CHAPTER FIVE
"I want every inch of those caves mapped," Sheila said, studying the grid pattern Marcus Weber had drawn over the cave system blueprint. "No blind spots, no assumptions. Treat it like a crime scene sweep."
The Search and Rescue command post buzzed with activity. Team leaders huddled over maps while technicians checked radio equipment. Kelly and Mike stood off to the side, now properly outfitted in Search and Rescue gear, their earlier exhaustion hidden behind determined expressions.
"We're breaking into four teams," Marcus said, gesturing to the map. "Bishop and Ramirez will each lead a team through the sections they've already explored. The other two teams will work the known passages. Full radio contact, buddy system, no exceptions."
Finn stepped closer to examine the map. "What about these unmarked areas?"
"That's the problem," Kelly said. "The old surveys don't show everything. The spring floods changed the cave structure. There could be dozens of new passages."
"Or old ones that were previously blocked," Mike added. "The water level drops this time of year, opens up lower tunnels."
Sheila nodded, her mind racing. "How long will the sweep take?"
Marcus checked his watch. "With four teams? At least six hours for a preliminary search. More if we find anything that needs processing."
"Keep me updated," Sheila said. "I want to know about anything out of place—recent camp signs, equipment, anything that suggests our killer's been living down there."
As the teams geared up, Finn touched her arm. "We should head to Dr. Mitchell's place, see what we can learn about her work."
Sheila watched Kelly check her climbing harness, the young woman's hands steady despite what she'd been through. Something about her determination tugged at Sheila's memory—a similar drive she'd seen in Natalie, back when her sister was still alive.
"Sheriff?" Marcus called. "Teams are ready to move out."
Sheila pushed the memory aside. "Be careful down there," she told the assembled group. "Our killer's already shown they're willing to murder to protect whatever's in those caves. Don't take any unnecessary risks."
The teams moved out, their headlamps cutting through the morning fog. Sheila watched until they disappeared into the cave entrance, then turned to Finn. "Let's go see what Dr. Mitchell was hiding."
The drive to Mitchell's house took them through the university district, past coffee shops and bookstores catering to students. Fall leaves skittered across the sidewalks, and the mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks already dusted with early snow.
"You're worried about them," Finn said as they turned onto a quiet residential street.
"The spelunkers?" Sheila kept her eyes on the road. "They've been through enough already."
"That's not what I meant." Finn's voice was gentle. "Kelly Bishop. She reminds you of Natalie, doesn't she?"
Sheila's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Sometimes she forgot how well Finn could read her. "Same determination. Same need to prove herself." She paused. "Same disregard for personal safety."
"She's got backup this time," Finn reminded her. "The whole Search and Rescue team, Mike watching her back."
Sheila wanted to be reassured by this, but she wasn't. She kept thinking of the sight of Natalie's body on the floor of her cabin. Kelly Bishop wasn't her sister, but then again, death was death. And Sheila didn't want another one on her conscience.
She took a breath, trying to focus on the present. "Mitchell's house should be just ahead."
The anthropologist lived—had lived—in a modest craftsman-style home with a small front garden. Dead leaves cluttered the porch, suggesting no one had been here for days. A ruby-red SUV sat in the driveway.
"That's not Mitchell's car," Finn said, checking his notes. "She drove an Impala."
Sheila was already moving, her hand near her weapon as she approached the house. The front door stood slightly ajar, and voices drifted from inside.
She exchanged a look with Finn, who nodded and moved to cover the back. Sheila drew her weapon and approached the door.
"Sheriff's Department," she called out. "Anyone inside, make yourself known."
The voices stopped. Footsteps creaked across old hardwood floors.
A woman appeared in the doorway, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun.
She wore a tailored blazer and carried herself with academic authority.
"I'm Dr. Elena Martinez, head of the Indigenous Studies program at Arizona State.
Tracy Mitchell was my colleague." She held up a university ID.
"The department asked me to secure any sensitive materials. "
Sheila didn't lower her weapon. "Why didn't you contact law enforcement first?"
"Because some of these materials are protected by tribal privacy agreements," Martinez said. "They need to be handled according to specific protocols." She gestured inside. "My assistant is cataloging everything now."
Finn appeared around the corner of the house, responding to Sheila's signal. She nodded for him to check the back entrance while she dealt with Martinez.
"I'm going to need to see some additional identification," Sheila said. "And documentation of your authority to be here."
