EARTHCRACK
A Lin Hanna Mystery
BY
Sharon Canipe
Cover design by
Steve Canipe
Copyright 2013 by Sharon W. Canipe
All rights reserved
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Special thanks to my husband Steve for his help with cover design, editorial advice, and all things technical. My daughter Marti also provided input as a reader that was much appreciated. Thanks also go to the staff at Wupatki National Monument for the opportunity to work there as a volunteer. Thanks go to Mary Blasing, former ranger at Wupatki, who provided valuable input regarding law enforcement in the national parks.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SANDRIFT
BOOK 2: LIN HANNA MYSTERIES
SANDRIFT
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
May 2010
Wupatki National Monument Arizona
The late afternoon sun created deep shadows around the hills and mesas. Junipers and a few pinion pines stretched across the slopes. Boulders strew the rugged fields. This was wild country and usually no one was about; just a few cows here and there to see the truck as it slowly made its way along the park boundary.
The old Chevy truck bounced gingerly along the rutted single-lane dirt track. The driver, Cullen Honeyestewa, carefully avoided the worst of the holes while slowly progressing along the boundary. He was deep in thought. Why was he here? Why was he doing this? He told himself it was for family and their future. There were so many needs. Like most families on the reservation, they were always short of money. Now it was so much worse since his nephew Michael had borrowed money to feed a gambling habit. Michael was afraid. Raymond Tso, a loan shark who operated a pawnshop in Tuba City, was threatening him. Michael was his sister’s only son and Cullen’s responsibility in the family. That was the Hopi way. The boy was frightened and seemed genuinely regretful about his situation. He wanted to go back to school and get a fresh start. He was a good boy who just fell in with a bad crowd. No way could this debt be settled and his nephew given a second chance without more money than anyone in the family could come up with. The boy swore he would get his act together and Cullen felt bound to help. The unexpected find of old pottery fragments, some pieces basically whole, seemed like a true gift. After all Dr. Neal Smith, his friend at the university, said it was a rare find and very valuable. Dr. Smith seemed to understand Cullen’s situation and genuinely wanted to help. Smith offered to contact a friend who owned a gallery to arrange a sale. He assured Cullen that, if he told no one else, it would be easy to hide knowledge of the deal. After all, such finds were really rare these days and totally unexpected.
Cullen had permission to come and go in Wupatki because of his clan affiliation. He was allowed to gather eagle nestlings and feathers for ceremonials. No one would question his presence in the backcountry. Of course, Smith would have a share of the money but Cullen should have enough to help Michael. Cullen had many misgivings and mixed feelings about his decision to do this. He respected traditions and knew the importance of preserving the past but the money was needed to give Michael another chance and the boy’s future was important too. In the end Cullen had decided to sell the pots and now the time had come to carry out his plan. He was expecting to meet Smith and someone from the gallery near Lomaki ruin, one of the sites far away from the park visitor center.
Cullen pulled over near the boundary fence and parked behind some junipers up against a rocky outcropping. He scanned the area. He saw no other vehicles around. There was a lone horse, probably a quarter mile away, tethered to a juniper. There was no person in sight. It was probably some cowboy from the ranch checking fence line. If the rider had even noticed Cullen driving in, he would think he was just someone hunting rabbits in this backcountry. He would not be able to see the truck now, so no worry.
Cullen carefully crossed under the fence at the gap left for pronghorn to safely travel back and forth and began his hike across the park toward the meeting place. It should only take him about half an hour. It was still light enough to see in the lingering spring evening but, as the park would be closed soon, traffic should be light and visitors less likely. Hopefully, he could conduct his business and be back to his truck by nightfall. He wanted this to be over.
Cullen thought back to when this all started about a month ago. He had come to the park looking for eagle feathers at the nesting site where his clan was permitted to legally collect. He had decided to walk through a nearby area where the park boundary joined forest service land. He had heard that the forest service was exploring some previously undocumented ruins in that area and he was curious as to what they might have found. The area was pretty rough, covered in loose cinders. He was walking along the edge of a gully when he spotted what looked like pottery fragments sticking up out of some cinders. When he examined them further it seemed that they might be whole, buried in the crumbly cinders and now partially exposed by erosion. He dug just a bit and became more convinced that he had found something valuable.
