She nodded, eyes still shut.
I went to the kitchen, filled a mug, and brought it to her. Katy rolled to a semi-upright position, tentatively raised her lids, and reached for the coffee.
“I stayed up till two reading.”
She took a sip, then held the mug out as she stood and folded her feet under her, Indian style. Her newly opened eyes fell on the Reverend Highwater.
“Why are you listening to that twit?”
“I’m trying to find out how you get this endless bounty stuff.”
“Write him a check and he’ll send you a four-pack.”
Charity was not on the list of my daughter’s early morning virtues.
“Who was the moron that called at dawn?”
Nor was delicacy.
“Sam.”
“Oh. What did he want?”
“Katy, something happened yesterday that I didn’t tell you about.”
Her eyes went to full attention and fixed on mine.
I hesitated, then launched into an account of the previous day’s discovery. Avoiding details, I described the body, and how J-7 had led us to it, then told her of my phone conversation with Sam.
“So you’re going back out there today?” She raised her mug to drink.
“Yes. With the coroner and a team from the sheriff’s office. Sam is picking me up at ten. I’m sorry about our day. You’re welcome to come along, of course, but I understand if you’d rather not.”
For a long time she said nothing. The reverend blustered on about Jeee-sus.
“Do they have any idea who it is?”
“The sheriff is thinking drugs. Traffickers use the rivers and inlets around here to bring stuff in. He suspects a deal went bad and someone ended up with a body to off-load.”
“What will you do out there?”
“We’ll remove the body, collect samples, and take a lot of pictures.”
“No, no. I mean, tell me exactly what you’ll do. I might be able to use it for a paper or something.”
“Step by step?”
She nodded and settled back into the cushions.
“It looks pretty routine. We’ll clear the vegetation, then set up a grid with a reference point for drawings and measurements.” The St-Jovite basement flashed through my mind. “When we’re done with surface collection I’ll open the grave. Some recovery teams excavate in levels, looking for layering and whatnot. I don’t really think that’s necessary in these situations. When someone digs a hole, drops in a body, and covers it up, there isn’t going to be any stratigraphy. But I’ll keep one side of the trench clean so I’ll have a profile as I go down into the grave. That way I can see if there are tool marks in the soil.”
“Tool marks?”
“A shovel, or maybe a spade or a pick that’s left an imprint in the dirt. I’ve never seen one, but some of my colleagues swear they have. They claim you can take impressions then make molds and match them to suspect tools. What I
“From the guy that dug it?”
“Yeah. When the hole reaches a certain depth the digger may jump in and work from there. If so, he can leave shoe prints. I’ll also take soil samples. Sometimes soil from a grave can be matched to dirt found on a suspect.”
“Or on his closet floor.”
“Exactly. And I’ll collect bugs.”
“Bugs?”
“This burial is going to be lousy with bugs. It’s shallow to begin with, and the turkey vultures and raccoons have partially exposed the body. The flies are having a jamboree out there. They’ll be useful for determining PMI.”
“PMI?”
“Postmortem interval. How long the person’s been dead.”
“How?”
“Entomologists have studied carrion-eating insects, mostly flies and beetles. They’ve found that different species arrive at a body in regular sequence, then each goes through its life cycle just as predictably. Some fly species arrive within minutes. Others show up later. The adults lay their eggs, and the eggs hatch into larvae. That’s what maggots are, fly larvae.”
Katy gave a grimace.
“After a certain period the larvae abandon the body and encase themselves in a hard outer shell called a