Martinez's professional demeanor cracked slightly. "Sheriff, with all due respect, time is critical. If word of Tracy's death gets out before we secure her research..."
"It's a crime scene, Dr. Martinez. Nobody touches anything without my approval." Sheila stepped past her into the house. "Finn?"
"Back door's clear," he called from the kitchen. "One more person present, looks like support staff."
The house's interior was neat but lived-in. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a laptop sat open on the coffee table. A young man in khakis and a polo shirt was examining a filing cabinet, making notes on a tablet.
"Step away from the cabinet," Sheila ordered. "Both of you, sit down. Now."
Martinez and her assistant sat stiffly on the couch while Sheila examined their credentials. The documentation seemed legitimate—both had proper university IDs, and Martinez produced emails from the anthropology department authorizing her to secure Mitchell's research materials.
"Why the urgency?" Sheila asked, handing the papers back. "What exactly are you afraid might get out?"
Martinez exchanged a glance with her assistant before answering. "Tracy was working with several tribes, documenting oral histories that have never been recorded before. Stories that weren't meant for public consumption."
Sheila was about to ask a follow-up question, but just then her phone buzzed. Dr. Jin's number.
"Excuse me," she said, stepping into the kitchen. "Dr. Jin? What have you found?"
"You need to see this," the coroner said without preamble. "I've found something unusual in the initial examination. Something you'll want to see in person."
Sheila glanced toward the living room, where Finn was questioning Martinez about Mitchell's recent behavior. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
She returned to find Martinez describing Mitchell's last department meeting. "She was excited about something she'd discovered, but also nervous. Said she needed to verify her findings before bringing them to the tribal council."
"These findings," Finn said, "did they have anything to do with the ice caves?"
Martinez's expression closed off. "I'm not at liberty to discuss specific site locations."
"Dr. Mitchell is dead," Sheila cut in. "Arranged in a ceremonial position in those same caves. Someone used her own research to stage her murder. So I suggest you reconsider what you're at liberty to discuss."
Martinez opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. She seemed to be thinking it over.
Sheila pulled Finn aside. "Keep them here," Sheila told him quietly. "I need to see Jin, but I want to know everything they know about Mitchell's research. Especially anything about those caves."
"What did Jin find?"
"He didn't say. Just that I should come alone." She studied Finn's face, saw his concern. "I'll be careful. And I'll call you as soon as I know what's going on."
The drive to the morgue gave Sheila time to think. Martinez's arrival was too convenient—either she was telling the truth about securing sensitive materials, or she was looking for something specific.
The county morgue occupied the basement level of the medical center. Dr. Jin waited for her in the autopsy suite, still in his protective gear.
"Initial findings are... unusual," he said, leading her to where Mitchell's body lay. The ceremonial garments had been carefully removed and photographed. "First, she was likely still alive when brought to the cave."
Sheila's eyes narrowed. "How can you be sure?"
"The rate of freezing, tissue samples—they all suggest she died in or very near the cave itself.
" Jin indicated the base of Mitchell's skull.
"Cause of death was this—a single puncture wound, precise and deliberate, directly through the brain stem.
This would have rendered her instantly unconscious.
Death would follow within two minutes. She wouldn't have felt any pain. "
"A humane killing." Sheila studied the wound. "Any idea what caused this?"
Jin pursed his lips together. "Maybe an improvised tool of some kind. It's difficult to say."
"A heavy-duty needle?"
"Possibly."
"And she had her back to the killer when it happened. No defensive wounds, no signs of struggle..."
"Suggesting she either went willingly, or was coerced," Jin finished. "But whoever did this—they wanted her death to be quick, painless."
"An odd choice for a murderer," Sheila mused. "To be so careful about causing minimal suffering, then spend time arranging her body in ceremonial dress."
"Someone who respected her, maybe," Jin suggested. "Or at least, respected what she represented."
Sheila's phone buzzed—an update from the search team. She needed to check on their progress, but first: "Full tox screen?"
"Already ordered. Results should be back within 48 hours."
"Rush them," Sheila said, already moving toward the door. "And Jin? Keep this between us for now. Especially the details about the killing method."
"Of course," he replied. "Though Sheriff—there's something else you should know."
She paused at the door.
"This type of precision kill," Jin said carefully, "it's not common. In fact, I've only seen it once before."
"When?"
"The missing hiker. The one they never found, from the last time the caves were closed."