Trooper Ollie Harrold gave him an informal two fin-
ger salute. “Over here, Major Bryant,” he said, illumi-
nating a path for Dwight with his torch.
Yellow tape had been looped across a shallow ditch and
was secured to the low illuminated church sign a few feet
away. Inside the tape’s perimeter, the focus of all their at-
tention, two brawny legs lay side by side—male, to judge
by their muscular hairiness. Even in the fitful play of flash-
lights, Dwight could see that they were a ghastly white,
drained of all blood. He aimed his own flash at the upper
thighs. The bones that protruded were mangled and splin-
tered as if hacked from the victim’s torso with an axe or
heavy cleaver. No clean-sawn cut. No apparent blood on
the wintry brown grass beneath them either, which indi-
cated that the butchery had taken place elsewhere.
The pasty-faced man who had reported them was a
thoroughly shaken local who worked at a nearby auto
repair shop and who now stood shivering in a thin jacket
that did not offer much protection against the sharp
February wind.
“I was riding home,” he said, “when I saw ’em a-laying
there in the ditch. Almost fell in the ditch myself a-look-
ing so hard ’cause I couldn’t believe what I was a-seeing.
21
MARGARET MARON
I went straight home and called y’all, then came back
here to wait.”
Dwight glanced at the rusty beat-up bicycle propped
against one of the patrol cars behind them. “Bit chilly
to be riding a bike.”
“Yeah, well . . .” The words trailed off in a shame-
faced shrug.
“Lost your license?”
“Used to be, you had to blow a ten to have ’em take
it.” The man sounded aggrieved. “I only blew a eight-
five, but the judge still took it. I’m due to get it back
next month.”
“There’s no light on your bike,” Dwight said, look-
ing from the bicycle to the grisly limbs in the shallow
ditch.
“I know, but I got reflecting tape on the pedals and
fenders and on my jacket, too. See?” He turned around
to show them. “Didn’t need my own light to see that,
though. People don’t dim their high beams for bicycles.”
“You ride past here on your way to work?”
The man nodded. “And ’fore you ask, no, they won’t
here this morning. I’m certain sure I’d’ve seen ’em.”
The officer assigned to patrol this area was already on
the scene and others of Dwight’s people started to ar-
rive. Detective Mayleen Richards was first, followed by
