“Yes. At least while we’re searching for the murderer. Henry tells me it’s not uncommon to cover all the bases in working with the forest service on an important investigation. Oh, and thanks for not sending Haymaker in your place this morning.”
She laughed. “You’re welcome. And . . . Henry?”
“Sheriff Gibson. I’m supposed to call him Sheriff Gibson, but it’s hard when everyone else around here calls him Henry.” Jack turned and continued hiking. Terra followed.
When she said nothing more, he continued. “We’re still waiting to get a time of death, but we have a window. His vehicle was parked at the trailhead within that time frame. We’re looking for evidence. Blood. Murder weapon.”
“A cabin,” she said.
“A cabin?”
“Yes. We’ve hiked about three quarters of a mile, according to my watch, but if we keep going for the full mile, the cabin should be just over a half mile off trail to the northwest.”
He paused to look at her.
“What? You act as if you’re surprised to learn that I actually do have something to contribute.”
“No, it’s not that.” Sure. Maybe it was.
“Right. But we can’t know if he hiked this trail or headed for that cabin.”
“Was he having an affair? Was he blackmailing someone or being blackmailed? The list goes on.”
“I think you were right when you said you had the feeling it’s complicated. A plane crashes. Jim reports seeing the plane, and even makes his way to the downed plane—it was on a forest road, so he could have driven there. Within hours, Jim is murdered.”
“And the pilot flees his hospital room.”
“Wait.” He thought he spotted a cabin through the trees, though it wasn’t easy to see. If he took even one step, it was gone again. “There it is.”
Jack stepped off the trail and over tree trunks and fallen branches into an area carpeted with pine needles.
“The cabin is part of the forest service’s Recreation Residence Program,” she said, “otherwise known as ‘cabin in the woods.’ In this case, the cabin is isolated.”
“I’m not following you.”
“The cabins are special use permit issued for twenty years at a time for personal use.” Terra pushed on toward the cabin, and Jack kept pace.
At the door, she said, “Let’s see if anyone is home.”
He pressed his palm against his weapon and knocked on the door. “Detective Tanner and Special Agent Connors here. We’d like to ask some questions.”
No one responded.
They hiked around the cabin. Curtains prevented them from seeing inside. At the back, a curtain hung at an angle, revealing a portion of the inside of the cabin.
Terra gasped. “Wait a minute.”
She moved to the door and tried it, but it was locked.
“What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”
“Shelves. Mostly empty. But I spotted a couple of Native American artifacts, pots actually, so contraband . . . probable cause.”
“They could be completely legal,” he said.
“Granted. They could be. But someone was murdered, and the artifacts are tucked away here in an isolated cabin, so I’m leaning toward illegal.”
He produced the key he’d found on the floor at Jim’s house. “We need to know what it’s for.”
He stuck it in and unlocked the door.
Terra gasped. “It worked. I can’t believe it worked. This cabin is Jim’s, after all.”
“Or it belonged to someone else and he had a key he thought he kept hidden from his wife in his wallet.”
Terra started to step inside. He stretched out his arm to block her.
“Pauline gave me permission to look, but since she claimed not to know what the key was for, I can’t even be sure this cabin belongs to Jim and that she has the right to give that permission. I’m going to call about a warrant to cover my bases.”
“But what about probable cause?”
“These aren’t exigent circumstances. It isn’t so urgent to justify a warrantless search. We have time to get the warrant, so let’s make sure the evidence we find can’t be challenged in court.”
THIRTEEN
Terra followed Jack away from the cabin until he found a signal, then he made the call requesting a warrant. He eyed her the entire time he spoke into the cell.
He ended the call and tucked his cell away. “I need to stand here and wait for a call back. Or we could head back to our vehicles and wait there. You know, it could take ten minutes or hours.”
“You stand there, and I’ll look around to see if I come across any ‘anomalies,’ as you put it earlier.” But she’d already come across one.
“Or you could stay here and talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. You deal with this artifact business more often than I do. What can you tell me?”
She exhaled. The temps were starting to warm up, and she shrugged out of her pack and jacket. Terra grabbed water and tossed a bottle to Jack.
That storm had blown over without dumping rain on them. But thunder sounded in the distance.
“On my last assignment with the National Park Service, I worked undercover. We were working in the four corners—where Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona come together.”
“Anasazi. Native American pueblo people.” Jack flashed his dimpled grin.
Terra waited a few heartbeats, then said, “You know more than you let on, Jack Tanner.”
“I should be honest with you. Aunt Nadine has a book on her coffee table.”
Interesting. “People have taken arrowheads and more home for decades. We know that. Although depending on where and how the item was taken, it’s probably still illegal. Our sting operation had to do with things taken and sold on the black market. They were pilfering from historic ruins, selling to collectors.”
“And you think Jim could be involved in something similar?”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“That, I already know.” He swatted at an insect.
“Most pothunting, as we call it, is in the southwest. In Jim’s cabin, I spotted a couple of items on that shelf through the window. Contemporary Native American art brings in millions, even billions of dollars. But a big problem exists in
