“That was a rough scene,” says Gale.
“Here’s an open scope,” says Bachstein.
He puts the specimen in the glass tray and turns on the microscope. Gale and Bachstein both watch the magnified image appear on the monitor.
“Oh, yes,” says Bachstein. “Trabecular microstructure, not cortical. Osteons scattered and evenly placed. Not so in nonhuman animals. I’d say we have a human vertebrae here, based on that and its shape. Eyeballing the wear and tear, micro and macro, I’d put this partial vertebrae at roughly a thousand years old. I can radiocarbon-date it, but it’ll take some hours.”
Gale stares at the scattered osteons, evenly placed.
Has no idea what an “osteon” is, but they confirm what he has suspected, that this cavern of light in an underground sea is a resting place for spirits on their way to the afterlife.
What Chinigchinich created, and Luis Verdad wrote about.
What else could it be?
“Let me know as soon as you do,” he says. “What’s this?”
Gale fishes his pocket collection for the small crystal he was able to cleave off from its gigantic parent.
In the good LED light of the crime lab, it has that faint, white, almost powdery glow.
“The crystals luminesce in direct light and smell kind of like mildew and metal,” says Gale.
Bachstein holds it up like a prospector assaying a sample, then places it in the electron microscope.
A strangely abstract image blips to the monitor. Gale considers the perfectly joined parallelograms, stacked layer after layer after layer. A wall of them.
“Lithium,” says Bachstein.
“As in batteries?” asks Gale.
Bachstein gives him a sorrowful look.
“Yes, Detective, one of the most valuable chemical elements on the planet now. Every bit as precious as water. It’s going to power the future. Businessmen and politicians call it white gold. Every electric car from now to forever is going to run on it. Every energy sold by every utility — renewable or not — is going to store their energy in lithium. It’s very expensive to find and mine it.”
Mendez shows the coroner her pictures of the crystalline cavern. Two of them are selfies for comparison, with the fifty-foot crystals behind her.
“Holy smokes,” says Bachstein. “Most large lithium crystals are one one-hundredth that size. The whole cavern is lined with them?”
“Scroll,” says Mendez.
The coroner holds the phone close and waves a finger across the screen.
“I’m not qualified to assess this economically,” he says. “But even a lowly coroner can tell you that the lithium in these crystals is extremely valuable when isolated electrolytically into lithium chloride. The ‘beach-sand slurry’ you were walking on will be dense-packed with lithium chloride. This is the future of energy storage here, Detectives. This cavern and its crystals and walls and brine slurry will be worth billions of dollars over the years. Many billions.”
On what was once Acjacheme land, thinks Gale. And much better than a casino.
“More valuable than a city?” he asks.
“Well, in terms of dollars, I would think many times,” says Bachstein. “I’m no futurist but we need lithium in large amounts. Another city? Well, who’s to say if we need one or not?”
“Who owns the mineral rights under Wildcoast?” asks Gale.
“I would assume the Tarlow Company,” says the coroner. “Kevin Elder would certainly know.”
Gale and Mendez wait an hour to see Kevin Elder, who has been in a meeting since noon and not returned their calls. The Orange County magazines on the lobby tables glossily promote the “OC lifestyle.” Gale notes the holy trinity of high-end real estate in golden beach towns, luxury electric vehicles, and plastic surgery.
Elder, navy suited and vested, white shirt rolled up to his elbows and red necktie askew, stands and gestures to the two handsome leather chairs in front of his desk.
He shakes their hands across the table, sits, and links his hands behind his head. “Sorry,” he says. “One crazy day here. What’s with your nose?”
“I ran into a tree.”
“Poor tree.”
He gives Gale a doubtful look and Mendez an underpowered smile. Gale notes that the dashing silver widow’s peak in the supervisor’s otherwise black hair has been freshly trimmed.
“Good news?” asks the supervisor.
“Who owns the mineral rights to Wildcoast?” says Mendez.
To Gale, she seems curt and uncomfortable in her chair.
Elder unlinks his fingers and leans forward.
“Tarlow Company,” he says. “But it depends on what minerals you’re talking about.”
“Lithium,” says Gale.
Elder nods and purses his lips. “White gold. Let’s find out.”
The supervisor taps his desktop keyboard, sits back.
“We’ll go straight to the tax assessor for this,” he says. “Cassie Staples runs the place, great lady. Ancient and wise. Don’t tell her I said ancient.”
An awkward moment later, as he stares at Daniela Mendez, his phone rings.
Elder puts it on speaker: “Cass, thanks for being quick. Hey, who owns the mineral rights to the Wildcoast property?”
“Why, of course the Tarlow Company, Mr. Elder.”
An aging voice, thinks Gale, thin and crackling, like old paper.
“Cass, do those rights include lithium? I’ve got some detectives here, need to know.”
“Give me just a second.”
Gale can hear Cassie’s fingers on her keyboard. “Okay... back in 1915, when the TC gave us the land for Caspers, the surrounding Wildcoast parcel was reassessed — of course — minus Caspers. The mineral rights beneath the Wildcoast parcel include lithium. This is interesting: Tarlow Company retained all mineral rights under Caspers, too. You know, that is not a surprise. Back then, lithium was being mined and synthesized into the antidepressant lithium. The one they took off the market because it had so many bad side effects. No one was thinking of batteries then, not that I remember.”
“Ms. Staples, I’m Detective Lew Gale. I’m here in Mr. Elder’s office with my partner, Daniela Mendez. We’re investigating the murder of Bennet Tarlow III.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” she says, with a trace of warmth in her voice. “Mr. Tarlow was a gracious and generous man. A kind man. I sincerely hope you arrest the killer.”
“There’s no doubt we will,” says Mendez. “Ms. Staples, did the Tarlow Company ever mine lithium under the Wildcoast parcel or the section of Wildcoast that became the park?”
“One moment, please. Hall of Records for that.”
Again, the sound of Cass Staples’s fingers on her keyboard. They sound fast and strong.
Kevin Elder looks intently at Mendez as Cass Staples’s voice comes through his phone speaker.
“No, Ms. Mendez, there is no record of lithium exploration or extraction from the Wildcoast parcel. Why, have you found some?”
“Yes, but only a trace,” says Gale.
“Well, we’re all aware of how valuable it has become, with all these Teslas and electric everythings. I bought one myself.”
“White gold,” Elder says again, this time with a laugh. “Thank you, Cass. Detectives, anything else for our wonderful county assessor?”
“Thank you, Ms. Staples,” says Daniela.
“Very much,” says Gale.
Elder punches off and leans forward, elbows on his desktop. “Talk to me. You found lithium at Wildcoast?”
“Just the trace Daniela mentioned.”
“Why is trace lithium important to your investigation?”
“Mr. Elder,” says Gale. “I’ll be honest with you, there’s more than trace lithium under Wildcoast and Caspers. A lot more. The Tarlow Company knows it. Apparently, it was discovered during a perc test commissioned for Wildcoast.”