Dr. Eli Marsh profiles killers for a living. He is very good at it. He is not, it turns out, very good at remembering.
When a body is found in a drainage ditch outside his hometown-matching a death from twenty-two years ago, the death of his own brother-Eli is asked to consult. He builds the profile piece by piece: male, methodical, embedded in the community, known to the victims, trusted.
He builds it well. He builds it, in fact, from the inside.
Because Eli was there when his brother died. He was twelve. He has spent his adult life helping the state understand men like the one who did it-and he has never once let himself remember.
Now the memory is coming back in pieces. The man it points to is beloved. And the only evidence Eli has left is something small enough to fit in a child's hand.
A dark, propulsive thriller about what we bury, and who digs.
