Snow Bound

by Blake Crouch

But once I’ve got a body, Will, it’s over for you. Life. Or maybe they strap you to the execution table in Florence, put a needle in your arm. I hope you buried her deep, because the coyotes will find her. Sniff out the rot. Dig her up. And someone will stumble across the bones, and that’ll be that. But I don’t need the body. You know why? Because everyone knows she’s dead. And the little secret about juries? About society? They want closure. Wrongs righted. Threads tied up. People like you swept away into prison, out of sight, so they don’t have to think about depravity while they’re tucking their little ones into bed at night. You want to take a chance on a jury? You want to stand there on verdict day, your knees quaking, your life, your daughter’s, in the hands of twelve strangers who might be willing to trade reasonable doubt for closure? You up for that, Will?” Will stood up, trembling with rage. He didn’t know if his wife was alive or dead, and this man was accusing him of her murder. “I didn’t kill my wife, and I don’t know where any of this is coming from. You charging me, Teddy?” “Where’d you bury her?” “Are you charging me?” Swicegood cleared his throat. “I’ll be talking to the DA first thing in the—” “Then I’m done here. Am I free to go?” Swicegood chewed his bottom lip. “For the moment.”