Stranded

He, in turn, held it up for Grace to see. She immediately relaxed, started wagging again, only not at the frantic pace as moments earlier. She was back to being a dog wanting to have her reward.
    “Good girl, Grace,” Creed said again and tossed her the toy.
    Grace caught it, making it squeak. Maggie couldn’t help thinking how contradictory that playful sound seemed after finding what could be yet another grave.
    Creed let Grace romp around but he didn’t attempt to enter the stall. Finally he backed away from the open stall door and looked at Maggie and Tully.
    “I’m not trained to be part of the dig,” he told them.
    Tully still didn’t look convinced that there was anything to be dug up. Maggie walked over to take a look. The area inside was about ten feet wide by ten feet deep. From what she could see in the dim light, the floor looked no different from that in the rest of the barn. She couldn’t see any mounds or depressions in the dirt. The straw on top matched the straw in the rest of the barn and it didn’t look as though it had been disturbed. There was no trace, no hint of blood or residue, from a putrefied corpse. The wooden trough had been left filled up and covered with an old horse blanket. The five-gallon metal bucket beside it had a dusty lid still tightly in place.
    She glanced behind her and saw that Creed had taken Grace out of the barn. She could see him tossing the pink elephant and Grace racing after it. Tully had stayed on the other side of the barn but he had his cell phone to his ear now. He was telling someone—most likely the sheriff—to bring a digging crew. Even as he explained the situation she could hear the skepticism in his voice despite his best effort to disguise it.
    Maggie stepped farther into the stall and wondered if Grace could be mistaken. Now inside, she could smell a strong rancid odor that she suspected was horse manure. Then she remembered what Creed had said when Grace had found the dead mouse. Any other scent was a mere distraction. Grace had been trained to find human remains, not dead animals and certainly not animal manure. Just then Maggie realized what she was smelling.
    Her eyes darted to the bucket. Five gallons, metal, and sealed.The smell couldn’t be coming from it and yet just the thought of what could be inside made her mouth go dry and her stomach do a flip.
    She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her jacket pocket and slipped them on as she approached the wooden trough. With an index finger she poked the middle of the heap under the thick wool blanket.
    Something solid. Definitely not horse feed.
    She found a corner of the blanket and started to peel it back but stopped when it resisted and sounded like separating Velcro. That small effort had already leaked more of the rancid odor.
    Maggie glanced over her shoulder again. Tully was still on the phone. Creed and Grace were out far enough that the squeaky sounds were in the distance.
    She tugged at the corner of the wool blanket again, wincing at the sound and smell but continuing, slowly, inch by inch. The putrefied flesh had melted into the weave of the blanket and as she pulled it back, she was also pulling away a layer of skin. The thick wool had attempted to mummify the body, but peeling it off had started to release the gases.
    Maggie had to step away. Her pulse had begun racing. She needed to get her bearings. She turned and took a few gulps of air from outside the stall. It helped to settle her nerves. Then she went back to work. Again, carefully and slowly, she teased the wool away until she identified a forearm. That was enough. She was certain it was a dead body. She would leave it for the forensic investigators.
    Before she stepped away, she saw bright red and blue. Because she had peeled away a layer of skin the tattoo had become even brighter. She knew that was true of tattoos since the ink pooled down below the top layer of skin. They were valuable in IDingbodies. It made sense
not
to wait. She was this close already. At least she could take a look at it.
    She tugged the wool away until she could see the entire image—an eagle head with piercing eyes over a prominent beak. Stenciled above on two lines was STURGIS 2000 .
    Maggie stopped. Stood back.
    The son of a bitch was telling the truth
.
    Otis P. Dodd was right about there being a body in the barn. And it looked like he was right about it being a tattooed biker.

CHAPTER 33

    By late afternoon the quiet farmstead was no