Chapter Two

Luke

Monday, September 20, 9:45 a.m.

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We turned down the road where the construction crew was, and the foreman jogged towards us.

 

His name was Jax Baldwin, a man who towered over me, with muscles that said, ‘try me,’ and a smile a mile wide. His skin was dark like Dakota’s, and his eyes were dark brown. He wore jeans, a denim shirt, and a bear tooth necklace.

 

Jax was maybe forty, but construction was an outdoor job. The sun could make a younger man look older.

 

“Hello, Mr. Baldwin. I’m Luke Barritt, and this is my partner, Dakota Littlebear. Thanks for taking time for us, you must be on a tight schedule. Your time is valuable, so let’s get right to it.”

 

“Sure. Nice to meet you both.” He turned towards Dakota. “Detective Littlebear, are you from Warm Springs?”

 

“Born in Nevada.”

 

“Paiute, then.” He held his chin. “Although I don’t want to assume.”

 

“Yes, sir, you are correct.” Dakota smiled.

 

“I’m from the Wadatika Band of Northern Paiute. The Warm Springs Tribal Police Department is always looking for detectives.”

 

He turned to me. “No offense, not trying to steal your detective.” He removed his hard hat and scratched his head. “Um, let me tell you what I said to your people.”

 

We walked a few paces from the cruiser. “How long have you been surveying the area?”

 

“About a year and a half, though the planning has been ongoing for three years.”

 

“So, what did you tell the medical examiner?”

 

“The area in Shallows Creek was once native ground. Besides being a foreman, I’m an archeologist and State Historic Preservation Officer with the National Park Service, so I come and survey. The land may have archaeological, historical, or native burial sites. Before anyone can dig or build, the state has to grant a permit depending on what we find and then the Oregon State Environmental Review Process does their thing, and so on.”

 

Dakota asked, “How does this fit in with the site?”

 

“Nothing in the ground was found, and we spent a month looking.”

 

Dakota and I glanced at each other. “Mr. Baldwin, thank you. That’s helpful.”

 

He smiled. “Your medical examiner and the anthropologist over there said the same thing.”

 

Dakota asked, “So you went over this area with a fine-toothed comb, but how did you find the body today?”

 

He dragged a forearm over his brow. “I saw a disturbance in the ground using my drone.

“Any buried body—human or animal—changes the land around it. The soil rises. The plants shift. Sometimes new growth springs from what the dead release. Other times, nothing grows—because the earth hasn’t yet mourned what lies beneath.”

 

He gave a crooked smile. “My grandfather used to say, let the earth speak. I figured he meant listen before you go stomping all over it.”

 

He crouched, brushing his hand through sagebrush. “Me, I call it displaced soil. When I see fast-growing prairie grass pushing through a mound surrounded by bluebunch wheatgrass—sagebrush— I know something’s under there. Usually it’s a deer or a coyote. This time I double-checked with ground-penetrating radar. Once the skeleton lit up, I called 911.” He straightened, grin widening.

“Guess Grandpa was right again.” He pulled a business card from his wallet. “If you need more information, call. Any time. And if that position interests you at the rez, let me know. I’ve got connections.

 

Dakota smiled and tucked the card in her back pocket. “Thanks.”

 

“Any time.”

 

We thanked him and walked to the cruiser.

 

“Look at you, getting all flirty with Mr. Archeology.” I handed Dakota the keys.

 

“Come on. Back to the bullpen—time to track down the developer and the real estate agency. Someone’s got answers, and I have a feeling they won’t make it easy.”