“At the same time,” I continued, “Brett had a weapon and didn’t use it. It’s possible he didn’t see the attack coming. It’s also possible the perp was someone he knew. I know it’s a long shot, but is there any evidence at this stage that might point us to the killer? Other lost objects at the site, maybe? I could drive over there, take a peek for my—”

“Look, Merchant, was it?” The expression on Harmison’s lined face told me I’d crossed a line. “You seem nice enough, but I really can’t have you stepping on my team’s toes.”

“I understand,” I said. Then, “Can I ask about the anonymous caller?”

The police chief sighed. “Yeah, that was strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, he didn’t seem to know exactly where the victim was. First thing he said was there’s a body in the woods off River Street, up in the refuge. He mentioned the fishing access, said we’d find the deceased nearby, but when my officer asked him to pace it out—those woods are huge, and without a precise location we’d be searching for ages—he got squirrely. So I’m wondering, if he couldn’t pinpoint the location, how did he know the body was there?”

Good question. “I heard he asked to remain anonymous, but do you have anything to work with on that front?”

“Wish I did. We’d like to have a conversation with him, believe me. The officer who took the call thought he was on the younger side, late twenties or early thirties. No discernable accent, though my guy said he sounded local.”

I tilted my head. “How could he tell that?” Some Vermonters do have an accent, but that folksy, lyrical cadence isn’t as common among younger citizens.

“He called it River Street,” Harmison said. “Out-of-towners usually say Route 78.”

I gave a nod. “For what it’s worth, I think Skilton’s known associates are a good place to start. They might be able to help us put together that timeline of events.”

“Us?” Another sigh. “Like I said, I can’t have you—”

“No, of course,” I said quickly. “But his family is my family. I’m coming at things from a different angle. You never know where that might lead.”

Harmison agreed he couldn’t do much to stop me from talking to my cousin and aunt. I didn’t mention that I planned on questioning Brett’s friends, too.

Before I left, we exchanged cards and a promise to keep in touch. All told, the visit served as confirmation that Mom was right. When it came to finding Brett’s killer, the locals were getting nowhere.

* * *

When I lived in New York, the anonymity afforded by its massive population was one of the things I enjoyed most. Every morning I’d let myself be pulled into a writhing mass of humanity, just another herring in the school. Lying low in a small town is more of a challenge. That was unfortunate for Brett’s former best friend. I drove straight over to the plant on Jonergin Drive and was face-to-face with Russell Loming in no time. The man was due for a break when I arrived in the front office, and his supervisor was kind enough to let us chat in the employee lounge, a cubicle-sized room that smelled of stale powdered donuts and sweaty feet.