The dog wandered back and forth across the open area with its nose to the ground; from time to time Marge would call the dog back, reaching into a pouch at her waist and handing the dog some kind of tasty reward—for what, Nick had no idea. Then she would send the dog off again, sniffing and pawing in his brilliant orange vest. Throughout the whole process the woman would issue piercing commands with the silver whistle, causing the dog to constantly stop and shoot off in a different direction like a fur-covered bumper car.

“Any idea what she’s doin’?” the deputy asked.

“I’m picking up a little of it,” Nick said. “When she wants the dog to come, she blows the whistle; when she wants the dog to change direction, she blows the whistle; when she wants to give the dog a reward, she blows the whistle. I think I understand: After years of constant training, the dog has taught her to blow the whistle.”

The whistle shrieked again and Elgin winced. “Sure wish she’d stop blowin’ that thing.”

“Me too,” Nick said. “If I were the dog I’d go for her throat.”

They watched a while longer. The dog constantly stopped and sniffed but never seemed to show any more interest in one spot than another.

“Nice-lookin’ animal,” Elgin offered.

“So am I,” Nick said. “I can’t find graves either.”

He took out his cell phone and dialed again. There was a click and then a pause at the other end.

“Now what?” Donovan sighed.

“The wonder of caller ID,” Nick said. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What problem?”

“The dog—it’s got a nose like a brick.”

Another pause. “You know what I’ve always admired about you, Nick?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“You’re not a whiner. I was just saying to Macy the other day, ‘You know, Nick Polchak is weird and he wears big funny glasses, but he’s no whiner.’”

“Flatterer.”

“Whenever there’s a problem, you always find a way around it. That’s a great quality, Nick—I’d sure hate to see it stop now.”

“I’m telling you, the dog can’t smell. How am I supposed to analyze insect evidence from graves that we can’t find?”

“How long has this dog been searching?” Donovan asked.

“An eternity,” Nick said.

“Three hours—that’s when you called to annoy me last. Has it occurred to you that this dog is trying to pick up the scent from bones that could be two or three hundred years old?”

“What about the bodies buried on top?” Nick said. “They could be a lot more recent—possibly only a few years old.”

“And the dog has to pick up the scent through a couple of feet of compacted soil.”