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The three agents headed back to their car, leaving Anna and Brad to discuss his return to work. When they were out of earshot, Michael asked. “First impressions?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think this guy was an exhibitionist. If he wanted to be found, he could have dumped the body on the riverbank or left it exposed. The fact that he buried it suggests that he was either trying to hide it or he wasn’t thinking about being caught at all.”

“You mean burying the body could have just been part of the ritual?”

“Right.”

“How delightfully mundane.”

Faith looked at him, and he shrugged. “I get tired of finding people flayed or torn to pieces or suffocated inside blown glass or paralyzed alive and left to starve or all of the other crap we usually see. Might be nice not to see that for a change.”

They got into the car, and Michael said, “Wife’s house?”

“Yes. Do we have an address?”

“Yeah, it’s in the file. Seriously, Faith, do you read reports, or do you just look at pictures?”

"Normally, you're the one who reads them," Faith said. "You're the info guy, and I'm the genius who tells you what it all means."

“As long as I don’t write it down,” he quipped.

He put the car in gear, and the two continued to talk about the case as they drove. “Why only a couple of feet, though? I get that most people don’t have the physical fitness to dig a six-foot grave in one night, but why only a couple feet?”

"The body was still in rigor when Brad discovered it," Faith said.

"The call came in at three in the afternoon.

Rigor almost never occurs more than twenty-four hours after death unless there's some kind of chemical intervention.

We'll follow up on that with the medical examiner, but assuming no such intervention, Paul Martinex couldn't have been murdered earlier than three in the afternoon two days ago.

Most likely he was killed some time after nightfall.

We'll be generous and say ten o'clock, give or take. How far away is his house from here?"

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. So again, we’ll have to confirm this, but for the sake of argument, say he was killed without a struggle.

Probably five minutes to kill him and put him in the bed of a truck or the trunk of a car, fifteen minutes to drive here, and another ten or so to drag him or carry him to the top of the hill. ”

“That’s being very generous,” Michael said.

“Yes, it is, but even being very generous, he gets here at ten-thirty at night at the very earliest after killing someone and carrying his body to the top of a hill. Then he has to dig the grave, bury the body, fill in the hole, and get back down to the car, then get home with enough time to clean himself, his car, his clothes, his shoes… you get the picture.”

"It's doable," Michael said. "The soil's soft. True, that means it's crumbly, but if he digs the hole wide enough, it could be done in four to six hours by a healthy guy with a shovel."

“That’s still pushing it,” Faith said. “That’s grave dug by two-thirty at the earliest, filled in by three-thirty at the latest. Home by four, sunrise around six-thirty, seven.”

“Pushing it, maybe, but doable.”

Faith relented. “Okay, it’s doable. I still don’t think it’s likely.”

“Do you have a reason, or is it just a hunch?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just a hunch for now.”

“Good enough for me. Let’s see if we can find a reason.”

She smiled at him. “You know, you’re a pretty good partner sometimes.”

He grinned. “Thank you. I try on rare occasions.”

***

Hancock Village—the major population center (loosely speaking) of Hancock Town—was a disorganized cluster of homes on one side and a somewhat better organized cluster of public buildings and businesses on the other side.

The Martinex home was a modest single-story colonial, quaint and cozy, a perfect representation of a rapidly fading middle class.

Michael knocked softly on the door. A few seconds later, it opened.

Penny Martinez wasn’t the youthful stunner that Anna Winters was. She looked every bit her age of fifty-four years, and the plain nightgown she wore coupled with the lack of makeup and puffy eyes made her wear those years hard.

Faith’s heart went out to her. She’d just lost the love of her life. It was no surprise she looked to be at her worst. That’s exactly where she was at.

“You can come inside,” she said, her voice trembling. “You can bring your dog too. Paul loves dogs.”

The interior of the home was tastefully decorated with soft beiges and browns dominating the furniture and décor.

Faith guessed that was Penny’s influence.

The one concession to Paul’s manhood was a pair of elk antlers above the fireplace.

Faith counted sixteen points. The elk who once wore this crown must have been a rare specimen.

