Under Desert Sand Read online

  The second time their car came around to the high point, the wheel stopped. An official voice interrupted the mellow music and advised passengers not to be alarmed; they were experiencing trivial technical difficulties already being addressed and the ride would resume after a short delay. A loud cheer floated up from the Happy Hour car beneath them.

  Zack glanced at Susan with wry amusement, about to comment when his phone rang. He glanced at it. The area code was California; he did not recognize the name. He shrugged, looked apologetically at Susan, and answered.

  "Zack Tolliver."

  "Agent Zack Tolliver?"

  "Speaking."

  "My name is Butch Short. I work for the BLM. Is this a good time?"

  Zack looked out at the cloudless blue sky, the sharply shadowed buildings stacked together, the glistening desert beyond. "At this moment I'm at the top of a stalled Ferris wheel with an amazing view of Las Vegas all alone in a car with a beautiful woman." He paused for effect. "Sure, this is a perfect time."

  There was silence. "So it's okay?"

  Zack laughed. "Sure. How can I help you?"

  "Well, I attended a university class recently with a friend of yours, named Eagle Feather."

  "Oh, yes, I know him." He looked at Susan, raised his eyebrows.

  "He mentioned your particular interest in solving unusual crimes. He said you are receptive to, well, a wide range of spiritual possibilities."

  "Yes?"

  There was another pause. "To get right to the point, I'd like to engage you as a consultant to help us solve a crime out here."

  "Out where?"

  "The area of my responsibility abuts the Mojave National Preserve."

  Zack's eyes went to Susan. "A double homicide?"

  "So you've read about it?"

  Zack winked at her. "Just a newspaper report."

  "Would you consider helping us? What arrangements are required? Do I need to contact someone in the FBI administration?"

  "Whoa, slow down, one step at a time. Why do you feel you need me, in particular?"

  "This case presents some unusual elements. You might be able to help our investigators work past certain, uh, impediments."

  "What sort of impediments?"

  There was a sigh. "Agent Tolliver, this case is not all it seems on the surface."

  "You mean the fact that both young men were able to shoot one another with such precise timing and deadly accuracy?"

  "Well, that's part of it, for sure. But mainly we have strong reason to believe someone else was there."

  "You found evidence?"

  "No, that's just it, we found nothing at all. The only tracks belonged to those boys; their ponies were still tied to the fence. The old guy who found them never approached closer than fifty feet, not enough to disturb any tracks or other sign. It was obvious to him they were dead from the flies, and the scene spooked him. It's all desert sand out there; you can't get near without leaving some impression. But according to Ranger Davidson, there were none."

  "So why––?"

  "Will you come talk to us, at least?"

  Zack was intrigued. His mind whirred. "This does sound like my line of work. What is your authority to engage me? Who is lead investigator in this case?"

  "Sir, the case falls under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. The shooting occurred on Preserve land, which they administer. However, the BLM is party to the investigation and it is within my authority to hire a consultant."

  Their pod began to move. Zack held Susan's gaze as he spoke. "I might be available."

  There was an audible sigh of relief. "Of course, time is of the essence. What is your fee? We––"

  "We'll need a longer conversation to work all that out. How far are you from Las Vegas?"

  "Just a couple of hours down Route 95."

  "Fine. Where are you located?"

  "I'm in Needles, California, at the BLM office. We can work out the details of your contract here. But first I'd like you to see Ranger Tav Davidson at the Hole-In-The-Wall Ranger Station on the Preserve. He can show you the crime scene and fill in a lot of detail, including background."

  "Is he one of the active investigators?"

  "As best he can be while manning his station. There are just a few rangers on the Preserve, that's why the BLM and the local Sheriff's office are pitching in."

  "Okay. I'll be there in a few hours."

  "I should caution you in advance not to be put off by Tav's manner; he spends a lot of time by himself, if you know what I mean."

