Page 66 of A Gathering of Secrets

I thank him and end the call. My mind is already jumping ahead to all the things I need to do. If I can get my hands on the key early tomorrow, I’ll have Mona check area hardware stores. If we can find out where it was duplicated, we might be able to find out who had it made.

Now, however, I need to get home to Tomasetti and my life. I shut down the computer and head for the door. I’m in the process of locking my office behind me when Jodie calls out my name.

“You still back there, Chief?”

“Right here,” I say as I enter reception.

“I know you’re trying to get out of here, but I just took a call from a motorist out on Hogpath Road. Says he hit a deer and it busted his windshield. Vehicle’s in the ditch.”

My heart sinks. “Where’s Skid?”

“He just responded to a fight call out at the Brass Rail. Reporting party said there was a knife involved, so he’s going to be tied up for a while.”

Thinking of Tomasetti, I sigh. “I’ll take it. Give that motorist a call back and see if he needs medical attention or a wrecker.”

“Will do.”

“Where on Hogpath Road?”

“Just past the Painters Creek Bridge.”

“Got it. See you tomorrow.” I go through the door and into the night.

Hogpath Road is a narrow strip of asphalt banked by cornfields on both sides. The farms are both Amish and English, but they’re large and some of the houses are more than a mile apart. The Painters Creek Bridge is about two miles south of Painters Mill. Deer like to graze along the floodplain where the grass is plentiful and they have the cover of the trees that flourish there. Occasionally they wander onto the road. Two years ago a woman from Portsmouth was killed after striking a deer, overcorrecting, and plowing into a tree.

I spot headlights in the distance as I approach the bridge. They cut through the dark at an odd angle, telling me the vehicle isn’t level. Flipping on my emergency lights, I idle across the bridge and park on the shoulder, about thirty feet from where the vehicle faces me from its place in the ditch.

“I’m ten-twenty-three,” I say into my lapel mike.

“Everyone okay out there, Chief?”

“Not sure just yet. No sign of the driver. I’m going to take a look.” I slide my Maglite out of its pocket. “Did you ten-fifty-one?” I ask, referring to the dispatch of a wrecker.

“Wrecker’s on the way.”

“Roger that.”

Leaving my headlights and emergency lights on, I get out and look around. The other vehicle’s lights are blinding; I can’t make out the make or model. The driver is nowhere in sight.

“Painters Mill Police Department!” I call out. “Everyone okay?”

“I hit a deer!” comes a male voice.

“Hang tight, sir,” I tell him. “I’ll be right there.”

I’m well off the road, but it’s fully dark and there’s a blind curve behind me. The last thing I need is for some fool to fly across the bridge and plow into both of us, so I hit my fob, pop open the rear door, and grab four flares. I break open two and drop them well behind the Explorer. Two more in the middle of the lane outside my driver’s-side door.

Using my Maglite, I start toward the vehicle. I’d assumed the driver would have gotten out and walked over to me by now. “Sir, are you injured? Do you need an ambulance?”

“I’m okay. Just shook up.”

I catch a glimpse of a silhouette. The driver is still behind the wheel, fiddling around with something on the seat. No passenger. “Could you step out here please?” I call out.

No response.

I shine my beam on the vehicle, getting my first good look. It’s a pickup truck, not in the ditch, but parked at a steep angle a few feet off the shoulder. The truck is an extended-cab with a long bed. Dark blue or maybe black. That’s when I notice the missing front license plate.

I stop walking and sweep the beam to where I’d last seen the driver, but he’s gone.