“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Johnny peered under the trees. He moved under the branches and felt the temperature drop. The canopy rose into a cathedral quiet.

“What about the truck?”

Johnny looked back. His friend clung to the sunlight, one hand on hot metal. “Too loud. We leave it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jack stepped into shadow. “Quiet, now,” Johnny said. And the forest swallowed them up.

Cops descended on the Jarvis scene: city cops, the sheriff’s office. Someone mentioned the state police, but Hunt shot that down. In seventeen years, he’d seen nothing but conflict and disruption when too many fingers found their way into the pie. Keep it local. Keep it tight. But they had seven flags, now, too many for the local medical examiner. Dr. Moore approached Hunt with mournful eyes, all of his normal exuberance crushed. He wore latex gloves stained with dark matter. For most of two hours he’d worked his way through layers of earth on a single, flagged site. He’d found bone and teeth, some small bits of rotted cloth. Hunt kept everyone but Yoakum at a distance. They milled about on the edge, speaking in hushed tones as the sun climbed.

“Doc.” Hunt looked the question.

Moore shook his head, then mopped his face with a mud-stained handkerchief. “It’s a child,” he said. “Female. Nine to twelve years of age, I’d estimate.”

Hunt caught Yoakum’s eye. “How long?”

“How long ago did she die? Years. I can’t say for certain. Not yet.”

“Cause of death?”

The man compressed as he stood. His shoulders fell. His lips turned down. “There’s a hole in the skull.” He gestured at the curve of bone behind his right ear. “Too early to say more than that.”

“Gunshot?” Yoakum asked. “Blunt trauma?”

“Both. Neither. It’s too early.”

“And the other sites?”

Moore cast sad eyes at the flags. “I’ll need help. I’ve already called the chief medical examiner in Chapel Hill. He’s sending people.”

“What else can we do for you?” Hunt asked.

Moore tipped his head, indicating the police officers massed on the edge of the scene. “Get rid of them.”

“Are they in your way?”

“It’s not helpful.”

Hunt nodded. Moore was right. “I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks.” Moore raised a hand, then trudged back to the shallow grave.

“Want me to do it?” Yoakum asked, staring at the Chief.

Hunt allowed a tight smile. “Don’t think I can handle him?”

“I think he’s looking for an excuse to fire you and bring in the state cops. That would keep it clean, take the pressure off him, the department.” Yoakum gestured at the field of flags. “No one could blame him. This is big, maybe too big to stay local. You’re his lead detective. Firing you could give him a legitimate excuse to wash his hands and bring in the SBI. Politics, Clyde. Ugly business. You should let me talk to him.”

“No,” Hunt pointed at the ME. “Stay here. Make sure he gets anything he needs.”

“Your funeral, brother.”

Hunt left Yoakum with the remains of their unknown victim and walked to the Chief. The man was rumpled and flushed. Here in the woods, on site and out of place, he looked even more like a politician than a cop. As Hunt approached, uniformed officers stepped aside so that an aisle opened. The Chief spoke before Hunt could.

“What did the ME say?”

Hunt looked from the Chief to the sheriff. Both men looked pinched, and Hunt guessed that his face bore the same expression. Memories of their last meeting still poisoned the air. “He said he wants these people out of here.”

“I’m talking about the body. What did he say about that?”

“Female. Nine to twelve years old. Time and manner of death as yet undetermined.”

“Is it Alyssa Merrimon?”

Hunt looked at the sheriff and shook his head. “This one has been in the ground for years.”

The Chief peered across the swale. Skin folded at the bottoms of his eyes pulled back to show bright pink crescents. “Six more out there. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I wouldn’t call that lucky,” Hunt said.

The sheriff’s lips turned at the corners. “You still think you’ll find her alive?”

Hunt returned the hard stare. “Maybe.”

The sheriff said, “You’re such a Boy Scout, Hunt. I swear to God.”

“I’ve had enough of your cr-”

“That’s enough,” the Chief said. “From both of you.”

Hunt forced the tension from his frame. “You’ll let me clear these people out of here?”

The Chief nodded. “Keep whoever you need, send the rest home.”

“I don’t need anybody from the sheriff’s office.”

Hunt waited for a reaction from the sheriff. Jarvis’s house was inside the city limit, but out here, in the deep woods, they were pretty much standing on the city line. If he wanted to push a jurisdiction claim, he could. The sheriff broke first. “Perkins.” He snapped his fingers and an unfamiliar deputy crossed to his side. “Round our people up. Get them out of here.” He smiled at Hunt, rocked the hat back on his head, and spoke in a low voice. “When you fuck this up and are long gone, I’ll still be running this county.”

“Don’t count your chickens.”

Another cold smile. “Have a nice day, Detective.”

Hunt watched him go. The Chief was waiting when he turned, but his face showed none of the animosity Hunt expected. Instead, he looked deflated, troubled. He lifted the hat from his head and scrubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead. He dipped his head toward the flags and spoke softly. “If those are all children…” He trailed off. “God help us.”

“Maybe he already did. Jarvis is dead.”

“Do you think Jarvis did this?” He nodded again at the flags. “All of this?”

Hunt watched Trenton Moore begin excavation on the second site. “Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe he had help.”

“You still believe there’s a cop involved?”

“You know about the dead cat? The threat warning Johnny Merrimon not to talk?”

“I do.”

“His mother says that before that happened, she came home from the hospital and saw a car parked near the house. Late at night. Engine running. He was just sitting there.”

“Hardly against the law.”

“There’s nothing out there. Some houses, a stretch of empty road. There is no legitimate reason for someone to be there. When she approached the car, it sped off. This was right after Johnny was identified in the Burton Jarvis story. His name was in every paper, on every channel. His picture, as you know. He would not have been hard to find.”

The Chief turned his palms, impatience crossing his features. “So?”

“She says it looked like a cop car.” Color pushed into the Chief’s face, but Hunt ignored it. “Whoever Johnny saw out here with Jarvis-”

“If he saw anybody.”

Hunt raised his voice. “Whoever Johnny saw out here had the presence of mind to put stolen plates on his car. If a cop had something to hide, that’s what he’d do.”

“That’s what anyone would do.”

“I want access to employee files.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I want you to reconsider.”

The Chief hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”

“When will I know?”

“Give me a day. Alright? Give me a day and some peace of mind.”

“I need something else. If there are bodies under those flags, and they are all children…”

“Go on.”

“No way did they all come from Raven County. Not even over a two-decade stretch of time.” He shook his head. “We’d have known.”

“Agreed.”

“I need some people to contact surrounding counties, nearby metropolitan areas.” The Chief was already nodding. “We need to look for other missing children.”

They fell into silence, each man alone with his thoughts. Hunt pictured grieving parents in museum bedrooms, surrounded by pink animals, dress-up clothes, and framed photographs, carefully dusted. He hoped to bring them closure, some small measure of peace. He wanted to deliver the remains of their children home to them, tell them that the monster responsible was dead, sent out of this world not by time, disease, or the police, but by one of his victims, by a small girl with the strength to pull the trigger. Hunt found poetry in that. Maybe they would, too.