Romero sped down Highway 14, sirens and lights turned off. He cursed as he turned onto the dry washboard road, which seemed to slow him down more than usual. His vehicle fishtailed as he pushed forward, but he persisted. As he drove under the railroad trestle, the going was smoother, but the curves slowed him down almost as much as the rough road. Finally, just ahead of him he could see McCabe’s Hummer and Jemimah’s SUV. He parked a short way up the hill by the fence to make room for the other law enforcement officers who would be arriving soon.
One o’clock in the afternoon. Today was the feast of Saint Anne, patron saint of women. At nearby Santa Ana Pueblo, the event would be celebrated with food, music and dancing. More important, they would beat the drums for the Harvest Dance, which gave life to forces that provided sustenance. Women wore brightly painted tablitas around their heads and men with colorful gourd rattles in their hands chanted to the accompaniment of native drums. Detective Romero was fairly certain the rest of the celebration would be called off as soon as they got news of this latest discovery.
As he closed the door of his vehicle, Jemimah ran up to him. She looked pale and deprived of her usual aplomb. He gave her a quick hug, walked her back to her car, and asked her to wait while he talked to McCabe. After offering McCabe a quick handshake, he got down to business.
“What did you find, Tim?” Romero said.
“Come with me.” McCabe led him to the entrance of the tunnel and handed him a light. They descended the ladder.
“Just up ahead here,” McCabe said, after they were in the tunnel for some time. “Keep your head down as we go around the bend here. The ceiling drops a bit.”
The odor was noticeable after the next turn in the cave and grew steadily stronger before Romero saw the first body. He pulled a handkerchief out and held it to his nose.
“Ahead.” McCabe pointed his flashlight at the dark hole before them. “There’s two on the floor and two more lined up against the wall.”
“Jesus Christ Almighty.” Romero coughed into his handkerchief. The odor was so strong he could taste it in the back of his throat. “What the hell went on here?” He knelt and took a closer look at the first body, shining his flashlight around the torso and then the legs. A young woman, maybe in her twenties. He moved the light to her face and hair. Blue lapis and silver earrings dangled from pierced ears. A matching pendant on a silver chain circled what was left of her neck. The murder weapon had cut right above it.
“Let’s get out of here. The rest of the team should have arrived by now. I’d like to take a statement from you while it’s fresh in your mind, Sheriff.” Romero was referring to McCabe’s long career in law enforcement.
When they reached the exit to the tunnel, the crime scene unit was approaching the gate. Chacon was already out of his vehicle and coming toward them. There had been no need for his siren to wail on the trip from Santa Fe, but he liked the sound of it and the respect it garnered from motorists and onlookers as they watched him rush by, expertly weaving in and out of traffic. He knew only what Romero had said on the phone. Now, he listened intently as Romero related what lay below. Told the victims were all young women in their prime, Chacon whistled.
“Won’t be easy to bring those bodies up,” Romero said. “The tunnel is barely wide enough for one person, let alone two techs and a gurney. You got any ideas how to handle this?”
“Need a makeshift stretcher of some sort,” Chacon said. “Had some experience with situations like this in Iraq.” He turned to his team. “You guys get your latex on.”
Never in the history of Santa Fe County had there been such a gruesome discovery. The bodies were dressed only in bras and panties, which hung loosely from the skeletal remains. A yellow silicone wristband imprinted with the word ‘LiveStrong’ encircled the wrist of one victim. One of the techs said sarcastically, “It sure didn’t work for her.”
Emotionally drained, Jemimah walked toward the men as they stood around waiting for the bodies to be removed. The silence was unnerving. Cigarette smoke permeated the area. Jemimah walked back to her car and turned on the radio to see if she could find some soothing music. Static. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the headrest.
Frozen in time, infinidad. Each woman’s hands and arms were staged in a different position. One neatly folded on her lap, another as if praying, the next with both hands behind her head relaxing against the wall. The arm on the last was raised, fingers tied in a “V” sign of victory. The techs carefully placed each one on the plastic covered stretcher and wheeled them out into the sunlight, where a large canvas tarp covered the ground.
Two bodies had badly decomposed, skeletons showing through the skin. They had been dead for a while. The other two were bloated and swollen, their underwear popping at the seams. They had been there anywhere from six weeks to six months, Romero figured, but that critical information had to come from the ME’s office.
The bodies were brought out one by one, a tedious task which took several hours. Each body was laid on a strip of plastic sheeting. It was a grim scene, even for seasoned detectives. They watched as each of the bodies was placed in a dark body bag. The sound of the zipper was amplified in the utter quiet around them.
Chacon’s generally cavalier attitude had turned somber. “I’ll get on this as soon as we get the ME’s reports, Boss. What kind of psycho bastard would do this to a woman?”