Page 78 of Rage

There simply comes a time when the brain needs to rest and the body must recharge. I know that no matter how hard I look at the information in front of me, how desperately I want to find that earth-shattering breakthrough, it’s simply not going to happen when I’m bleary-eyed and exhausted.

Time to call it a day, Kate.

I’ve just closed my laptop when my cell jangles. I glance at the display and smile when Tomasetti’s name pops up. “I just got to the farm,” he tells me. “I wish I could tell you I’m surprised you’re not here.”

“I’m shutting down now,” I say, curbing a little rise of guilt. “Any news from legal?”

“The rental house is owned by the LLC Genesis Property Solutions out of Cincinnati.”

“Is there a name to go along with that?”

“He should have that for us tomorrow.” He clears his throat. “Some people actually have lives outside of their job.”

“You’re not sending me a strongly worded hint, are you?”

I hear clinking on the other end and I picture him in the kitchen of our farmhouse. Taking off his jacket. Pouring a drink. Winding down. I miss him, I realize, and suddenly I can’t wait to get home.

“You just about got things tied up there?” he asks.

“You’re not missing me, are you?”

“While that is a very real possibility, I’m also wondering if I should go ahead and open this bottle of Chilean Carménère or put a couple of IPAs in the freezer since it’s still eighty degrees out there.”

“Let’s go with the IPA,” I tell him.

“See you in a few.”

I’ve just backed out of my parking slot when the call comes over my Bluetooth. “Hey, Margaret,” I say.

“Chief, I know you’re trying to get home, but I just took a call from Buster McGary right there off of Lost Creek Road. He claims someone just pulled into the driveway of the residence where that incident with Mona happened.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I thought so.”

“I’m ten minutes away,” I tell her. “Who’s on duty tonight?”

“Pickles.”

“Tell him to meet me there. No lights.”

“Roger that.”

CHAPTER 20

It’s eleven P.M. when I make the turn onto Lost Creek Road. I punch off the headlights and creep slowly along the road, stopping when I reach the rental house. There are no lights on inside or out. No vehicles in sight. The only light comes from a sliver of moon overhead. It’s so dark I can barely make out the silhouette of the roof.

I speak into my lapel mike. “Ten-twenty-three,” I say, letting Dispatch know I arrived on scene. “Pickles, what’s your ETA?”

“I’m ten minutes out, Chief.”

“Roger that.”

Headlights off, I pull into the driveway and shut down the engine. I sit there a moment, looking around, but there’s no movement. The only sound comes from the chorus of crickets and the flip-flap of the scrap of crime scene tape left over from earlier in the day. Risking the dome light, I get out. I’m on my way to the front door when I hear the horse blow. It’s a common sound, one I’ve heard a thousand times, telling me there’s someone in the backyard.

Pulling out my mini Maglite, but not turning it on, I walk along the side of the house and look around the corner. Sure enough, a horse and buggy are stopped in the center of the yard. Someone is standing next to the buggy. A second person is on the back porch. I flick on the flashlight as I leave the cover of the shadows, and shine the light on the person next to the buggy.

“Police department!” I call out. “Do not move. I’m coming over to talk to you.”