Page 14 of Badlands

“Any idea what stones so rare were doing there?” Corrie asked. “Another coincidence?”

Nora frowned. “No. Lightning stones were so sacred they were found only inside a kiva—the religious center of ancestral Pueblo Indian life—and never taken out. You never find them anywhere else.”

“You think the victim carried them here?”

“It seems pretty likely. I’d like to take these back to the Institute for study.”

Corrie shook her head. “I’m sorry, we can’t let evidence leave the lab.”

Nora had expected this, but nevertheless felt disappointed. “May I take some pictures?”

“Of course.”

Nora took out her phone and photographed the stones from various angles. They were extraordinary. The other two prasiolite stones, she recalled vaguely, were in a private collection somewhere. It would be interesting to track them down and learn where they were found, by whom, and in what archaeological context. Maybe these stones came from the same place.

She laid the stones down on the tray. “So the woman stripped off her clothes in the desert and died?” Now that she’d seen the stones, the horror of this was beginning to truly sink in. “Have you figured out who she was?”

“No,” said Corrie, “but I know what she looked like.”

Corrie led the way to a small alcove, then drew back a curtain, revealing a workspace with a small circular table. On it was a forensic sculptural reconstruction of a woman’s head, in full color.

“Wow!” Nora said, staring. “She’s stunning!”

The bust showed a woman of about forty years old, with a long mane of blonde hair tied back in a French braid, blue eyes, creamy skin, a thin straight nose, a well-shaped chin, and dimples.

Nora turned to Corrie, who was clearly pleased by this compliment but trying not to show it. “This is incredible. How did you do this?”

“Well, it’s part engineering, part art. You start with a cast of the skull. Then you cover it with little indicators that show the depth of flesh at dozens of locations on the face. And then you basically lay down each muscle, one at a time; add the thin layer of fat and skin; smooth it; and paint it—and voilà.”

“But the blue eyes?”

“We recovered samples of her hair, so we know she was blonde. Not dyed. Statistically, a person with natural blonde hair of that shade has a seventy percent chance of being blue-eyed.”

“And the dimples?”

Corrie smiled. “Artistic license.”

“Can you be sure this is accurate?”

“You can’t be a hundred percent sure—but this isn’t far off. We know she wasn’t morbidly obese from the healthy state of her joints. A microscopic examination of the muscle attachments to the bones in her arms and legs indicated she was unusually fit. And her teeth show a lot of attention to appearance and hygiene. Putting all that together adds up to a person of healthy weight, with good skin and hair, and most likely a comfortable economic status.”

Nora shook her head, the stones momentarily forgotten. “It’s crazy to think someone like this could just drop off the map without people raising hell.”

“That’s just what I think. A woman this… this regal wouldn’t disappear quietly.”

Nora peered again into the face. It was so realistic it gave her the creeps—especially the skin, which seemed quasi-translucent, like real skin. “How did you get the skin so realistic?”

“Encaustic. Painting with hot wax. It looks much more lifelikethan flat acrylic paint. It was…” She hesitated, and then continued proudly, “My own innovation.”

“Well done, Corrie.” She had always known Corrie was smart, but this reconstruction showed a truly rare talent. “I think,” she said slowly, “that the key to this mystery is going to come down to this face—and those lightning stones.”

9

CORRIE SAT INher cubicle at the Albuquerque FO, getting her thoughts in order. With the facial reconstruction complete, she was ready to take the next step in her investigation: letting silicon chips, data farms, and search algorithms help her find the blonde, blue-eyed woman who had—it seemed—left behind her normal life one day, started walking into the desert, and kept on walking until she died.

In recent years, the omnipresence of the internet and the proliferation of databases of personal information had revolutionized the search for missing persons. Digital footprints were everywhere. But this case was unusual. For one thing, by missing person standards, it was old—two to seven years old—and that window was large. More than half a million people went missing in the US every year. Those who hadn’t gone the route of Jimmy Hoffa were usually found quickly, but that still left many thousands unaccounted for. Corriehada body and a face. What remained was to link them with an open inquiry.

That meant casting a wide net—a very wide net.

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