Her Final Prayer - Kathryn Casey Page 0,4

I’d yearned for was to nestle against him. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I’d turned to leave.

As I’d closed the SUV’s door, Max had shouted, “No strings attached, just a bowl of my special chili and a little time for you to get to know Brooke.”

I’d started to shake my head no, but then, despite my misgivings, I’d nodded.

Now Monday had arrived, and this evening would be my first real time with Brooke. And I wondered again: Is this something we should do?

Crack. I hit another rock, relocated a bit to my right and pushed Max from my mind.

Two hours on, the sun rose ever higher into the sky and, despite autumn’s chill, sweat formed on my neck and under my parka. I pulled it off, hung it on a branch, and focused on my work. A foot or so down, the pine-scented air became impregnated with the thick, rancid odor that I recognized as death. I considered calling for assistance but decided I had to know for sure. To filter the stench, I untied the red bandana from my neck and knotted it in the back to cover my mouth and nose, then got down on my knees and began pushing the dirt away with my hands.

The loose ground gave way easily, which I interpreted as a sign that I was right, that this patch of earth had been recently dug up. With each swipe of my hands, I removed another thin layer of dirt, getting closer to something rotting not far below the surface. My anticipation built as the foul smell grew heavier. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves from my pocket. Ready, I sat back on my heels and looked into the two-foot-wide hole I’d dug. I scooped out a couple more handfuls and threw the dirt to the side. I saw strands of hair, red and wispy, streaked with gold.

I wondered again if I should stop, but I kept going, pulling out handfuls of earth.

Adrenaline rushed through me as I worked ever faster, brushing away the earth. A few more swipes and I stared at the placid face of a fairly recently deceased Irish setter.

I had found a grave, but not a human one.

For a brief moment, I hesitated, thinking about how obsessed I’d become that I would spend my morning digging up a dog’s grave in hopes of finding a young woman’s body. Then I stood and methodically shoveled the coarse dirt back into the hole, restoring the canine to his peaceful rest. Once finished, I removed the gloves and brushed off my clothes and boots. I was filthy. I looked at my watch: 8.15. I had just enough time to swing by my room at Heaven’s Mercy to clean up before I drove to the office. My friend Hannah Jessop ran the shelter, housing women and children who had nowhere to live or weren’t safe at home. Since I debated about whether or not I’d stay in Alber, she’d agreed to rent me a room while I made up my mind.

I threw the shovel in the back of the black Chevy Suburban that I’d inherited from the prior chief and pushed the button to lower the liftgate. Then I pulled out my phone to check my email. The symbol in the left corner indicated a missed phone call. Somehow, I’d turned the ringer off. A message asked me to call my office ASAP.

“Chief, we have a situation at the Johansson bison farm.” Stephanie Jonas sounded wired. Until a month earlier, she’d been Alber PD’s day dispatcher. When I took over as chief, I hired a replacement, got Stef licensed, and promoted her to rookie cop. Once she finished her classes and became certified as a full-fledged forensic officer, I planned to make her the department’s crime scene officer. As a small police department in a town of a bit more than 4,000 souls, we didn’t have any. I knew Stef would be good at it. She had a knack for detail.

“What kind of situation?” I asked.

“The sheriff’s department called. Chief Deputy Max Anderson has been dispatched to the scene with backup, but the ranch is within Alber city limits, so it’s ours,” Stef said. “An unidentified woman called nine-one-one and reported multiple fatalities.”

“The Johansson ranch?” I verified.

“Yes,” Stef confirmed. I felt a chill rush through me when she said, “Chief, it sounds like a massacre.”

Three

Max led the caravan off the main road in his Smith County Sheriff car and