“We’ve found about thirteen victims so far but we haven’t been able to identify any of them” said the official, as his badge flapped insistently in the stiffening breeze.
Body parts lay strewn across the sand.
“The people who…” he hesitated as if searching for the right words.
“There’s evidence that they were consuming narcotics when they died. Probably Cactus spirits and coca leaves. I have spoken to a few people - they say the dead are mostly local” he continued, holding his coat in front of him with his folded arms.
Not just bones – hair and skin.
“They left most of them out in the open but some of the bodies are in pits.” He gestured to the openings, each of which was now covered with a bamboo awning. “We haven’t got the manpower to deal with this type of thing. The government promised us some help but it hasn’t come yet” he added apologetically.
Tattered material was bleaching in the harsh desert sunlight. The end of a partially clothed femur protruded from the ground nearby.
“There’s been no rain to speak of since it happened. We haven’t disturbed the site but we’ve had some problems with animals. Would you like to see?”
We followed in single file down the narrow path that was lined with white-washed stones.
He showed us some of the remains.
“Some of the victims were important. People are asking questions.” He sounded exasperated.
We nodded solemnly.
“I need some answers. Soon!” Now his coat was flapping. He ran his hand over his greying hair.
“These are my people” he said. “I need to know what happened to them.”
One by one, we stooped to inspect the first body.
It was man, perhaps in his forties, sitting in a foetal position, head protruding from a knot of ropes that enveloped his body. His hair was black and long and parted in the middle. There was a small hole in his forehead. His skin was dry and leathery and his teeth were missing.
We looked on with a curious sense of detachment. We had all seen this before.
“Cause of death?” I asked.
“They’re all the same. A hole to front of the head; the experts say it was probably fatal”. He paused and looked to the sky. “There’s a storm coming. We’d better take cover”.
“It looks like a ritual killing” said Sharif as the man turned on his heel and walked off in the direction of the truck.
“What is the estimated time of death?” I called after him.
I thought the question was lost in the wind but after a moment he turned to face me and paused for a long time.
“100BC.”
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