"Maria Santoya," said Jennings, pointing to the headstone. "There's a mother here and a child."

Thorn shook his head, trying to make sense of it.

"Look," said Jennings. "You demanded Spilletto tell you where the mother was. This is the mother. And this is probably your child."

"But why here? Why in this place?"

"I don't know."

"Why in this terrible place?"

Jennings watched Thorn, sharing his confusion.

"There's only one way to find out, Thorn. We've come all this way, we might as well do it."

He raised the tire iron, plunging it forcefully into the earth. It stopped with a dull thud, buried to the hilt.

"It's easy enough. They're only a foot or so under."

He began to dig with the tire iron, loosening the caked dirt and, with his hands, scraping it away.

"You going to help with this?" he asked Thorn, and Thorn reluctantly participated, his fingers numbed with cold as he clawed at the dirt.

Within half an hour they were covered with soot and perspiration, clearing the last bits of earth from two cement covers. They sat back on their knees and stared at them, assessing what had to be done next.

"Smell it?" asked Jennings.

"Yes."

"Must have been a hasty job. Not exactly up to health standards."

Thorn didn't respond; his face was gripped with anguish.

"Which one first?" asked Jennings.

"Do we need to do this?"

"Yes."

"It seems wrong."

"If you want, I'll go get the cabdriver."

Thorn gritted his teeth, then shook his head.

"Let's go then," said Jennings. "Do the big one first."

Jennings struck hard with his tire iron, wedging it against the side of the large cement lid. Then, with great effort, he pried it upward until he could get his fingers underneath.

"Come on, goddamnit!" he shouted at Thorn, and Thorn responded quickly, his arms shaking with exertion as he struggled with Jennings to raise the heavy lid.

"Weighs a bloody ton ... !" Jennings groaned. As he threw his weight against it, the lid came up slowly; both of them strained with full force to hold it in place as their eyes searched the darkened chamber below.

"My God!" Jennings gasped.

It was the carcass of a jackal. Maggots and flies abounded in the decay, wriggling through bits of leathered flesh that somehow still clung to the bones.

His mouth flying open, Thorn lurched backward, the cement slipping from his grip and crashing downward, breaking into pieces in the crypt below. A horde of flies billowed upward; Jennings moved in sudden terror, slipping in mud, as he grabbed Thorn, trying to pull him away.

"No!!" cried Thorn.

"Let's go!"

"No!" gasped Thorn. "The other one!"

"What for? We've seen what we need!"

"No, the other one," Thorn moaned desperately. "Maybe it's an animal, too!"

"So what?!"

"Then maybe my child's alive somewhere!"