Picking up some scattered food wrappers from beneath the large metal barbecue, he placed them in a bin, and purposely ignored the two female students who were obviously concealing a couple of joints beneath their wooden bench.

Making his way to the edge of the area, Frank unclipped his binoculars from his belt, held them to his eyes, and surveyed the area for any sign of trouble. There were more dangers in the park than heatstroke. Some trails were a less than a meter wide, and featured sheer drops of hundreds of feet.

Maps, and the ability to use them, were also essential - some people chose to mark their path with the endlessly replicated rock formations and cacti as points of reference, only to find they were walking in wide circles until their water run out, and somebody collapsed.

The information points at the entrance and warnings throughout the park provided travellers with advice, both on potential dangers, and on how to signal for help by using mirrors or smoke signals. Despite the many warnings, most people still put dumb hope in their fancy cell phones, which had limited - if any - coverage in the park.

Frank’s sweep of the shimmering horizon found no sign of trouble, and he was about to start back towards the car, park when his attention focussed on a strange, dark object located between two large jumping Cholas, about one hundred and fifty yards from the picnic site. Narrowing his eyes, and keeping them fixed on the object, Frank brought the binoculars back up in front of his bronzed face. He had to adjust the zoom, but, eventually, he got a fix. Whatever the object was, it looked too angular to belong out here.

Tilting his hat brim down over his eyes, Frank jumped off the small mesa on which the picnic site was located, and made a small dust cloud as he landed. He walked purposely towards the object, carefully avoiding the aggressive spikes of the jumping cacti, which covered much of the area.

As he neared the object, he discovered it was a battered leather suitcase. It was roughly the size of the one used by Frank and his wife on their annual holiday to Florida. The initial appearance of ripples and small cracks on the surface of the leather suggested the luggage had been exposed to the elements for at least a couple of weeks.

Frank, instinctively brought his hand to his radio, but then, stopped himself. What would be the point of calling in an abandoned suitcase? Another ranger on clean-up duty would still have to make the trip out here to recover it, and it seemed unlikely the owner would be returning to collect it. It would make more sense to throw the ugly old thing into the trunk of his car, and drop it off at the Oasis Park Ranger Station when he stopped in for lunch. Crouching down, he grabbed the handle. He had expected the case to be empty, but found it too heavy to move.

Frowning, and with a dawning senses of uneasiness, he glanced back towards the picnic benches, ensuring they were far enough away to remain oblivious. He then grabbed the brass zipper, and swept his hand to the side, opening the case.

The escaping stench of death was so strong it sent Frank reeling back onto the dusty ground. Cactus needles dug into his hands and pierced his trousers.

He should have hurried then, and saved himself from the nightmares that would plague him for years to come. Instead, he stood up, pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket, and, scrunching it up, placed it over his mouth and nose.

Somewhere in the bright sky above him, a buzzard was circling. Frank walked back over to the case, and used his foot to lift back a triangle of lid. The woman’s body had been forced into the case, like a piece of vacuum-packed meat. Grey duct tape had been wrapped around her mouth and eyes. A tattoo in the form of scripted writing stretched across the skin behind her neck. The ranger knew such a feature would hopefully make identifying the corpse easier. He also noted only one of her hands was visible, but all of the fingers had been removed from it. Frank Mankato said a silent prayer, and hoped to hell the girl had died quickly.

31

With the headlight of the motorcycle switched off, Mitchell West could now see the sky above the dusty valley of the Horseman’s Centre was vast and sprinkled with pinpricks of stars. The area, which consisted of a eighty acres of oversized rocks and dust also held two open horse show arenas and an undulating BMX track - all of which were deserted by nightfall.

An hour earlier, he had stopped at a Pic N Pump gas station, just outside Apple Valley, where he bought himself a six-pack of beer and made the call to his employers. He then proceeded to drive out of town to the hills at the rear of the Horseman’s Centre, where he parked the bike off the road, drank two tins of beer, and watched the sun go down. He then used the plastic binding to hang the remaining four over his handlebars.

Now, as he leaned back on the cracked leather seat of the Honda, smoking a Marlboro, Mitch looked to the heavens, and wondered for a moment about eternity. Although his own personal god was technology, he occasionally wondered how an omniscient deity would look upon his sins. He reassured himself he had not actually hurt anyone directly, and in case God existed - which he doubted - he would be all good. At least that was what the preachers on the cable TV channels said. Hopefully, this single fact would save his soul, when the time came to meet his maker. Not that he was planning on that any time soon.

As he crushed the cigarette under the heel of his boot, Mitch had been so distracted by the relentless whirring and clicking of the native insects he did not notice the large man in the Hawaiian shirt, who stepped softly through the undergrowth towards him, until he was standing beside him.

‘Why did you call him?’ the large man asked.

‘Shit!’ Mitch shuddered. ‘Do you have to sneak up on people?’

‘Why did you call?’ the large man repeated.

‘I got fucking raided.’ Mitch said, as he struggled to settle his breathing.

‘You what?’ The large man frowned.

‘A couple of cops came sniffing around my place. They were asking about the site.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘Nothing. I told them squat.’

‘And they left?’

‘Yeah, they left.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘I left in a hurry. All my shit is back at the house - my computers … everything.’

‘Is the website down?’

‘No, it doesn’t need a physical operator.’ Mitch laughed, ‘Jeez, man, did you listen to anything I said at the diner?

‘No,’ the large man sighed. ‘Probably not.’

‘The site will tick along just fine. But, the thing is,’ Mitch puffed out his chest, ‘I’m going to need to, you know, be recompensed?’

‘For what?’

‘Well, I need somewhere to stay now, and I need to replace the equipment.’

‘But, you said the site would be fine.’

‘The site will be fine, but I still need a fucking computer. That’s how I make my living.’

‘You were paid up front.’

‘Yeah, but that was before your activities drew some unwanted fucking attention, man.’

‘You need more money, then, is that it?’

‘Yes, fuck, yes! Finally.’

The man in the Hawaiian shirt turned away from Mitch, and looked into the darkness, ‘Well, should I?’ he called to a darker shadow amongst the oversized boulders.

‘Hey,’ Mitch squawked, suddenly spooked. ‘Who the fuck are you talking to, man?’

The large man ignored him, and kept his attention on the darkness, from where a soft single word was spoken.

‘Yes,’ it said.

‘Hey,’ Mitch repeated, but by then, the large man had turned back around to face him, jamming a long boning knife deep into Mitch’s abdomen. Pulling the blade out, he watched as Mitch looked down in disbelief at the hot, dark patch spreading like ink across his t-shirt. The large man was experienced, and had pushed the knife in far enough to pierce the spleen, guaranteeing Mitch would bleed to death in minutes.