CHAPTER FOUR
"We should check her workspace," Sheila said as she pulled into the parking lot of the University of Utah's Anthropology Department.
The red brick building rose before them, its windows reflecting the late morning sunlight.
"Someone who took this much care staging her body might have been following her work. "
Finn nodded, unbuckling his seat belt. "The traditional burial arrangement wasn't random. Either our killer studied indigenous practices..."
"Or they knew what Mitchell was studying," Sheila finished.
The anthropology building sat at the edge of campus, bordered by evergreens that rustled in the October wind. Students hurried past, wrapped in scarves and jackets, clutching coffee cups and backpacks. The normalcy of the scene felt jarring after the eerie quiet of the ice caves.
Inside, the building smelled of old books and floor polish. A directory on the wall pointed them to the third floor: "Cultural Anthropology & Indigenous Studies." The elevator hummed as it carried them up.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Finn asked.
"Anything that might tell us why someone would kill her and stage such an elaborate burial." Sheila watched the floor numbers light up. "People don't just wake up one morning and decide to wrap a body in ceremonial garments."
The elevator opened to a long hallway lined with office doors. Display cases filled with artifacts and photographs lined the walls—pottery shards, woven baskets, black and white images of archaeological digs. They found the department office halfway down.
A student worker looked up from her computer as they entered. Her eyes widened at their badges.
"We need to speak with someone about Dr. Tracy Mitchell," Sheila said.
"Oh." The student's face fell. "You should talk to Dr. Harrison. He's the department head." She reached for the phone, then hesitated. "Is it true? About Dr. M?"
"We're investigating her death," Sheila said gently. "Did you know her well?"
"She was my advisor." The student's voice cracked slightly. "She was helping me with my thesis on preservation techniques for ceremonial textiles. She was supposed to be in Colorado..."
Dr. James Harrison arrived before the student could continue. He was tall and thin, with wire-rimmed glasses and patches of gray at his temples. His tweed jacket had seen better days.
"Sheriff Stone?" He extended his hand. "Your reputation precedes you. Please, come to my office."
Harrison's office was cramped but organized, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a window overlooking the campus quad. He cleared some papers from two chairs.
"This is devastating news," he said, sinking into his desk chair. "Tracy was one of our most respected researchers. Her work on indigenous burial practices was groundbreaking."
"That's actually what we'd like to discuss," Sheila said. "The way her body was arranged suggests someone familiar with those practices."
Harrison's eyebrows rose. "You think one of her colleagues...?"
"We're not excluding any possibilities," Finn said. "Could we see her office? Her current research?"
Harrison nodded slowly. "Of course. Though I should mention—some of her work involved sensitive cultural artifacts. The tribes she worked with trusted her implicitly."
"We'll be respectful," Sheila assured him.
Mitchell's office was at the end of the hall, a corner room with windows on two sides.
Books and papers covered every surface. Maps of Utah's cave systems were pinned to one wall, marked with Post-it notes and red dots.
The opposite wall held photographs of indigenous artifacts, carefully labeled and arranged in chronological order.
"This is exactly how she left it," Harrison said. "She was only supposed to be gone for a week."
Sheila moved to the desk while Finn examined the maps. A laptop sat closed beside a stack of academic journals. Papers were arranged in neat piles, each with its own color-coded tab. Even the pens in the holder were organized by color.
"She was methodical," Sheila observed.
"Absolutely." Harrison picked up a framed photo from a shelf—Mitchell at an archaeological dig, smiling at the camera. "Tracy documented everything. Every artifact, every interview, every site visit. She believed in preserving not just the objects, but their entire context."
Finn stood before the cave maps. "These recent?"
"Part of her new project." Harrison moved to join him. "She was documenting previously unknown ceremonial sites in the region's cave systems. She believed many traditional practices took place underground, away from prying eyes."
Sheila looked up sharply. "Did that include the ice caves?"
