May 17
THE NEVADA COUNTY Sheriff’s Office in Truckee was an ugly midcentury modern building with a flat roof, surrounded by a parking lot. Low dark clouds accumulated in the afternoon sky as Corrie headed across the asphalt lot to the building. Her butt hurt from the ride down the trail, and her knees were stiff. As she approached, she hung her badge around her neck.
“Special Agent Morwood is waiting for you in the conference room,” the receptionist said as she entered the building. “Third door on the right.”
Corrie walked quickly with her head down, successfully evading Sheriff Devlin, whose door was open. Morwood rose as she entered, extended his hand.
“This is a nicer town than most to conduct an investigation, don’t you think?” he asked, closing the door. “Beautiful mountain scenery and fresh air. Too bad about the altitude, though—for me, anyway.” He punctuated this with a cough.
“Thank you for coming out here, sir.”
“Let’s get down to business.”
Corrie took out her notebook and thumbed through the pages that summarized her findings. She quickly described the examination of Peel and the surrounding site; the fact that the Parkin skull was missing; her suspicions about Benton; the supposed existence of the treasure; and her conclusion that Peel had likely been hit over the head before being pushed off the cliff—making it a homicide. In conclusion, she reviewed her interviews with each member of the group.
She lowered the notebook. Morwood had listened intently, and now he eased back in his chair and let out a long exhale. What was that—disapproval? Frustration?
He fished a file out of his briefcase and put it on the table, sliding it toward Corrie. “The autopsy report on Peel.”
Corrie took it and opened it, but already Morwood was speaking again. “Conclusion: death by misadventure.”
She skimmed the contents before replying. “With respect, sir, I think he’s wrong.”
“He’s not just some amateur county coroner. This guy is highly trained and experienced, with a degree in forensic pathology.”
“But my degree is—”
Morwood held up a hand. “Corrie?” he said gently. “If I may?”
Corrie fell silent.
“Let’s get back to basics here. Was a crime committed up there at that dig?”
“I think Peel—”
“Forget Peel. It’s officially an accident. Outside of that: where’s the crime?”
“Before I got here, we had Parkin bodies disappearing all over. Now the Parkin skull found at this site is gone, too. There’s twenty million in gold hidden up there. I think the missing Parkin bones are related to other crimes I’m investigating, and the gold is, at the very least, a complicating factor.”
Morwood issued another sigh. “The bottom line is, once again: where’s the crime? And the answer is: there is none. You’ve gathered a lot of scattered evidence and drawn some unfounded suspicions, but that doesn’t amount to a coherent theory. Nor does the evidence offer a link to the other Parkin disappearances. The FBI doesn’t investigate rumors or conjectured crimes. We operate on facts. We need an actual crime—and there’s none here.”
“I still think there must be a connection. It can’t all be coincidence.”
“Corrie, I’ve been ghosting people now for almost ten years. I’ve seen this happen many times with young agents freshly minted from Quantico. They’re bursting with energy, they want to make their bones, and they see suspicion in every face and conspiracy in every coincidence. I authorized you to come here to look for a Parkin connection. I was skeptical, as you know, but you were persuasive and you were persistent, and in the end that’s what ghosting is all about: letting the new agent find things out for herself. And your own briefing just now has convinced me this is a genuine archaeological site, it is being excavated properly, and everyone is doing their job. There may or may not be gold here, but there’s no mystery surrounding it. Everything is aboveboard and accounted for.”
He paused. Corrie remained silent.
“And in the process, you’ve made some missteps.”
“Like what?” She blurted it out before she could stop herself.
“Well, you should never have spoken of your suspicions about Peel’s death. Maybe you hoped to rattle them, shake out a suspect. But you did it before you knew it was a homicide. The first rule of an investigation is to keep your suspicions to yourself and only reveal information if there is an extremely pressing need to do so—and if the information is solid. I shouldn’t have to remind you of FBI procedure: Say nothing. Do not opine. Do not speak of your evidence. Do not discuss any aspect of the case with civilians.”
Corrie felt herself flushing deeply. She knew, of course, Morwood was right. It was one of the things they drilled into you at the Academy.
“The second thing is that you have not worked well with local law enforcement.”
“You mean Sheriff Devlin? And those Forest Service guys? They were tramping all over the site like bulls in a china shop. They were disrespectful of my authority and pretty much forced me to pull rank.”
“I have no doubt they were difficult. But locals are often difficult when the FBI shows up. They don’t like us butting into their territory. You have to learn how to handle that.”
So Devlin went whining to the Bureau about our little standoff in the ravine. Figures. “But, sir, I was totally respectful of them.”
“You managed to seriously piss off Sheriff Devlin. He’s one of these good old boys: a bit sexist, not terribly smart, but in essence a decent guy. You’re going to meet a ton of Devlins—and Turpenseeds—in your career. You’ve got to find a better way to get along with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“At any rate, I’m shutting down this branch of the investigation. It’s a dead end. You’re going to shift focus on this case back where it belongs: New Mexico and Arizona.”
“Yes, sir,” Corrie said again. She felt the heat in her face and hoped to God she wouldn’t start to cry.
Morwood reached across the table and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Corrie, you’re going to make a good FBI agent. I know it’s a truism, but we were all rookies once.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve booked a room for you at the Truckee Motel tonight. We’ll drive back to Albuquerque in the morning.”
Corrie looked at him. “Albuquerque?” It was a stupid question; Morwood’s announcement was still sinking in. She should have expected it when he told her to bring down her gear.
Morwood nodded. “It’s over. With Peel’s death being ruled an accident, there’s nothing to investigate.”