As the door swung inward, cold, foul air slithered out. Behind me I could hear Boyd barking as if possessed.

The odor of putrefaction can be altered by the mode of death, sweetened by some poisons, tinted with pear or almond or garlic by others. It can be retarded by chemicals, augmented by insect activity. But the essence is unmistakable, a heavy, fetid mix that heralds the presence of rotting flesh.

Something dead lay in that alcove.

We entered and circled left, keeping to the wal as we had in the outer chamber. Five feet in, my beam caught an irregularity on the floor. Crowe saw it at the same time.

We focused our lights on a patch of coarse, dark soil.

Wordlessly, I handed my Maglite to Crowe and puled a colapsible spade from my backpack. Keeping my left hand on the stone wal, I squatted and scraped at the ground with the side of the blade.

Crowe holstered her gun, hooked her hat to her belt, and trained twin beams on the ground before me.

The stain gave way easily, revealing a boundary between freshly turned earth and hard-packed floor. The smel of decay increased as I lifted soil and laid it to the side.

Within minutes I hit something soft and pale blue.

'Looks like denim.' Crowe's eyes glistened, and her skin gleamed amber in the pale yelow light.

I folowed the faded fabric, lengthening the opening.

Levi's, contoured around a scarecrow leg. I worked my way down to a shriveled brown foot, angled ninety degrees at the ankle.

'That's it.' Crowe's voice caused my hand to jump.

'What?'

'This is no airplane passenger.'

'No.'

'I don't want a bad crime scene. We're shut down until I have a warrant.'

I didn't argue. The victim in that pit deserved to have his or her story told in court. I would do nothing to compromise a potential prosecution.

I rose and tapped my spade against the wal, carefuly removing adhering soil. Then I folded the blade, stuck it in my pack, and reached for my light.

On the hand off, the beam shot across the alcove and glinted off something in the farthest recess.

'What the hel's that?' I asked, squinting into the dark.

'Let's go.'

'We should hit your magistrate with everything we can.'

I picked my way toward the point where I'd seen the flash. Crowe hesitated a moment, folowed.

A long bundle lay tucked against the base of the wal. The bundle was wrapped in shower curtains, one transparent, one translucent blue, and tied with several lengths of rope. I approached and ran my light over the surface.

Though blurred by layers of plastic, I could make out details in the clear upper half. Matted hair, a red plaid shirt, ghostly white hands bound at the wrists. I puled gloves from my pack, snapped them on, and gently roled the bundle.