Chama wilderness, in the Maze, that's attracted a lot of press attention. I want to know where we stand and where we're going. If anyone's got any bright ideas I want to hear them.'
He looked around the room.
'First, let's have the M.E.'s report. Dr. Feininger?'
The police pathologist, an elegant-looking, gray-haired woman in a suit who looked out of place in the dingy briefing room, opened a slim leather folder. She did not rise to speak, and her voice was quiet, dry, just a touch ironic.
'Ten and a half quarts of blood-soaked sand containing most of the five point five quarts of blood found in a typical human body were recovered from the site.
No other human remains have been found. We did what tests we could blood
type, presence of drugs, and so forth.'
'And?'
'Blood group O positive, no drugs or alcohol detected, white blood cell count apparently normal, blood serum proteins, insulin, all normal. The victim was a male in good health.'
'Male?'
'Yes. Presence of the Y chromosome.'
'You do any DNA testing?'
'Yes.'
'And?'
'We ran it against all the databases, no matches.'
'What do you mean, no matches?' broke in the D.A.
'We have no national DNA database,' the M.E. said patiently, as if talking to an idiot-which, Wilier figured, she probably was. 'There's usually no way to identify a person from his DNA, at least not yet. It's useful only in comparisons. Until we find a corpse, a relative, or a spot of blood on a suspect's clothing, it's useless.'
'Right.'
Wilier took a swig of coffee. 'That all?'
'Give me a body and I'll tell you more.'
'We're working on it. K-9?'
A nervous, carrot-haired man hastily squared some papers: Wheatley, from Albuquerque.
'We took six dogs up to the area in question on June fourth-'
Wilier interrupted. 'Two days later, after there'd been a hard rain that got all the washes running, swept the Maze free of tracks or scent trails.' Wilier paused, staring aggressively at Wheatley. 'I mention that for the record.'
'It's a remote area, hard to get to.' Wheatley's voice had ridden up a notch.
'Go on.'
'On June fourth, with three handlers from the Albuquerque K-9 tracking division, the dogs picked up a scent. . .' He looked up. 'I've got maps here if you want to-'
'Just give the report.'
Picked up a possible ground scent at the scene. They followed it up the canyon and up onto the rim of Mesa de los Viejos, where it was noted that there was insufficient ground cover to hold a good scent-'
'Not to mention that half inch of rain.'
Wheatley paused.
'Proceed.'
'The dogs were unable to maintain tracking. Three subsequent attempts were made-'
'Thank you, Mr. Wheatley, we get the picture. And now?'
'We've got the dogs on cadaver-sniffing duty. We're working a grid, starting from the crime scene and using GPS to cover the canyon floors. We're working simultaneously deeper into the Maze and down toward the river. Next we'll go up on top.'
'Which brings us to the river search. John?'
'The river's low and slow. We've got divers going into all the deep holes and snags, working downstream. So far nothing-no personal effects or remains. We're almost at Abiquiu lake. It doesn't look likely the perp disposed of the body in the river.'
Wilier nodded.
'Scene-of-Crime?'
It was Calhoun from Albuquerque, the best guy in the state. At least they'd lucked out on the forensics. Calhoun, unlike the K-9 team, had gotten his ass up to the site at first light.
'We did a complete particle and fiber search, which was a real bear, Lieutenant, given that we're basically working in a dirty sandbox. We picked up anything that looked artificial within a hundred feet of the killing. We also sifted a second site, 220 yards to the northeast, where it appears a burro was standing- we found his droppings. We also looked at a third point on the bluffs above.'
'A third point?'
'I'll get to that in a minute, Lieutenant. The killer covered things up pretty good, erased his tracks, but we got a fair amount of hair, artificial fibers, dried foodstuffs. No latents. Two M855 rounds.'
'Now we're talking.' Wilier had heard about the bullets but not the results.
'These are standard NATO rounds, 5.56mm, metal-jacketed, lead alloy core with a steel penetrator, mass of sixty-two grains. Instantly recognizable because of the green tip. Our shooter was probably using an Ml6 or similar military-type assault weapon.'
'Could be ex-military.'
'Not necessarily. There are a lot of gun enthusiasts who like these weapons too.' He consulted his notes. 'One round was embedded in the ground; we found the entry channel-gave us an idea of the angle. The killer was shooting
from above, thirty-five degrees off the horizontal. With that we were able to nail the location of the shooter: an ambush point on the rim. That was the third point you asked about. We found some partial boot prints, couple of cotton fibers from what might have been a bandanna or thin shirt. No shells. We had a hell of a time getting up to the shooter's vantage point. The guy knew the country and must've planned the killing ahead of time.'
'Suggests a local.'
'Or someone who scoped it out pretty carefully.'
Hair?
'None at point three.'
'And the second bullet?'
'Deformed and fragmented by passing through the victim. Traces of blood on it, matched the blood in the sand. Again, no latents.'
'Anything else?'
'Wool and cotton fibers at the site of the killing-we're still analyzing-and a human hair with root. Golden brown, straight, Caucasian.'
'From the killer?'
'Could be anyone: victim, killer, one of your cops. Maybe even me.' He grinned, ran a hand through his thinning hair. 'Won't be the first time. We're getting DNA on it, see if it matches the blood. Might need to get some hair from your guys for elimination purposes.'
'Broadbent, the guy who found the body? He's got light brown, straight hair.'
'Might need a sample from him, too.'
Wilier thanked Calhoun, turned to his deputy. 'Hernandez?'
'I checked out Broadbent's story. Seems he rides around a lot in the high mesas.'
'So what was he doing in the Maze?' Wilier asked.
'He says he was taking a shortcut up JoaquinCanyon.'
'A long cut, you mean.'
'Says he likes the ride. Says it's nice country.'
Wilier grunted. 'I thought he was a vet. Vets are supposed to be busy.'
'He's got a partner, a guy named Shane McBride.'
