Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2 (18 page)

Palmer parked towards the back of the plowed parking area, right behind one of the sheriff’s cars. He turned his headlights off and then cut the engine. He grabbed his phone and got out. He shrugged into his coat, slipped his gloves on, and tucked his phone into his outside coat pocket.

The sheriff approached Palmer’s car. He was a tall man … a large man. He didn’t seem muscular, more like a man who’d always been big and was comfortable with it. He had a ruddy complexion and sharp little eyes set deep in his face. He walked with an air of confidence, a man who was on his home turf.

Palmer reached inside his suitcoat pocket and pulled out his FBI badge and ID. He snapped it open with a flip of his wrist, showing his credentials. “Special Agent Palmer.”

The sheriff nodded. He didn’t offer to shake hands.

“I was told there’s a vehicle here belonging to a woman named Stella Weaver.”

“Yeah,” the sheriff said. “Truck’s around back.”

Palmer followed the sheriff down a well-worn path through the snow to the back of the cabin where the charred remains of Stella’s vehicle remained.

“The fire was deliberate?” Palmer asked.

The sheriff nodded. “We found an empty gas can on the other side of the cabin.”

They didn’t try to hide the evidence, Palmer thought. Just like at the dig site.

“Our fire chief has looked through the damage already,” Sheriff Hadley told him.

“We’ve got forensics and fire specialists on the way,” Palmer responded and he could sense the sheriff tense up a little. It was like a slap in the face, like their hick specialists weren’t as good as government ones.

“I’m told there are five bodies inside the cabin,” Palmer said.

The sheriff gave a curt nod. “Yessir.”

“And the owner of this truck, Stella Weaver, she’s not one of the bodies?”

“Nosir,” the sheriff answered. It sounded like one word the way he said it. The constant use of “sir” reminded Palmer of someone who used to be in the military. “All five are male. Our medical examiner is here now and he’s already taken a look at them.”

Palmer stared hard at the sheriff.

“No tests have been done,” Hadley assured Palmer. “But the M.E. has found some strange things.”

Palmer braced himself, afraid of more strange news, but deep down he knew it was going to happen. “What kind of strange things?” he asked, trying to keep a poker face.

“The M.E., his name’s Carson. He’s right over there by the front of the cabin.”

Palmer walked with the sheriff around the ambulance and firetruck. He met Carson near the front porch as promised. The M.E. was a short man with a pot belly. His gray hair was wild and a little long and he had a pair of oversized glasses on his face that magnified his eyes. He was bundled up in a thick coat and he still had a pair of latex gloves on his hands. The gloves looked fresh. Palmer figured the gloves the M.E. had worn to do a cursory examination, the ones that would have had charred marks all over them from the burnt bodies, were discarded by now.

Carson offered a hand in greeting and Palmer shook it, a quick shake.

“The sheriff tells me that you’ve discovered some odd things,” Palmer said.

The M.E. nodded. “I’ve been doing this for twenty-six years. You think you’ve seen everything …”

As the M.E. let his words trail off, Palmer was reminded of talking to Susan Dorsett, the forensics specialist at John and Deena’s house in New Mexico only hours ago—she had begun with the same preamble. He glanced at the front porch beyond them. The roof of the cabin had collapsed from the fire, but much of the debris had been taken away and piled up in the snow near the house by the firefighters and the crane operator. The floor of the wide front porch was more solid near the front doorway where the door looked like it had been smashed in.

“Who’s been inside the cabin so far?” Palmer asked.

“Just the M.E., the fire chief, and the firefighters,” the sheriff answered. “And me.”

Palmer nodded. He saw that a few of the firefighters were removing the last of the burnt debris of the roof by hand, carrying it out the back door where they were creating another pile.

“I don’t want any of this debris taken away until our guys go over it,” Palmer said.

The sheriff nodded like he already knew that. “We’ve got it in piles beside the house. The fire chief’s preliminary explanation is that there was some kind of explosion inside. Most likely from the gas stove and oven.”

“So this place wasn’t only set on fire with gasoline?” Palmer asked.