The next day he had returned with some digging tools. Cullen knew that the find should be left in place and reported to the forest service, the park, and even the tribe itself, but he also knew that he might be onto something valuable which could help his family and which no one else knew about as yet. He would have heard if the forest service workers had found something like this—rumors spread quickly. He excavated the immediate area very carefully. It was not difficult; the cinders were loose and easy to move aside. He uncovered two pots basically intact—only a couple of minor chips. He removed them and also removed some additional fragments. There might be others but he saw no immediate evidence so he carefully took his find back to an area near his clan site which was not near any areas visited regularly by tourists. After first photographing the pots with his cell phone, so he would have something to show, he hid them behind some ruined walls carefully burying them with earth, brush, and more cinders. He immediately thought of his friend, Dr. Neal Smith, at the university. Cullen often came to talk to Smith’s classes about native culture and customs and he had even helped Dr. Smith from time to time with some small local excavations.
When Smith saw the photos, Cullen knew that they excited him. Of course he would have to examine the actual pots but he thought they probably dated back to about 1100 AD and were about 900 years old. They were of two different styles—one probably Cohonina, the other Kayenta Anazazi. In ancient times Wupatki was a major trading center so it was not unusual for different types of pottery to be found in the area. However, finding pots that were essentially whole was almost
unheard of these days. Most of those finds had occurred earlier. Nowadays folks mostly found fragments. To see pots like these you had to go to a museum or art gallery.
Smith had asked Cullen what he planned to do with his find and Cullen had told him about his family’s financial problems. Smith was sympathetic and, swearing him to secrecy, had told Cullen that he had a friend who owned a gallery and who might be able to help him sell those pots. He said there were plenty of wealthy folks who collected antique art works and were not too picky about where and how they obtained them; private collectors who simply wanted to enjoy these things and maybe impress their friends. Some of these people lived abroad so the items might even leave the country. Cullen had somewhat reluctantly agreed to let Smith help him sell the pots. He knew it was wrong but he could see no other way to help Michael make things right.
Smith had assured Cullen that the pottery would bring a tidy sum on the antiquities market. His contact at the gallery would buy the pieces and sell them far away from the reservation, a closed sale to a private collector. No one else would know about the transaction. The money would solve his immediate problem with his nephew and help put Michael on the road to a better life, hopefully. Maybe this was a true gift from the spirits meant to help him and his family. Now the moment for the transaction had come. Cullen trudged along feeling downhearted but determined to go through with his plan.
Cullen had set the meeting site at the box canyon near Lomaki, one of the more distant ruins in the park yet still accessible by the main road. He told Dr. Smith that he had hidden the find nearby but did not tell him exactly where. Cullen implied the hiding place was in a narrow slot area at the end of the box canyon near the ruin. He wanted to ensure that the pottery pieces could not be found without his help. In fact the hiding place was only a few minutes walk from the ruins, but only Cullen and the other clan member who collected baby eaglets for the sacred ceremonies knew the exact location of the nesting site and the small field house ruins nearby.
Cullen’s plan was to have Smith and his contact wait at the box canyon while he moved the pottery from its hiding place. He could manage it and preserve the secret of the nearby nesting site. There were few landmarks and it was easy to get confused in this countryside. Someday, if he proved trustworthy, he would pass his knowledge of this location along to his nephew and Michael would take over his role. That was his hope and the main reason he was doing this. It was important to ensure that Michael got on the right path.
He approached the ruins site where the meeting was to occur looking for the professor’s car somewhere nearby. The road was empty, as was the parking lot at the ruin. Perhaps Dr. Smith had parked a bit beyond the site, off the road near the box canyon where there was lots of juniper for cover. The box canyon was a bit hidden around a small curve in the entrance road and a short walk from the parking lot near the ruin. As he approached the entrance to the box canyon he caught sight of a vehicle in a low place behind some trees near the entrance road but it was unfamiliar to him. Maybe it belonged to the art dealer. Perhaps it belonged to a backcountry visitor, but why not use the open parking lot? An uneasy feeling crept into his bones as Cullen slowly moved forward to the meeting place. He had expected to see Smith and his contact at the entrance to the box canyon. He felt a chill as a cold breeze wafted from the canyon entrance. This did not feel right. He shrugged and looked around—just nerves and guilt because he knew he should not be doing this. Well, he was into it now. It would soon all be over. Cautiously he proceeded into the canyon.
Once within the walls of the small canyon, the shadows deepened making it harder to see ahead. Moving slowly forward, Cullen scanned the area before him for those he expected to meet. At the halfway mark he rounded a small bend and could see in the distance the end wall and the entrance to the small slot canyon. He began to call out for Professor Smith. There was no answer.
A deep uneasiness spread through Cullen’s body. This was not what was planned. He was to meet Dr. Smith and someone from the gallery, or so he thought. He would collect the pottery for them and get his share of the money—all quick and clean. Then he could return home and forget this ever happened. Cullen did not trust the situation. Where was Dr. Smith? He already felt guilty and unsure about what he was doing; he knew it was wrong and he was beginning to regret his choice. What was going on here?
