by V. S. Holmes
“They know me—we’ve met several times. I think they’d appreciate it better coming from me. I don’t know what to say, really. I’ve never been good about this stuff. I didn’t think I was a griever.”
“This is different. Listen, I’ll handle the legal stuff, and feel free to conference me in when you talk to the police. Let me know when you’ve called his family too.”
“I’ll phone them in a few minutes.” She fell silent, listening to his breathing through the line. “I guess I should go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not better at this. I’m sorry I didn’t stop the dig sooner.”
“You should be sorry for nothing, Nel. Don’t go down that road. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if not sooner. Try and get some rest.”
The phone call to Mikey’s dad was the worst thing Nel had ever had to do. She had no explanations, no kind words or heroic actions to sooth the wound of losing a child. She could not say his death had been quick, but silence was better than the truth. Seeing someone cry was bad, but listening to a grown man weep over the phone, hearing every hiccup of pain in his voice, was far worse. She wanted to cry with him, knew it would ease the icy mass of lead in her chest. The tears just wouldn’t come.
NEL PERCHED ON THE rooftop. The cool evening air was balm against her cheeks. She hadn’t been downstairs, been into his room since yesterday. The raucous night noise echoed up from the town, a tiny window into a world devoid of grief.
Chad’s street shoes scuffed on the stucco. “Can I join you.”
She nodded. Her throat was raw from screaming and shouting and weeping. Words weren’t important enough.
“It sounds stupid to say I’m sorry. I liked Mikey, but he was something else to you. I can’t think of what to say, other than too much, it seems.”
She shrugged. Being alone was better, but she was so far removed from the world, that even in Chad’s talkative company, she was isolated. “I talked to Martos.” Her voice cracked into being, a gravely monotone response.
“Did he know?”
She shook her head once. “I had to tell Mikey's dad.” She kicked absently at the chimney. “This is all my fault, Chad.”
“Like fuck it is.”
“I told Mikey at the beginning of the season, I was worried someone might get hurt. I should have told him to wait to calibrate the damn total station. I should have waited for him. I should have listened when Los Pobladores warned us two weeks ago.”
“You couldn’t have known it would go this far.”
“They held us up on the side of the road. With a gun. I should have known.”
“Nel, fight them. Fight this fucking mess. Don’t destroy yourself.”
“They want us at the station first thing tomorrow.”
He looked away, clearly knowing better than to argue. “I’ll drive you.”
EIGHTEEN
CHAD WAS A BETTER DRIVER than Nel expected, and the drive to the station was quick. Annie pulled into the parking lot a moment after. Nel returned the girl's faint smile and led the way into the building. She was briefly glad she had the forethought to bring something other than cargo pants and dig shirts. A good set of clothes gave her the illusion of armor.
Officer Munoz and the Policia from before stepped out of an interrogation room as Chad was being patted down at the entrance. Munoz offered a nod. “Dr. Bently, thanks for coming down. This is Inspector Reyes, from Antofagasta.”
Nel shook both their hands and gestured to Chad. “This is Dr. Chad Calligaris. He’s one of the other head diggers I have. Had.” She shook the thought away and jerked her head at the line of students. “These are the students.”
“Dr. Calligaris, I’m sure we’ll want to speak with you too, but for the time being I’ll talk to Dr. Bently alone.” Munoz rested a hand on her arm and ushered her down the hall. She followed him into a small, dim room equipped with a table and a few chairs. A coffee maker sputtered in the corner beside a trashcan overfull with cold, wet grounds and filters. She took the indicated seat, glancing up to note the camera in the corner and the heavy lock on the door.
“You’re not under investigation, really, but we have to be thorough.” Reyes perched on a corner of the table, eyes too curious for Nel's comfort.
“Of course.” Nel swallowed hard. Their words were like a script, one she didn’t like. “Anything I can do to help.”
“The questions I have won’t be easy, and I want you to know we’re doing everything we can. Your understanding and patience during such a trying time is appreciated.”
