Shaking her head, she started toward them. “They’re a nice family.”

John knew even nice families kept secrets.

Kate reached them first. Though everyone seemed to know everyone in this town, she showed them her ID and identified herself. The woman and girl were crying, their cheeks red from the cold. The man stood stone-faced. Despite the temperature, John saw sweat on his forehead.

“Where’s the body?” Kate asked.

The girl raised a mittened hand and pointed. “By the c-creek.”

“Did you see anyone?” John asked.

“A m-man. On a s-snowmobile.”

“Where?”

“Down by the creek. In the trees.”

“Can you tell me what he looked like?” Kate asked.

The girl’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. “He was too far away.”

“Was he wearing a jacket or coat? Do you remember what color it was? Or maybe his helmet? The snowmobile?”

“Blue, maybe. I d-don’t know. I only saw him for a second.”

Kate’s attention went to the girl’s parents. “Stay here.” Touching the radio at her lapel, she started across the ice. “Be advised the suspect may be on a snowmobile.”

Her voice and demeanor were outwardly calm, but John sensed an emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on beneath all that control. Because another body had shown up on her watch? Or was there something else going on? Was he just being paranoid? Or was Kate Burkholder holding out on him?

“Why would he dump the body way out here?” she asked.

“People use this place much? For skating?”

Her gaze met his. “It gets crowded on the weekend this time of year.”

“Maximum shock value.”

They crested the earthen dam. John saw the knife-slash of skate blades in the snow left by the girl as she’d walked down the embankment.

“There.” Kate pointed. “Down by the creek. In those trees.”

John saw what looked like a garbage bag that had been dumped and ripped open by wild dogs.

Kate started down the hill, her arms flailing as she skidded over the frozen peaks of earth. John followed, but he never took his eyes off the object in the snow.

“Watch for tracks,” he warned.

They trudged through a deep snowdrift. Then, as if blocked by some invisible force field, they stopped. John had seen a lot of crime scenes in the years he’d been a cop. He’d seen death from natural causes and murders so bloody and horrific that even veteran cops dropped to their knees and vomited. He’d seen the neat and brutal execution-style murders common to drug dealers eager to make their mark. He’d seen innocent children cut down in the crossfire of gangland wars. He’d seen babies murdered and dumped like trash. None of that prepared him for the sight that accosted him now.

The body lay next to a garbage bag. John saw pale flesh streaked with blood. A thatch of brown hair. The dead stare of a taxidermist’s glass. A mouth stretched into a silent scream. There was a lot of blood, and it made for a shocking contrast against pristine snow. Several pink objects lay a few feet from the body. At first glance, he thought they were scraps of fabric, and his cop’s mind jumped at the thought of possible evidence. Upon closer inspection, he realized these objects were organs that had been removed from the victim’s abdominal cavity.