“The gas was used as a propellant,” the sheriff answered. “That’s what the fire chief said. The explosion was the spark that set it all off. He found an exploded soda can in there that most likely came from the microwave oven. The can had been thrown across the kitchen in the blast.”

Palmer nodded again and turned his attention back to the M.E. who was waiting patiently.

“These three bodies were out here on the porch when I got here,” Carson said, gesturing at the three charred bodies lying on the front porch, one near the doorway on his stomach, arms reaching out towards the door like he was trying to crawl back inside. “Two more just inside the doorway there.”

The M.E. noticed Palmer staring at the body near the doorway. “Looks like he was trying to crawl back inside the house during the fire, doesn’t it?” the M.E. asked Palmer like he was seeking his opinion.

Palmer didn’t nod. He just looked back at Carson. “So that’s the strange thing about the bodies? Because one of them looks like he might’ve been crawling back inside the cabin?”

“Oh God, no,” Carson said and chuckled. “There’s a lot more than that.”

The cabin

T
he M.E walked over to the edge of the front porch and pointed at the closest burnt body. His hand was trembling as he pointed and Palmer didn’t know if it was from nervousness or excitement, or both. “The flesh around this man’s neck is gone. Only the spine is remaining. And, I know it’s hard to tell now, but areas of the flesh around the mouth are gone.”

“Maybe the explosion—”

“No,” the M.E. said, cutting Palmer’s words off. “The explosion didn’t cause that. These wounds were there before the fire. He also has an ax in his hand.”

Palmer noticed that. The man’s burnt hand was skeletal and still wrapped around the handle of the charred ax.

“Why would this guy be holding an ax?” the M.E. asked. “He couldn’t have even been standing up with his neck like that; he wouldn’t have been able to hold his head up at all.”

“Maybe someone placed the ax there after the fire started,” Palmer offered, but it didn’t make a lot of sense. “One of the bank robbers who got away.” But why put an ax in the man’s hand? he wondered.

“And that guy over there,” Carson said, pointing at the next body, pretty much ignoring Palmer’s theory. “The back of his body and the back of his head has all been hollowed out.”

“The explosion …” Palmer said again, hoping it would be an explanation.

“I don’t think so. For one thing, this guy is outside here on the porch, not inside where the explosion took place.”

“And the explosion wasn’t that powerful,” the sheriff said. “Fire chief told me that.”

The M.E. nodded at Sheriff Hadley and then looked back at Palmer. “And again, those wounds look to me like they were created before the fire … before the explosion. Someone gutted this guy from the back and left him on the front porch. Took all his organs out, his muscle, bones. Everything … it’s all gone.”

The M.E. stepped up onto the porch and the sheriff followed. “Fire chief said it’s safe enough inside the house now.”

Palmer stepped around the outstretched hands of the man reaching for the door. He was reminded of photos he’d seen of people trapped in ash in Pompeii, frozen forever in their last acts on Earth, frozen in screams of agony.

“This guy,” Carson said, pointing down at the man in front of the door. “He doesn’t have any eyes. Torn out completely.”

Palmer felt that sick feeling in his stomach again. This was shaping up to be more and more like the crime scenes down in New Mexico. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell was doing this kind of shit to people? Bank robbers? That was hard to believe.

“And he’s got a wound down his side where it looks like something ripped him open.”

Palmer didn’t say anything.

“It looks like something pushed its way
out
of his body,” the M.E. said. “They all have similar wounds, holes and splits about a foot or so in diameter, ragged edges, the walls of burnt flesh pushed out.”

“What could do something like that?”

Carson shook his head; his big eyes magnified behind his glasses. “I can’t say for sure. But the bodies just inside the cabin here are just as strange.”

The M.E. and the sheriff entered the cabin, stepping around the man’s burnt body on the floorboards. They both walked gingerly on the floor even though the sheriff had claimed it was safe to enter the building.

Palmer followed them inside and saw the other two bodies immediately.

“This one over here doesn’t have any eyes,” Carson told Palmer.

“Like the one on the front porch.”

“Sort of,” Carson answered. “But this guy’s eyes look like they were cut out with a lot less precision than the one on the front porch. And you’ll notice here along his side, the hole in his flesh.”

