees. It was going to be a good day for traveling-clear and bright after the fog burned off. She was smiling to herself as she traveled up the winding mountain road. As she reached over to turn on the radio, there was a sudden loud, sharp sound, like an explosion, and her Rover was suddenly swerving all over the road.

  Chapter 6

  LINDSAY HEARD A car horn blaring angrily at her as she struggled to get the Land Rover back in her lane. She couldn't do it. The oncoming car swerved, missing her with such a narrow margin she felt its vibration as it passed. Now the direction of the Land Rover was toward the edge of the road and down the mountainside. Lindsay turned the steering wheel hard and stomped on the brakes. The Rover skidded to the edge and stopped. She tried to back away from the edge to get to a wider place on the side of the road a few feet ahead, but it wouldn't move. Lindsay took a moment to catch her breath before getting out. Her legs were weak, and she was still shaking from the near misses. She walked around the Rover and saw that not only was her left rear tire ruined, but her right front tire was just off the edge of the embankment.

  "Damn," she said. It would have to be towed back onto the road. She started for her car phone when a pickup truck pulled in behind her and stopped. John West stepped out. His long hair, black and as shiny as obsidian, flowed over the shoulders of the brown shirt he wore.