Robbed of Soul: Legends of Treasure Book 1

by Lois D. Brown

  At last, with a camera around her neck and a high-tech flashlight/lantern combo in her hand, she walked toward the cave opening. Her hands and feet were already numb. They hadn’t even passed through the nerves-on-edge tingly stage, but instead had gone from complete feeling to none whatsoever the very second Rod mentioned the body was in the cave. Fear did funny things to the body.

  As a last ditch effort, she turned to Pete and asked, “You coming?” The minute she said it she felt stupid. She knew as well as Pete did that the initial investigation in this cramped of a space should be done by just one person so as little as possible would be disturbed. That was crime scene rules 101.

  “I figured you’d be going in by yourself,” Pete answered. His face showed slight confusion.

  “You’re right.” Maria forced a grin. “Just checking.”

  Flipping the flashlight on fifteen feet before the overhang, Maria had to deliberately think about setting one foot in front of the other in order to move. Since all of her fingers were busy holding things, she could only hum Brahms to herself instead of actually playing it. As she hummed, she added lyrics in rhythm. She’d never done it before, and it seemed to help.

  Ghosts aren’t real.

  I am strong.

  Let the panic move through me.

  I will survive.

  The space between the rock overhang and the opening of the cave was big enough for only about two people at a time to go through. Whispering, so only she could hear her words, Maria said, “I will face my fear.” Taking a deep breath, she entered the pitch black hole. Almost instantly, everything felt heavy and quiet. The noise of the wind stopped. The movement of sand was gone. It was just her and the cave.

  And the dead mayor.

  Holding her breath, Maria shone the flashlight into the dark abyss. Her beam illuminated a chamber about the size of a small bedroom. About the same dimensions of her cell in Tehran.

  It figured.

  Don’t forget abdominal breathing, Maria reminded herself. She sucked in as much air as she could.

  Off to one side in the cave there was a tunnel blocked with fallen rock, indicating a cave-in at some point in history. In an attempt to look every which direction but down, where the body most likely was, Maria aimed the light at the ceiling, expecting to see albino cave crickets or daddy long legs. The bugs were there, as well as a layer of blackened grime. Clearly, there had once been a very large bonfire in the cave. From the condition of the remaining soot, it had been hundreds of years ago. She used to love cave exploring, but now all she could think about was the dead body that was turning more and more rigid every second she was in the cave with it.

  Maria had no more excuses. It was time to look down. The skin on her arms and legs felt less like skin and more like crawling ants. She’d rather be rolling in a barrel of the insects than do what she was about to do. She hummed Brahms and pointed the flashlight to the floor.

  He was there.

  The bright beam alighted on the body of a man halfway curled up lying on the ground. He had blond hair, muddied with gray from age, a medium-sized frame, with dark pants and jacket. And, if the man could have spoken, he would have identified himself as the mayor of the town of Kanab. But he was not going to speak again. Ever.

  Maria’s entire body shook. She chided herself for the millionth time for being so irrational. It was a dead body. Nothing about it could hurt her. She could force-feed herself all sorts of logical reasoning, but it didn’t change how she reacted. At times she wished she could reach inside her brain and rip out her fearful thoughts. But now was not the time to perform self-inflicted brain surgery. Instead, she took the lens cap off her camera.

  The mayor’s flesh was white. Almost translucent in the cave’s light. But Maria knew when they would go to put him into the body bag, the underside places, where his body had touched the floor, would be purple and black with blood. A last attempt at gravity showing it was still the boss, even in death. Nothing could escape the pull downward.

  Gratefully, the body didn’t stink too badly. Depending on how long she took with collecting the evidence and taking pictures, it might start to. But rigor mortis had set in. From the amount of decomposition present, Maria guessed he’d been dead nearly a full day. Twenty-four hours. That put the time of his death at yesterday afternoon. Of course, she’d have the coroner confirm.

  The mayor’s body was folded into himself. It was how humans liked to die—the same way they came. In a fetal position.

  “I see him,” Maria called out. “Not sure of the cause of death, but I’m going to start taking pictures.” This verbal play-by-play was ridiculous. What was she going to tell them next? That she had an itch on her backside that she couldn’t reach?

  Act professional. If she had a dollar for every time she’d rolled her eyes at some incoming rookie CIA officer, she’d be rich. And now she was acting like an absolute idiot as a small town police chief. This was her time to show her department, her parents, herself that she could do this. She wasn’t a lame racehorse ready to be made into dog food. Hmm, was it even legal to make dog food from old horses these days? She hoped not.

  This was perfect. She could distract herself by thinking of all the ingredients in dog food.

  Were there chicken feet? For sure some corn by-product.

  As she talked to herself, she shone the flashlight in front of the body, looking for anything—chewing gum, cigarettes, broken twigs, drugs, smashed rocks—that might give a clue what had happened here.

  Maybe dog food had the same ingredients as hot dogs? Maybe it was really just dried up hot dogs?

  Footprints were all over in the dirt. Definitely two sets. The same ones that had been outside the cave.

  If she ever got a dog, she would definitely buy wet dog food in a can. Couldn’t humans even eat that?

