Decker handed her the cap. She attempted to bail water from the hole. It was a losing proposition. Disgusted, she tossed the cap and dug blind. When she felt she had removed a substantial amount of mud, she lowered her arm into the quagmire of frosty, wet earth. Soon her shoulder was touching the ground. She fingered her way around, then tried to pull her arm out and was met with resistance—as if she were freeing an animal trapped in tar. She finally liberated her limb, wiggled her fingers. Her sweater sleeve was encased in brown slime. “Something is definitely down there.”

“More than rocks?”

“More than rocks. Jesus, my arm’s frozen solid.”

“Move it around,” Decker said. “Does it feel like dog bones or cat bones or…what?”

Marge attempted to wipe the mud from her forearm. She had a pained look on her face. “I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think I just shook hands with someone.”

15

Davidson scratched his nose. “Looks like you found a body. At this point, I’m sure you’ll take any corpse you can get.”

Marge looked at him. Now how do you respond to that? She said nothing, regarding the two lab men who were unearthing the contents from the makeshift grave. One wore a yellow slicker; the other chose a full black raincoat that Dracula could have used in a pinch. Both of the garments were caked with mud.

She lifted her eyes to the surrounding areas. The mist had evaporated but the sky was still gray. Now and then the sun appeared in a cameo role, but it added little light and warmth. Three police dogs were sniffing out the mountainside. Ginger hadn’t liked the interlopers, had barked furiously and distracted the professionally trained canines from doing their jobs. Or so had complained their handlers. Decker had been forced to take her home, but not before recommending Ginger be cited for fine police work.

It was after eleven in the morning, Davidson having taken three and a half hours to get all the papers in order. Marge still felt Tug was a schmuck, but at least he was responsive, immediately assigning Decker and her to the case and allotting them the needed hours. Davidson watched the lab men dig.

“Don’t envy their job.”

“Don’t I know it,” Marge said. “Mud’s not only messy but as cold as ice. Freezes your fingers.”

“I thought women liked mud facials.”

“You’re a funny one, Loo.”

Davidson actually twitched the corners of his mouth. Marge felt that was as close to a smile as he was ever going to give.

Davidson said, “Good work, Dunn. You got your case, you got your time. Probably worth a few frozen nails for that.”

Marge said, “What’s a few frostbitten fingers between friends.”