Hire’s Carry Out was only two miles from their farm. The store closed at eight P.M. and Elma had made it by the skin of her teeth. Now, a grocery bag in each hand—a chocolate bar tucked into the pocket of her apron—she sped along the road at the speed of sound. The asphalt surface was so rough it vibrated her teeth, but Elma was used to it. She blew past the old Miller place, laughing when the fat corgi tore out of the gate and tried to catch her. The trees flew by in the blur as she approached the bridge at Little Paint Creek. She was almost across when something on the creek bank snagged her eye. It was half in the water, half out. She’d caught a whiff of something dead and thought maybe it was a sheep that had drowned and been swept away during the rainstorm last week. Curious, she slowed and circled around, and then skated back to the guardrail at the side of the bridge for a quick look-see.
Not a sheep, she realized. It looked like a big wad of trash, as if someone had wrapped something in plastic. From where she stood, she could see the crisscross of duct tape.
“Was der schinner is sell?” she said aloud. What in the world is that?
Setting down the grocery bags, Elma stepped over the guardrail and worked her way down the steep incline, keeping the wheels of her skates sideways to avoid a spill. Midway down she caught the smell again, a stink she knew well. One of their calves had been hit by a car last summer. Datt hauled the carcass to the back of the field and every time she’d gone there to pick raspberries, she smelled it.
Her thoughts ground to a halt when she spotted what looked like a bare foot sticking out of the plastic. She wanted to think it was a mannequin; the kind at the department store up in Millersburg. Maybe it was broken and the manager had thrown it away. But Elma knew that wasn’t the case. That was no mannequin foot; she could see the toes. She’d smelled the smell. Her stomach turned a slow somersault.
Making a sound like a frightened child, she spun and clambered up the bank, moving too fast, fingers digging into mud, skates hindering her. At the top, she tripped and went down on her knees. Heart wild in her chest. Blood roaring in her ears. The sight of that pale foot flashing in her brain. On the road’s shoulder, she scrambled to her feet.
“Mamm!”
Groceries forgotten, she set off at a too-fast pace, a scream stuck in her throat, terror nipping at her heels.
* * *
I’m in my office at the station. Around me, every smidgen of information I’ve amassed on the case is spread out on the desk. I’ve spent the last two hours going through all of it, this time with a fresh eye. I created a timeline. I watched the videos I took at the scene. Studied my sketches. I looked at the photos until every horrific image is branded on my brain like red-hot iron on flesh.
I’m so immersed in my work that I’m startled when my second-shift dispatcher rushes into my office. “I just took a call from Leroy Glick, Chief. Says his daughter found a dead body.”
“What?” I get to my feet. “Does he know who it is?” In the back of my mind, I’m thinking heart attack or maybe a pedestrian-related hit-and-run.
“He doesn’t know.”
“Where’s the body?”
“Beneath the Little Paint Bridge out on Mill Road.”
“I know the area.” I yank open my pencil drawer, grab my keys. “Jodie, where’s Mr. Glick?”
“He called from the pay phone out on Dogleg Road. Said his daughter was the one who found the body and she was upset, so he needed to get back home.”
“I know where they live.” I glance at the wall clock, my mind scrolling through my officer work schedule. “Is Mona still on duty?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell her to meet me at the scene.” I yank my jacket off the back of my chair. “I’m on my way.”
* * *
It takes me six minutes to arrive on scene. Mona is already there; I can see the lights of her cruiser blazing as I make the turn onto Mill Road. I nearly run over the orange safety cones she’s set out to block traffic. I park behind her vehicle and get out. Spotting the glow of her Maglite on the bridge, I head that way.
“See anything?” I call out.
“Hey, Chief.” She glances at me over her shoulder and then focuses the beam of her Maglite on the creek bank below us. “RP said the body was wrapped in plastic. Definitely something down there on the bank wrapped in plastic.”
The faint smell of decaying flesh hangs in the humid night air. Not too strong, but present nonetheless. I have my Maglite at the ready and my beam joins Mona’s. Sure enough, a bundle of something wrapped in plastic lies on the bank, partly in the water.
“Could be an animal,” Mona says. “Livestock. Or a pet someone disposed of.”
“Definitely something dead.” I shift my light toward the water. Uneasiness quivers in my gut when I see what looks like a human foot. “You see that?” I ask. “There in the water?”
She cranes her neck, squints into the darkness. A gasp escapes her when her beam illuminates the foot. “Shit. Is that—”
“We need to check.” I backtrack and throw my leg over the guardrail. “Watch your step,” I tell Mona as I start down the steep bank. “Keep an eye out for evidence.”
“Not to mention snakes,” she mutters.
I wade through hip-high weeds, trying not to slide in the mud.
“I was hoping the RP was mistaken,” Mona says from behind me.
“I’d settle for a hoax at this point.”
I reach the base of the creek bottom and stop fifteen feet away from the object. The air is dank and still down here, the reek of decaying flesh stronger. The beam of my flashlight reveals plastic wrapped around an object about the size and shape of a human body and held in place with duct tape.
Mona comes up behind me and shines her light, and points. “I don’t even want to say this, but it sure looks like a body.”
“Size is about right,” I say.
“Look there.” I follow her point. Now that we’re level with the object in question, we have a better vantage point. The foot is submerged. Pink polish on the toenails …
“Jesus,” Mona whispers.
“Stay put.” Pulse thrumming, I move closer, and I can see what looks like flesh beneath a couple of layers of plastic. “Caucasian,” I hear myself say. “Female, I think.”
I take another step, thrust my flashlight out in front of me. Through the transparent sheeting, I can just make out the pale flesh of a torso. The L-shaped angle of a bent arm. Blond hair. Head twisted to one side.
“I think she’s probably been here awhile,” I say. “Tape isn’t worn or frayed.”
“Looks like blood on the plastic,” Mona whispers.
Sure enough, a ruddy spot the size of a quarter stands out against the lighter-colored flesh.
Though we left our headlights on, it’s dark as a cave down here in the creek bottom. The body is partially submerged. The bank is steep and overgrown. The worst kind of crime scene …
I shine my Maglite in a 360-degree circle. I’m aware of the trickle of water now. To my left, I notice some of the weeds have been pushed over and crushed. I look up and I wonder if someone dumped the body from the bridge, pushed from a vehicle. The body struck the ground and rolled down the hill and into the water.