Dead Guilty

the woods thick.
In the opposite direction, the weeds in the center were shorter, the road better. An older Land Rover was parked in the middle of the road. As she walked toward it, she heard the sound of a motor, and a county deputy’s car came into view. It pulled up be hind the Rover and stopped. The two guys who had found the bodies got out and began transferring their equipment from the patrol car to the Rover. Diane quickened her pace.
‘‘You lost, lady?’’ one of the men called out to her.
‘‘No,’’ she said as she approached their vehicle. ‘‘I need to ask you some questions.’’
‘‘She’s working on the case,’’ said the deputy. He was the one called Ricky—the one who had to gather up his expectorated tobacco and take it to his car.
‘‘I’m Diane Fallon.’’
‘‘Chris Edwards and Steven Mayberry. We told everything we know to the sheriff.’’
Both men were young, not over twenty-five, Diane guessed. Chris Edwards had short, wavy light brown hair. He was athletic with a thin layer of baby fat between his skin and muscles, giving him a wellshaped, pudgy appearance. Steven Mayberry had dark brown straight hair that hung below his ears. He was more slightly built and leaner.
Both of them looked nervous, fidgeting with their equipment, dropping some of it on the ground. Chris put a hand to his face and coughed.
‘‘Just a few questions,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Okay, but all we know is what we told the sheriff.’’ Chris Edwards pointed to an instrument his partner had in his hand. ‘‘I was just calculating the height of a tree when I saw what looked like a body hanging in the distant canopy.’’
‘‘Look,’’ interrupted Deputy Ricky. ‘‘You need me to take you back to the scene? If you do, I’ll stick around . . . but I need to get back. There’s a crowd gathering up at the road.’’
‘‘I’ll walk back,’’ Diane told him. ‘‘Thanks.’’
The deputy helped the two men with the last of their gear and drove off, backing all the way up the road. Whatever else Ricky was, he was a good backer. Diane watched as his car maneuvered down the rutfilled dirt road with hardly a waver.
‘‘What exactly is a timber cruise?’’ asked Diane, leaning against the white vehicle. Perhaps a few mun dane questions would put them at ease. The two did relax their stance.
‘‘Basically, inventorying the trees,’’ said Chris.
‘‘You count them?’’
‘‘Yes—and determine the diameter, height and species.’’
‘‘Surely not all of them.’’
‘‘No, not on a parcel this size. It’s six hundred and twenty-five acres. We do a point sample—count a tenth of an acre at regular points on a grid.’’ Steven pointed to a rolled-up map in the backseat of the Rover.
‘‘So you’ve been all over the woods. Or did you just start?’’
‘‘No. We’ve been at it a while. Mainly in this sec tion.’’ He pointed to the woods on the side of the road opposite the crime scene. ‘‘This section’s mainly soft woods and pine. The other side, where the bodies are, is mainly hardwoods. It hasn’t been cut in over a hundred years,’’ Steven added.
‘‘Have you noticed anyone out in the woods while you were working?’’
Chris and Steven looked at each other wide-eyed. ‘‘You mean the killer could be out here—now?’’
‘‘Probably not,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m just asking ques tions I always ask. Did you see anyone?’’
Both the men shook their heads. ‘‘No. But we found some hoofprints thataways.’’ Chris pointed to the piney side of the road. ‘‘I’d say about a half a mile in. For about a half mile you get these mostly thirtyyear-old trees you see here. After that, the parcel was clear-cut about ten years ago. The hoofprints were along a stream where the trees weren’t cut. The timber managers always try to leave a stand to control ero sion along streams of any size.’’
‘‘But you didn’t see a rider?’’
‘‘No. Just the prints. If I was a tracker, I’d tell you how old they were, but I’m not.’’ Chris laughed, joined by Steven. ‘‘I suppose they could be new or they could be old. We haven’t had rain in a while.’’
‘‘Did the horses have shoes?’’
They hesitated a second, surprised by the question. ‘‘I don’t know that I noticed,’’ said Steven. ‘‘I’d say yes. The print was crisp, as I recall.’’
‘‘When you’re doing your timber cruise, do you tag the trees in some