Cullen proceeded cautiously toward the end of the small box canyon. There was a slot there. He had told Smith that was where he was putting the pottery so maybe he was there, blocked by the junipers. He slowly moved forward toward the brushy junipers at the end of the canyon. This whole thing was getting on his nerves. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself. The slot at the end of the canyon opened out into a rough field that led to the eagle nest site. If Smith and the other guy were not waiting at the slot, Cullen would proceed out that way cutting back toward the truck. He was becoming uncertain about going through with this deal. Maybe he could find another way to help Michael. Maybe he would sneak back later and retrieve the artifacts and turn them over to the authorities, as he should have done at first. This whole thing felt so wrong.
Even though the evening was cool and the sun was beginning to set, Cullen was sweating—his palms were damp. He rounded the last large rock formation in the canyon. The end was near. Suddenly he heard and sensed a slight movement nearby. Before he could react, a searing crunching pain shot through the side of his head. He felt his knees buckle as he collapsed. Then all went black and silent. As Cullen’s life’s blood oozed out into the sand, a shadowy figure silently raised a large stone and looked around. Seeing no one, the assailant knelt beside the body checking the faint pulse as it weakened and finally stopped altogether.
The assailant moved quickly dragging the body closer to the slot and shoving it down into a large earth crack near the entrance. He tossed the bloody rock after the corpse and then moved to gather some juniper branches to shove in on top. He had to hurry. The light was fading and he had to collect the artifacts. He had been assured that they were here within the slot at the end of the box canyon. There were not many hiding places here. Locating the cache should be easy. The professor had seemed relieved to avoid being present and the gallery owner never planned to come anyway. He had been more or less on his own for this part of the deal and he intended to take full advantage. Killing the Indian meant more money for him. He silently fingered the bills in his pocket, bills that were originally meant for Cullen. There would be even more money when the items were sold.
The man assured himself that no one was around to see any light. Then, using his flashlight, he began a search of the immediate area where the cache was supposedly hidden. He expected to find the pottery quickly, move it to his truck, and then make an important phone call. He continued searching—nothing. It was rapidly growing darker. What was going on here? He was growing nervous—his failure would not be taken lightly. He could be in real trouble.
Finally, he gave up the search. It was growing too dark to see well, even with the aid of the flashlight. The day had been warm for April. There could be rattlers out in the rocks. What should he do? He decided to leave, at least for now. Returning to his truck, he slowly drove down the park road to the highest point where he could get a cell phone signal. He dialed the number.
“Where are you?” his contact sounded nervous and upset.
“I’m still in the park. The stuff is not where we were told and I haven’t found it yet. It has to be somewhere nearby but it’s getting dark. I’ll come back early tomorrow. It has to be nearby. I’ll find it and get in touch,” he paused waiting for a response.
After what seemed like a long silence, his contact responded, “Guess that is all you can do. Be careful that you are not seen. Go early before the park is open. I will wait to hear from you.”
The killer breathed a sigh of relief. He had bought himself at least a few hours. He still had Cullen’s share of the money. He guessed it was time for him to disappear and lay low for a
while. He could come back later when things were quiet and resume the search. If anyone else found the pottery he would learn of it through the Rez grapevine. He was going to vanish before anyone realized what was really happening. Smiling to himself and feeling pretty clever, he made one more important call then he drove out of the park turning north not sure what his final destination would be.
***
John Sessions looked at his clock in the gallery office. It was after eight o’clock and he still had not heard from his assistant. Darren should have called by now to report that he had concluded his business with the Hopi. Cullen was his name, he thought. Sessions had told Darren to park well outside the ruins area where his vehicle could not be seen and to hike in; perhaps it had just taken him longer than he originally thought.
Sessions had not wanted to go to the meeting—too risky. He had advised Smith against this also. He had made it clear that he did not want to know anything about that part of the operation. Deniability was important in such cases. Whatever transpired was of no further interest to him. He had a nagging worry that his assistant was trying to pull a fast one. He would certainly regret that, if such a thing happened.
The network for these types of sales was a tight one. If these items hit the market by other means Sessions would most likely learn of it. Most of the dealers who dealt in the lucrative market for “private” sales of antiquities and art used local contacts on the reservations to obtain the items. Sometimes things did not always go as smoothly as they would like for them to; however, if one deal fell through, another was usually just around the corner and it was not too difficult to “take care of” any uncooperative locals who tried to sabotage these deals.
Earthcrack: A Lin Hanna Mystery Page 1
