The heart of a man is gluttonous.

What you're about to hear is based on actual events.

Listener discretion is advised.

The path from Massachusetts to Montana is an ugly twisted rope.

The darkest part of Detective Bill Belushi's mind

likens it to a length of intestine,

tacky with drying blood,

stuck all over with bits of trash and dirt and rocks.

A thing that marries the ground as it moves,

making false tracks in the earth that spin off into nothingness,

paths that lead nowhere.

He sighs and looks over the massive paperwork neatly organized in all the open boxes

beside and on top of his desk.

Every one of them is marked,

bar Jonah, which is fitting because he feels almost like the whale that's eaten this man.

This foul and slippery thing that's been giving the entire department

indigestion for months now and probably will continue to do so in the years to come.

Decades even.

But of all the boxes of testimony and photos of gathered evidence tucked into neat,

clear plastic envelopes with evidence printed large and orange on the side,

of witness statements and impact statements of stinking red herrings and missed opportunities.

Of all that, there is one piece of paper that makes his stomach churn.

...