In the somber atmos­phere of 1969, Sher­iff Ed Jack­son and Deputy Joe Pur­due faced the daunt­ing task of accom­pa­ny­ing the bereaved fam­i­ly of Chase, includ­ing his wid­ow Pearl and his par­ents, Pat­ti Love and Sam, to con­front the grim real­i­ty of loss at the clin­ic’s makeshift morgue. The chilled silence of the room was pierced by the grief-strick­en sobs of Pearl and Pat­ti Love, forc­ing them to retreat from the unbear­able sight of Chase’s life­less form. The air car­ried a weight too heavy for words, leav­ing Sam enveloped in a silence that hint­ed at a depth of sor­row beyond expres­sion.

Back in the sher­if­f’s office, which bore the scars of nature’s relent­less assault from salt­wa­ter marsh, the mood was bleak. Amidst the spread of mildew and the odd sight of mush­rooms thriv­ing in the cor­ners, the two men shared a drink, seek­ing solace in the gold­en warmth of bour­bon as the day sur­ren­dered to the night.

Four days had passed in the haze of their inves­tiga­tive duties when a flick­er of hope seemed to arise with the arrival of the lab reports, bran­dished by Joe as he burst into the office. Yet, as they delved into the con­tents, hope quick­ly dis­si­pat­ed, replaced by frus­tra­tion. The report pro­vid­ed a time­frame for Chase’s death but offered noth­ing more. The term “neg­a­tive data” encap­su­lat­ed their predica­ment per­fect­ly – an absence of evi­dence, a void where there should have been clues. The metic­u­lous absence of fin­ger­prints, includ­ing Chase’s own, at the scene sug­gest­ed a cal­cu­lat­ed effort to erase any traces, rais­ing more ques­tions than answers. The ster­ile lan­guage of the report con­trast­ed sharply with the com­plex­i­ty of their task, leav­ing them pon­der­ing the skill or motive behind such thor­ough­ness in obscur­ing the truth. The inves­ti­ga­tion was at a stand­still, with every new dis­cov­ery lead­ing only to dead ends and the haunt­ing real­iza­tion that they were far from uncov­er­ing the sto­ry beneath the sur­face.