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about his vehicle. He’d have to have left it, but how come nobody’s spotted it, during all these years?”
    “Maybe he came in at the Flower Farm and hiked up the road along the creek,” Brian suggested. “That would be a lot shorter.”
    Blackie shook his head. “The road that’s there now wasn’t built until the early eighties. Which means that this person had to hike up the creek bed and climb the bluff in sandals. That’d be some rugged hike.” He frowned. “And either way, there’s still the question about the vehicle.”
    “Well, then,” Brian said, “maybe he rode a horse across the ranch.”
    “In sandals?” I asked. Even in boots and chaps, riding across that ranch wouldn’t be any picnic. I’ve been there, and it’s nothing but miles and miles of prickly pear, mesquite thickets, and scrub cedar.
    “There’s the missing wallet, too,” McQuaid said thoughtfully. “No matter how he got there, a caver wouldn’t have any reason to leave his ID at home.”
    “You didn’t mention finding a flashlight,” I said.
    “That’s because there wasn’t one,” Blackie replied.
    I took an involuntary breath. No light? I visited Mammoth Cave once, and the guide—with appropriate warning—turned off the lights. The darkness that abruptly engulfed me was not just the absence of light; it had weight and texture and movement and intention, and I suddenly knew why, in every culture, darkness is a symbol for consummate evil. I’m not especially claustrophobic, but I was glad, very glad, when the guide turned the lights back on.
    I let out my breath. “You know what this means,” I said quietly. “Somebody else was on the scene. Somebody who brought the person there in a vehicle, then left with the light.”
    “And that rock,” McQuaid said. He turned to Brian. “Isn’t it a little unusual to find a large rock lying loose in the interior of one of the limestone caves around here?”
    Brian stared at his father. “Yeah, I guess it is, Dad. I’d have to go back and look, but it may have been the only loose rock in that corridor. And the ceiling was rounded from water action. Now that I think about it, I don’t see how that rock could have fallen from that ceiling.”
    “So somebody carried the rock in from outside,” I hazarded. The same somebody who had driven the vehicle and carried the light.
    Blackie nodded. “It’s a fossiliferous limestone. There are similar chunks lying just outside the cave. In other words, we’re not dealing with a natural rockfall.”
    “Why didn’t I spot that?” Brian muttered, chagrined.
    McQuaid grinned. “Devil’s in the details, kid.”
    “Well,” Blackie said, “given all these questions, you can see why I’m not ready to file this case under ‘Accidental death.’ I want a forensics expert to take a look at those bones and give us an opinion on the cause of death.”
    “A forensics expert,” Brian said in an awed tone. “You mean, I discovered a crime scene? Wait’ll Jake hears about this!” Jake is Brian’s current girlfriend. Her full name is Jacqueline Keene. She’s a cheerful, athletic girl, high-point scorer on the girls basketball team and a champion soccer player. Somehow, “Jake” seems to fit.
    “Brian,” McQuaid said darkly, “this is not a video game.”
    “That’s exactly the point, Dad.” Brian looked gleeful. “This is for real. We’re talking murder here. Which makes it a lot better than a video game. Or a movie, even.”
    I thought of the solitary bones in the cave, and the human body—energetic, adventuresome, full of dreams and longings—that had once encased them, and bit back my reprimand. In a few years, Brian would be mature enough to hear the insensitivity in his response. Until then, admonitions from me would probably have the opposite effect.
    McQuaid must have come to the same conclusion, for he only shook his head. “Who’s doing the forensic work on this one?” he asked, turning back to Blackie.