  The bigger prints were the mayor’s. Maria was sure of that. The smaller set of footprints could have been a man’s or a woman’s. Someone five feet seven or taller, most likely. Unfortunately, a large number of people fit the bill.

  In a strange way, thinking about dog food and footprints had helped Maria’s nausea subside slightly. Taking advantage of the moment, she flipped a release switch on the side of the flashlight. It broke in half, hinged in the middle, and turned into an electric lantern instead of a flashlight. With her hands free, she started snapping pictures.

  Careful not to step on any obvious markings, she made her way closer to the mayor’s silent form. It was time to examine it more closely. She needed to establish the time, manner, and cause of death. It wasn’t fast work, but she was pretty sure she was going to do it in record time. Anything to get out of there.

  Maria aimed her camera at Mayor Hayward’s face and pushed the button. It was the first photo of many to come. The man’s eyes were closed. Not too surprising, though she’d certainly seen her fair share of open eyes on dead people. The acid in her gut churned. She gently turned the mayor’s head to get a better view of the lividity in the skin. The blood had pooled in his cheek. She gently pushed on it to see if there was any blanching. It stayed a dark purple. That confirmed the man had been dead a while. And he hadn’t been moved since he died. That was obvious.

  Next came the eyes. She needed to tell what color they were. It was one of the best ways to see if someone had been asphyxiated. She used her thumb and index finger to move the eyelids open. The whites had gone brown and the irises were dry, but the vessels hadn’t popped. The mayor hadn’t been strangulated. Maybe he’d just holed up in the cave to get out of the desert cold at night. But then, who did the other set of footprints belong to?

  Maria snapped a few more pictures and closed his eyes again. She continued the investigation of the face, looking for any lacerations or other signs of trauma.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Picture after picture. Outside, the men talked in hushed voices. So far so good, Maria thought. She’d even touched the body and none of her hallucinations had come. The worst p
art was over. Her therapist would be proud of her. Maria still needed to examine the mayor’s backside and his extremities. That was hard to do when the body was stiff. Afterward, she’d have the others put the body into the bag for transport.

  She could hardly believe she’d done it all without one single ghost showing up. Maybe she was on an uphill swing. Maybe Tehran was behind her.

  Holding tightly onto the light, Maria walked around the mayor’s body to his back. A darkened patch of dirt under the mayor’s shoulder blade next to the ground caught her attention. She immediately bent down to get a better look. In the sparse light, the dirt looked wet, not necessarily red. But it was blood. Maria could now smell it. Her whole body was on the alert. Her eyes immediately darted to the corners of the cave to see if the killer was still there, hiding maybe. Of course it was empty. The Thorton brothers had already been inside the cave. They would have noticed if someone else was there.

  Had the death been a murder or suicide? A scan of the cave floor showed no gun or knife anywhere. It wasn’t in either of the mayor’s hands or underneath him. She needed more light to see the wound, but from her quick inspection, it looked like a gun shot.

  A murder.

  Maria had gone from saving a cat out of a tree to a murder investigation in less than eight hours. But that’s how police work went.

  She took more pictures of the body’s position in relation to the cave walls, opening, and footprints. They’d take samples of everything as soon as they could get a kit from the coroner up here.

  Maria was about to call Pete and the men from Search and Rescue to help with the body bag when she thought she should probably get another round of pictures from a slightly different angle. She leaned in closer, focusing on the face. As she pushed the camera’s shutter release, the mayor’s eyes flipped wide open.

  “Ahhhh.” Maria stumbled backward, almost dropping the camera.

  “Everything all right in there?” Pete called.

  With her heart pounding, begging to get out of the rib cage holding it prisoner, Maria looked at the mayor again. His eyes were closed. He looked as dead as he had since the second she’d entered the cave.

  “Everything’s fine. I just tripped.”

  It was happening. Take pictures faster, she yelled inside her head.

  Click. Click. Click.

  She stepped over the body to get another backside shot. She knew she had disturbed some ground evidence, but hopefully she’d gotten everything they would need in the photos before she started traipsing through here like an elephant.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Close ups of his feet, shoes, ankles and calves.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Maria knew she had to find his hands inside of his curled up body. She needed to look for cuts and bruising. She stepped back around to the front and leaned down to get the electric lantern. In her peripheral vision, as if the mayor had heard her thoughts, his arms started to lift above his head.

  Maria whimpered.

  Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!

  “Chief Branson?” It was Rod speaking in a loud voice outside the cave.

  Maria turned away from the mayor and then, unable to stand it, she looked back. The body was once again motionless, tucked inside itself.

  Knees wobbly, she tried to keep herself standing. But it was as if her muscles had gone on strike, as well as her ability to think. She fell to the floor. Her camera knocked against the ground. The mayor sat up and groaned. He looked at Maria with an anguished grimace. A dribble of blood leaked out the side of his mouth and down his chin.

  It looked so real. Could this really be her imagination?

  Dry mouth. Face drenched in sweat. Lungs in revolt. This time Maria was positive she would die in the very spot she sat.

