“Holy crap.”

“So where do we fit into this?” asked Nora.

“The commonality I referred to. All four individuals were descended from a single person: a man named Parkin.”

Nora saw Clive start in surprise. “Albert Parkin?” he asked. “Of the Donner Party?”

“Exactly. And I’ve been led to understand he’s one of the individuals in the camp you’re excavating.”

“And how did you come by this information, exactly?”

“As a by-product of my investigation into the violated Parkin graves, the family ancestry came to light—including their link to the Donner Party. I learned of your expedition and contacted the president of the Institute, who provided the rest of the details—including a list of the missing persons you hoped to locate.”

“But hold on,” Nora said. “If Parkin died here, how did he leave any descendants?”

“He abandoned a wife and six children back in Illinois.”

“The plot thickens,” said Maggie with relish. “But wait—didn’t you mention a homicide?”

“A body was found shot to death in one of the disturbed graves. We believe he was hired to uncover the body.”

This brought a silence, which the FBI agent eventually broke. “So. Have you identified any remains belonging to Albert Parkin?”

“No,” said Nora. “We’ve only identified three individuals so far: a child, Samantha Carville, and two male adults named Spitzer and Reinhardt. Even those are only provisional IDs, since we’ve not yet done DNA testing.”

“How many individuals have you uncovered?”

“It’s hard to say, given the fact that a lot of the bones are broken and commingled. Including the three people I’ve already mentioned, we’ve located six partial or complete skulls so far.”

“So you may have already uncovered Parkin, but don’t yet know it?”

“It’s possible.”

Clive broke in. “This is very interesting, but I fail to see how what we’re doing could be connected to these grave robbings. You’ve already said that none of us are under suspicion.”

At this Swanson shifted, and Nora could see that the veneer of confidence she was trying to project was not very robust. “We’re in the information-gathering phase.”

“In other words,” said Burleson, “it’s a fishing expedition.”

“It seems quite a coincidence that the very person whose descendants were being dug up illegally was also being dug up at the same time.”

“Yes, but dug up legally,” said Nora. “You’ve talked to Dr. Fugit. So you obviously know our excavation is fully authorized, with federal and state permits, not to mention being sponsored by one of the leading archaeological institutes in the country.”

Swanson responded to this in a level voice. “Tomorrow, I’d like to go to the dig site and examine the human remains. I would also like the opportunity to ask you and your staff a few questions—if you don’t mind, of course.”

“You’re free to ask all the questions you like,” said Nora. “But like Clive said, it’s hard to imagine what a man’s death in 1847 has to do with his descendants getting their graves robbed almost two hundred years later.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to determine.”

“This is an active and extremely sensitive archaeological site,” Nora said, “and as director of this dig I can’t have uncredentialed individuals tramping around, touching things. Shouldn’t you have some sort of warrant?”

Swanson said, her voice as flat as a Kansas prairie: “This is federal land. I am a federal agent. I don’t need a warrant to search federal property or conduct whatever investigation I see fit. But just to reassure you, I have a master’s of science in forensic anthropology from John Jay College of Criminal Justice.” She paused. “And from what I know of your CV, posted on the Santa Fe Archaeological Institute website, I am at least as ‘credentialed’ as you to handle human remains, Dr. Kelly.”

Nora stared at the young woman’s face in the flickering firelight—determined and yet, at the same time, lacking confidence. For someone so seemingly qualified, she was awfully defensive.

Nora had the sudden insight that this was probably her first case.

22

May 10

SPECIAL AGENT CORRIE Swanson rose before dawn—as was her habit—and did a hundred sit-ups in her makeshift tent to get the blood flowing before dressing and exiting into the chilly air. Her arrival at breakfast shut everyone up, and she was relieved when they finally set off for the archaeological dig. It lay about half a mile up the trail from the camp. When Corrie arrived, she found the place to be an oppressive-looking valley, shut in by cliffs of dark rock, skirted by broken scree and boulders that had fallen from above. A circle of gloomy peaks, covered in patches and drifts of snow, surrounded them. On the floor of the valley, a number of dead spruce trees were interspersed with patches of sickly grass. There was a small, sad-looking pond at the far side, fringed by rocks. Even though it was midmorning, the sun hadn’t yet topped the eastern bluffs and the bowl was still in shadow. The only birds to be seen were a quartet of ravens in a dead tree, cawing back and forth.

She approached the edge of the excavated area, looking out over an expanse of blue tarps pegged to the ground. She thought back to an investigation of human remains she’d stumbled into as a student in Colorado a few years before, and realized she could easily develop a similarly morbid fascination with the Donner ordeal: the twenty-five feet of snow, the starvation so extreme they were forced to eat their own family. Almost unthinkable—but at the same time, a testament to the human will to survive.

The dig and its associated work tent and screening areas were neat and crisp-looking—at least to her inexpert eye. As she took in the site, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was a wild goose chase. Morwood certainly felt so. He’d nixed her first two requests, and it was only after continued pestering that he’d finally relented. He’d given her a Friday, plus her own weekend, which with travel time allowed her one full day at the site: today.

But as she continued looking over the meadow, the mystery returned with greater insistence. Why all those Parkins dug up all of a sudden? She had been racking her brains for a hypothesis. Could it be an inheritance issue? No: the descendants of Albert Parkin didn’t have significant money, nor was there evidence of family conflict, legal or otherwise. The dead whose graves had been despoiled were all second or third cousins who evidently hadn’t even known each other. Could it be related to an obscure medical issue, a rare disease or syndrome that ran in the family line? But there was no evidence for that, either, at least from her search of medical records. Maybe a bizarre form of revenge against the family? Or maybe some obscure religious practice, perhaps with a connection to voodoo?

Every idea she came up with was more outlandish than the one before. The truth was, she had no idea what she should be looking for. But she sure wasn’t going to show her uncertainty.

As she surveyed the site, Nora Kelly came over, with the historian, Clive Benton, following.