The Seventh Message

by William Johnstone

  Agent Ramirez stepped forward. "Listen lady, this doesn't concern you. You're new here."

  Ashley turned and fixed a glare on Ramirez. "I'm not a lady, Agent Ramirez, as of two weeks ago, I'm a Special Agent of the FBI, and unless you have changed the primary mission of this Bureau, terrorism is our business."

  Walter Kent stood and motioned Ramirez to back off, then turned to Ashley. "I'm not sure what to make of you, Ms. Kohen, but I think you’re out of line. Please explain yourself."

  Ashley stepped back and tried to remain composed. She knew this didn't look good. The new girl pushing herself in without an invitation. "First, I want to apologize for being abrupt, but I hope you will understand why in a few minutes." She took a deep breath. "May I sit?"

  "Of course. We all need to calm down." Kent eyeballed Ramirez.

  Ashley began. "In Chicago, as a detective, I dealt with cases that involved narcotics, homicides, and terrorism. I worked on half a dozen cases involving national security, and helped the FBI on two cases that preventing terrorist bombings. I learned a lot about the Muslim culture and their religious practices."

  Ramirez interrupted. "What's this have to do with Muslims?" Ashley ignored him.

  "As is true of all religions, most Muslims are good, law-abiding citizens and trustworthy members of their faith. Also true, is the fact there are certain rituals obeyed by all Muslims worldwide. One is ceremonial burials that follow a well-established practice. The first rule is to clean the body. The second is to wrap it in white cloth. The finest cloth available to them. It's done throughout the Muslim world."

  "You're suggesting the body in a white sheet is connected to a Muslim burial?” Asked Kent.

  “No, not a Muslim burial, but a burial by a Muslim."

  "I don't understand."

  "The third rule is to bury the person in sanctified ground. If the body in Lea County is not buried in ground designated for that purpose. The body is not of the Muslim faith, but was buried by a believer following traditional practices.”

  Walter Kent nodded. "I see what you are getting at, Ms. Kohen. I'm not aware of a significant Muslim presence in this state, outside Gallup and Albuquerque. A proper burial most likely would occur in northern New Mexico, not down south."

  "Yes. This burial sounds more like hiding a criminal act by a Muslim than a proper interment. With all due respect, I think we should consider Sergeant Gallaher's request to take part in the investigation in Lea County."

  Ashley watched Walter Kent lean back in his leather chair and consider the proposal made by his newest member of the staff. "Okay, Agent Kohen, since the Bureau has been asked to take part, I agree we should check into this matter, but only as observers. Normally I would assign an on-scene investigator to assist you, but no one is available right now, and officially you're not investigating anything."

  "Yes sir. I understand. I'll do my best, sir."

  "I'll call Sergeant Gallaher and tell him you are on your way."

  "Do I have your permission to requisition necessary equipment and transport?"

  "Of course. See Ms. Hogan for contact information." Kent glanced at Ashley with a hint of skepticism. "You represent Uncle Sam, now, Agent Kohen. Try to stay out of trouble, you hear?"

  ELEVEN

  READY FOR HER TRIP to Lea County, Ashley Kohen stood in the underground garage of the field office. The motor pool manager handed her the keys to a white unmarked Chevy Suburban parked at the exit gate. "When did you last service it?" She asked.

  With an ugly twist of his mouth, the manager spoke slowly to emphasize each word. “Yesterday. I topped everything off, too. By that I mean the gas tank is full and I checked all fluids."

  Ashley kept a blank expression. "Four-wheel drive?"

  "All our vans and SUV’s are four-wheel drive.” He rolled his eyes upward. “And it’s equipped with emergency flashers, radio communication units and GPS. That stands for Global Positioning System”

  Ashley gave him a hard smile. “How informative. You’re missing one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s listed on my order request.” She pointed to the paper he held in his hand. “I’ll need two five-gallon reserved tanks mounted in the rear. One with gas and the other with water–if it’s not too much trouble.”

  The manager dipped his head. “My crew must have missed that. I’ll tend to it right away. Do you need a hand with your stuff?"