I haven’t been patient yet. “I understand.”
“Can you detail the last time you saw Dr. Servais?”
“Friday. We had a long day in the field. I was driving the crew back, but he said he’d stay behind to calibrate our total station — the survey machine that helps us map the location of finds and stuff. It was out of whack.”
“Did you receive any phone calls? Anything?”
“Nothing until you came Saturday morning. I asked to talk to him when he got back, but I fell asleep early, so I didn’t think anything of not seeing him that night.”
“What was your relationship with Dr. Servais?” Reyes tilted his head. He lacked all of Munoz's warmth and kindness.
Nel laughed humorlessly. “Not whatever you’re thinking. We’re friends. Good ones. I’ve known him since undergrad. He’s not exactly my type.”
“Ah. Do you know if he was intimate with any of the crew? Any locals?”
“None of the crew. He had a girlfriend back home, but they broke up a few months before we came here. He met a woman at a bar recently, but it didn’t sound like anything romantic. I think he would have told me if it was.”
“Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt him? Did he owe money? Have any gambling or drinking problems?” Reyes asked.
Nel just stared at him. She wished Munoz would jump in to defend Mikey. He had known them both for years. “You can’t be serious.”
The Investigator pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please humor me.”
“Humor you? My best friend was found dead on the side of the damned fucking road, we both know exactly who did it, and you are asking me to humor you?”
Munoz held his hand up. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Bentley, truly, I am. I can only guess what you’re feeling and thinking. Please realize we want to solve this as much as you.”
“This has Los Pobladores written all over it!”
“How? They’ve never been violent. They’ve only staged peaceful protests. There was no evidence on the body or along the roadside.”
Nel looked down. The numbness that carried her through the night before in one piece trembled under the logic. He’s right. I know it was them. I know they threatened us, but they’re not stupid. “If I gave you names, stuff they touched and my own prints for comparison, do you think it would help?”
“They touched your belongings?”
Her eyes flicked back up to his, burning with tears and something hot and roiling in her chest. “They held us at gunpoint on the roadside a few weeks ago. Their names are Emilio Sepulveda and Bastian something. They should be easy to find — Emilio owns the place downtown.” She slid her chair out. “I’ll get you the equipment out of the car when we’re done. Now, if you’d humor me, I’d like to see his body.”
Reyes's face finally faltered. “I understand wanting to see him, to say goodbye. Unfortunately, we're still examining his body for evidence. We'll let you know as soon as you can see him. I think I have all the answers I need for now. I'll bring you out to your students.”
Nel did not answer and followed him back up the hall.
NINETEEN
NEL HELD HER BEER AGAINST her shoulder, swaying in front of the jukebox. She had already been asked to change the song by two people. She hoped it was her nasty response that sent them packing, but she knew it was the bloodshot condition of her eyes. Later, when her thoughts were more ordered and had been drained of alcohol, she would be gratefu
l to Jerod for not asking her to leave or turn the music off.
She snuffled into her sleeve. She wanted every one of Mikey's favorite songs to be tattooed on her mind. Her field boot thumped softly against the worn floor. It was made for dancing, made for drunken release and laughter. She supposed it was good for drunken rage too.
Her phone chuttered in her pocket and she flipped it open. One eye refused to focus on the tiny print of Chad's text.
Just dropped the kids off at the airport. I'm dealing with this end of the paperwork while I'm here. I'll be home tomorrow (friday). Take care of yourself.
She did not respond. She popped another quarter into the machine. Her hips swayed again, without any real rhythm.
There was so much about Mikey that she never thought to ask. He was a perfect set of opposites. An atheist who loved gospel songs. A crass, dirty-minded romantic. She took it all as just “being Mikey.” Now she wish she had asked. The screen door slammed shut as someone stepped into the smoky, dim interior. Every local knew that door spring was broken. The startled curse suggested this was no local. The clack of heels against the worn wood confirmed it. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the Vecuna y Las Rosas.”