"I... I'm not sure." Harrison frowned. "Her notes would be on her laptop, but it's password protected. And she was very protective of site locations. Many of them are considered sacred by the tribes she worked with."
Moving around the desk, Sheila studied the papers more closely. Each stack seemed to represent a different aspect of Mitchell's research—carbon dating results, textile analysis reports, interview transcripts. But nothing immediately jumped out as relevant to their investigation.
A photo on the wall caught her attention—Mitchell with a group of tribal elders, all of them standing before the entrance to what looked like a cave. The caption read: "Documenting oral histories of the sacred spaces—Spring 2022."
"Did she ever mention feeling threatened?" Finn asked. "Anyone who might have objected to her work?"
Harrison shook his head. "She was remarkably good at building trust with the indigenous communities. She never published anything without their approval, never revealed site locations without permission." He paused. "Though..."
"Though what?" Sheila prompted.
"There was some tension recently. She'd discovered something—she wouldn't tell me what exactly, but she was excited about it. Said it would change our understanding of certain ceremonial practices. But she was waiting for approval from the tribal council before documenting it."
Sheila and Finn exchanged looks. "When was this?"
"Last week." Harrison adjusted his glasses. "She was supposed to meet with the council after she returned from Colorado."
Just then, a young man appeared in the doorway, a stack of books clutched to his chest. His eyes widened at the sight of the badges, and he spun around so quickly he nearly dropped his books before disappearing down the hallway.
"Was that James?" Harrison asked, frowning. "James Cooper, Dr. Mitchell's research assistant."
Sheila was already moving. "I don't know, but I think we need to talk to him."
Sheila and Finn followed the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall, past the elevator to the stairwell. The door was just swinging shut as they reached it. Sheila and Finn took the stairs two at a time.
They caught up with Cooper in the building's small library annex, a cramped room filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of archaeological journals. He'd wedged himself into a corner study carrel, the books now spread out before him, trying to look absorbed in his work.
"Mr. Cooper," Sheila said, breathing heavily. "We'd like to speak with you."
His shoulders tensed. He was younger than Sheila had initially thought, probably a graduate student, with wire-rimmed glasses and rumpled clothes that suggested long hours in the library. A coffee cup from the campus shop sat empty beside his laptop.
"I... I have a lot of work to do," he said, not meeting their eyes.
"Why did you run?" Finn asked.
Cooper's hands fidgeted with a pencil. "I didn't run. I just remembered I had to... to check something."
"Something so urgent you nearly dropped your books?" Sheila pulled up a chair, positioning herself so she could watch his face. "Mr. Cooper, Dr. Mitchell is dead. If you know anything that might help us understand why..."
He looked up sharply. "Dead? Not just missing?"
"You knew she was missing?"
"I..." He slumped in his chair. "I should have said something sooner. When she didn't show up for our remote meeting on Tuesday, I knew something was wrong. Dr. Mitchell was never late. Never missed a meeting. But I thought maybe she was just having technical difficulties."
"Is that why you didn't report it?"
Cooper ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "That, and because she'd asked me not to tell anyone if something seemed off. She said she'd contact me if there was a real problem."
Sheila exchanged a look with Finn. "Why would she say that?"
"Because of the audiobook, I think. And the people following her."
"What audiobook?" Finn asked.
Cooper straightened slightly, seemingly relieved to move into more academic territory.
"Dr. Mitchell was recording her lectures, her stories about the tribes she worked with.
She was an oral historian—one of the last true ones.
She could recall every detail, every story she'd ever been told.
The tribes trusted her with histories that had never been written down. "
"And someone was following her?" Sheila prompted.
"She mentioned it about two weeks ago. Said she kept seeing the same car in her rearview mirror, the same person in the campus coffee shop. But she wouldn't file a report. Said she couldn't risk drawing attention to her work until she'd secured permissions from the tribal council."
"What was so important about her work?" Finn asked.
Cooper's eyes lit up with academic enthusiasm despite his obvious nervousness.
"You have to understand—Dr. Mitchell wasn't just recording facts.
