“That beating,” said Morwood, “sure looks like an attempt to get something out of Gower. But we have no idea what. Maybe he was selling antiquities to finance his drug habit. We haven’t yet done a complete inventory of that shed, but it was full of artifacts, many worthless, and others that seem to have been, ah, dressed up to look otherwise.”

“Fakes?” Watts said.

“It seems so. The point is, there might be many reasons for someone to want something out of Gower: money, drugs,

information, whatever.”

“But we can’t be sure they got it,” Corrie said.

Morwood turned to her. “How so?”

“It’s possible Gower’s death was an accident.”

“Accident?” Morwood repeated. “You want to know how many molars I counted in that shed?”

“What I’m saying, sir, is it’s possible they didn’t mean to break his neck. Shooting him would have been a more sensible way of killing him if that’s all they wanted to do. Isn’t it possible they accidentally killed him before he caved?”

“It’s possible. We’ll see what the M.E.’s report says about that.” He turned to the sheriff. “Well, Sheriff Watts, it looks like we’ve got quite a homicide on our hands—in your county. The FBI is going to take the lead, but we’re going to need your help. Jesse Gower, the land he lived on, and the people he associated with are your jurisdiction. And your expertise. I know you’ve already been liaising with Agent Swanson, and she tells me you’ve been a great help. We’re going to need you even more now. You and I are going to be working together on this one.”

“I’m happy to help. It’s been a pleasure working with Agent Swanson.”

“Good. I look forward to it. Now you probably want a tour of the crime scene.” He shook the sheriff’s hand and called over an ERT technician, who took Watts off for the tour, leaving Corrie with Morwood.

Corrie watched him go, absorbing this fresh shock and mightily annoyed that Morwood had not only taken over the case, but now had taken over the sheriff. “So the sheriff is no longer working with me?” she asked. “You’re reassigning him to yourself, just like that?”

“It’s been a rough evening for you, Swanson,” Morwood replied. “So I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Corrie colored when she realized the tone she had taken with her boss. “I’m not complaining about Watts being put on the case, sir. It’s just that we were working so well together, and I’ve come to rely on his local contacts and knowledge.”

“You can still consult with him, after going through me.”

It took a tremendous amount of self-control for her to keep her mouth shut after that one. Finally she managed to say, in a calm voice, “I sense I may be losing your trust, Agent Morwood.”

Morwood closed his eyes a moment, as if he was counting to ten. When he opened them again, he spoke. “It has come to my attention from General McGurk that your warranted search of the old Gower farmhouse yielded some items. And yet I’ve heard nothing about it, and nothing has been logged as evidence.”

Corrie felt the blood rush into her face. “I didn’t want to log the evidence until I was sure it connected with the case.”

“What was the evidence?”

“An aerial photograph, an almanac, and a book.”

“And what was the significance of this evidence?”

“Well, the photograph was hidden behind a picture, the almanac had some notes in it, and the book was entitled Early Legends of the Western Frontier, which had stories of buried treasure and such. I thought it might contain clues to what Gower was searching for.”

“I see.”

“So the general has been in touch with you?” Corrie asked.

“Today I received a call from him asking about it. And I knew nothing.”

“Isn’t it sort of convenient for him to be calling you?”

Morwood looked at her steadily. “What do you mean by that?”

“I think the general is trying to undermine me.”

“Why?”

“Why would he be interested in the evidence I might have collected?”

“It’s a reasonable follow-up for him to do.”

“I don’t know. Think about it, sir—we’re dealing with a potential scandal in that the Trinity test actually caused a fatality, a fake army MP murders one of our suspects, we’ve got irradiated human remains, and now somebody tortured and killed one of our informants. It all seems to point to WSMR involvement in some way, and McGurk’s the guy in charge.”

Morwood shook his head. “General McGurk, as a suspect? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not saying he’s involved,” Corrie said. “Directly. But White Sands remains a large piece of the puzzle … ” She halted. She had been about to tell him of her meeting with the navy lieutenant, but the look on his face made her realize she’d better shut up.

Morwood shook his head. “You know, Swanson, rookie agents tend to overthink their first cases. I’m usually the last one to discount a theory, but this one … ” He looked at her appraisingly. “You take the cake, Agent Swanson,” he said in a low, neutral tone from which she could glean nothing. “Whether that cake is angel food or a cow pie remains to be seen. But one thing’s certain: if the slightest whisper gets out that the FBI finds General McGurk a person of interest, we’re all sunk—unless we’ve got ironclad proof. Go ahead and follow your leads. But keep it absolutely quiet. And I want daily reports. No—make that weekly reports. Until further notice. Is that understood?”