CHAPTER THREE
Cold air hit Sheila's face as she stepped out of her department SUV at the ice caves trailhead.
The sun did little to warm the October chill, and her breath formed clouds in front of her face.
A Highway Patrol car and two other vehicles were already parked in the gravel lot—one belonging to Search and Rescue, the other a battered Camaro that had to be the spelunkers'.
Finn pulled up beside her in his own vehicle just as she was zipping up her jacket. The caves loomed ahead, their entrance a dark gash in the mountainside, partially hidden behind weather-worn "No Trespassing" signs.
"Kelly Bishop and Mike Ramirez," Finn said as he approached, checking his phone. "The spelunkers. They're at a nearby base camp being checked out by medical personnel. Mild hypothermia, some dehydration. They're pretty shaken up, according to the patrolman who took their statement."
"Can't blame them," Sheila said. "Being trapped in a cave overnight with a body..." She let the thought trail off as she retrieved her gear from the trunk. "Who cut their rope?"
"That's what concerns me," Finn said, falling into step beside her as they started up the trail. "And whoever it was… are they still around?"
They reached the cave entrance, where a Search and Rescue member was setting up fresh ropes. Sheila studied the drop, remembering the last time she'd been here. It had been years ago, before the caves were closed. Before they'd found the first body.
Dr. Jin Zihao, the county coroner, stood near the entrance conferring with Marcus Weber from Search and Rescue. His silver-streaked black hair caught the morning light as he turned toward them.
"Sheriff Stone," he greeted her with a slight nod. "Deputy Mercer."
"What can you tell us?" Sheila asked as she checked her harness.
"Female victim, preliminary identification suggests it's Dr. Tracy Mitchell." Jin's sharp eyes narrowed. "She's a well-known anthropologist from the University of Utah. Published extensively on indigenous history and artifacts."
Finn frowned. "Mitchell? I just read something about her last week. She was supposed to be giving a lecture series in Colorado."
"Indeed," Jin said. "According to her department head, whom I just spoke with, she left for that trip two days ago. Never arrived."
Marcus stepped forward, his Search and Rescue uniform dusty from earlier trips into the cave. "We've got everything secured below. The scene's untouched since the spelunkers found her."
The descent into the cave was eerily quiet, broken only by the soft whir of their ropes and the occasional drip of water.
Their headlamps cut through the darkness, illuminating walls slick with ice and mineral deposits.
The air grew colder as they descended, and Sheila could see her breath misting in the beam of her light.
"Watch your step here," Marcus called from below. "There's some ice build-up on this ledge."
The cave opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in the darkness above.
Powerful lights had been set up by the Search and Rescue team, creating islands of harsh brightness in the gloom.
The lights cast long shadows across the cave floor, making the ice formations seem to move in the corner of Sheila's vision.
"Over here," Jin said, leading them toward a smaller side chamber. "Mind the formations. Some of these are thousands of years old."
They picked their way carefully between delicate ice columns and crystalline structures that looked like frozen waterfalls. The side chamber was smaller, more intimate somehow. The temperature here was even lower, their breath forming thick clouds in the artificial light.
The body lay in a shallow alcove, arranged with obvious care.
Dr. Mitchell was wrapped in what appeared to be ceremonial garments, the rich colors standing out starkly against the ice.
Intricate beadwork caught the light, and feathers from an elaborate headdress stirred slightly in the cave's subtle air currents.
"She wasn't killed here," Jin said quietly. "No blood, no signs of struggle. Someone placed her here, arranged her like this."
Finn crouched near the body, careful not to disturb anything. "These garments... they're museum quality. Where would someone even get something like this?"
"That's not all," Jin added. "Look at how she's positioned. Hands crossed over her chest, head oriented toward the cave entrance. This matches historical accounts of indigenous burial practices in the region. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Sheila studied the scene, taking in every detail. "Time of death?"
"The cold has slowed decomposition significantly, but based on liver temperature and other factors, I'd estimate between twenty-four and thirty-six hours ago.
