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As the night darkened, Faith became clear about the impossibility of their task.

Each agency they called met them with an interrogation.

Why do you need our help? How do you know that there's a risk of murder in this area?

Do you have a description of the suspect?

Why can't the FBI handle this? Several other questions were all different variations of, but is this really necessary?

Once the questions were answered, the excuses began. We’re stretched thin as it is. We don’t have the budget for this. We don’t have enough vehicles. All different variations of “We don’t wanna.”

Faith knew it wasn’t fair of her to think like this.

Law enforcement agencies really did operate on strict budgets, and with all of the other responsibilities that they had to handle on a daily basis, devoting a significant amount of time, manpower, and money to the possibility that someone might be killed was sometimes just not possible.

But it was frustrating because she was right. Someone was in danger. Someone was going to be buried in a shallow grave somewhere. It just really sucked that someone somewhere was all they knew.

The field office seemed to be having the same trouble.

When Michael called to check up on their progress, he was informed that the local agencies had all dragged their feet or offered a token complement of a single patrol car with two officers to watch access roads to nearby locations.

The field offices had politely refused to send any of their agents away from their own cases to help with one of Philly’s cases, and the state agencies had not so politely told the FBI to screw off.

Philly was willing to send agents, but right now there were only six agents not actively working other cases, and nothing in the Philadelphia area was labeled anything higher than orange.

So once more, they were stuck.

Faith crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m not willing to just give up. We’re just going to have to figure out where he’s most likely to attack next and go there ourselves.”

“That’s like trying to catch a fish by dropping a spear from an airplane over the ocean,” Michael said.

“Well, we have a better chance of catching a fish that way than we do by not dropping a spear at all,” Faith said. “And I can’t just sit still and do nothing.”

Marcus lifted his hands, “I think I can help with that.”

Faith really didn’t want to hear his voice anymore, but once again they were beggars who didn’t get to choose. “How?”

“The past two burial sites have been at archaeological digs, right?” he said. “Battle sites, yes, but also archaeological digs; places where the killer knew that people were digging into the dirt and would eventually discover the bodies.”

Faith blinked. She had said several times before that the killer was choosing places where the bodies would be discovered. She had been so worked up by their lack of progress that she had made a simple problem more complicated than it had to be.

And it had taken a pedantic niche historian to remind her of that. She hated to admit it, but Marcus was turning out to be pretty damned useful. “Yes. You’re right. How many of these sites are active archaeological digs.”

He grinned. “Just one.”

Faith’s heart leaped. “Which one?”

He got up and pointed at one of the southernmost dots on the map.

"Right here. Appleton, Maryland, near Chesapeake Bay.

The Smithsonian is sponsoring a museum there honoring the battle of Dall's Point. They're digging up the site to break ground for the museum and to find any remnants of the battle that haven’t already been recovered.”

Faith didn’t care at all what the battle of Dall’s Point was. The rest, however, interested her greatly.

“All right. That’s where we’re going then. Michael, contact local law enforcement and tell them we’re on our way, and they can either help us or be mentioned by name in the paper if someone dies because of their lack of assistance.”

She turned to Marcus. “Dr. Sullivan, I can’t take you with us, but I want to thank you again for your help. I’ll make sure the Bureau knows that you’ve been of service.”

He smiled, and for once, his expression didn’t grate on Faith. “I appreciate that, Special Agent. Good luck.”

The four of them left the building. Marcus lingered for a moment while the other three got into Michael’s car, but he satisfied himself with just a wave goodbye before climbing into his Honda Accord and driving back east.

The three of them headed south, moving as fast as traffic would allow. Appleton was a three-hour drive from Danbury, and it was already dark outside.

Faith looked out the window as Michael drove.

It was a new moon tonight, which was an odd term, Faith thought, for describing a moon that reflected no light.

If its opposite was a full moon, then this should be called an empty moon.

It was a more fitting description of the blackness under which it left the world.

The stars that dotted the sky offered some color to the blackness but almost nothing in the way of useful light.

Faith imagined the killer moving through this darkness, dependent—as they were—on a beam of artificial light to illuminate his way.

Would the killer feel the same anxiety that most people felt in that kind of darkness?

Would he feel some sort of kinship with that darkness and perhaps gratitude for its presence as it hid him from the prying eyes of the world?

Would he notice it was there at all, or would his task occupy him enough that he didn't even register the void above him?

Turk didn’t nap during the drive this time. His tail switched back and forth, and his eyes remained alert throughout the long journey. He didn’t seem impatient like Michael or contemplative like Faith. He was entirely focused on the assignment to come.