She was preserving the way these stories were meant to be told.
The rhythm, the cadence, the subtle variations that never make it into written texts.
She could tell you about burial rituals that hadn't been performed in a hundred years, describe ceremonial garments that only existed in tribal memory. .."
"James," Sheila said, "how about you tell us why you really ran? And don't give us any more BS."
Cooper flushed. "I…" He paused, gathering his words.
"Last Monday, Dr. Mitchell was working late, adding new material.
" He hesitated. "She seemed excited about something she'd discovered, but also.
.. worried. She asked me to keep an eye on her office while she was gone, make sure nobody accessed her files. "
"And did anyone try?"
Cooper shook his head. "No, but..." He glanced around the empty library annex and lowered his voice. "Yesterday morning, I noticed her laptop had been moved. Just slightly, like someone had tried to access it. I thought I was being paranoid, but..."
"What does that have to do with you running?" Sheila asked.
"I felt guilty about not reporting with her laptop, like you might think I was somehow involved—but I was really just trying to protect her work.
She made me promise not to tell anyone about her work until she gave permission.
She said some of these stories... they weren't meant for everyone to hear.
That knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong hands. "
Cooper looked down at his hands. "The thing is... Dr. Mitchell wasn't just recording these stories. She was connecting them. Finding patterns."
"What kind of patterns?" Sheila asked.
"She started noticing similarities between different tribes' oral histories.
Specifically about sacred caves." He pulled a notebook from his backpack, flipping it open.
"She'd mapped out dozens of sites based on these stories.
Places where ceremonies were performed, where important items were stored.
But there was one story that kept coming up, across different tribes. "
Finn leaned forward. "What story?"
"About a particular cave system. One that was considered both sacred and dangerous. A place where..." He checked his notes. "Where 'the old ones sleep beneath the ice.'"
Sheila felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. "The ice caves."
Cooper nodded. "Dr. Mitchell believed she'd found it. But she said she needed to verify something first before she took her findings to the tribal council." He closed the notebook. "That was the last time I saw her."
"The work she was doing," Sheila began. "We need to see it."
Cooper hesitated.
"She's dead, James," Sheila said gently. "Don't you think she'd want us to find out what happened to her?"
Finally, he swallowed hard and nodded. "She kept her research notes in a cloud account. I have access to it—I could show you."
Sheila glanced at Finn, who gave a slight nod. "We'd appreciate that."
As Cooper pulled up the files on his laptop, Sheila's mind was racing.
Mitchell had found something in those caves, something worth killing for.
But was she killed to keep that discovery secret?
Or had someone used her own research against her, turning her into one more story in the caves' dark history?
"Here," Cooper said, turning the laptop toward them. "These are her most recent notes."
Cooper scrolled through pages of field notes, transcribed interviews, and location data.
"Wait," Sheila said, pointing to a date entry from last week. "Go back to that."
The entry was brief: Confirmed location matches Elder Joseph's description. Rock formation exactly as documented in 1922 survey. Evidence of recent activity—need to consult with Council before proceeding.
"Recent activity?" Finn asked. "In a sealed cave system?"
Cooper pushed his glasses up nervously. "Dr. Mitchell was worried about what she called 'unauthorized entries' into various sacred sites. People going into restricted areas, moving things around. She was concerned that artifacts were being stolen."
Sheila leaned back, considering. A murdered anthropologist, and a killer who knew enough about indigenous traditions to stage an elaborate ceremonial burial.
"Mr. Cooper," she said, "we're going to need copies of everything you can share with us. And I mean everything—emails, research notes, her calendar. Anything that might tell us where she went in those last few days."
As Cooper began copying files, Finn moved closer to Sheila. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked quietly.
Sheila nodded. "Mitchell found something in those caves. Something worth killing for."
"And someone who knew her research well enough to use it against her."
"The question is," Sheila said, watching Cooper work, "was she killed because of what she discovered? Or because of what she refused to share?"