Two eyes, shriveled and constricted, peered out from under half-closed lids. The nose lay bent to one side, the nostrils compressed and flattened against a sunken cheek. The lips curled back, a grin for eternity with a set of perfect teeth. The flesh was pasty white, a blanched and soggy wrapper molding itself closely to the underlying bone. Framing the whole was a mass of dull red hair, the lusterless corkscrew curls plastered to the head by an ooze of liquefied brain tissue.

Shaken, I closed the bag. Remembering the Hydro workers, I glanced over to where I?d left them. The younger was watching me closely. His companion remained some distance behind, shoulders hunched, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his work pants.

Stripping off my gloves, I walked past them, out of the woods and back toward the CUM squad car. They said nothing, but I could hear them following, scraping and rustling in my wake.

Constable Groulx was leaning against his hood. He watched me approach but didn?t change position. I?d worked with more amiable individuals.

?May I use your radio?? I could be cool, too.

He pushed himself upright with both hands and circled the car to the driver?s side. Leaning in through the open window, he disengaged the mike and looked at me questioningly.

?Homicide,? I said.

He looked surprised, regretted it, and put through the call. ?Section des homicides,? he said to the dispatcher. After the usual delays, transfers, and static, the voice of a detective came over the air.

?Claudel,? it said, sounding irritated.

Constable Groulx handed me the mike. I identified myself and gave my location. ?I?ve got a homicide here,? I said. ?Probable body dump. Probable female. Probable decapitation. You?d better get recovery out here right away.?

There was a long pause. No one was finding this good news.