“The blow was made by an overhead stroke—that’s the only way to generate enough force to fracture the skull. Now, you and I are about the same height—so if I brought a club down on your head, the fracture would be up high—near the crown. But Nick is taller, so if I took the same swing at his head, the wound would be low—just like it is here. The other four victims were all shorter than your father, so their wounds were all higher than this.”

“Then the killer must be a short man,” Nick said.

“Very short, I would say—but very powerful. It takes a lot of strength to deliver a blow like this.”

Alena began to unconsciously extend her hand toward the skull.

Nick took her arm and turned her to face him. “This could be a breakthrough,” he said. “Short and powerfully built—that’s a big addition to the killer’s profile.”

Alena looked back at the table; Kegan had already covered it with the tarp again. “What happens to my—what happens now?”

“Your father’s remains will be sent to the FBI crime lab for further analysis. Can you tell us precisely when your father disappeared?”

“The day, the month, and the year—the hour if you need it.”

“That could prove useful in helping us date the other skeletons. They’ve all been in the same soil, subject to the same temperatures and weather conditions. Can you describe what your father was wearing when he disappeared?”

“I can tell you exactly.”

“That will help when they’re doing the fiber analysis. Thank you, Ms. Savard—I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, and you’ve been very helpful. When we’re finished with the analysis, the remains will be released to you for final disposition. Is that all right with you?”

She nodded blankly and looked up at Nick. “Take me home.”

“Sure.”

Alena looked around for Trygg; she glanced down at her feet and found her lying under the table. She squatted down and stroked the dog’s back. “She found him at last—but I think she knows. I think she’s as disappointed as I am.”

“C’mon—let’s get you home.”

On the way to the truck Nick’s cell phone rang; he pulled it out and answered it. “Nick Polchak.”

“Nick—it’s Carlyn down at UVA.”

“How’s it going down there?”

“Good. How did the ‘lake shaped like a dog’s leg’ turn out? Did you find it?”

“I sure did—I found the graveyard too. That was nice work, Carlyn— I owe you for that one.”

“Nothing says ‘thank you’ like a check.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you got anything else for me?”

“Well, that depends.”

“What does that mean?”