Penny noticed her stare and chuckled. “I kept telling him to take the damned thing down. Biggest eyesore I’ve ever seen. You can sit on the couch if you like. I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Martinez,” Faith said. “We don’t want to impose on your hospitality any more than we need to.”

“Call me Penny. And I’m making coffee whether you want some or not. I find keeping busy helps.”

“It does,” Michael agreed. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

Penny took a shaky breath and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

Faith took a closer look around the place as Penny made the coffee.

The more she looked, the more she saw subtle signs of Penny’s dead husband.

A coaster advertising a brand of beer, an easy chair with a depression in the seat caused by someone substantially heavier than the petite Penny, a pair of slippers too large for her feet sitting in the foyer.

It was amazing how much people left behind when they died.

All of the little things that you took for granted until their disappearance gouged a hole they had once filled.

Penny set the coffee in front of the two of them. The brew was rich and strong, and Faith was grateful that Penny had insisted on making it. She sipped and savored the richness for a moment before getting down to brass tacks. “Can you tell me what happened the night your husband died?”

Penny shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s the worst part of everything. I just don’t know.”

“Did your husband come home at all two nights ago?” Michael asked.

“No, but that wasn’t unusual. Paul’s recently retired, and I think he’s having some trouble adjusting to it.

He would often visit with friends of his from the service.

They’d get to drinking and reminiscing, and he’d forget to call me sometimes.

I don’t mind if he drinks, but he knows I can’t stand drunk driving.

He’d pass out on a buddy’s sofa and then come home in the morning once he’d sobered up. ”

Faith’s heart broke for Penny anew when she heard her switch between past and present tense without realizing it. Just like a phantom limb would ache long after it was cut off, the ghost of a spouse would linger in one’s mind.

“Do you have a name and address for this friend?” Michael asked.

Penny frowned. “I do, but I can’t believe Stan would hurt Paul. The two of them were closer than brothers.”

“We’re just trying to learn as much as we can about Paul,” Faith explained. “It helps to have a full understanding of our victim.”

She left unsaid the fact that nearly all murders were committed either by family or close friends. To that end, she asked the other unpleasant question she had to ask.

“What did you do when Paul didn’t come home two nights ago?”

“I went next door to Tanya’s house.” She chuckled a little. “I guess we get drunk together too. Only we watch game shows and gossip. Just a couple of girls.” Her smile disappeared. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. I just talked to him that day. I don’t understand how he can be gone.”

Turk laid his head on her lap, a favorite move of his when he saw that someone needed comfort. Penny stroked his fur and stared listlessly at a spot on the couch in between the two agents.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Faith asked.

"At two o'clock. He comes home for lunch because I make roast beef sandwiches the way he likes them.

We talk about our day. It's a thing we decided to do when he retired.

He loved me, and he just loved spending time with me.

I know he'd go to Stan's house a lot, but he still tried so hard to spend time with me.

" She brought her hand to her face, and her lower lip trembled.

"He left at two-thirty to go to work. He texted me at seven to say he was going to Stan's house.

He said he loved me, and he'd try to text before bed, but he'd be home for breakfast either way. That was the last I heard from him."

That was good to know. If they could establish a timeline for Paul’s last moments, it could help them identify and rule out suspects.

Of course, it wasn’t necessarily Paul who sent that text. Finding that out for sure would help too.

“Did Paul seem any different to you lately?” Faith asked. “Any changes in mood or behavior? Anyone new in his life?”

Penny chuckled, but it was more of a sob than a laugh.

“No. He seemed just as happy and loving as always. And there was no one new. This is a small town. We know everyone here, and we like it that way. Our friends are here, and we’re too old to make new ones.

We just wanted to live a simple, quiet life. That’s all we wanted.”

Faith and Michael shared a look. Michael gestured for the door with his head, and Faith nodded.

She stood and pulled a business card from her pocket.

“If you think of anything else, Penny, please give us a call. In the meantime, you have my word that we’ll do everything we can to bring the person who killed your husband to justice. ”

Penny took the card and looked at Faith. There was no animosity in her voice when she replied, “You can do whatever you’d like. It won’t bring Paul back.”