Faith smiled slightly as she admired her dog. He was so strong. Even after fighting in war, losing his handler to Jethro Trammell, and getting hurt by three different serial killers over the years, he showed no fear in his eyes, only determination.

Faith reached back and scratched him under his chin. “Good boy. I love you, Turk.”

Turk returned an appreciative bark but kept his eyes focused on the road

***

The Cecil County Sheriff’s Office wasn’t happy with Michael’s threatening tone over the phone, but they agreed to patrol the residential neighborhoods near the site of the museum and the attached archaeological dig.

Faith was fine with that until they arrived at the dig and realized just how large it was.

The past two digs had been small, only a few acres in size. This one was close to a thousand acres.

“I guess there’s a difference between a battle between two Native warrior bands, a skirmish between a militia and a company of British Army regulars, and a pitched battle between the Army of Northern Virginia and the Army of the Potomac.”

Faith wasn’t sure if those were the correct Civil War armies, but she didn’t really care. “Call Cecil County and see if they can give us some units on the north end of the site. We’ll start looking around the south end.”

Turk’s presence was a big advantage. His nose was keen enough that he could detect the killer from a pretty good distance if the wind was right. Another advantage was the openness of the site. As far as Faith could see, there were no trees or hills to obscure her vision.

The problem was that she could only see about one hundred fifty feet ahead with her flashlight. They could only cover a small portion of the site at one time. Their killer—if he showed up here—would be able to see their flashlight beams long before they could see him.

To make matters worse, Cecil County wasn’t interested in diverting any more resources their way. “They’re stretched thin,” Michael repeated. “Surprise, surprise. If we find anything, they’ll jump on it, but they can’t leave their populated places unpatrolled, yadda yadda.”

Faith nodded. She didn’t have the energy to be upset anymore either. They would make do the best of the situation.

“Do you feel comfortable splitting up?” she asked Michael. “I’ll take Turk and go east, and you head west?”

“Comfortable? No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

He checked his gun, then checked his radio. Faith did the same, and after exchanging a tense smile, he said, “Be careful. Both of you. If you find anything, you call me immediately. If you get into an emergency, hit the squelch button.”

Faith nodded. “We’ll be all right. Good luck.”

“You too.”

Turk trotted a few yards ahead of Faith, nose in the air, searching for a whiff of their murderer.

Faith followed behind, shining her flashlight ahead, scanning the ground from side to side.

She heard nothing but crickets and saw nothing but dirt, grass, and the occasional example of wildlife.

Most of the wildlife were insects, but she caught sight of a few opossums and once a large bushy thing that she thought was a baby bear at first but instead turned out to be a skunk.

Thankfully, the polecat trundled on its way without feeling a need to spray Faith first.

As they moved deeper into the dig, fog lifted from the ground like a shroud.

Faith shivered, not from the cold but from the eeriness of the place.

Once, she thought she caught the Messenger’s crazed grin underneath her wild eyes and cursed as she aimed her gun toward the apparition, but it turned out to be only a trick of the stars shining through the gnarled branches of a spreading oak tree.

She’s not here. There’s no way she would even know you two were here. You’re safe.

An owl swooped soundlessly over her head, only identified when it passed into her flashlight beam directly in front of her. She cursed again and stumbled, falling to the ground. She rolled when she fell, so the impact didn’t hurt that much, but it was pretty damned embarrassing.

Good thing Michael wasn’t here to see that.

She sighed and started to get up but stopped when she saw Turk.

He had stopped stock still and was now staring into the distance like a pointer.

She got quickly to her feet and aimed the flashlight in that direction.

The light fell on a small stand of trees.

They looked like willows to Faith, but she wasn't sure. She had never been much of a tree buff.

She didn’t see any sign of people or movement, but Turk’s nose was far more sensitive than her eyesight. “Go Turk,” she whispered. “Go get him.”

Turk crept forward, sniffing and staring. For a minute or so, he did only that, testing the air every few feet to make sure that he was really smelling what he thought he was smelling. Then he started to trot, feet padding lightly on the ground.

Faith followed as quietly as she could, mimicking Turk’s caution. She pulled out her radio and quietly told Michael, “Turk has something. We’re proceeding to a stand of what I think are willow trees about six hundred yards due east of where we split up.”

“Roger,” Micheal said. “I’m on my way.”

As soon as the connection was closed, Turk barked and launched into a sprint. Faith followed suit, training her flashlight ahead at her rapidly disappearing dog.

Hope and fear leaped into her heart in equal measure. Hope that they might finally have found their killer. Fear that they might find him with another victim.

At least it’ll be over after tonight, she thought, trying to reassure herself.

The shiver that followed told her she had failed to do that.