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The dirt wasn’t freshly turned. That’s what Josie kept telling herself again and again as the hours passed. The dirt wasn’t freshly turned. The grave wasn’t new. It couldn’t be Mira or Rosie. It probably wasn’t even related to their case. Dr. Feist and the ERT were still working when the sun sank to the horizon and it would be hours more, maybe even morning, by the time they were able to transport the remains to the morgue. Josie and Turner waited outside the perimeter that the ERT had cordoned off, sitting side by side on another downed tree. Someone had brought them water. Josie drank her entire bottle without stopping to breathe while Turner poured his over his head.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said, throat aching after so much exertion.

He’d been fidgety as always. Drumming his fingers. Pacing. Skimming stones into the river. But he’d stayed off his phone almost the entire time. She wondered if he was having some kind of medical event.

“Neither do you.”

“I just want to know?—”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, cutting her off.

They got their answer moments later when Dr. Feist exited the scene. Her camera hung from her neck. Tugging off her skull cap, she walked over to them. “It’s not Mira or Rosie Summers. The decedent has been in the ground for some time. Years.”

“How many years?” asked Turner.

“I can’t say until I get them on the table.”

“Homicide?” Turner pressed.

“Detective Turner,” said Dr. Feist. “I won’t know anything until I’ve had a chance to properly examine these remains, but in my experience, people who die of natural causes don’t usually bury themselves.”

Josie was too tired to laugh at Turner’s expense. An uncomfortable relief settled in her chest. She was glad it wasn’t Mira or Rosie, but she was never happy to know that a person had lost their life—especially to violence.

Oblivious to the bite in Anya’s tone, Turner stood up and flashed her a smile. It was the same one he’d used on Bobbi Ann Thomas, which meant…wait, was he trying to be charming? Was he going to try to flirt with Anya? Josie’s stomach acids roiled. “Turner,” she said.

He gave her a quizzical look. She patted the seat on the log that he’d just vacated. “Sit back down. Dr. Feist might have something unofficial for us.”

“That’s what I was—” he began.

Anya cut him off. “Sit. If you want to hear what I have to say.”

He put his hands up in surrender and returned to his place beside Josie.

Anya lifted her camera from her chest and clicked a few buttons until the digital display came on. She turned so that Josie and Turner could see the images she had captured as she flipped through them. Bones, darkened with age and decay, flashed across the tiny screen. “My initial impression, given the size of the femurs and the pelvic bone, is that the deceased is male.”

“Really,” said Turner.

Anya looked up from the camera long enough to pin him with a stern look. “Initial impression. You’ll have to wait for my report for confirmation.”

“Understood, Doc, understood.”

Anya stopped on a photo of some sort of object. “The deceased was wearing clothing but it’s badly degraded and there’s nothing I can tell you about it at this point. No wallet or anything like that. However, we did find two items that may be of interest. They’ll have to be taken into evidence and cleaned up for us to properly identify them. Here’s one.”

She held the screen out toward them. Next to what looked like part of the body’s mandible was a dirt-crusted object that curled almost into an S-shape. “Is that a piece of chain?” asked Turner. “Or beads or something?”

“We believe it’s metallic,” Anya answered. “But from how long it’s been in the ground and how dirty and degraded it is, I can’t tell you precisely what it is.”

Josie’s heart gave a strange flutter. A precursor to something. She stared at the object until Dr. Feist swiped to the next photo. Her body was reacting. Some part of her knew what it was and why it was significant. She just needed her mind to catch up.

Turner nudged her with an elbow. “You okay there, sweetheart? You gonna be sick or something? I know this isn’t your first dead body.”

“It’s not that.”

“What’s that, Doc?” Turner’s attention had already left her, now focused on the next photo. Again, the object was so caked with dirt its surface was barely visible, but unlike the first item, this was round and roughly the size of a silver dollar, given the ruler that Anya had placed next to it when she took the photo.

“A coin,” said Anya, zooming in on it. There were places where the dirt and grime weren’t so thick. Josie was pretty sure she could see some color peeking through.

Not a silver dollar.

Turner was strangely silent. Josie’s heartbeat went from a rapid flutter to a gallop, rattling her rib cage.

“I think I see a letter or two here,” Anya said, zooming out and back in again, trying to capture the area she wanted to show them. “Here. See? That’s definitely an H and the next letter looks like an I but I won’t know for sure until we get it cleaned up. Anyway, I didn’t know if it would be helpful or not, but I figured I would let you have a look.”

Anya turned the camera off and let it hang from her neck again. She used the sleeve of her suit to push sweaty locks of her hair away from her forehead. “What’s wrong with you two?”

Josie turned her head. Even seated, Turner towered over her. His curly mop hung down almost to his eyebrows. Those piercing eyes regarded her with curiosity. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

Josie didn’t know whether to be encouraged or disturbed that they might be on the same page for once. “It’s a challenge coin.”

He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off her. Challenge coins were just that: coins or sometimes medallions with the insignia or emblem of a particular organization. They were carried by military service members and law enforcement. The coins were a symbol of membership in a particular unit or department and the bonds that formed therein. Sometimes they denoted a special achievement or were given in recognition of outstanding accomplishments. Service members and law enforcement officers often exchanged them as signs of respect or as a way to honor one another. Denton PD had their own. Josie knew for a fact that Turner hadn’t earned one yet.

Turner said, “Could be military. Could be one of us. You got any officers who haven’t shown up for work in a few years?”

Josie’s blood roared in her ears. Her brain worked frantically to click the pieces of this puzzle into place. The first object wasn’t a piece of chain or beads of some kind. It was a scarab bracelet. April Carlson’s scarab bracelet.

He’s here. We have to tell.

“He” wasn’t Seth Lee.

“Quinn?” Turner said.

It was always so jarring now when he used her actual name. “Denton PD doesn’t have any missing officers, but Hillcrest PD does—the guy April Carlson dated before he disappeared three years ago. Officer Shane Foster.”