Just tell me what you remember seeing that afternoon.” Dax tried to sound calm and reassuring. Interviewing witnesses was a delicate balance between being sympathetic, but pushy, when it came to trying to pry the right information out of them. “I’d gone to the cemetery to lay flowers on my dear Harold’s grave and I saw a big tractor digging a hole in the back corner of the lot. I thought it was odd because that part of the cemetery hadn’t had a funeral held in it in a long time, but what do I know about how cemeteries do business? Maybe they were starting a new plot.” “What color was the tractor?” “Yellow.” “Did it look old? New? Did you see anyone?” “Well, I don’t know my tractors, but it was very shiny. There was someone in the cab, but I couldn’t see him at all. The windows were tinted and it was so far away.” “What time was it?”
