one staring down. Turning back to the body, her eyes migrated to the other two shapes hidden beneath the sheet. Feeling suddenly ill, she reconsidered the bright red stains.
Naomi reached into her pocket and realized that in the morning’s haste she’d left the family’s lone cell phone at home. Looking again at the Johanssons’ house, she listened for any sound out of place. Far off in the field, the bison bellowed, letting loose short grunts and deep throaty roars. Above her the vultures shuffled in the tree, impatient. What she feared hearing, she didn’t: Something human.
Swallowing a growing panic, Naomi drew closer to the house, the van’s keys in her hand in case anything convinced her to turn and run. Up the steps, onto the porch, she hesitated at the door. Her heart felt as if it were a separate being trapped inside her, one that pounded against the cage of her chest, demanding to be let out. Ever so cautiously, she edged the screen door open and turned the handle on the unlocked inner wooden door.
At first, she saw no signs of a disturbance. A well-furnished house, comfortable-looking, a living room, dining room. She stopped at the base of the staircase, pausing long enough to confirm the silence. A few feet farther in, she came to an abrupt stop.
Just inside the kitchen, two thick legs clothed in jeans splayed out across an off-white tile floor. Before she rounded the corner, Naomi heard the sound—a rhythmic gurgling. She peeked around the corner. A man lay there, his chest heaving, struggling to breathe. Blood bubbled from the front of his neck.
“Dear Lord, Jacob!” Naomi called out. She ran to him and knelt beside him.
Jacob Johansson’s eyes fluttered, opened, found her, and locked on to her face. Naomi sensed a slight smile, then his lids drifted down. She put her hand on his chest and felt the rise and fall of life. “Please, don’t die,” she whispered. She scanned the room. An old-fashioned Trimline phone hung near the stove. She rushed to it, grasped the handset and pushed three buttons. She looked down and realized that blood stained the front of her skirt.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Naomi tried but couldn’t speak.
“Who’s calling? What’s your emergency?” The operator sounded impatient, perhaps wondering if the silent caller could be a child pulling a prank.
Naomi cleared her throat, trying to free her ensnared vocal cords. “I’m… I’m… at the Johansson ranch southeast of Alber. Send an ambulance. Send the police. Quick. He’s dying.”
“Who’s dying? Ma’am, who are you?” the dispatcher demanded. “Are you in danger?”
“I-I’m… Just send help. I saw a body, a little boy, Benjamin. I think there are more. Jacob is bleeding on the kitchen floor,” she stuttered. Her hands shook so that the phone threatened to drop from her grasp. Then, from somewhere above her in the house, she heard a long, shrill cry. The baby.
Two
Crack. The metal made a high-pitched sound as it hit rock. In response, I moved a foot to the right and started over, pressing my boot down on the spade, struggling to force the blade into the cold earth. Three months earlier, a monster had made this land his hunting ground. After ten years as a Dallas cop, I’d returned to stop him. I’d planned to go back to Texas. Instead I signed on as my hometown’s police chief. Yet my relationship with Alber, Utah, came with bad memories, the kind that too often woke me up at night wondering if I’d made a foolhardy decision.
Although we’d closed the case, the prospect of undiscovered victims pricked at my conscience. At least one young woman remained unaccounted for. Her family hoped for answers, and I felt responsible. If I didn’t find her, who would? So, when I drove streets and highways, I watched for areas where the ground appeared recently disturbed. And on mornings like this one, when I roused early and couldn’t fall back asleep, I threw on old clothes and grabbed my shovel.
This particular patch of earth caught my attention because of a pile of rocks that looked like it might be discards from someone else’s dig. Nearby I noticed a patch of disturbed dirt. Big enough for a woman’s body? Maybe.
The November sky was still dark, and the morning air brought a definite nip. Our valley had had a light snowfall the week before, blanketing the town at dawn with flurries of less than an inch. By noon it all melted, except for the bright white