Finished with the tunnel, the crime scene techs moved to the end of the shaft and then to the barn. This wasn’t going to be easy. The head of the techs radioed Romero to ask if he had obtained a search warrant for the house. Romero told him to continue with the barn and the tunnel exit and he would get back to him.
The techs sifted through straw, hay and manure, following a trail of evidence which Romero hoped would build a tight case around the perpetrator. Each shred of evidence was tagged and bagged. The killer left an abundance of clues. Romero couldn’t believe how careless he had been.
The County Inspector transported the mare to a veterinary shelter until the owner returned. By now, half the ranch area had been searched for clues. They hit pay dirt at the water trough.
Buried in a shallow hole was a canvas bag filled with women’s shoes, clothing and several pair of bloody latex gloves. Through binoculars, Romero pinpointed an old water well half a mile south behind the barn. It was next to a hundred-foot high, ominous-looking outcropping locally known as the China Wall—a large, foreboding gothic mass of basalt where nocturnal creatures sought refuge in the dark of the night.
Hiking to the area, Romero stopped frequently to catch his breath. Too much beer and not enough gym time, he thought. A blast of wind spurred a whirling dust-devil straight toward him. It blew the cap off his head. He pulled his collar up to shield his face from the stinging sand. As he walked toward the abandoned well, he relived the feelings he had while sitting at Medicine Rock. Romero wasn’t overly superstitious, but someone seemed to be looking over his shoulder, a spirit someone, and it caused his imagination to go wild. Since he’d expressed so much doubt about this case, he began to wonder if he had been directed to this place by a supernatural force looking to avenge the women’s deaths on this sacred ground. Clues seemed to be lying in plain sight. Jeez, shake it off. He looked back to see how far removed he was from the ranch house.
The abandoned well was filled with debris, some old, some more recent. Romero poked around with a long stick and stirred the trash around. Metal hit against the stone wall of the well. He beamed his light down, but could see nothing. He hollered for one of the techs. They couldn’t hear him. He tried his cell phone, surprised there was service. The tech came running with his toolbox in hand. Together they fished out a knife with a long narrow blade.
“Bingo!” Romero said, wrapping his gloved fingers around the tip of the handle. “Take a look at the edge of the blade.”
“Looks like blood to me,” said the tech. He noted a few long hairs between the handle and the blade and placed the knife into an evidence bag. Romero felt a burst of energy as they walked toward the ranch. He turned and looked at the China Wall. He hadn’t noticed until now that it was blacker than black, with only a single ray of sun shining on it. The hair on his arms bristled.
Romero put in a call to Gary Blake, owner of the ranch. Blake told him it would be a number of weeks before he could make it back from Atlanta, and gave him the go-ahead to do whatever was necessary. Romero told him the horse had been taken to a shelter. Blake said the cattle could fend for themselves, there being plenty of feeding stations around the ranch. The dog belonged to Charlie. Romero said he would impound it until he could find it a new family.
“I just can’t get over it,” Blake said. “Those poor women were right under my feet every time I went to feed the horse. Charlie didn’t strike me as a murderer, but I guess you never know.”
“If it’s any consolation, we don’t think the murders occurred in the house,” Romero assured him. “We just need to inspect the space thoroughly to determine if there’s anything we need to tie up loose ends.”
“Sure. Do whatever you have to do. I’m not crazy about coming out there again anyway. Maybe I’ll just put the place up for sale.”
Romero assigned two techs to go through the house. They entered into the kitchen. Light from the skylight flooded every corner of the interior. In just a few minutes it became apparent that Charlie lived only in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. The house hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. All available space in the living room was stacked with magazines and old newspapers. Cobwebs filled the corners, and dust balls hung from the ceiling working their way to the floor. If anything at all were out of kilter in this room, it would be clearly apparent. The furnishings were straight out of the 1950s. It was cold, even on a warm day like today. Two large couches and a low glass-topped table formed a cozy place to relax in front of the massive fireplace. It appeared as though the room hadn’t felt the warmth of a roaring fire in a long time. With a good cleaning, the design on the Persian rug covering the floor would return to its vibrant blues, magentas and ochres.
The room was divided by a long oak lowboy with several rows of drawers. As the group walked through the room, a sepia photo of a woman dressed in a white flapper dress stared out from its perch on the fireplace mantle. Romero brushed against the music box on the table next to the lamp. A tiny porcelain ballerina raised her arms as the music began and repeated the same pirouette over and over. A large glass credenza housed a variety of ancient relics: stone axes, arrowheads and fetishes, along with bone flutes, medicine bundles and gaming pieces. Romero wondered if everything in this room hadn’t been left intact from Old Lady Crawford’s day. The glass was hazy with residue. McCabe would certainly be interested in seeing the material in the case, which surely had come from the Indian ruins.
“I don’t think there’s going to be much evidence to gather in this room,” said Romero. “Doesn’t appear that anyone spent time in here. Let’s take a look at the bedroom. From what we know about Charlie, that’s probably where all the activity took place in the house.”
The techs culled a few long hairs from the bedroom area and added them to the rest of the evidence. Charlie’s clothes were still in the closet, along with two hunting rifles and a pair of cowboy boots.
“I guess Charlie must travel light,” Romero said to no one at all in the empty room.