John Thiels lived quietly, apparently content to work, return to his Canaan trailer and plan his next hike. Police say that when his buddy Casey Hadcock proposed a Saturday night camping trip to a remote patch of woods in Bridgewater last June, Thiels quickly accepted.

It was a trap. Thiels, 38, was dating a girl Hadcock wanted for himself, and Hadcock, 19, hated Thiels for it.

Once they were in the woods, police say, Hadcock smashed Thiels' head with a rock and then stuffed his lifeless body in a pickup truck parked on a remote dirt road, where it was found days later by a man riding an ATV.

Hadcock has pleaded not guilty to charges of first-degree murder.

Thiels' death was one of the most brutal killings in recent Upper Valley history. And yet, in a region that prides itself on its low crime rate as much as its steady economy, it barely made a ripple.

That's because the detectives usually assigned to homicides in the area were too busy to handle the Thiels case. They were 30 miles to the north, part of a team of more than 100 state police officers and FBI agents searching for Brooke Bennett, the 12-year-old girl who was last seen at a Randolph convenience store four days before Thiels died.

The case of Brooke Bennett, who was allegedly raped, suffocated and dumped in a shallow grave by her uncle, captured national attention and a prompted a full-scale legislative inquiry. But in the Upper Valley last year, it was only the most noted in a series of grisly homicides, including an infant allegedly beaten to death by her father, a man allegedly shot to death while already lying on the ground injured, and a 25-year-old developmentally disabled man allegedly lured into a fatal trap by three co-workers he thought were his friends.

Law enforcement officials know that one year means little in isolation, yet they are concerned about the uptick in violent deaths. Perhaps more alarming, they are worried that the suspects increasingly seem to be without remorse and are more willing than ever to turn to violence to address seemingly trivial slights.

“The first word that comes to my mind is ‘desensitized,' ” said Glenn Libby, the veteran superintendent of the Grafton County jail. “The people who perpetuate these things, it's like you getting up in the morning and eating cornflakes. You don't think anything of it. And these guys are the same.”

“There was a time in Vermont when the motive was obvious, and now we get crimes were the motive isn't clear,” said Col. James Baker, head of the Vermont State Police. “I don't know if it is a trend or not. We’ll see what 2009 brings. But we are absolutely concerned about some of the senselessness, desensitized acts of violence.”

Vermont recorded 17 criminal homicides in 2008, up from 12 the previous year and the highest statewide tally since 2000. New Hampshire registered 19 in 2008, according to Senior Assistant Attorney General Jane Young, level with 2007 and about average for recent years.

In Vermont, the worst time was a three-month period in the summer, during which the pace of killings seemed to approach that of a big city, not a rural area. The state, still reeling from the July killings of Thiels, Bennett and a Springfield, Vt., infant, registered homicides on Aug. 3, Aug. 6, Aug. 15, Aug. 17 and Aug. 24. After a brief respite, there were two more homicides, on Sept. 20 and Sept. 24. Police say those killings included a Wells, Vt., woman who was allegedly killed by her 14-year-old son; an 80-year-old woman allegedly killed by her adult son; and a Townsend, Vt., infant allegedly beaten to death by her father.

Detective Lt. J.P. Sinclair, who has spent 20 years investigating homicides for the Vermont State Police, called 2008 one of the worst years he's experienced. So strained were police across the state that Sinclair, normally assigned to northern Vermont, was sent to southern regions to help on four different homicide cases there.

Numbers only tell part of the story -- experts say people in the area were often killed for reasons that defy rational explanation. “We're scratching our heads,” Sinclair said. “You arrive on scene and it's like, ‘Why in the world did this happen?’ There seem to be more and more of these cases where, when we first get there, it’s real wide open as to what the motive is.”

Seven-week-old Cadence Bedner spent almost her entire life as a victim.

Police say that, on an early August night, the infant's father, 28-year-old Andrew Bedner, dropped her on the ground in their Springfield, Vt., home and forcefully “snatched” her up, breaking her ribs, police say. Two weeks later, Cadence began crying again. Police say her father elbowed her on the back of the head.

Cadence's mother found her around 11 p.m. that night, not breathing and without a pulse, and took her to Springfield Hospital. Police said the abuse left her with a fractured skull, broken bones and other injuries. She died on Aug. 9.

Andrew Bedner has pleaded not guilty to two counts of aggravated assault.

According to an affidavit, after confessing to police, Bedner put his head on the shoulder of a state police trooper and asked how he could do such a thing to his own child.

A few miles from Bedner's home, another conflict was brewing. Police say Vincent Tamburello, 32, who had just moved to Springfield, Vt., became jealous when his girlfriend received a sexually explicit text message from another man. Friends of the two men then converged on a softball field in Chester, Vt., on Aug. 17.

Police say Tamburello grabbed an ax and began running after 24-year-old Kyle Bolaski. Bolaski then fired a shot from his .30-06 caliber rifle, hitting Tamburello in the leg.

Had Bolaski stopped there, prosecutors said, his actions could have been considered self-defense and Bolaski might not have faced charges. Instead, police say, Bolaski fired again, killing Tamburello, who was lying on the ground.

Bolaski has pleaded not guilty to a charge of aggravated assault.

Before that day, police say, the two men had never met.

