Kingdom Come Read Free Page B

Millers’ property and five of their neighbors’.
    â€œThe killer used one of these animal trails to get in and out of the creek. Had to. We didn’t find his prints leaving the creek because they were trod over at some point after he left her body at the Millers’, covered up by hoofprints.”
    I looked at Grady. He was frowning, but he didn’t say anything.
    â€œWe saw dairy cows out in a couple of these fields yesterday.” I tapped two Post-it notes I’d put up with cow stick figures. My attempt at high art. “So for sure he could have used either of these trails. As for the others, all these farms have at least a horse or two for the buggies. We’ll have to interview the farmers to know if their animals were out between midnight and when we were looking, I’d say as late as ten A.M. yesterday.”
    â€œHe could have kept to the creek. Could’ve walked miles,” Grady countered.
    â€œEven in the water, it wouldn’t have been easy to manage adead body, and it was damned freezing. Plus, we looked up and down both banks of the creek and didn’t find fresh prints coming out of it for at least a mile. And there aren’t any more animal tracks along it for a good ways either.” I tapped the paper. “He used one of these trails, Grady. Which means he
knows
this place. He knew where those trails were and when the animals moved. He came from one of these farms.”
    It was the first time I’d said it out loud, but I’d started thinking it yesterday afternoon. I knew Grady didn’t want to hear it. Then again, I didn’t want a lot of the shit that had happened to me. Life sucked that way.
    Grady rubbed at his jaw. He looked around as if worried about being overheard. But most of the detectives didn’t get in until after seven. He still lowered his voice.
    â€œOkay, I agree that he knows the area. That doesn’t mean he’s Amish. He could be someone who works with the Amish—a driver, someone who picks up dairy or produce. Hell, a mailman. Or a customer.”
    He grabbed my Post-it pad and began scribbling. He tore off the top page and slapped it over one of the properties marked
Fisher
. “Eggs and dairy,” he said, repeating what he’d written on the note. He scribbled another one and put it on the map. “Chicken coops.” Another. “Baked goods.” Another. “Mules.” He waved his hand. “All these farmers sell goods directly off their farms, which means they have customers driving in and out all the time. Any of those customers could have thought,
Gee whiz, where should I dump this body? How ’bout where I buy my eggs? No one would ever guess because I’m such a clever bastard.
”
    â€œJust because you stop in someone’s driveway to buy eggsdoesn’t mean you can see the creek or the animal trails leading to it. The creek’s in a gully.”
    â€œMaybe they wandered around a bit one fine spring day. Maybe their dog took off across a field and they chased it. Maybe they chatted with the farmer and he mentioned it. Could have been months ago, even years, and only now they had a reason to use that information. Hell, it could have been a fisherman or hunter who wandered up and down that creek in his youth. These farms have had cows and horses living there for a hundred years, which means those trails have been there forever.”
    He had a point. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. “Right. We should get started on customer lists, and lists of anyone who visits these farms regularly. But . . . I’m gonna say this, Grady, at least once.”
    I waited until he looked at me.
    â€œI’m not ruling out anything, not yet. These farmers and their families have to be considered suspects, at least until we can cross them off officially.”
    I made it sound logical, but it was more than that to me. It was a gut feeling, a feeling that said