Page 89 of Fallen

CHAPTER 38

“Hello? Anyone home?” Skid knocked on the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

No one came.

He’d tried the front door, the back door, and the side door off the porch by the garden, all to no avail.

Puzzled, he hit his shoulder mike and hailed the chief. “I’m ten-twenty-three,” he said. “What’s your twenty?”

Radio silence hissed, same as it had the first time he’d tried to reach her, ten minutes ago.

He took the steps to the sidewalk and started toward his cruiser, which was parked in the gravel area between the house and barn. He’d been looking forward to a quiet shift. A breakfast burrito from LaDonna’s Diner. Coffee from that new café on Main. He’d especially been looking forward to using the men’s room somewhere.

Where the hell was Burkholder?

Cursing beneath his breath, he hailed Dispatch. “Mona?”

“What up?”

He grinned at the sound of her voice—which he liked a little too much these days—and he was glad there was no one around to see him. She was filling in for Lois today, which meant she’d be there when he ended his shift. “Any idea where the chief is?”

“Last I heard she was headed out to the Bontrager place.”

“That’s what I thought.” He looked around. “She’s not here.”

“That’s weird.” A beat of silence. “Did you try her cell?”

“I’ll try again. Over and out.” Skid pulled his cell from his pocket, hit the speed dial for Kate. Four rings and then voicemail. “Well, shit.”

Puzzled, he walked to his cruiser, opened the door to get in, and then closed it. Fingers of something that felt vaguely like concern pressed into the back of his neck. One of the things he liked most about the chief was that she was reliable and always available. Day or night.

“So unless you’re in the damn shower,” he muttered, “you ought to be picking up the phone.”

Had she run into some problem on her way here? Or was there something else going on?

Leaning against the hood of his cruiser, he checked his phone again and looked around, wrinkled his nose at the waft of manure coming from the barn. Damn, he hated dairy operations. They were all mud and stink and he’d had enough of both to last him a lifetime. He was reaching for the car door handle when he noticed the barn’s sliding door standing open about a foot. Wondering if there was someone inside who hadn’t seen or heard him, he started that way.

He reached the barn, pushed the door open another foot, and peeked inside. “Hello?” he called out. “Police department! Anyone here?”

The interior smelled of cattle and sour milk, the stink made worse by the manure pit out back. He entered, his eyes adjusting to the murky light. A dozen or so stanchions ahead. Milking apparatus that didn’t look too clean. A big generator that smelled of kerosene and sludge. To his right were the stairs to the hayloft above. Skid glanced left. Everything inside him ground to a halt at the sight of the vehicle parked halfway down the aisle. It was a newish Toyota Camry. Red. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the rental car the chief was driving.

Senses on alert, he strode to the vehicle, set his hand against the hood, found it warm to the touch. Did she have some mechanical problem after she’d arrived? Dead battery and no jump? If that was the case, why was the vehicle parked in the barn?

He spoke into his radio. “I’m ten-twenty-three out at the Bontrager place. Mona, I got a vehicle out here. I’m pretty sure it’s the chief’s. Can you ten-twenty-eight?” He read the license plate number to her. “She been in contact?”

“Negative.”

Skid looked around. No one in sight. Not even a damn cow. He was reaching for the Camry’s door handle when he spotted a smear on the window. Not dirt or mud. Pulling out his mini Maglite, he leaned close for a better look. Blood.

“Shit.”

“What’s going on?”

“I got blood.” He yanked open the door. His heart did a slow roll at the sight of the .38 revolver on the seat. Her clip-on mike. “Get County out here. Ten-thirty-nine.” Lights and siren. “I’m going to take a look around.”

CHAPTER 39

Consciousness returns with the ebb and flow of a gentle tide. Warm water lapping against sand and then rushing back out to sea. I’m aware of movement and light and the vicious pound of pain in my head. Something coarse scraping my cheek. The smells of old wood and dust and moldy feed. Nausea bubbles like hot grease in my stomach. Bile in my mouth.