In the Ground (David Wolf Book 14)

the gods atop a red iron altar.
"What have we got?" Wolf asked.
Patterson drew closer. "Deceased is a thirty-two-year-old male named Chris Oakley. He was a worker at the mine who has been missing since Friday night. Shit.”
She stopped and picked up the notebook she’d just dropped.
“Sorry. Damn thing.” She stood straight, flexing her left hand, displaying her below-elbow cast poking out the bottom of her jacket sleeve. The Chief Detective was a fifth-degree black belt in Kempo karate, and two weeks ago she had learned that five boards were the maximum she could karate chop through with her left hand without breaking her ulna.
"Where he’s lying is a hydraulic grate covering the … uh, hopper, they were calling it, which, that front-end loader right there drops the dirt into," Patterson gestured towards a yellow excavator with a large scoop parked silently. "The dirt enters the wash plant for processing, and the grate catches the bigger rocks that would otherwise damage the plant. When there’s a sufficient buildup of rocks on top of the grate, the operator of the front-end loader uses a remote control switch he keeps in the cab with him to hydraulically lift the grate.”
Patterson continued to read through her loopy handwritten notes.
“Earlier this morning, at approximately 10:30 a.m., a worker named Casey Lizotte put a load from those piles there,” she gestured to a series of heaping piles next to the wash plant, “onto the hydraulic grate and noticed that a body rolled out of his scoop. He backed away. Stopped the front-end loader right there, he says, and that's when they called the Sheriff's department."
"It’s Monday,” Wolf said.
“That’s right, sir.”
“He’s been missing since Friday and we’re just hearing about it when they uncovered his body?”
"He’s been missing since Friday, but they’re saying they didn't know it until this morning."
Patterson nodded toward the line of trailers. At the end of the row of buildings stood a small canvas tent where four men sat in camp chairs talking with Rachette, who looked up from his note taking and nodded to Wolf.
“That’s them.”
“Only four of them in the operation?”
“Correct, sir.”
“So how does that explanation work?” Wolf asked. “Why are we only hearing about this now? Why not earlier?”
She sighed and folded her arms. "I asked the same thing. Mind you we’re still waiting to interview them separately, but from what I’m gathering apparently Chris Oakley, our deceased up there, worked the night shift Friday night. It’s normal for them to sleep through the next day if they’re on the night shift the night before. So they suspected nothing out of the ordinary Saturday when he didn’t come out of his trailer. Come Sunday they weren’t worried either, because apparently there had been some kind of argument. The owner, his name’s Eagle McBeth, told us he thought he was sulking in his trailer the whole time.”
Patterson shook her head. “It’s pretty convoluted after that. I guess the owner, Mr. McBeth, was angry at the deceased and went down into town, hired a new guy to replace him.”
“And then?” Wolf asked.
“McBeth says come this morning they started getting worried. Knocked on the deceased’s trailer door, no answer. Went inside, he wasn’t there. They called deceased’s girlfriend, and she hadn’t seen him all weekend, not since she left Friday night, again, something to do with the fight. According to their story they were about to call the sheriff’s department to file a mis-per this morning when the new guy dug up the body from those piles there and…” Patterson clucked her tongue. “Here we are now.”
Thunder rumbled in the sky toward the saddle between the peaks. Dark clouds had been building in Wolf’s rearview mirror the entire drive from Rocky Points to Dredge. Judging by the forecast and the five previous afternoons, they were going to get a good soaking shower.
Wolf walked toward the wash plant, Patterson at his side.
“How was the Council meeting this morning?” she asked.
Wolf had consumed the morning with the County Council going over a budget proposal he and Patterson had spent many hours creating. It was the reason he had arrived at the scene here and now. “It didn’t go very good,” he said.
“What didn’t they like?”
“Just a few of the line items.”
“The Leadership Fund?”
Wolf shrugged. “They just wanted to know more about it.”
“So that’s no problem. We’ll put something to—”
“What else?” Wolf nodded toward the wash plant.
“Right. Um…the miners are from Jackson Hole, Wyoming,” she said. “Hence the name".
The words Jackson Mine were stenciled in white on the wash plant.
"Sir,” Rachette jogged up.
“Where’s Yates?” Wolf asked.
“Over with the miners.”
They stopped and looked up at the body splayed on the big machine.
“You see the stiff yet?” Rachette asked.
“Not yet,” Wolf said.
“Got a hole in the chin and at the top of his head. Looks like the head is the exit wound if my memory of forensics and ballistics class are not failing me.”
Wolf eyed Patterson for confirmation.
She shrugged. “I haven’t been up there, sir.” She flexed her cast hand.
“What else?” Wolf asked Rachette, deciding the vagueness of the question was warranted at this early stage.
“The names of the four miners are,” Rachette looked at his notebook, “McBeth, Koling, Sexton, and Lizotte. McBeth and Sexton are thirty years old. Koling is thirty-two. Eagle McBeth is the owner. They all seem to be pretty tight. Grew up together up in Jackson Hole with Chris Oakley, our deceased. Lizotte’s the odd man out. He’s the new guy from this morning hired to replace the deceased. He’s twenty-seven years old.
“I’m not sure what Patty’s told you yet, but they say Oakley had the night shift Friday night. Before that, they had all gotten into some sort of argument. McBeth says it was about the lack of gold in the box. I take that to mean they’re not finding much gold? McBeth, and the other two, also mentioned Chris Oakley’s girlfriend being present earlier in the night.
“McBeth says the argument started when they all came out to see why Oakley was