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arthritic finger against a snapshot of her
daughter. Melissa had a face like a big, sweet pie. She mugged for
the camera, her round cheeks like two cupped hands framing her short
squat nose with its triangular nostrils. Her eyes sparkled with
mischief and she exuded so much warmth and curiosity, it wasn't
difficult to imagine how easily she might've fallen prey.
    Marty's face reddened, all its angled planes pinched with pain. He
slammed his fist against his knee. "What d'you mean, 'foul play'?"
His words fired off like darts.
    "We won't know for sure until after the autopsy. I can give you more
information then."
    "Give me more information now," Marty insisted, his steely gaze boring
into Nalen. "Was she drowned in this pond? Is that what you're
saying? Somebody drowned my Melissa?"
    "No, sir," Nalen said softly.
    "What then, for chrissakes?" Waves of anger peeled off him like heat
from an oven. "What happened to my daughter?"
    "We think she was strangled."
    Frances clutched her braid, lowered her head and wept. Nalen could
feel each sob like a body blow. He didn't know whether to put an arm
around her or not. He was usually good at this sort of thing, but the
murder of a child was different. The murder of a child was
inexplicable, unforgivable.

    "You're sure it's our Melissa?" Marty pleaded, eyes like two watery
coins. "You're absolutely certain?"
    Nalen set the photo album carefully on the coffee table and stood up.
"We need you to come down and identify her for us, Marty."
    Marty bowed his head. Frances was shuddering, eerie grunting sounds
emitting from her lungs. Nalen noticed his hands were shaking. It
wasn't fair. He remembered his father's words just then. Life's a
comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel.
    "Marty ... Frances ..." Nalen looked at each of them in turn. "We're
going to solve this case. I promise you."
    "You know ..." Marty rose on tall unsteady legs. "Melissa always told
the truth. Children tell the truth, you know. Us adults ... we're
good at self-deception, but not kids. Why do you think they call it
the 'unadulterated' truth?"
    "Well, you're right about that." Nalen moved toward the door. Outside,
a light rain was beginning to fall.
    "Boy oh boy, she loved cows," Marty said. "You know Stinky Peppers?
We'd go down to his farm and visit the cows. Melissa loved those cows
with all her heart. Stinky let her name the calves. You ever been out
to Stinky's place?"
    "On occasion." Stinky had a habit of getting drunk and beating his
third wife and their many children.
    Frances gripped Nalen's hand, her fingers warm and rough. "Bless you,
Chief. She's with the Lord now."
    "Stop it, Frances," Marty said, eyes blinking in irritation.
    Nalen felt this sore spot between them like a slippery drop down a
granite gorge, icy as glacial meltwater.
    "Almost forgot." Nalen pulled the cat bell out of his jacket pocket.
"Do either of you recognize this?"
    Marty studied it for a moment. "Itch had one of those on her
collar."
    "Itch?"

    "Melissa's cat. Got killed six months ago." He looked away,
embarrassed. "You know, that brouhaha with your boy."
    Nalen felt his face flush, every cell in his body awake now. "And you
haven't seen the cat collar since?"
    "Nossir."
    Nalen pocketed the bell.
    "You know," Frances said, "when Melissa was born, I thought everybody
else's baby was just a baby ... but my little girl was a real human
being. Isn't that funny?"
    "I know what you mean," he said, thinking of Rachel.
    THE MEDICAL EXAMINER'S BUILDING WITH ITS NONDESCRIPT
    brick facade was sandwiched in between the First Bank of Maine and the
police station on Lagrange. Autopsies had been performed in the
basement of this building for decades. The lobby smelled like a
dentist's office and was decorated with the same quasi-cheerful
decor--flowery wallpaper, tangerine upholstered sofas and chairs, side
tables offering up neutral reading matter like House & Garden and
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