Page 30 of Silent Past
"Then we start with what we know." She turned her screen to show him. "High-end dealers who specialized in indigenous artifacts in the '70s and '80s. Most of them operated out of major cities, but some had connections to smaller regional markets."
"Including here in Utah?"
"Four dealers worked this territory." Sheila brought up their records. "Two are dead, one's in prison for fraud. But the fourth..." She paused, studying the information. "Richard Keeling. Ran a gallery in Salt Lake City until 1990. Still alive, lives outside Moab."
Finn checked his watch. "It's late, but we could drive out first thing tomorrow. See what he remembers about the Window Rock theft."
Sheila was already reaching for her phone. "Or we could call him now."
"At this hour?"
"People tend to be more honest when you catch them off guard." She dialed the number listed in the database, putting it on speaker.
The phone rang four times before a man answered, his voice rough with age. "Hello?"
"Mr. Keeling? This is Sheriff Stone from Coldwater County. I apologize for calling so late, but I'm hoping you can help me with a case involving some stolen artifacts from the 1976 Window Rock theft."
A long pause. Then: "That was a long time ago, Sheriff."
"The robes that were stolen—ceremonial garments used in winter rituals. Did you ever come across them? Maybe hear rumors about who might have acquired them?"
Another pause, longer this time. When Keeling spoke again, his voice had changed. "Why are you asking about this now? After all these years?"
"Because those robes have surfaced in my jurisdiction. On murder victims."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken knowledge. Sheila glanced at Finn, who nodded encouragingly.
"Mr. Keeling?"
"I can't... I can't talk about this on the phone." His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. "But I remember those robes. The patterns, the beadwork—they were extraordinary. Part of a matched set used in the most sacred ceremonies."
"Do you know who bought them?"
"Sheriff, you don't understand. Those robes were never meant to be bought or sold. They were... protected. By people who understood their power."
"What people, Mr. Keeling?"
"I'll tell you what I know. But not like this. Come to Moab tomorrow. Alone."
"Tomorrow's too late. This is urgent."
There was a long pause. Then Keeling finally sighed. "Alright. Tonight, then." He rattled off an address, then added, "And Sheriff? Be careful who you share this with. Some people have spent decades keeping these secrets."
The line went dead.
Sheila sat back, processing. "Well, that was interesting."
"You think he's legitimate?" Finn asked.
"I think he knows something." She started gathering her things. "And right now, he's our best lead to understanding why someone would kill two people and dress them in stolen ceremonial robes."
"You're not really going alone."
"No." She smiled slightly. "But Keeling doesn't need to know that."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dr. Rachel Harper sat in her office at the University of Utah, surrounded by stacks of interview transcripts. The digital clock on her desk read 8:47 PM, but she barely noticed the late hour. She was close to something—a pattern in the data she'd been collecting for months.
