A Perfect Evil

Chapter 63

The bed of the pickup was filled with snow, but Nick crawled up over the tailgate.

“Could you hand me the shovel, Father?”

The priest stood paralyzed, staring at the drifts that swallowed Nick’s legs. Keller’s ungloved hands were at his chest, the long fingers intertwined as though he were in prayer. The wind whipped at his dark, wavy hair. His cheeks were red and his eyes watery blue.

“Father Keller, the shovel, please,” Nick asked again, this time pointing when the priest finally looked up at him.

“Oh, sure.” He made his way to the tree where they had left it. “I can’t imagine there being anything of use to you.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Nick had to reach down to take the shovel, since Father Keller made no effort to lift it to him. The priest’s behavior propelled Nick’s adrenaline. There was something here. He could feel it. He started digging a bit frantically at first. He needed to slow down. How could he possibly find anything in all this snow? He scooped smaller shovelfuls for fear of tossing evidence over the side. The handmade wooden stockracks creaked and whined against the wind gusts. The cold sliced through Nick’s jacket. It assaulted his eyes and pricked at his face, turning his ears into red pincushions. Yet, perspiration slid down his back. His palms were sweating inside the thick leather gloves he had found with the shovel in the storage shed.

Suddenly, the shovel struck something hard, encrusted beneath the snow. The dull sound alerted Father Keller who approached the tailgate, close enough to look down into the hole Nick had created.

Carefully, Nick dug around the object with small scoops and delicate plunges. Unable to contain his curiosity, he tossed the shovel aside and dropped to his knees. With his gloved hands he brushed and wiped and scooped at the snow, feeling the edges of the object, but still not able to determine what it was. Snow crusted around it in chunks of ice. Whatever the object was, it had been warm when it was tossed into the pile of snow.

Finally, Nick could see what looked like skin. His heart raced. His hands frantically pulled and chipped at the ice. A huge chunk broke away, and Nick jerked backward in surprise.

“Jesus,” he said, feeling his stomach lurch.

He glanced at Father Keller, who grimaced and stepped backward. Encased in the snow tomb was a dead dog, its black fur peeled away, its skin carved and shredded, and its throat slashed.