Indefensible Read Free

his men. “We’ll walk, eyes open for anything obvious, do a good survey before we dig. Leave it all untainted for forensics, in case we actually find something.”
    I say, “You’re the boss, Captain, just tell us what to do.” The truth is, I don’t know squat about fieldwork and investigation. I’m just a prosecutor and administrator; Dorsey is the one with expertise, manpower, and high-tech laboratories.
    Dorsey doesn’t acknowledge my comment, but his granite jaw softens.
    Six cars are parked behind mine: two marked state police cars, Dorsey’s black sedan, the black van, a pickup truck pulling a four-wheeler on a trailer, and the local sheriff ’s vehicle. The sheriff is standing in the middle of the road in his many-pocketed vest, readyto direct traffic. Never mind that this road probably averages one car a week in the busy season.
    â€œCivilians will wait here,” Dorsey orders, clearly meaning Lizzy and Kenny and maybe even me, so I say, “Yes, Lizzy can help direct traffic, can’t you, hon?”
    â€œSure, Daddy!” she says with saccharine enthusiasm, because I’d given her a chance to subtly ridicule the poor sheriff, whose forehead is already beading up with the first drops of sweat.
    We start into the woods. Dorsey, Cassandra, Chip, and I walk in front, but the trail narrows immediately, so Chip drops back. Behind him are the uniformed troopers and the four-wheeler pulling a flat trailer with tarps and shovels. Within a couple of minutes, my morning coffee hits bottom, and I dodge off behind a tree while the procession keeps moving. Then I hurry to catch up. Now Chip is between Dorsey and Cassandra, so I step in behind them, and darned if Cassandra doesn’t drop back to walk with me. She leans in, puts a hand on my shoulder, and whispers, “I’ll be pretty embarrassed if there’s nothing here.”
    She seems at home in the woods, instinctively turning toward birdsong coming from the trees, and regarding flowers and shrubs with a knowledgeable eye.
    â€œThere,” she says suddenly. Everyone stops. “No, no,” she says, “just the bird. Hermit thrush. A pebble in a drainpipe. Listen.”
    Tinga tinga tinga tinga ting.
    It is a descending note. Dorsey tries to catch my eye with a civilians are such idiots glance, but I avoid him. Chip tips his head sideways, listening to the bird, and says more to himself than to us, “Drainpipe: exactly. That’s brilliant.”
    We walk in silence until Cassandra tells us we’re getting close. She identifies a few landmarks and finally says, “Right here.” Dorsey pokes at the ground with a shovel. We establish what seems to be the perimeter of the disturbed area, but it’s been skillfully concealed, so we can’t be sure. One of the troopers lays out a tarp for the dirt, and they start digging. There is a sudden feeling of solemnity. My sense of adventure dies as the diggers work. The sound of their shovels,the labored breathing as they dig, the notes of another thrush coming from the woods, it all comes together. I understand that there will be a body. Everything has fallen into place too easily for it to be otherwise. The sod has clearly been removed and replaced: The underlying dirt is loose, the grass matted. I look at Cassandra. She is ashen. I have the strange urge to take her hand, but of course I don’t. Digging takes longer than I would expect, and there is almost a sense of release when the shovels hit something. Now the men work more carefully, clearing away dirt with hands and trowels, almost lovingly, and the shape of a body takes form in dark relief against the shadowy bottom of the hole.

C HAPTER 4
    D orsey radios back to set things in motion. Troopers string yellow tape. The men clear dirt away from legs and ankles and one of the arms. The other arm is beneath the body, which lies curled on its side because the original hole