“Please have a seat,” she said.

He pulled up the folding chair and sat down. His attractive face was marred by a scowl he made no effort to hide.

Corrie turned on the recorder again and went through the preliminaries.

“Dr. Benton,” she said, “I’d like to know the source of your interest in the Donner Party history.”

He gave a sigh of impatience. “I’m a collateral descendant of the Breen family. They were one of the families that formed the Donner Party. I’ve been fascinated with the subject from childhood. I majored in history in college and got a PhD from Stanford. My dissertation was on the Donner Party. You know most of this already.”

“I know we’ve discussed some of this before, but I’m going over these points for the record, if you don’t mind. How did you get from that interest to this specific excavation?”

He gave a distinct sigh of annoyance. “Historians had known that Tamzene Donner, George Donner’s wife, kept a journal. It had never been found. I managed to track it down.”

“How?”

“I found it in a deserted house that once belonged to the daughter of Jacob Donner.”

“How did you know to look there?”

“An educated guess.”

“That’s rather vague. You didn’t have more specific information?”

“I was pretty sure the daughter had it, and I figured it must still be somewhere among her stuff, given that no one else ever saw it or remarked on it.”

“You found it and…what? Bought it from the family?”

A hesitation. “Well, no. The house had been vacant for many years.” He sat back rather defiantly. “I entered the house to save it from imminent destruction.”

“Let me just clarify this point,” Corrie said. “You trespassed and took the journal, even though you had no legal right to it. In other words, you stole it.”

The defiant look grew more pronounced. “It was a priceless historical document. It would have been lost forever. The bulldozers were about to tear the place down. So yes, I broke the law. Go ahead and arrest me.” He held out his hands in dramatic fashion, as if for handcuffs.

“Dr. Benton, you can put your hands away.” For now, she almost said.

He withdrew his hands.

“That explains the first step. So how did you go from the journal to this project?”

“When I read the journal, I realized it contained vital information regarding the location of the Lost Camp. Since I’m not an archaeologist, I brought the idea to Nora and the Institute. I suggested they finance it with the gold presumed to be hidden in the area.” He spread his hands. “End of story.”

Interesting that, unlike Nora Kelly, Benton had not hesitated to bring up the gold. “And you’re the one who figured out there was gold hidden up here?”

“Historians have known forever that one of the pioneers, Wolfinger, was carrying gold, but I was the first to determine the amount.”

“How?”

“Old bank records.”

“I see. And where do you think this gold might be hidden?”

“Somewhere in those cliffs that surround the dig site.” He leaned forward. “I might note that, having realized almost a year ago the gold was up here, I could have come up on my own, found it, and bugged out with no one the wiser. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

He laughed. “You certainly are direct. I didn’t because I’m an honest man. I care more about history than money. It was important for the gold to be recovered in the right way, through a legitimate dig. Even though it meant I wouldn’t get a penny of it.”

These points were all hard to refute, Corrie thought as she made notes. She moved on to the next set of questions in her notebook. “Where were you on May second?”

“What happened then?”

“That’s the day Rosalie Parkin disappeared. The floor of her bedroom was covered with so much of her blood, it’s being treated as a likely homicide.”

“And I take it you’re looking for an alibi?” He laughed again. “I don’t even need to check my calendar. I was driving up here from Santa Fe, along with all of the scientists now here on the dig.”

“And on April twenty-second?”

“April twenty-second.” He pulled out his phone and did examine his calendar. “I temporarily put aside preparations for this expedition and took a flight from Santa Fe to attend a western history conference. At the University of Oklahoma in Norman, with hundreds of witnesses. Did something sinister happen on that date, as well?”

“That’s the night a Parkin corpse was exhumed from the cemetery in Glorieta Pass. And a body was shot and left on top of the coffin.”

“Looks like I’m off the hook, then,” he said, wiping his brow in mock relief.

“These are routine questions, Dr. Benton.”

“Routine?” He rose and placed his hands on the table, leaning toward her. “Let me just tell you to your face: this whole idea is ridiculous.”

Corrie was about to respond, but she remembered what an instructor at the Academy had said: when they’re angry, shut up and let them keep talking.

“From what you’ve told us,” he went on, “it seems these Parkin disappearances have been going on for less than a year. My research into the Donner Party and the Lost Camp has been a twenty-year project. Not to brag, but my scholarly credentials are impeccable. I’ve already demonstrated my honesty by not scooping up the gold. You are absolutely barking up the wrong tree, and I doubt if you’re doing your career any good in the process.”

Corrie waited. He seemed finished.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

“Not for now. I may have more after I interview the others.”

“I’ll bet they’re just lining up.” He turned to leave.

Corrie said evenly, “Could you please send in Jason Salazar?”

“Sure, why not?” He exited the tent, shaking his head, and called for Salazar.

35

AFTER CORRIE FINISHED interviewing Salazar and Adelsky—they had little of note to add—she asked Nora to show her Parkin’s broken clavicle, then packed up her stuff and hiked the half mile down the trail to the camp. She arrived around three in the afternoon to find the place deserted. She went back to her tent, organized her gear, read through her notes, and made a few more. And then she began writing a preliminary summary for Agent Morwood.

She heard Maggie outside, banging pots and pans as she started to get things ready for dinner. Corrie emerged from the tent and sat down by the fire, next to Burleson, who was reading The Education of Henry Adams.

“Mr. Burleson?”

He looked up.

“I’d like to address the group tonight at dinner. If you could please make sure everyone is present, I’d appreciate it.”

She found his eyes lingering on her questioningly. “Is it about Peel?”

“That—and other things.”

He nodded.

By sunset, everyone had straggled back into camp. Burleson was opening a bottle of wine—apparently, an evening ritual.

“If you’ll all gather around the campfire,” he said, “Special Agent Swanson wanted an opportunity to speak to the group.”