In 2008, nearly all of the local violence occurred on the Vermont side of the Connecticut River. But in October, as the pace of Vermont slayings was finally slowing, New Hampshire played host to a killing that police still have not publicly explained.

Christopher Gray, a Bradford, Vt., native struggled with learning disabilities his entire life. He always held down a job and was comfortable socializing with others. But his family said the 25-year-old was a little too trusting.

Gray's guardian reported him missing on Oct. 8. The next day, police found Gray's body buried in a two-foot-deep hole near a Haverhill trailer that was home to three people who worked with Gray at the Woodsville Wal-Mart.

Over the next several weeks, police arrested four people in connection with Gray's death, including Amber Talbot, a 17-year-old who had recently given birth. She lived with two men charged with carrying out the killing -- Timothy Smith, 23, who allegedly plunged a knife repeatedly into Gray's chest, and Anthony Howe, 18, who allegedly held Gray while Smith stabbed him.

According to affidavits in the case, after his arrest, Smith sat at a table inside the Haverhill Police Department and began feeling guilty. He wrote an apology to Gray's family.

“My name is Timothy Smith and I would like to say sorry for your lost [sic],” he wrote, according to the affidavit. “Me and Chris ended up getting into a fight and I ended up stabbing him. I came out clean and told the cops about everything. He was a very good guy and he didn't deserve it. I am very very sorry for what I have done. He didn't deserve what I did to him. He was a hard worker. Thanks, Timothy Smith.”

The father of Talbot's child, Michael Robie, 18, was charged with conspiracy to commit murder for allegedly helping to organize the killing from the Grafton County jail, where he was being held on an unrelated charge. Talbot was charged with conspiracy to commit murder. Howe faces charges of hindering apprehension, and Smith was charged with second-degree murder. No pleas have been entered and cases against all four defendants are ongoing.

Why did so many people want Gray dead? Authorities still haven't said.

“This younger generation, they are scary, because in some instances, there's no sense to some of the things they do, and (the Gray killing) would probably be a prime example of that,” said Libby, who is supervising Talbot, Robie and Smith inside the Grafton County jail. “There's just no feeling, absolutely no remorse. At times, I wonder if they ever realize the significance that somebody actually lost their life.”

When pressed to explain the jump in homicides and the nature of the killings, veteran members of the law enforcement and the legal communities struggle for specifics. More often than not, they fall back on of a familiar list of reasons: the breakdown of families, stress from economic hard times and the exposure to images of violence in television programs, video games and movies.

“From where I sit, there is a lot of stress in our world right now, and people react differently,” Baker said. “There are a lot of folks with issues that are not getting the help they need, and as a result, people call the police.”

“There is a sense of violence that is very desensitized,” Baker continued, “and we live in a society where that generation has been looking at video games and violence on TV.”

And no one is sure if 2008 was simply a bad year, or a harbinger of crimes to come.

“I hope it's a fluke, otherwise, it's not going to be so fun to live here anymore,” said Martha Neary, a Windsor County prosecutor and former public defender.

The case of Brooke Bennett was perhaps the worst of all. Experts say it probably should not be used an example of a larger trend, but it certainly put a strain on the region's law enforcement community.

Beginning in 2003, police say, 42-year-old Randolph resident Michael Jacques had convinced a young girl that she was part of a secret sex club, and that to avoid being killed by the club's leaders, she had to do whatever Jacques told her. Last summer, police say, Jacques had decided it time to induct another member into the club. He turned his gaze to Brooke Bennett, his 12-year-old niece.

Police alleged that on June 25, Jacques dropped off Brooke at the Randolph Cumberland Farms in an attempt to throw authorities off his trail. Soon, however, Jacques returned to the store, picked Brooke up and took her to his East Bethel Road home.

On the evening of July 2, after a weeklong search and just hours before the community was scheduled to hold a candlelight vigil in hopes of Brooke's safe return, police announced that they found her body buried in the woods near Jacques' home.

Jacques faces charges including kidnapping resulting in death. He could get the death penalty if convicted, although federal prosecutors have yet to indicate whether they would seek it. He has pleaded not guilty.

The case exhausted a state police force that was only halfway through one of its busiest years.

“Just about every detective and about all of our uniformed officers had a piece of that case,” Sinclair of the Vermont State Police said. “We threw everything but the kitchen sink at that case.”

During daily news conferences at Bethel's Whitcomb High School, a few state police officers appeared to have been crying. On closer inspection, it was physical exhaustion that had turned their eyes red.

Sinclair was among the many detectives summoned to the Royalton barracks to pitch in. He arrived on June 29 for a 24-hour shift, but almost as soon as he walked into the barracks, he was told about the discovery of Thiels' bludgeoned body in Bridgewater.

An incident like that normally would have been the top priority for the state police criminal investigation unit. Sinclair, who supervises a team of detectives, would have had eight to 10 investigators tracking down Thiels' killer.

But during the worst months of one of the worst years for crime in recent memory, police acknowledge that they could not give it their full attention.

Sinclair had, at the height of the investigation, four detectives to investigate the Thiels case. His team was crammed into a corner office so small there wasn't enough room for them all to sit. They had one computer.

Even their top boss acknowledges he had little time to check in on the case.

“It got lost in the Bennett thing, even with us,” Baker, the Vermont State Police colonel, said. “It would normally get a lot of attention. But in the summer, it was like, ‘Hey, how's it going?' ”