processional, he fished into the bag and retrieved a self-starting flare. He yanked the tab and the clearing lit up with a harsh chemical glare. Flynn stuck the flare butt-end into the snow beside the trail.
The EMTs balanced the pallet between them, picking their way through snow as they pushed on toward the water. Every few yards Flynn lit another flare. The trail resembled a nightmare version of a garden walkway illuminated by torches for the benefit of evening strollers. Clare kept her eyes on the tracks as they walked, tire marks crisscrossing at the edges of the trail, two sets of boot prints leading downward, small, deep holes left by deer hooves, and blurry disturbances where she had fallen in her headlong rush to get back to the cruiser.
“There,” she said, pointing down the steep slope where a single flashlight beam appeared and disappeared through the pines.
“Chief?” yelled Officer Flynn. Clare pointed her flashlight toward the water.
“Yeah!”
She shifted her light toward his voice and nailed him straight on with the light. Russ threw his hand in front of his face. “I’ll come up! Don’t anybody climb down until we’ve gotten some photographs of the tracks.”
Flynn pulled the tab on another flare. The trail sprang into high relief. The trees cast hard, dark shadows downslope, concealing and revealing glimpses of Russ’s brown parka as he clambered back up the hill. Clare could hear him grunting with effort. By the time he reached them, he was breathing hard.
“Are you all right?” she asked, peering up into his face.
He leaned against a birch tree, panting. “Been up and down this damn stretch of ground about six times already,” he said. “Jesus, I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. Sorry, Clare.” He sketched a wave to the two paramedics. “Guys, you can retrieve the body just as soon as the state crime lab gets here.”
Flynn stared down at the water’s edge, craning his neck for a better view. “What’s it look like, Chief? Not a jumper moved downstream?”
Russ tilted his head toward Clare. “Every once in a while somebody decides to check out by jumping off the old railroad bridge,” he explained. He turned away from the officer and shone his flashlight a couple of yards up the trail. Clare could see where the tire tracks they had been following came to an end. “Somebody drove in to this point and then backed up again.” He shifted the light to the edge of the trail closest to the water.
“What’s that?” Clare asked. The snow was heavily churned.
“That is where the girl slid all the way down the slope.” Russ sounded worn down. “I followed the trail she left back up to the car tracks. Looks just like when little kids roll themselves down a hill.”
Flynn whistled, a high, excited sound. Russ glared at him. “Sorry, Chief,” the young officer replied. “Just . . . I haven’t done a homicide yet.”
“Homicide?” Clare looked down toward the water. “Someone killed her?”
“Looks that way,” Russ said.
Clare touched Russ’s arm, heavy glove over thick parka. “Any clear tracks from whoever drove the car away?” she said.
He shook his head. “Nope. Could be whoever it was threw her body down the hill, hoping she’d land in the kill and disappear for a while. Or it could be she and the driver got into a fight while they were standing here, he hauls off and clips her one, and she falls down the hill. He panics and drives away.”
Clare shook her head. “Dear God.” She shivered. “Imagine lying there hurt, unable to move or help yourself, and seeing the car lights disappearing . . .”
“Don’t. Don’t think about it too much,” Russ broke in. “We won’t know anything until the coroner’s report. Don’t start speculating or you’ll make yourself crazy.”
She looked up at him. “The voice of experience?”
“The voice of experience,” he agreed. They both looked into the darkness at the creek’s edge. Impossible to tell, from here, what was rock and what was shadow and what was water. “There’s something else,” Russ said.
“What?”
“I think this murder may be connected to the baby you found.”
“What? Why on earth would you—”
“Because I have two unusual, unexplainable events happening back to back. A girl abandons a baby. Now a girl shows up dead. This isn’t New York City, where kids are stuffed into trash cans and Jane Does turn up twice a week. This is my town. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in my town.” She cocked an eye at him. He swung his arms wide in frustration. “I mean, of course it happens, obviously it has, but it sure as hell makes the back of my neck crawl. Which is my brain’s way of telling me to keep my eyes open.”
A halloo echoed further up the trail. A state trooper, bundled up to his ears and wearing his distinctive hat over a knit balaclava, heaved into view around the bend, lugging a chest. “Chief Van Alstyne?” he shouted.
“Yeah, here,” Russ called. “Kevin, go on and help him with that.” Flynn loped back up the trail and took one end of the box. When they reached the chief, they dropped the chest, stenciled PROPERTY NYSP CRIME SCENE UNIT and the trooper pulled off a glove to shake hands with Russ.
“Sergeant Hayes,” he said. “How can I help you, Chief?”
“We need photos, mostly, starting here, where the tire tracks terminate,” Russ led the technician toward the site of the disturbance, careful to put his feet into his old boot prints, “and here, where she fell, or they fought, and the slope . . .” he pointed down toward where the body lay hidden. Hayes nodded. “And then let’s get her in situ as quickly as we can, so these fellows can take her over to the morgue and our doctor can take a look at her.”
They backtracked to the others. Hayes opened the crime-scene chest and began digging out lights and camera parts. Russ pulled Clare to one side. “Why don’t you take my keys and go back to the car,” he said. “At least one of us can stay warm. I’d have Kevin drive you back, but I may need him here . . .”
Clare shook her head. “I’d rather stay. At least until you bring her up. I’ll walk with her back to the