The woman’s Spanish was impeccable, the kind of fluent one only developed by immersion. Nel screwed her eyes shut. She did not want to deal with reporters right now. She was liable to swear and make an ass of herself. Mikey always handled the PR.
The bartender, Jerod, cleared his throat. “They're all booked out, but there's an inn on the other side of town.”
The woman's briefcase thumped onto one of the barstools. “I'm looking for a woman staying there, actually. Annelise Bently. I’m from Santiago.”
“You’re sure not from around here. It’s down the road a ways. Turn left at the red three-story.” There was a pregnant pause as he waited to see if she left. “Not sure if she’s in. If I see her, who should I say was asking?”
“You think you’re likely to see her in a bar at ten in the morning?” When Jerod refused to answer, the woman cleared her throat. “I’m Lin Nalawangsa from the Institute for the Development of Humanity.”
“What did you just say?” Nel turned slowly, but the floor still bucked under her boots. She caught herself on the edge of a booth.
The woman’s perfect black brows shot up. She wore a navy pantsuit right out of a '90s police procedural. “Excuse me?”
“Who’d you say you were?”
“It’s not important.” She pointedly turned back to Jerod. “Thank you, sir.”
Nel managed to organize two full sentences by the time the woman reached the door. “I’m Nel. Los Cerros Esperando VII is mine.”
Lin’s brows shot even higher. She glanced at Jerod. “I see.” She slid onto a bar stool.
Nel stumbled over and sat one stool away. “Give me something with balls, Jerod. I think one of us will need them.” She turned sideways and stared at Lin. Her skin was the soft gold that Nel’s only dreamed about. She was too polished for Nel’s tastes, but the kind of porceline-pretty that suited a model. Her features spoke of Southeast Asian heritage, but her accent was odd. “Why are you here? We got shut down. No need for you to get your hands dirty. Could have pulled our funding with a nice long ‘fuck-you’ on company letterhead.”
“Ms. Bently I didn’t come to pull your funding.”
“First of all, don’t call me ‘Ms.’ Second of all, if you ever say Annelise I’ll smash this glass over your head. Third of all, you’ll talk plainly, or I’m walking out.” She considered her drink for a moment. “I’d make you walk out. I’m not done drinking yet.”
“Right. Nel. We heard about the accident and I came to help. We’re not pulling funding. I’m filing paperwork to reopen your site.”
Nel knocked back half her drink. It was one of Jerod’s weird concoctions with extra coconut milk. It was Mikey’s favorite. She glanced up at the bartender through a narrow tunnel of clarity. “Thanks, Jer. This is really good.”
“Nel.” Lin’s voice was low, but pointed.
Nel’s gaze swung unsteadily to her. “What? You want me to thank you? Get on my knees and kiss your Jimmy Choos? You showed up a week too late and waving your big shiny business card. I’m not going to thank you. My site is shut down. My site manager — my best friend, may I remind you — was murdered last week. It wasn’t a fucking accident and the guys who did it have been vandalizing our stuff all season. I’ve got shit to do, woman, and none of it involves you.”
“I get that you have a lot to deal with, Nel. So would you care to tell me why you’re drunk at ten in the morning?”
Nel made a point to slam the screen door especially hard as she left the bar.
NEL WAS CERTAIN DEATH-hangovers were far worse than their alcohol counterparts. Her head pounded from weeping and she managed to pull a muscle during her jukebox dancing the day before. The countertop was cool against her forehead and her stiff hands clutched her empty coffee like a lifeline. She set the coffee to steep, but couldn’t bring herself to get up to pour it. She didn't move when soft footsteps entered the kitchen. They paused in the doorway, their owner clearly surveying the destruction that was Nel. The refrigerator door opened, closed, and then Nel heard the gurgling hiss as the French press was depressed.
A warm hand gently pried the empty mug from her hands, replacing it with a steaming one a moment later. “Milk or sugar?”