  As Zack put away his phone, he looked at Susan and grinned. "How would you like to take a ride into the desert? It seems we might be able to resolve this morning's debate after all."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zack and Susan cancelled their flights. Zack called his associate Alex Brown at the office in Tuba City to explain things, then arranged for transport from the FBI vehicle pool in Las Vegas. It seemed all they had in the Las Vegas lot were bright red Jeep Wranglers. Zack was okay with that. They drove south on Route 95, following the Old Spanish Trail between the McCullough and Eldorado Mountain ranges. The scenery was stunning, if you like dry. Zack kept the Jeep's fabric roof up to protect against the burning sun but had removed the window and door panels. The wind whipped through, streaming Susan's long blond hair as they drove.

  "Too hot?"

  Susan flashed a contented smile. "No. After all that air conditioning this feels real good." She had changed from the sundress to shorts and a sleeveless blouse, kicked off her sandals and sat cross-legged on the seat.

  In half an hour they reached the small town of Searchlight. Ice cream called out to them, and they found it at the Nugget Casino. They took their cones out into the parking lot as much to escape the constant bells and whistles of the slots as to absorb the serenity of the ageless desert hills. It was a pleasing contrast to the crowded city they had left behind them, despite the hot sun.

  "I've heard enough slot noise for a lifetime," Susan said. She lapped her tongue against the waffle cone edge to catch a drip of melting chocolate.

  Zack was lost in reverie; the shimmering horizon and hot sun contributed to a comfortable lethargy.

  "I know what you're thinking."

  Zack broke away from his thoughts, turned to look at Susan, his eyebrows raised. "Aren't you the omniscient one."

  "You're thinking it should be Libby standing here with you right now."

  Zack and his wife Libby were undergoing a difficult time, not uncommon to lawmen and their families. For Libby, it was not just the alternating day and night shifts, or the personal dangers her husband faced every day, or the additional time away from home he spent on the lecture circuit with Susan Apgar; it was all of it, resulting in his absence and her perpetual worry.

  Zack understood this, yet felt a personal responsibility to support Dr. Apgar. He knew his presence added validity to her presentations and credibility to her theories. Susan postulated alternate beings could and likely did exist among humans, creatures one might pass in the street without notice yet who had evolved to possess different qualities. These were human-like bipeds devoid of conscience or ethical sense, predatory creatures that were a source of unsuspected danger, the cause of unsolved murders.

  Libby understood the importance of their mission, she knew Zack's personal experiences made him invaluable to Susan––she got all that. She also knew she couldn't raise their boy Bernie by herself, while constantly worried for Zack's safety. The last straw came when Zack's work followed him home one night and nearly killed all of them. She issued an ultimatum after that––either quit his job and stay home with his family, or move out.

  For Zack, it was an impossible choice. He could not abandon his mission, yet he loved Libby and little Bernie and saw them whenever he could. It was never enough. He grinned at Susan. "Nine out of ten times you'd be right, but just now I was simply simmering in the sun thinking nothing at all."

  The ice cream disappeared quickly; they resu
med their journey. They passed through to the town of Palm Gardens where the highway crossed into California. A short distance later a sign caught Zack's eye, he pulled to the side of the road and glanced at the map. After gazing left and right, he pointed out to Susan where a sandy track approached from the east and continued west beyond the highway.

  "That's the Mojave Road, an ancient trail first traveled by the desert Indian tribes all the way west to the Pacific for trade, later by Spanish and American settlers headed for Alta California."

  "Aren't those car tracks?"

  "You can still travel sections of the road with the right vehicle." Zack started up the Jeep and they lurched forward. "Looks lonesome out there, though."

  Susan didn't comment, simply gazed down the dirt track into the far distance, a pensive look on her face.

  They turned west onto historic Route 66. The road was narrow by comparison to the more traveled Route 95; here the macadam crumbled along the edges and presented occasional potholes.

  "This will take us south to I-40. After that, it's just a short hop to the entrance road to the National Preserve." He glanced at Susan. "You okay? Too hot?"

  "Not yet. I love the breeze."

