He stared at the dirt-encrusted bone. One end was splintered off, and the shaft showed the gnawings of animal teeth. “Where did you find this?”

“Rachel Sorkin’s place.”

“How did Rachel get it?”

“Elwyn Clyde’s dogs dragged it into her yard. She doesn’t know where it came from. I was over there this morning, after Elwyn shot himself in the foot.”

“Again?” He rolled his eyes and they both laughed. If every village had an idiot, then Tranquility’s would be Elwyn.

“He’s okay,” she said. “But I guess a gunshot wound should be reported.”

“Consider it done. I already have a folder for Elwyn and his gunshot wounds.” He gestured to a chair. “Now tell me about this bone. Are you sure it’s human?”

She sat down. Though they were looking directly at each other, he felt a barrier of reserve between them that was almost physical. He had sensed it the first time they’d met, soon after she’d moved to town, when she had attended to a prisoner suffering from abdominal pain in Tranquility’s three-cell jail. Lincoln had been curious about her from the start. Where was her husband? Why was she alone raising her son? But he had not felt comfortable asking her personal questions, and she did not seem to invite such intrusion. Pleasant but intensely private, she seemed reluctant to let anyone get too close to her, which was a shame. She was a pretty woman, short but sturdy, with luminous dark eyes and a mass of curly brown hair just starting to show the first strands of silver.

She leaned forward, her hands resting on his desk. “I’m not an expert or anything,” she said, “but I don’t know what other animal this bone could come from. Judging by the size, it looks like a child’s.”

“Did you see any other bones around?”

“Rachel and I searched the yard, but we didn’t find any. The dogs could’ve picked this up anywhere in the woods. You’ll have to search the whole area.”

“Could be from an old Indian burial.”