“Milk.” Her voice was a rock star’s croak. She pulled her eyes open and peered through the coffee’s steam at the woman. She wore something that was either elegant travel clothes or the most expensive pajama's Nel had ever seen. “It’s Lin, right?”
“It is. I’ve got the room just below yours.”
Nel looked back at the coffee. It was the perfect color. The ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth. “Thanks for this.” She took a tentative sip, allowing the scalding liquid to erase the sense that something had crawled in to rot atop her tongue. “What’s the agenda for today?”
“You run this gig.”
“Right, but you must be here for a purpose.”
“Correct. I wanted to meet your crew chiefs and examine the site and the artifacts. Just bring me up to date.” Her gaze brushed over Nel’s appearance. “It can wait till you’re fully awake, though.” The words and expression were not judgmental or cruel, but their honesty burned Nel’s raw thoughts.
An hour later saw Nel tottering down the stairs. Lin sat gracefully at the counter, flipping through something that looked terribly legal and boring. She wore black jeans and a collared shirt that was only slightly too thick for a gala. Nel suddenly felt underdressed. “You want to go to the site first or check out the artifacts?”
“Site. I like to get the big picture first.” She glanced at Nel’s tank top and cargo shorts. “Will we be hiking?”
Nel flushed. “No, this is just how I dress.”
Lin seemed unfazed. “I’ll grab some water and meet you at the Jeep in five.”
Nel turned down the back hall and slammed through the door. Lin was kind, but something about the woman irked Nel. Her hands acting without thought, unlocking the shed and climbing into the Jeep from the back. She had it backed out and idling in the drive when Lin stepped out. The tall woman swung herself in easily, flicking back her braid. “Who found the site? The survey was two years ago, correct?”
“Yeah. We did a walk over the year before based on a tool found during a raw-material hike. I wrote my dissertation on how bias against atypical site locations can hinder the discovery of sites in abnormal locations.”
“It was decent, if a bit pretentious.”
Nel glanced over. “You read it?” Her eyes narrowed. “Pretentious? Who’s the one who wore a suit into a tiny Chilean bar?”
Lin’s mouth quirked. “There are different kinds of pretentious. Your strength of conviction is not easily translated for those less intense than you or I.”
Nel glanced between her and the road a few more times, eyes narrowed. “
Fair enough. Perhaps I should begin with how much you know about the site. Are you an archaeologist?”
“Anthropologist. This is actually part of my fieldwork and dissertation. I know that you think this is one of the earlier sites in the country. You were excavating to find lithic evidence of occupation and to determine the technology used. What have you found? Diagnostics? Structures?”
“Diagnostics. We have both fluted and fish tail points.”
“Are you of the belief they were the only group to prehistorically inhabit South America?”
“Certainly not. I think they were here, but I think groups also came from Southeast Asia. There’s even mitochondrial DNA evidence to support that.”
Lin grinned.
“What?”
“It’s refreshing to talk to someone so intelligent and passionate.”
“Thank you.” Nel faltered, unsure what to do with the compliment. “Anyways, this one’s early. It seems to be a hunting and fishing outpost. Lots of debitage, but no structures, save for one that is completely puzzling. I’ll explain that when we see it. The site is located by a stream that spills into the ocean, but it’s tucked into a hill, so its protected from the winds.”
“Can I build my house here?”
Nel laughed. “I always determine whether or not I think a site’s somewhere by whether I’d want to live there.”
“People’s tastes haven’t changed much in the past 20,000 years, I’d imagine.”
“I think our tastes are so ingrained, we just make new reasoning as to why things speak to us — a beautiful view could provide a lookout for hunting or warfare. Same with the people we find attractive.” The Jeep lurched off the highway and onto the access road. Nel popped into second gear and forced the vehicle to grumble up the hill. She had not been back to the site yet. She didn’t know what to expect or whether things would look different from the week before. Mikey’s gone. The entire world looks different. The Jeep shuddered to a stop and she turned it off. Silence bloomed in the wake of the engine’s rumble. Nel flung the door open and forced her boots onto the ground before she could change her mind.