  The Jeep came up on a camper, which slowed them, but Zack didn't mind. The desert spread out on all sides like a threadbare carpet with tufts of creosote bush, cholla and yucca. He saw occasional small stands of Joshua trees. The land rose gradually toward sharp-ridged desolate mountains slicing to the blue cloudless sky north and west of them. The Jeep tires clicked rhythmically along the road surface, the smell of dry sage and hot tar was in Zack's nose.

  At the Interstate they enjoyed a fast interval of four-lane highway. The ramp to the Mojave National Preserve came upon them and Zack turned off. The access road was intimately married to the desert landscape, following the terrain contours up and down as it took them in a wide sweep north and west. Creosote bushes and Joshua trees stood tall along the roadside, hiding their view while in the dips. When they ascended a crest, like a surfer tops a wave, a vista opened toward the desolate range of abrupt sandstone crags. They felt like the only two people on earth.

  Asphalt gave way to sandy dirt from time to time; finally it quit altogether. They came to a fork in the road. Zack slid the Jeep to a stop. A wooden sign stated the Providence State Recreation Area was straight ahead; the Black Canyon Road was to the right. A smaller sign said the Hole-In-The-Wall Campground was also to the right. Zack went that way.

  Asphalt re-appeared; the road followed hollows and rises within thickening forests of Joshua trees. Susan had never seen such vegetation before, was fascinated by it.

  "They look like little old men beckoning this way or that," she said, and giggled.

  Zack laughed. "I never thought of them that way before, but you do have a point."

  A large mountain of fragmented cliffs slowly rose beyond the roadside vegetation, crisscrossed with fissures and wind caves. The next sign they saw said Hole-In-The-Wall Information Center to the left, Hole-in-the-Wall Campground straight ahead.

  "Well, I guess this is it," Zack said, and turned left.

  The driveway to the Information Center was newly paved and shimmered black. The center itself, a simple wood construction with a porch the length of the building, nestled beneath a great rock overhang, dwarfed by it. Zack pulled into a parking space. A Range Rover packed full of travel gear was in the next one; two more vehicles and a motorcycle with a pack behind the seat were parked in a larger lot a short distance away. Several flat stones created a path that led off to a luminescent green toilet off among the trees.

  They climbed out of the Jeep, stretched, and looked around. Zack immediately felt the weight of the heat on his head and shoulders.

  "It seems a bit primitive out here," Susan said. She paused, stared at the outhouse for a moment, and started down the path. "I'll be back in a minute."

  Zack stepped up on the wooden porch of the information center. No one was around; the owners of the parked vehicles must be off on hikes. He had noticed signs indicating directions to trailheads. His boots sounded hollow on the porch floorboards; there was a pleasant smell of warm sap from the unfinished wood coaxed out by the sun's heat. The walls held display boards covered by informative maps and brochures. While he waited for Susan, he studied them to orient himself. The area was vast. If he understood the map correctly, there wasn't much in the way of structures beyond this point.

  Susan rejoined him. They walked down the porch to a pair of screen doors. Susan pushed, they groaned open.

  Zack followed Susan into the cool interior. His gaze swept the room. They were in a small store; shelves lined the walls filled with colorful books of all shapes and sizes. Souvenirs and practical items such as hats and sun lotion occupied revolving racks. Another turnstile display offered pocket-sized instructional books on vegetation, animals and reptiles of the desert.

  At the far end of the room, behind the counter, a thickset man in a khaki uniform shirt looked up. His face was broad and brown; his frizzled grey-black hair was pulled straight back and knotted, hung in a long braid behind thick muscular shoulders. Black eyes stared at them.

  Susan moved from shelf to shelf, oohed and commented on each item in her melodious voice, sounding like a sixteen-year-old at her first prom. Zack watched her, amused. He'd observed this performance before, knew it invariably worked as an icebreaker.

  Not this time. The man behind the desk simply stared, his expression unchanging, offered no comment. Zack stood in the center of the floor, surprised at the lack of greeting. As Susan's act began to falter, he walked directly to the counter and thrust out his hand.

