“Next suspect? Got your eye on someone already?”

“We’re looking at some of Skilton’s past associates. Old friends and such. The boys in St. Albans are giving us a hand, but I’ll be honest with you, this case is stone-cold.”

I said, “I guess Felicia and Crissy Skilton already filled you in on the last time they saw Brett?”

“I interviewed them both yesterday morning. We know he made plans to move to Philly in June of ’98. We’re working on a timeline of his final days here in town.”

“Well, I’d be happy to share whatever I find out.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He paused. “I guess you’re hoping I’ll do the same.”

I smiled at him. “If you’re so inclined. The cause of death, perhaps?”

Harmison gave me an admiring nod. “Why not? It’ll be in the paper soon enough. The bones are badly weathered, but we found a star-shaped fracture on the occipital lobe that suggests blunt force trauma.”

The occipital lobe. Brett was attacked from behind. “Any thoughts on the murder weapon?”

“Best guess? A branch or log. So you can imagine what kind of success we had finding it at the gravesite.”

“He was dumped in the woods, I hear. Anything about the whereabouts that wasn’t in the news?”

“Let’s see,” he said, thinking. “You know Hook Road off Route 78? Runs parallel to the Missisquoi River?”

I nodded.

“There’s a fishing access over there, a little boat launch with a parking area big enough for five, six cars. In the trees just off that lot is where we found him. Dumped might not be accurate, though. We’re thinking the killer left him where he fell.”

“So the gravesite’s the murder site. Interesting. How far was he from the road?”

“Not very. About twenty-five yards.”

“Jesus,” I said, “that’s a bold move. Those woods are dense in summer, but I bet the boat ramp gets a lot of use, and in winter the trees are pretty sparse. It’s amazing his remains weren’t found sooner.” I had driven that road a hundred times since 1998. Passed my uncle’s body without even knowing it. “What kind of grave are we talking about?”

“The half-assed kind. The killer threw some leaves and branches on his body and called it a day. Whoever left him there must have been in a hurry.”

Or in a panic. “How much were you able to recover? If the grave was shallow, surely animals got to him eventually.”

Harmison touched his nose. “Bingo. Bones were scattered, but we got lucky with that pocketknife. ID’ing him couldn’t have been easier.”

“Great for you, not so great for his killer. Any blood on the knife, his or someone else’s?”

“Nope.”

I chewed my lip. “Whoever did it must not have been aware Brett was carrying a weapon, which might mean they didn’t know him very well.” According to Mom, Felicia believed Brett carried the knife at all times. There was no telling whether he kept up the habit after their separation, but he did have it with him the night he was killed.