Lakeview Cemetery had old-style markers, not just ground-level slabs for the convenience of mowers. Some were homemade: a wooden chair, a pair of carved elk or caribou horns, an engraved paddle. Others were more traditional headstones, featuring crosses or angels holding flowers or harps.

I spotted King to the right of a grave surrounded by a white picket fence. At her side was a man in a tweed jacket several sizes too large for his frame. An idle backhoe sat ten feet beyond them, bucket in the upright and locked position.

I started toward King and her companion, slapping away predators the size of pelicans. Though damp, the evening was reasonably warm. The air smelled of dead grass, moldy wood, and freshly turned earth. Eau de exhumation.

King’s crew consisted of six men, all native. They’d removed the topsoil and gone down three feet with the backhoe, then jumped in with spades. They stood shoulder-deep in the hole, shoveling dirt from around Beck’s coffin and tossing it onto the ground above.

King introduced the tweed guy as Francis Bullion and explained that he was with the Department of Community Services. Bullion had confirmed the location of Beck’s grave. We shook hands. He had gray hair, rimless glasses, and a very small head.

“Everyone was here, so I figured we might as well start,” King said.

“I’m good with that.”

“This is so extraordinary.” Bullion sounded like a bird. A very excited one.

I smiled at Bullion, then refocused on King. “You move fast.”

“People need work. Snook was eager.”

“As was I.” Bullion, chirpy. “I don’t mind that today is Saturday. Not at all.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“I saw this on television. It was just like this.”

“I’m sure you did.”

The crew was equally eager. And efficient. They had the coffin out by seven-forty. Loaded into the hearse by eight. Bullion offered to hang with the team. King thanked him and sent him on his way.

King and I followed the hearse to Stanton. A nurse and two male orderlies met us at a loading dock in back. They, King, the kid driver, and I wrestled the coffin onto a hospital gurney. Then it was just us girls.

The nurse’s name was Courtney. She had long blond hair, hazel eyes, and looked about twenty. She addressed King by first name, so I assumed they were acquainted. Or related.

Courtney led us to a large room entered through swinging double doors. It had a green tile floor, buzzing fluorescents overhead, a wall clock with a second hand that moved in noisy little hops, and a stainless-steel tub and counter.

A second gurney had been centered on the tile. The items I’d requested lay on a tray on the counter.