“What did you bag?” Bree asked him.

“Troopers found some women’s clothing and a small black purse wrapped in a mover’s blanket in the trunk. Here. I pulled this to show you.”

He handed me a Rhode Island driver’s license in a plastic sleeve. The only thing I recognized at first was Caroline’s name. The girl in the photo looked quite beautiful to me, like a dancer, with her hair pulled back from her face and a high forehead. And the big eyes—I remembered those, too.

Eyes as big as the sky. That’s what my older brother Blake had always said. I could see him now, rocking her on the old porch glider on Fifth Street and laughing every time she blinked up at him. He was in love with that baby girl. We all were. Sweet Caroline.

Now both of them were gone. My brother to drugs. And Caroline? What had happened to her?

I handed the driver’s license back to Detective Fellows and asked him to point us toward the investigating ME’s office. If I was going to get through this at all, I had to keep moving.

The medical examiner, Dr. Amy Carbondale, met us downstairs. When we shook hands, hers was still a little cool from the latex gloves she’d been wearing. She seemed awfully young for this kind of work, maybe early thirties, and a little unsure of what to do with me, what to say.

“Dr. Cross, I’ve followed your work. I’m very, very sorry for your loss,” she said in a near whisper that carried sympathy and respect.

“If you could just give me the facts of the case, I’d appreciate it,” I told her.

She adjusted her glasses, silver wire rims, working up to it. “Based on the samples I took, there was apparently a ninety-six percent morselization of the body. A few digits did survive, and we were able to get a print match to the name on the license that was found.”

“Excuse me—morselization?” I’d never heard the word before in my life.

To her credit, Dr. Carbondale looked me right in the eye. “There’s every reason to believe a grinder of some sort was used—likely a wood chipper.”

Her words took my breath away. I felt them in my chest. A wood chipper? Then I was thinking: Why keep her clothes and driver’s license? As proof of Caroline’s identity? A souvenir for the killer?

Dr. Carbondale was still talking. “I’ll do a full tox screen, run a DNA profile, and of course we’ll sieve for bullet fragments or other metals, but actual cause of death is going to be hard to prove here, if not impossible.”

“Where is she?” I asked, just trying to focus. Where were Caroline’s remains?

“Dr. Cross, are you sure right now is the time—”

“He’s sure,” Bree said. She knew what I needed, and she gestured toward the lab. “Let’s get on with it. Please, Doctor. We’re all professionals here.”

We followed Dr. Carbondale through two sets of swinging doors into an examination room that resembled a bunker. It had a gray concrete floor and a high tiled ceiling, mounted with cameras and umbrella lights. There were the usual sinks and stainless steel everywhere, and a single white body bag on one of the narrow silver tables.