  Somewhere inside of her a voice of reason shouted to keep it together. Her logic center insisted she remain calm. There were three men outside the cave who thought she was a competent human being. Three men who would never look at her the same way again if they found her in this condition. Three men who would know she was a feeble, miserable creature.

  The mayor moaned again. More blood came out of his rigid mouth. He pointed at something. Maria couldn’t help herself. She looked. There, in the corner of the cave, stood a man. The man was dressed in a loincloth with a colorful cape around his neck. On his head was a strange headdress made of metal and feathers. He was ancient looking, yet youthful at the same time.

  Where had Maria’s mind come up with this ghost? The strangest thing about him was his body was intact. He had both arms, both legs, all ten fingers. She could even count all ten of his toes through his open-toed sandals.

  Maria’s ghosts were always deformed, missing extremities, and often decapitated. But not this one. He looked like he was straight out of a B list movie about tribal natives.

  The yellow glow around the Indian flickered. He lifted his hand and signed something to her. It was deliberate, like watching an interpreter signing to a deaf child. What was he trying to tell her?

  She shook her head. Not to tell him that she didn’t understand. She never communicated with her ghosts. Instead, it was to prove to herself this one wasn’t real either.

  You’re not seeing any of this. It’s in your head.

  The scantily clad man walked to her, bent down, and drew several markings in the dirt with the tips of his fingers.

  Maria shook her head again.

  And then it happened. Something that ripped the very core out of her hope for normalcy. If she already hadn’t thought she was insane, she would now.

  The ghost reached out and touched her arm, right below the sleeve of her running shirt.

  And she felt it.

  It was light and tender. Not violent. But there was pressure. A distinct impression on her skin. And it was cold. Very, very cold.

  Every ounce of determination and strength escaped Maria’s being. Her own body seemed as unreal as the apparition in front of her. Despite everything she tried, and humiliated beyond comprehension, her body formed into its own fetal position, and she began to sway back and forth, crying. Wishing for death. Wishing for life.

  Wishing for anything but what she was at that very moment.

  By the time Cortez and his men retook the city, the great treasure hoards … had been sent away, and not a single Aztec could be made to talk. Some of the treasure was dumped into the lakes and canals, but most of it was transported far away from the city by Montezuma’s men of burden.

  –Argosy. “White Mountains $10,000,000 Secret” by Steve Wilson, March 1966.

  Chapter 5

  THE BODY OF A woman, curled into a ball, rocked back and forth as if she were a bobble-head doll. A faint whimper escaped her mouth and echoed off the dimly lit cave walls.

  Moments later a man entered the darkened space, casting more light with his own flashlight. A second man entered after him.

  Their faces showed something. What was it?

  Disgust?

  Mocking?

  Repugnance?

  It couldn’t be compassion. Not for this rueful, miserable person.

  The first man bent down in front of the woman. “What happened?” He gently shook her shoulder.

  The second man was now at the woman’s side as well. “Can you hear me?”

  The woman gave no response. She appeared catatonic.

  “Do you know if she has epilepsy or something like that?” the second man asked.

  “No.” The man who had first entered the cave was in a police uniform. “I don’t think it’s that.”

  “We need to get her out of here. I’ll take care of her while you finish the investigation.”

  The man in the uniform looked as if wanted to argue the point, but then agreed. “It appears as if she’s already bagged the evidence. Can you hand me her camera? I’ll see if she took all the photographs we’ll need.”

  The second man pulled the camera off from around the woman’s wrist and handed it to the offic
er. He then firmly wrapped his arm around the back of the woman and scooped her up. “Time to go,” he said.

  As he lifted her up into his arms and turned to walk out of the cave, Maria saw the woman’s eyes.

  They were her own!

  The realization jerked her consciousness back into her limp body.

  Where had she been? Where had fear taken her mind this time?

  The sickening sensations in her stomach, chest, and head made her want to vomit. But she couldn’t. It would ruin the crime scene and scatter her own DNA everywhere. Swallowing back the acid, she sank her head into Rod Thorton’s chest and moaned.

  He clutched her even tighter and maneuvered the two of them out of the chamber and through the opening tunnel. He carried her like she was a child—her weight not burdening his arms or back. Part of Maria’s mind told her to refuse his assistance—his arrogant, unasked for help. But the fearful, weak side of Maria sank deeper into Rod’s hold.

  Someone was here to take her away. Liberate her from her cell. The cell that had held her prisoner. Free from her tormentors. From torture. From beatings. From—

  Outside the cave, dusty air blew into her face, bringing her back to reality. To Kanab. Her job as police chief. Back to her miserable failure. She tried to wrench free of Rod’s grasp, but he held onto her.

  And then, of all the strangest things, Maria gave up. Just for a little while, she told herself. She would let someone help her.

  Just for a little while.

  Legend has it … Montezuma dispatched a cadre of two thousand warriors to carry the king’s treasure to a safe hiding place in the canyons to the north [Aztlan].

  –Deseret News. “Rare Snails Snarl Efforts to Snare Aztec Gold” by Jerry Spangler, Monday, December 9, 1991.

  Chapter 6

  ROD SPED DOWN THE highway driving Maria’s car. He’d rolled down both windows, and the air rushed into the front, making it so noisy it was impossible to talk.