Bleed (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) by Kate Watterson

and followed.
    What is this?
    Her first glimmer of what was really happening made her stumble over a small rock. She was no longer paying attention to the terrain, her foot sliding on the hill before she caught her balance with one hand behind her, skidding on the fragrant pine needles.
    What was in front of her was not a hole. Well, it was, but it was roughly square and reminiscent of something grimmer than that generic label.
    The partially revealed outline in the moist soil was of a human skull, and one fragile, broken hand didn’t help the situation. The grinning skull had a missing tooth, and a wash of horror swept through her despite a career in law enforcement and experience with more than a few gruesome sights.
    Not a hole.
    A grave .
    “What the hell?” She hadn’t meant to blurt that out, especially in front of a man she revered, so the question was quickly amended. Her grandfather was more than a little old - fashioned. “I meant: What on earth? When did you find this?”
    “This morning. And I didn’t find it.”
    Her grandfather was breathing heavily enough that she felt a flicker of worry. “Are you all right?”
    The nod he gave was curt. “The storm must have washed it out. That rain came through like a runaway locomotive.”
    No doubt a correct conclusion. When the front swept in, it had arrived with a vengeance as the temperature plummeted a good forty degrees. It would warm up again, but not today.
    She certainly felt cold through and through. A frigid droplet tricked down her neck.
    “It looks old to me.” He stared at the skeleton, but stood a few feet away.
    If he meant those brittle bones, it looked 100 percent, extremely dead to her. The age would probably have to be determined by a forensic anthropologist, but impossible to gauge on a wet hillside half covered in dirt.
    But definitely in the dead category.
    “It obviously isn’t new, but old is a relative term. At a glance a buried skeleton is not in your provenance of expertise or mine either, for that matter.”
    That was putting it mildly. He leaned on a walking stick he often carried but never used. “So, what now?”
    The phone call that had summoned her up north hadn’t exactly prepared her for this, but he had never been a talkative man, which was why she had dropped everything and made the drive from Wausau where she’d been visiting her sister. Jody had agreed. If Robert MacIntosh called, it was urgent. That he’d specifically asked Ellie to come alone made sense now. If he wanted help, he needed it, and this seemed to bear out that conviction. She managed to ask calmly, “Have you called the police?”
    “I called you .”
    “Not quite the same.”
    He looked at her, his face not precisely amused, but still the corner of his mouth lifted. “You are still a detective for the Milwaukee police, right? Big - city law enforcement. The only person I know who has shot more than one man. So who else should I call? You are the police. So technically, I have called them.”
    The testiness in his voice was a surprise, but maybe he was more rattled than he cared to admit. The reference to two recent cases and the way they’d been handled made her experience a moment of chagrin, but it had been all over the television so she knew he’d heard about it. She didn’t really think he was being critical as much as asking for her help in a roundabout way.
    It was a little interesting to her they had never discussed what happened. How was that conversation supposed to go anyway? Hey, Grandpa, did you hear about me shooting a serial killer?
    Not her style, and actually, not really his style either. They were politely close, if such a thing were possible. She adored him, but the affection was implied since he didn’t wish to talk about it, so she didn’t bring it up.
    It was hardly as if she’d never seen a dead body, but the outline of the half-turned skull got to her. It was maybe more the lonely spot and the bleak, gray day. “I am a