  "No, thanks, I'll manage." Her stuff consisted of the black bag from the Supply Depot, a Crime Scene Examiners Field Kit, granola bars bought in the cafeteria, and half a dozen bottles of water. On her way to the motor pool, Ashley had stopped in the rest room, changed her clothes, and clipped her badge on her belt.

  With reserve tanks locked into place and everything tossed into the suburban, she punched Roswell into the onboard GPS. Then she buckled up, started the engine, adjusted the rearview mirror, and flipped on the flashing emergency red and blue lights. The tires squealed as she climbed the underground ramp and entered the public street.

  To preserve evidence, she wanted to get to the body in the desert as fast as possible. Two hundred miles of four lane highway lay ahead. A four-hour trip she intended to make in fewer than three.

  The busy forty-five mile stretch of I-40 leading to the junction with Highway 285 at Clines Corner's needed her full attention. The Suburban hurtled down the pavement as if it were an NASCAR entrant on steroids.

  Finally, the road signs announced Clines Corner's on the horizon and Ashley eased up on the gas as she exited the Interstate south. The traffic volume on 285 was nonexistent. This gave her a chance to make some necessary calls. First she called Sergeant Gallaher in Lea County and learned he had been delayed by helicopter problems but was now on his way to the crime scene. Next she called the BLM District Manager Tim McKruger, who promised to meet her in Roswell at the north side Wal-Mart parking lot. He would escort her to Joe Halverson's location east of town.

  At 3:15 p. m. Ashley turned off the flashing lights and pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot with McKruger on her phone explaining his exact location. She spotted him standing beside a BLM truck. She ran the passenger side window down and lurched to a stop a few feet away.

  "Good afternoon Mr. McKruger. Hop in." She noted surprise on his face. "I know, you planned to lead me to the burial site, but if you come with me, we'll get there faster. The body is slowly cooking vital evidence under the hot sun. Time is important." Ashley gave him one of her "pretty" smiles, and he went for the bait.

  "Straight south on Main Street?" she asked as McKruger buckled-up. "Yes, make a left when I tell you. It's about thirty miles east."

  Main Street was like most main streets in rural America. Everyone used it–frequent stoplights and slow moving traffic. The left turn she made onto Highway 380 downtown, gave her hope of an open road.

  "Straight ahead," said McKruger. "My field crew is waiting. There are no roads to the site. Four-wheel drive?" Ashley gave him a thumbs-up sign. At the edge of town, she switched on the flashers and concentrated on the two lane road.

  Twenty minutes later, McKruger pointed. "There, on the side of the road." Ashley slowed and pulled alongside the BLM white van. All the doors were open and five sweaty faces confronted her. A man slipped out of the driver’s seat. "That's Joe Halverson." McKruger and Ashley jumped out of the suburban. Before the two men exchanged greetings, Ashley asked, "Has Sergeant Gallaher arrived yet?"

  "Uh, yes." he stammered, "about an hour ago. Two of them, a pilot and the deputy."

  Ashley noted the crew was ready to pack it in and go home. Not the best way to spend an afternoon. “Who found the body?"

  Halverson pointed over at the van. Kabunsky nodded her head and raised her hand. "That's Alice, she's our archaeologist. She found it.”

  Ashley stepped over to the van. "Alice, I'm sorry, but you need to come back to the site with me."

  Alice shook her head. "I don't want to go back there."

  Ashley
paused a moment. "Alice, this is a police investigation. You must cooperate. It won't take long. I need to document your discovery."

  McKruger agreed. "You have to do this, Alice. Sorry." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Ashley continued, "I have an air-conditioned Suburban, with water and snacks.”

  Alice perked up. "Air-conditioned?"

  Joe, and Alice prepared to go with Ashley to the site. McKruger and the others would take the van back to the District office. Ashley heard McKruger tell the others, "Okay guys, you're done for the day. Police work is not in your job descriptions."

  He glanced at Ashley. "Take care of Alice." A long pause. "You must be dedicated to do this kind of work."

  Ashley knitted her brow. "If you only knew."

  TWELVE

  WHILE HEADING BACK to the crime scene, Ashley paid no attention to the oppressive heat, the cactus that scraped along the side of the Suburban, the black-barked mesquite bushes that dotted the land or buried rocks in the hard packed desert soil.