Palmer felt that sick feeling wanting to surface more forcefully, but he crouched down and took a closer look. The M.E. was right, it was like something had been inside of this man and had exploded out of him. He even saw what looked like the sharp point of a broken rib sticking out through the charred flesh, the bone gleaming white in contrast to the blackened flesh and clothing.

“But the strangest one is over here.”

The M.E. walked over to the last body. “It looks like this guy had been torn apart into pieces and then fused back together somehow.”

Palmer shook his head. “What do you mean? How can you tell something like that?”

He pointed down at the deep cuts in the man’s arms and legs, the clothing melted away in the fire. “Jagged and deep cuts. Snapped bones. But it looks like they were … I don’t know any other way to say it than they were somehow fused back together.”

“Like from heat? Maybe the fire.”

“No,” the M.E. told Palmer. “I don’t think so.”

“Then how?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t have any kind of guess. Like I said, I’ve never seen anything like this in twenty-six years. Never heard of anything like this.”

Palmer’s mouth was suddenly dry and he could feel the beginning of a headache coming on. He could really use a drink right now. He wondered how he could get back to his car and sneak a nip from the bottle in his duffel bag.

What the hell was going on here? Palmer wondered. He echoed the M.E.’s sentiment—this was the strangest crime scene he’d ever seen in the years he’d been with the Bureau. They had numerous bodies with damages that seemed almost supernatural. And the only connection to the archaeologists’ bodies and these murders was Stella Weaver. Her vehicle had to have been the missing vehicle from the dig site, and now it was here. But
she
wasn’t here. Was she involved in this somehow? The murderers could’ve taken her and her vehicle from the dig site. They could still have her captive, or they could’ve dumped her body in the woods somewhere on the way up here.

And there was still the missing boy to consider. How did David figure into all of this? Maybe the murderers killed David’s parents first. They took David to the dig site, then killed the archaeologists and took David and Stella with them up here to Colorado. They still could’ve dumped both of their bodies along the way, or they could still have them.

“No ID’s on the bodies yet?” Palmer asked even though he was fairly sure that hadn’t happened yet with the degree of mutilation and burning done to them.

“Not really,” the sheriff said. “But we think we know who these guys might be.”

Palmer looked at him with raised eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.

“There was a bank robbery a few days ago in Cody’s Pass, a town south of here. The robbers killed one of the customers and got away with two metal cases of money.”

Palmer nodded for him to continue.

“We think the bank robbers were holed up here. We think one of these bodies is the owner of the cabin, a man named Tom Gordon. He lived here alone. We found the two metal cases they used in the robbery, same description the witnesses gave. And we found several guns. A lot of the money was still inside the cases. Not much damage from the fire because the cases were made of metal.”

They were all quiet for a moment as Palmer thought this through. “So,” Palmer finally said, “these guys rob a bank, come here in that vehicle stashed around back, then one of them kills the other four guys in his group, rigs an explosion, sets fire to the cabin, leaves most of the money behind, and …”

“There were snowmobile tracks leading away from this cabin,” Sheriff Hadley said. “The guy must’ve taken Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile from the garage out there and drove right out of here.”

Palmer glanced back at the doorway, at the front yard cluttered with vehicles.

“Not easy to see now,” the sheriff said quickly. “But they were there. And Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile is gone from the garage.”

Palmer looked back at the sheriff. “Why would he kill all of his partners and not take the stolen money?”

“Well, we’re not sure he didn’t take any of the money,” Sheriff Hadley said. “Some of it might be gone.”

The sheriff walked across the debris-littered floor to the two metal cases on the floor near a destroyed couch, burnt down to the floor with metal springs poking up out of it. The cases were charred black, but open now revealing the packs of money stacked up inside. Palmer and the M.E. followed him there.

“I would guess these cases were full when they left the bank,” the sheriff said. “We’re working with the bank right now to see how much money is missing, and then we’ll count this up. But just by eyeballing it, I’d say some of it is gone.”

“But that brings us back to why the lone robber wouldn’t have taken all of the money with him. He could’ve carried the two cases with him on the snowmobile. Right?”