David Wiltse - Bone Deep

"Unless you want to."

"I don't want to."

"There's nothing between here and the reservoir except another quarter-mile of trees." The reservoir was the necessary cutoff of their search because the town limits bisected the body of water. Beyond the reservoir lay the jurisdiction of another police force. "You think you're going to find any bones in the last quarter-mile if we haven't found any in the first six miles?"

"Guess not," said Metzger, although he wasn't certain why. It seemed to him they were as likely to find bones in one spot as any other, and not very likely to find them anyplace at all, outside of a cemetery. There were a few tiny and ancient cemeteries scattered throughout the town, most of them in churchyards, of course, but a few on private property, tucked away on land that had once been farmed but had long ago been allowed to return to woodlands. The headstones stood or lay where they had fallen, neglected, forgotten, of no more interest to the average Clamden resident than the forsaken stone fences that snaked through the forested portion of everyone's backyard, toppled by nature, gravity, and desuetude. The known graveyards had been untouched by the high waters.

It appeared to Metzger that the unknown would stay unknown, at least as far as he and McNeil were concerned. There was an edgy, aggressive quality to McNeil that Metzger didn't like to go up against. It wasn't that he thought McNeil was smarter, but McNeil definitely had greater faith in his own opinions than did Metzger, and vastly more energy, which could manifest itself in a snarling surliness when the man was crossed.

Metzger made a kissing noise through pursed lips and the dog trotted to his side, burrowing its nose into his hand to be petted.

'There's just one thing," Metzger said.

"There's always some shit with you," McNeil growled. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"

Metzger turned his attention to the dog, rubbing its head and ears. The dog was quick comfort against the incivilities of his fellow humans.

"Well, what is it?" McNeil demanded, after Metzger's moment with the dog had stretched into a minute's sulk.

"How we going to get home?" They had parked one cruiser at the reservoir and driven another to a church parking lot a few hundred yards from the Leigh lawn, where the bone was found. "We walk to the car," McNeil said.

"Well, since we're walking there anyway.

"We walk on the goddamned road and not halfway up to our knees in mud, that's the difference, but hell, if you want to keep dragging your ass through this swamp, be my guest. It'll only take you another half hour.

I'll be there in five minutes and take a nap while I'm waiting. If you feel like telling Tee about it, go right ahead."

"I wasn't going to tell Tee."

"I wouldn't put it past you." McNeil rose again and took a step in the direction of the road. "Well… come on."

Metzger leapt over the stream, landing a foot short and sinking into the ooze. The dog splashed happily through the water, ignoring its master's curses. When they caught up with McNeil, who was waiting at the roadside, the dog scampered happily about him although McNeil ignored the animal. Metzger harbored unpleasant thoughts about the perfidy of the beast before admitting to himself that he, too, was currying McNeil's approval. He didn't know why the other officer's rough affection and lopsided grin meant so much to him. When McNeil patted him on the back and called him buddy, Metzger felt a sense of self-betrayal that he had known all his life.

They walked along the side of the road, McNeil now voluble and hearty, the dog at his heels after its explorations as if he, and not Metzger, were its owner.

Tee overtook them less than a hundred yards from their car.

"So? Find anything?"

"A lot of mud," said McNeil aggrievedly, displaying his soiled boots and pants leg. He was a meticulous dresser, known and sometimes laughed at-but never to his facefor the exaggerated crease in his khaki trousers and shirts. The other officers whispered that McNeil did the laundry himself-not his wife, who reportedly had stopped speaking to him years ago.

"Did you go all the way?" Tee asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're walking on the road, the river's fifty yards into the woods. Did you cover both sides of the river all the way to the reservoir like I told you?"

"Close enough," said McNeil.

"What's that mean, did you or didn't you?"

"Pretty nearly, Chief," Metzger said. "We went all the way up to that traffic signal back there." He pointed to a yellow sign indicating a bend in the road where they had emerged from the woods.

"N" y did you stop there?"

"There's nothing in there. We ain't going to find anything. It's a wild-goose chase," said McNeil. "But they, shit, you want us to cover that last bit, we'll cover it. No problem." Tee stepped out of the car.

He was a large man, his natural bulk enhanced by thirty pounds of overeating, and when he stood close to most people, the effect was intimidating. He put his chest against McNeil's, towering over him by nearly a head. McNeil stared sullenly back at him, not giving an inch.

"Glad to hear it's no problem, you doing what you're told," Tee said.

"Now let's go see what you missed."

The dog found the trash bag in the first minute of the search. It had settled back into its hole in the orchard after the water receded, and other bones were showing through the open tear in the plastic. "Holy shit," said Metzger, bending over the bag. Tee joined him and the two men gently moved the opening in the bag from one side to another, trying to get a full view of its contents. The skeleton's head tilted into sight, raffishly cocked as if it, too, wanted to get a look.

"It looks like a whole body," Tee said.

"It does," said Metzger, who had involuntarily jerked away when the head suddenly appeared. "It really does."

Tee faced McNeil. "Nothing in this last little bit of woods, huh?"

"Fuck me, I didn't know."

Muddy water still filled the bag, weighing it down, and they decided to leave it in its depression rather than risk tearing it completely by lifting it out.

Tee surveyed the area. The little orchard of cultivated pines covered no more than a few acres within the woods. At the thirty-five-dollar minimum they would fetch locally, just enough Christmas trees to make a nice annual Yuletide bonus for some industrious entrepreneur.

"Call town hall and find out who this plot of land belongs to," he said to McNeil. "Then call John Becker and see if he would be good enough to come out here."

"This isn't a federal case," McNeil said.

"I want to make sure the investigation is done right," said Tee. "He's on vacation, he won't mind advising."

"I think we can handle it," said McNeil.

"You thought there weren't any more bones in here too. Just make the calls."

McNeil sauntered off, refusing to hurry.

"Keep the dog away from this," Tee said to Metzger, but the dog had moved on and was now whining at the base of another small pine. Tee called after McNeil. "And when you come back, bring a shovel."

One corpse was a murder, a local offense, a state crime, an incident that fell within the jurisdiction of the town constabulary and the state police. Two corpses, if linked, were serial murder, a federal offense that landed within the purview of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

By the time Becker arrived at the orchard, the dog had turned its capacity from friendly adviser to active case officer.

"Zis is such a Inge groped for a word, casting an arm above her to indicate the motel room. "How do you say? Zis room is so. "Small."

"No, no, it is small, of course it is small, but I mean it is also so..