Page 92 of Shamed

I recap what I know and explain the significance of the dates. “Add to that the plaster from the size-thirteen work boot and Detweiler’s height, and we’ve got probable cause.”

Pallant doesn’t seem convinced. “The judge bought it.”

“Does anyone know if Detweiler has guns on the property?” Tomasetti asks. “Does he hunt?”

“We don’t know,” Pallant responds.

“If they’re Amish and live on a farm, we have to assume they do,” I say. “Most Amish hunt.”

“David Troyer was likely shot with a muzzle-loader,” Tomasetti says.

“The only thing good about that is a muzzle-loader is slow to load,” Pallant adds.

“Anyone know the layout of the property?” I ask.

The two men shake their heads.

“It’s a big spread,” the sheriff says.

“They run cattle,” the deputy adds. “I’ve seen them when I drive by. A couple dozen head.”

I go to the desk, pull up an aerial view on my laptop, and zoom in close. “In addition to the house, there are at least three good-size outbuildings.”

“Lots of places to hide,” Tomasetti says.

The sheriff leans closer, squints at the screen. “Any other buildings?”

“Not on this aerial, but it’s over a year old.” I indicate what looks like an excavated area at the rear of the property. “Not sure what that is.” Using my mouse, I zoom in, but it doesn’t help. “A pond that’s gone dry?”

“There’s a quarry on the northwest corner of the property,” the deputy says. “It’s defunct now. There used to be a lot of gravel trucks coming and going through a gate at the back.”

The sheriff indicates a greenbelt that bisects the property. “Creek runs through there, too.”

“A lot of trees,” I murmur.

“So what’s the plan?” Tomasetti asks.

The sheriff looks at his watch. “It’s six A.M. Let’s execute the warrant. Search the house, outbuildings, and the property.” He makes eye contact with me. “I’ve got two more deputies en route. Everyone has been briefed. Once we execute the warrant, my guys will enter the property through that back gate and work their way to the front.” He addresses me and Tomasetti. “Before we do anything, might be a good idea to talk to the couple, feel them out, and then search the house and outbuildings.”

“I think we’re good to go,” Tomasetti says.

“Let’s do it.” The sheriff brings his hands together. “My deputy and I will ride together. You two follow.”

I stride to the TV stand, snatch up my shoulder holster and .38, shrug into it. I grab my jacket out of the closet. I gather the file. My laptop.

Tomasetti reaches for the keys and the four of us go through the door.

CHAPTER 25

One hundred eleven hours missing

It’s still dark with drizzle and fog as Tomasetti and I follow the sheriff’s cruiser to the Detweiler property, which takes twenty minutes. The lane entrance is overgrown, without a mailbox or any indication it’s a residence at all, and we drive by twice before realizing we’ve arrived at our destination.

The brake lights flash as they make the turn. Tomasetti follows, muttering a curse as he wrestles the Explorer over deep ruts and through hip-high grass and weeds. A hundred yards in, he jams the Explorer into four-wheel drive. We pass by a low-slung hog barn that looks abandoned. The ground is muddy and torn up, but there are no hogs in sight. No lights as far as the eye can see. A quarter mile farther in, trees encroach on the driveway. We climb a hill, and a small frame house looms into view. No shutters or landscaping. The downstairs window glows with light. Someone is awake.

Beyond the house, a falling-down bank barn leans precariously. It was once white, but the decades have eaten away most of the paint. A chicken house stands next to the barn. There’s a smaller hog barn with an attached pen where several dozen hogs mill about. Two horses stand inside a loafing shed, munching on a round bale of hay, watching us.

Tomasetti parks next to a black buggy, our headlights revealing the lack of a slow-moving-vehicle sign. There’s no reflective signage of any kind. But it’s the lack of a windshield and the sight of the dual kerosene lanterns that confirm what I already know. The Detweilers are Swartzentruber.