  "My name is Zack Tolliver. I'm looking for Tav Davidson."

  "For what?" His face remained stone. He didn't take Zack's hand.

  "You people asked for me, not the other way round. I'm with the FBI."

  Zack felt irritated, let his hand drop.

  "Who asked?" The man's voice was low, gravelly, as if used infrequently.

  "Butch Short, the BLM agent."

  The man grunted.

  Zack waited.

  The men eyed each another.

  "Well, do you know where I can find this Tav Davidson?" By now, Zack was fully annoyed.

  "You're lookin' at him."

  "You might have said so right away."

  "Sorry. We get some real kooks out here."

  Still no smile; Zack wondered if the man's facial muscles were permanently frozen.

  Susan put down a book on insects and came over to them.

  Zack motioned to her. "This is my colleague, Dr. Susan Apgar."

  "She FBI too?"

  Susan offered a warm smile. "Oh, no, one agent in our team is quite enough. I'm a teacher."

  "Butch didn't say he was gonna hire two consultants."

  "I come for free...if I come at all."

  Zack saw the beginning of petulance on Susan's face. It took a lot to squash her natural ebullience. Tav Davidson certainly wasn't getting off on the right foot with either of them.

  Zack glanced around the small, shelf-filled room. "Can we talk?"

  "Yes, not here. We'll go out back."

  Tav came around the counter, flipped over a "Back in a Moment" sign. He was shorter than Zack's five-ten by maybe an inch or so, yet appear larger, his erect posture and thick chest adding to the illusion. He walked around them to a door marked private and motioned them to follow. They entered a tiny room with a cot and a chair, crossed it and passed through a screen door to a small porch. A towering rock cliff faced them no more than fifty yards from where they stood, its shadow a source of coolness.

  Tav pointed to a pair of wooden chairs, pulled a short bench out from the wall and sat. He pointed to a water cooler with lime wedges floating in it on a stand nearby. "Help yourself."

  Zack was thirsty. He took a paper cup from the stack, tilted back the lever and filled it. The water was cold and refreshing. Susan, already tucked into one of the chairs, waved off
his offer.

  Zack sat down, sipped his water, looked at Tav and got right to the point. "Mr. Short says you had a homicide-suicide out here."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tav leaned back on the bench, his back against the wall, legs crossed, half closed his eyes and seemed to assemble his thoughts.

  "I'm half Mojave, a quarter Chemehuevi, and a quarter white. My people lived in this desert for a thousand years. Survival here is the first order of business for human or animal." He studied Zack, then Susan. "That has not changed. The preserve is 1.6 million acres of desert, includes much of the Mojave Desert, and some of the Great Basin and Sonoran Deserts. A man feels alone out here, beyond the law, beyond the support of society. If you get into trouble, you got to handle things yourself."

  "What about a woman? Must she handle herself as well?" There was dryness in Susan's voice.

  "Sorry, lady, no offense. There happen to be way more men living out here than women."

  Zack jumped in before Susan could get going. "You requested my help for this recent homicide-suicide."

  "Homicide-suicide, my ass!" Tav squinted at Zack. "This wasn't suicide." He raised his index finger. "First off, a suicide-homicide suggests one boy shot the other, then shot himself." Tav shook his head. "Didn't happen. Both shots were fired far enough away so no powder residue was around the wounds. So next you think, suicide-suicide or homicide-homicide, however you want to look at it." He shook his head again. "Didn't happen. Those boys were just plain murdered."

  Zack raised his eyebrows. "A third party at the scene?"

  "Well that's the question, isn't it? If they didn't shoot each other, there must have been a third person."

  Susan glanced at Zack, turned to Tav. "According to the Tribune, the investigators found nothing to indicate the presence of a third party."

  "That's true."

  "In your opinion, were the investigators remiss?"

  Tav stared at Susan. "Lady, I was one of the investigators. We did not remiss nothin'."

  "It's important to establish if someone else was involved." Zack said. "How can you be so sure those boys were murdered?"