In the Bleak Midwinter by Julia Spencer-Fleming Page B

deer hooves, and blurry disturbances where she had fallen in her headlong rush to get back to the cruiser.
    “There,” she said, pointing down the steep slope where a single flashlight beam appeared and disappeared through the pines.
    “Chief?” yelled Officer Flynn. Clare pointed her flashlight toward the water.
    “Yeah!”
    She shifted her light toward his voice and nailed him straight on with the light. Russ threw his hand in front of his face. “I’ll come up! Don’t anybody climb down until we’ve gotten some photographs of the tracks.”
    Flynn pulled the tab on another flare. The trail sprang into high relief. The trees cast hard, dark shadows downslope, concealing and revealing glimpses of Russ’s brown parka as he clambered back up the hill. Clare could hear him grunting with effort. By the time he reached them, he was breathing hard.
    “Are you all right?” she asked, peering up into his face.
    He leaned against a birch tree, panting. “Been up and down this damn stretch of ground about six times already,” he said. “Jesus, I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. Sorry, Clare.” He sketched a wave to the two paramedics. “Guys, you can retrieve the body just as soon as the state crime lab gets here.”
    Flynn stared down at the water’s edge, craning his neck for a better view. “What’s it look like, Chief? Not a jumper moved downstream?”
    Russ tilted his head toward Clare. “Every once in a while somebody decides to check out by jumping off the old railroad bridge,” he explained. He turned away from the officer and shone his flashlight a couple of yards up the trail. Clare could see where the tire tracks they had been following came to an end. “Somebody drove in to this point and then backed up again.” He shifted the light to the edge of the trail closest to the water.
    “What’s that?” Clare asked. The snow was heavily churned.
    “That is where the girl slid all the way down the slope.” Russ sounded worn down. “I followed the trail she left back up to the car tracks. Looks just like when little kids roll themselves down a hill.”
    Flynn whistled, a high, excited sound. Russ glared at him. “Sorry, Chief,” the young officer replied. “Just… I haven’t done a homicide yet.”
    “Homicide?” Clare looked down toward the water. “Someone killed her?”
    “Looks that way,” Russ said.
    Clare touched Russ’s arm, heavy glove over thick parka. “Any clear tracks from whoever drove the car away?” she said.
    He shook his head. “Nope. Could be whoever it was threw her body down the hill, hoping she’d land in the kill and disappear for a while. Or it could be she and the driver got into a fight while they were standing here, he hauls off and clips her one, and she falls down the hill. He panics and drives away.”
    Clare shook her head. “Dear God.” She shivered. “Imagine lying there hurt, unable to move or help yourself, and seeing the car lights disappearing…”
    “Don’t. Don’t think about it too much,” Russ broke in. “We won’t know anything until the coroner’s report. Don’t start speculating or you’ll make yourself crazy.”
    She looked up at him. “The voice of experience?”
    “The voice of experience,” he agreed. They both looked into the darkness at the creek’s edge. Impossible to tell, from here, what was rock and what was shadow and what was water. “There’s something else,” Russ said.
    “What?”
    “I think this murder may be connected to the baby you found.”
    “What? Why on earth would you—”
    “Because I have two unusual, unexplainable events happening back to back. A girl abandons a baby. Now a girl shows up dead. This isn’t New York City, where kids are stuffed into trash cans and Jane Does turn up twice a week. This is my town. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in my town.” She cocked an eye at him. He swung his arms wide in frustration. “I mean, of course it happens, obviously it has, but it