  Finally, the car crested a low-lying hill and skidded to a stop. A Robertson R44 helicopter sat silent below them on a flat area. Joe said, "The body is over there below that small ridge." Two men stood next to the ridge. "That's Sergeant Gallaher and his pilot, Cisco."

  Ashley reached for the Field Investigator's Kit and exited the Suburban. She headed for the men, one wearing a deputy sheriff's uniform. "Good afternoon. I'm Agent Kohen, FBI." She showed her ID, offered her hand to Deputy Gallaher, who shook it, and then to Cisco.

  "I've been on-site about an hour," said Gallaher. "The victim is over there. I've covered it with a body bag to keep the sun off. I haven't disturbed the scene, like you asked. The corpse has been in the ground a day, maybe."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "A portion of the victim's foot is uncovered. The skin is pale, not green, and it feels like traces of rigor mortis remain in the muscles."

  Ashley nodded. "That suggests death occurred within 24 to 36 hours. What about the temperature?"

  "Oh, I didn’t get the temperature, the body is wrapped tight and buried"

  "I mean the atmospheric temperature."

  "Oh, of course. Aboveground it's a 105 degrees, but that doesn't apply to the body. At twelve to fifteen inches below the surface, the earth keeps a constant 56 to 58 degrees. That's why the creatures around here, live in holes during the day."

  Not knowing desert conditions, Ashley had to accept Gallaher's statement. It made sense, and she welcomed the news. This big piece of evidence, buried a few feet away, might be in better condition than she thought possible.

  Deputy Gallaher, it's important that we reclaim the body with minimum site disturbance. I have with me an anthropologist from the BLM. I'd like her assistance in unearthing the body. Do you have any objections?" Sergeant Gallaher shook his head.

  Ashley motioned to Alice to come over. “I need your help.” She impressed upon Alice the importance of preserving the ‘evidence’ and likened it to the recovery of ancient bones. “I want you to approach the job with the same professionalism needed at any archaeological excavation.” Alice squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Yes, ma’am I’ll do my best.”

  Ashley asked Gallaher about approach paths to the investigation scene. "Have you discovered any shoe prints or tire marks?"

  "I found one set of each. I've taken photographs with shadows that show strong ridge patterns of both shoe and tire prints, approaching and leaving the site. To determine scale, I put a bright penny in each shot."

  Ashley gave him a nod of approval. A quick view of the LCD frame on the back of his camera displayed a series of well-defined impressions. An analysis of the footprints would result in an estimate of the height and weight of the subject.

  Alice Kabunsky, using her tools, removed soil that crumbled away from around the wrapped body. After thirty minutes of careful digging, the corpse lay exposed in the grave. Before moving it aboveground, Ashley inspected the body's positioning. The head pointed south and faced east. The body lay on its right side. She found flat rocks under the head, chin area, and right shoulder. Except for smudges of dirt on the linen covering, it was clean and had a sweet smell of lilacs. She asked Gallaher to photograph every detail.

  Kneeling beside the body, Ashley examined the white shroud. She noted the neat folds and the snug wrappings that showed the outline of a small body, possibly a child. If the burial preparation was performed by a murderer, it had been meticulously executed. Victims are seldom treated with such respect by their killer. Why this one?

  On a positive note the careful preparation and handling of the corpse guarantied the body to be in nearly pristine condition. A skillful autopsy and a professional forensic study should yield significant clues. To guarantee a fast, accurate, and expert examination, the FBI had to employ the services of a forensic professional.

  She had three immediate tasks to perform; gain approval from her field office to accept jurisdiction in this case, secure agreement by Lea County authorities to surrender jurisdiction, and arrange transport of the body.

  Ashley asked Gallaher, “How long have you lived in this part of New Mexico?"

  "All my life."

  "Then you know the people and the local culture around here?"

  "Sure."

  "Are there any mosques in the area attended by people of the Islamic faith?"

  "You mean like terrorists?"

  "No, sergeant, I mean Muslims. People who practice that religion.”

  Gallaher thought for a moment. "No, Agent Kohen. I don't think so. This is small-town America. Everybody knows everyone. If any Muslims lived around here I'd know.”

