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Dawson gestured at the man in the sunhat. “This is Ray Talbot. Knows the park better than anyone. Found the body with his bird-watching group, and he’s agreed to answer any questions we might have about the area.”
Ray Talbot lowered his binoculars and nodded at them. His face was weathered from years in the sun, the skin stretched taut over high cheekbones. "Morning."
“Where was the body?” Sheila asked.
“Down by the water,” Talbot said. “I’ll show you.”
He led them along the edge of the lake, his steps careful as he navigated over rocks and patches of high grass. At last they came to a patch of sand that, at first glance, looked no different from the grass around it.
“She was right here,” Talbot said, pointing. “Facedown in the sand.”
Sheila stepped closer. Had the victim been drowned? If so, might she have been washed ashore by the tide?
Did the Great Salt Lake even have tides?
She was about to ask about this, but just then she noticed the clumps of gray-and-white hair scattered around the area, almost as if an animal had been killed here.
She frowned, puzzled by the sight. “Was this fur here when you found the body?”
Talbot nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s badger fur, if you’re curious.”
“Badger fur?” Finn asked, looking as puzzled as Sheila felt.
“Oh, yes,” Talbot said. “There are quite a few of them on the island. They like to burrow in the sandy areas just like this one. They’re usually nocturnal, but they can be quite territorial if threatened.”
“I’m no animal expert,” Finn said, “but I’m pretty sure badgers aren’t known to drown humans.”
Talbot chuckled. "No, no, they're not. They prefer to dig their prey out of burrows. Makes you wonder what happened here."
“If a badger was killed here,” Sheila said, “where’s the blood? Where are the animal prints?”
“Good question. We didn’t notice any tracks at all except for those there.” The birdwatcher pointed again. Following his finger, Sheila noticed a set of tracks she hadn’t seen before.
As she moved closer, she discovered what had unsettled Dawson. The tracks appeared to have been made by a man walking on hands and feet: four small indentations, much like the marks left by a large dog, but with the distinct toe imprints of a man. And the stride between footprints was too long for any animal, but would match a man moving on all fours.
“I’ve never been one for legends,” Talbot said, “but there is a local story about a creature called the 'Saltwalker.' Half man, half beast, they say it roams the edges of the lake.” Talbot's eyes twinkled with an edge of excitement, and Sheila wasn't sure if he was pulling her leg or not.
She glanced at the tracks again, disturbed by their eerie similarity to a man's. “How did the body look when you found her?” she asked.
“I was wondering when you’d ask about that,” Talbot murmured. “She was sort of crouched on her elbows and knees, like this. Almost like she was striking a pose for some strange photoshoot.” He sank to his knees, then leaned forward on his forearms with his head touching the sand.
Sheila stared at him. Why would the killer drown her, then pose her body that way? What was he trying to communicate?
Talbot was checking his watch. “Well,” he said with a regretful sigh, “that’s all the time I can give you for now. I have to get back to my group. They're probably wondering where I've wandered off to by now."
With a nod of acknowledgment, Sheila watched as the birdwatcher ambled back toward a group standing near the trees, their binoculars aimed toward the sky. She turned back to Finn, who was studying the tracks with a look of intense concentration.
"What do you think?" she asked, her eyes darting back to the sandy patch where Bethany's body had been found.
"Looks almost ritualistic," he said, pressing his lips together thoughtfully.
Sheila nodded. “Let’s follow the tracks, see where they take us.”
They followed the man’s tracks up toward a ridge scattered with trees and brush, their gazes probing the terrain for clues. The footprints continued into the undergrowth, becoming fainter as they moved from sand to soil.
As they ventured deeper into the scrubland, a sense of unease snaked its way up Sheila's spine. It wasn’t often that she was able to track a killer’s footprints so easily. She wondered whether, if any of the tracks were clear enough, they could use the prints to later identify the killer. For now, however, she simply wanted to know where the tracks led.
They reached a tumble of rocks, and the tracks disappeared.