" Jin gestured to the garments. "These weren't just thrown on her.
They're properly wrapped, arranged according to specific traditions. It would have taken time, knowledge."
"So our killer knows about indigenous burial practices," Finn said. "That narrows it down."
"To anyone who's ever read Dr. Mitchell's work," Sheila pointed out.
"She literally wrote the book on these traditions.
" She turned to the coroner. "Dr. Jin," she said, "I want your most thorough workup on this.
Everything you can tell me about cause of death, time of death, any trace evidence on the body or the garments. "
"Of course." Jin was already making notes on his tablet. "I'll need specialized help with the garments. We'll want to document everything properly before we move her."
"I'll get in touch with the university's anthropology department," Finn offered. "They might be able to tell us more about the significance of how she was arranged."
Sheila nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the next steps. Two days ago, Dr. Mitchell had left for a trip she never reached. Now she lay dead in a sealed cave, wrapped in historical garments, arranged in a traditional burial position.
Dr. Jin looked like he was deciding whether or not to say something.
"What is it?" Sheila asked.
"I hope it doesn't complicate matters, but you should know the FBI has been contacted.
The ceremonial robes are tribal artifacts—that automatically triggers federal jurisdiction.
Plus, these preservation cases are rare but not unique.
They have a task force that specializes in ritual killings involving indigenous artifacts. "
Sheila nodded. "Thanks for letting me know." She just hoped they'd be able to work with the FBI rather than getting into a competition over who could solve the case first.
She looked up at the darkness above them, remembering the spelunkers' story about their cut rope. Someone else had been down here, watching, waiting. Someone who knew these caves well enough to move around in the dark, who knew enough about indigenous traditions to arrange this elaborate scene.
Someone who had not only killed Dr. Mitchell, but had nearly killed two more people as well.
"We need to talk to those spelunkers," Sheila said, turning to Finn. "They may have seen something they don't even realize is important."
They made their way back through the cave system, their footsteps echoing in the darkness. As they climbed out into the morning light, Finn rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them.
"What are you thinking?" he asked as they headed down the trail toward the base camp.
Sheila considered for a moment. "I'm thinking about the timing. Mitchell disappears. Less than forty-eight hours later, two spelunkers happen to find her body."
"And someone tries to make sure they don't leave the cave alive." Finn nodded. "Either our killer was still down there, watching..."
"Or they knew somehow that the spelunkers had found the body," Sheila finished. "Neither option is particularly comforting."
They walked in silence for a few steps before Finn spoke again. "You know what bothers me most? The care taken with the body. The traditional garments, the positioning. It's almost... respectful."
"Like a ritual," Sheila said. She glanced at him. "You're thinking this isn't his first?"
"The caves were closed for a reason," Finn said quietly. "And we never did find all the bodies from last time."
Sheila remembered that case from years ago—three hikers who'd disappeared in these caves. They'd only found two of them. The third was still out there somewhere, lost in the darkness.
They'd been college students from Elbridge—Lisa Kendrick, Mike Denton, and Travis Walsh—doing research on the cave system's unique mineral formations.
All geology majors, all experienced cavers.
They'd had the right equipment, filed the proper permits, done everything by the book.
But a sudden storm had caused flash flooding in the lower chambers, and they'd gotten separated trying to find their way out.
They found Lisa and Mike three days later.
The flood waters had receded by then, leaving their bodies wedged in a narrow passage.
The medical examiner determined they'd died from hypothermia, their wet clothes stealing their body heat in the fifty-degree cave air.
Travis Walsh's body was never recovered, though they found his backpack and one of his boots nearly half a mile from where his friends had died.
The search had gone on for two weeks before being called off. Travis's parents had hired private search teams, but even they eventually gave up. The caves were simply too vast, too complex, with hundreds of unexplored passages and chambers.
"You know what always bothered me about that case?" Finn asked, his voice echoing slightly in the tunnel. "Their equipment was top-notch. They had emergency supplies, backup lights, everything. Lisa Kendrick had even mapped these caves before. So how did they get so lost?"