  "Now, tell me about the medical examiner in Lea County, and your forensic capabilities."

  "The M. E. is part-time. We collect fingerprints and send them to you guys. Lab studies are all done by the state in Albuquerque."

  "What's your turn-around time for analysis of hair and fiber evidence?"

  "Hard to say. A couple of weeks. Maybe a month if there's a backlog."

  "You asked for the Bureau to review this case. How serious is your sheriff about our involvement?"

  "Real serious."

  "Would he sign an MOU between his office and ours?"

  "A what?"

  "A Memo of Understanding, giving the FBI jurisdiction as the lead investigative agency in this specific case."

  "I don't know, but I think he would."

  "Thank you, sergeant."

  Ashley walked back to the Suburban and called her office on the satellite relay radio. The late afternoon heat caused perspiration to sprout on her forehead. Dorothy Hogan answered. "Ms. Hogan, this is Agent Kohen, is Mr. Kent in his office?"

  "Yes, he's free. I'll connect you."

  After a moment of silence, "Kent here. Where are you, Kohen?"

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Kent. I'm on scene in Lea County. I will make a written report, but right now I need your approval to have the FBI take jurisdiction." She braced herself for a negative response.

  "I sent you there as an observer, Kohen, not to drum up business for the Bureau."

  With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she said, "Yes, sir. I understand. Let me share my observations with you, then you decide."

  "Okay, I’m listening."

  "I don't have hard evidence, but I have strong indications the circumstance surrounding this incident needs further inquiry. First, the way the body was prepared for burial is in conformance with Islamic tradition. The corpse is on its right side with supports under the head, chin and shoulder. The grave is perpendicular to Mecca and the white linen cloth has a sweet smell. These are all Islamic customs, unlike anything we normally see in this country. Second, the body is hidden in a remote area suggesting a crime had been committed. Third, there are no Mosques anywhere near here and no Muslim populations in this part of the state. Fourth, signs indicate this killing occurred fewer than thirty-six hours ago, meaning potential evidence may remain intact if we ac
t quickly. Finally, advanced forensic techniques in Lea County are nonexistent, and the local sheriff's office wants nothing to do with this case."

  Walter Kent listened to Ashley's oral report. "When you boil it down, Kohen, it's a hunch, not a solid basis for assuming jurisdiction. It sounds vague, mighty vague."

  "Yes sir. It probably does, but..." Ashley decided to take a chance, one that might affect her fledgling career in the FBI. "...you probably remember a few years back two Islamic men took flight lessons in Florida to learn how to fly a commercial jet plane. Nobody wondered why two men wanted to fly an aircraft they couldn't afford to buy. Nobody got suspicious. No one figured they might put that knowledge to some horrific use, like flying an airplane into a building in downtown New York City. It would have sounded like a vague notion. Mighty vague," she said, swallowing hard.

  There was a long pause on the line. Ashley clenched her teeth, and waited. Had she just screwed her career? Had she offended the one person she needed on her side? She waited, gripping the phone hard enough to feel pain.

  "They used to call that a sucker punch, Kohen."

  "I know."

  "You've got guts, I'll give you that."

  "I think this is important."

  Ashley wondered what was going through Walter Kent's mind. She hoped he would consider the likelihood that this might turn out to be a case involving a terrorist. Would Kent be willing to ignore a situation that might lead to a future terrorist attack? Ashley was betting that he wouldn't take that chance, no matter how remote the possibility.

  "What the hell. Okay, Kohen, go for it."

  Ashley felt a release of tension in her body followed by a wave of gratitude. "Am I allowed to incur necessary expenses?"

  "Of course. Within reason."

  "Thank you, Mr. Kent."

  "Not necessary, Agent Kohen. You're doing your job. Keep me advised." He disconnected.

  It took a few seconds for her to compose herself. She had gambled and won, which prompted her next action. Motioning Deputy Gallaher over to the Suburban, she offered to dictate a binding MOU. Using the Suburban’s radio Gallaher checked with Sheriff Hargraves who agreed to the arrangement, and put his secretary on the line. Thirty minutes later the letter was signed and faxed to the Albuquerque Field Office for the SEC's approval. Finally, Ashley questioned the pilot of Cisco's Helicopter Service.