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business of the basement door. But Morlandwasn’t a man to be turned so easily. He planned to walk both Harry and his wife through their versions of the escape. He’d do it over and over until he was either satisfied with their innocence or convinced of their guilt. He’d been against entrusting the girl to them from the start, but he was overruled. He wasn’t a selectman, even though he could sit in on the board’s meetings. No chief of police had ever been a selectman. It was always felt that it was better to have the law as an instrument of the board’s will.
    The board had wanted to test Harry and Erin Dixon. Concerns had been raised about them—justifiable concerns, it now appeared. But it was a big step from doubting the commitment of citizens of Prosperous to taking direct action against them. In all the town’s history, only a handful of occasions had arisen when it became necessary to kill one of their own. Such acts were dangerous, and risked sowing discontent and fear among those who had doubts, or were vulnerable to outside influence.
    Morland now regretted telling Harry Dixon that he might have killed his wife and him. He didn’t like Dixon, and didn’t trust him. He’d wanted to goad him, but it was a foolish move. He’d have to reassure him. He might even have to apologize and put his words down to his justifiable anger and frustration.
    But the test wasn’t over. The test had only just begun. Harry Dixon would have to make amends for his failings, and Morland was pretty sure that Harry Dixon wouldn’t like what that would entail, not one little bit.
    “So what was it that you thought you saw?” said Morland.
    “I believe I saw a wolf.”

CHAPTER
    VIII
    The ground was hard. Not that Harry should have been surprised; he’d lived in Penobscot County long enough to have no illusions about winter. On the other hand, he’d never had to dig a grave in any season, and this was like breaking rocks.
    Morland left him to his own devices at the start. The chief sat in his car, the driver’s door open but the heat on full blast, and smoked a series of cigarettes, carefully stubbing each one out in the ashtray. After a while, though, it became clear that Harry would be hacking at the ground until summer if he was forced to dig the grave alone, and so Morland opened the trunk of his car and removed a pickax from it. From where he stood, Harry caught a glimpse of something wrapped in transparent plastic sheeting, but he didn’t look for long. He figured he’d have seen more than enough of it by the time the night was over.
    Morland broke the ground with the pickax, and Harry cleared the earth away with the shovel. They worked without speaking. They didn’t have any energy to spare. Despite the cold, Harry felt sweat soaking into his shirt. He removed his coat and was about to hang it on the low branch of a tree when Morland told him to put it in the car instead. Harry assumed it was because the car would keep his coat warm, until Morland made it clear that Harry’s health and well-being were the last things on his mind.
    “With luck, she’ll stay down here and never be found,” said Morland. “But you never know. Prepare for the worst and you won’t be disappointed. I’ve seen crime scene investigators put a man behind bars for the rest of his life on the basis of a thread left on a branch. We take no chances.”
    Morland wasn’t concerned about leaving tracks on the ground. It was too hard for that. Neither was he worried about being seen. Nobody lived nearby, and anyone who might be passing would, in all likelihood, be a citizen of Prosperous, and would know better than to go sticking a nose into Chief Morland’s affairs even if he or she was foolish enough to come and investigate in the first place. Anyway, by now news of what had happened to the girl would have been communicated to those who needed to know. The roads around Prosperous would be quiet tonight.
    They continued to dig. When