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He led her over to the far wall of the chamber as Savich and Sherlock began to walk the perimeter.

“Thanks, Chappy. Can I have a minute?”

Ruth ran her flashlight carefully along the walls of the irregular, deeply indented space cut in the limestone by water over thousands of years. It looked like it hadn’t been disturbed for a millennium. She knew the gold bars had been left there. Her map read Beneath the niche, but there was nothing there now. Who had found them, and how long ago? She wanted to cry. She’d been so excited, so hopeful, and it was all for nothing. “It’s empty all right, Chappy, you were right.”

She turned away and walked along the back wall of the cavern, away from the others. She smelled jasmine again, stronger now, and there was something else she smelled in the air, something nasty, unwholesome. She kept walking, leaning over when the cavern ceiling dipped a bit.

The smells intensified.

She heard a noise, a sort of whispering sound, maybe the soft flap of a bat’s wings. Maybe bats had flown at her when she was there before, maybe they knocked her down and she hit her head. Her eyes flew up and she panned the ceiling with her head lamp. She saw nothing, only the gleam of lacy limestone.

She took another step forward and stumbled over something. She went to her knees, threw out her hands to save herself. Her fingers fell on something oddly pulpy and cold.

In the deepest part of her, she knew what she’d touched. She screamed, fell back, her head lamp scattering light all around her.

She heard their voices calling out to her, heard them running toward her. She forced her head lamp down. She stared into the greenish bloated face of a young woman.

“Ruth, what is it? What did you find?”

She looked up at Dix. “She’s dead, Dix. She’s the one wearing the jasmine perfume. And that sickening smell, it’s coming off her.”

Dix dropped to his knees beside her. “Savich, Sherlock, I need more light here. Chappy, you stay back, you hear me? Don’t you move an inch this way.”

“I know her,” Dix said as he studied her face. “She’s a student at Stanislaus. I don’t know her name but I’ve seen her around town from time to time.” He touched his fingertips to her neck, her cheeks, and finally, her hands, folded neatly across her chest. She needed only a lily, he thought. She hadn’t wandered in here by accident, alone, that was for sure. Rigor had long passed. “She hasn’t been dead all that long. I’d say maybe three, four days.”

Ruth said clearly, “I smelled her perfume when I came into the cave on Friday.”

Dix continued matter-of-factly, “The time seems about right. Decomposition would slow in here since it’s cool and dry. You add the really cold weather we’ve been having, and it would slow things even more, but decomposition has started. See that small discolored circle on her chest? It looks like she’s been stabbed. I don’t see a knife, do you, guys?”

“The smell,” Ruth said. “Not the jasmine, that other smell, it’s pretty foul.”

“Yes, it is,” Dix said. “There’s something medicinal to it.”

“No knife,” Savich said, “but I suppose the murderer could have left it in here, tucked away somewhere. The forensic team will have a huge job ahead of them looking through this whole chamber.”

Ruth looked down at the young woman’s face, bathed in the light of all their head lamps. “She’s been posed. Look how her arms are crossed over her chest, her legs straightened out, her dress smoothed down.”

Dix slowly stood, stretched. “Must be some crazy loon here, guys. He kills her, poses her, entombs her here for all practical purposes. He couldn’t have known there was another exit from this chamber. At least he didn’t know until he found Ruth’s arch. It could be out of Poe.”

Sherlock was checking the young woman’s pockets, gently running her hands under the body. “I don’t see a purse. Two pockets, but they’re empty. No ID.”

Ruth looked toward the arched opening on the far side of the chamber. “Do you think she was killed in here?”

“I don’t know,” Dix said. “I don’t want to guess, either. I’m grateful you didn’t stumble over