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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 way—make a cut in them?’’
‘‘Sometimes we use an orange ribbon to mark the center of the plot we’re sampling, but you wouldn’t want to make a cut. It’d be a way for diseases to attack the tree. Besides, these are valuable products. You don’t go hacking them up,’’ said Steven.
‘‘She’s talking about that tree over there.’’ Chris pointed in the direction of the tree Diane had found with the gash. ‘‘We saw that. Somebody took a saw to it. No idea why. They wouldn’t be check ing for sap or anything. Maybe someone was trying to cut it down. Not doing a very good job of it, though.’’
‘‘Near the crime scene, there’s a tree that’s been cut down and brush piled on top. Did you do that?’’
Both of them shook their heads. ‘‘No,’’ said Chris. ‘‘We saw that too. Maybe somebody was trying to hide what they’d done.’’
‘‘Maybe. Have you noticed or found anything un usual while you’ve been out here?’’
‘‘Unusual? More unusual than those bodies?’’
‘‘Anything like the remains of a campfire, tire tracks, objects—anything not natural to the forest.’’
They hesitated a moment. Exchanged gazes briefly, and looked back at Diane. ‘‘Just the hoofprints,’’ said Chris. ‘‘But we were mainly looking at the trees.’’
Steven agreed. ‘‘No one’s supposed to camp here. Something like campfire smoke would’ve been no ticed. They keep a pretty good eye out for forest fires, especially since it’s been so dry.’’
‘‘They?’’
‘‘The forest rangers. Anyone here ’bouts would take notice of smoke, for that matter.’’
Diane’s gaze rested on the map in the backseat. ‘‘Could I have a look at your map?’’
‘‘We’ve got a copy we could give you,’’ said Chris. He went around and opened the back and pulled out a cardboard mailing tube. ‘‘It’s got our grid marked on it, but that shouldn’t matter.’’
He pulled out the map and unrolled it on the hood of the Rover. That was when Diane noticed how marked up the side of the vehicle was. For a moment her heart skipped a beat. Of course their vehicle would be beat up. It was an old model and they used it on rough terrain—and she was sure the sheriff would check them out. They had found the bodies, and it would be routine to check them out. Still . . . She took a deep breath.
‘‘We’re right here.’’ Chris pointed to a spot on the map next to a line marked as a road. ‘‘The bodies are here.’’
‘‘We take a tenth of an acre sample everywhere the grid lines cross,’’ added Steven.
‘‘Where were the hoofprints?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘That’d be right along here.’’ Chris moved his finger along a blue line labeled as Cobb Creek.
‘‘Give her that extra copy of the aerial photograph too,’’ said Steven.
‘‘Sure.’’ Chris pulled it out of the tube and lay it out on the hood. ‘‘See, you can tell the kind of trees that grow here.’’ Diane couldn’t, but she nodded. ‘‘See over here where the stream cuts in? The trees are smaller. That’s where it was clear-cut. Over here is where we did most of the cruise, and right here is the bodies.’’ He rolled up the maps, put them back in the tube and handed it to her.
‘‘I appreciate this.’’
‘‘Glad to help...’’
As he spoke, they heard the sound of a motor. The deputy coming back, thought Diane. But a dark blue SUV appeared over the rise.
‘‘Oh, Jesus,’’ said