Page 10 of Rage

“I’m guessing this animal hasn’t been fed or watered in over twenty-four hours.”

I grew up around horses; I know when something isn’t right. Though Tomasetti was raised in the city, he knows that with as-of-yet-unidentified human remains discovered half a mile down the road, an abandoned horse and buggy isn’t a good development.

I go to the leather lines and loosen them, so the horse can move its head freely. “Samuel Yutzy isn’t the kind of guy to neglect a horse,” I say. “Gotta be something else.”

Rising, Tomasetti crosses to me. “So where the hell is he?”

I go to the buggy, look inside. A copy of the newspaper The Budget is folded on the bench seat. A plastic coffee cup lies on its side on the floorboard. A quart bottle of fly spray. Nothing out of place.

Tomasetti strides to the Explorer and lays on the horn, his eyes probing the dozen or so rows of trees. I go to the barn, spot the five-gallon bucket just inside the door, and take it to the faucet at the side of the barn. I fill it halfway with water and carry it to the horse. The animal eagerly lowers its head, slurping and gulping as it drinks.

“Easy,” I say. “Not too fast. Easy does it.”

“I’m going to take a look around.” Tomasetti approaches me, but his attention is on the trees. “Does Yutzy keep money in that register?”

I set down the bucket. “I’ll take a look and meet you out there.”

“Eyes open.”

“Yep.”

The temperature drops ten degrees when I enter the shade of the barn. I go directly to the folding table and look down at the register. It’s a small, inexpensive model, the kind a new business owner might buy at Sam’s Club or Office Depot. A single key dangles from the cash drawer. I reach down, twist the key, pull open the drawer. An array of bills and a mishmash of change stare up at me, telling me that he does, indeed, keep cash on hand and that it’s undisturbed.

I’m on my way to the door to join Tomasetti when he calls out, “Kate!”

I leave the barn and break into a jog, cross the gravel. I pass by several rows of trees before spotting him twenty yards down the final row. He’s kneeling, studying something on the ground. I start toward him, a bad feeling spreading through my midsection. I’ve nearly reached him when I notice the circular area of discolored earth. It’s about two feet in diameter. As if something has been spilled, soaked into the ground, and dried.

Tomasetti sighs. “Looks like blood.”

I reach him and kneel, the hairs at my nape standing up. “Shit.” I look over at him. “There was an Amish hat on the ground back at the scene.” I can tell by the way he’s looking back at me that we’re thinking the same thing.

“I’ve got Hemastix in the Explorer.” I get to my feet. Hemastix is an inexpensive field test all of my officers carry in their vehicles. It indicates whether a stain that’s presumably blood actually contains hemoglobin.

“Good place to start,” he murmurs.

I jog to the Explorer, hit the fob for the rear door. Terrible possibilities churn in my brain as I dig into my equipment box. I grab the bottle and trot back to where Tomasetti is standing.

“Been a while since I used this,” I say as I kneel. “Hope I remember how to do it.”

Quickly, I pull on nitrile gloves. I twist the lid off the Hemastix container and pluck out a single plastic strip. I’m not sure there’s enough moisture left in the stain to react, but I press the colored end of the strip against the stain anyway. The knot that’s taken up residence in my gut tightens another notch when the tip turns green.

“Definitely blood,” Tomasetti says.

I pull out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for Dispatch.

Lois picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Chief.”

“Tell Pickles I need him to run out to Samuel Yutzy’s residence for a welfare check. Tell him do not enter the premises. No one comes in or out of the property. Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You got it.”

“Run Yutzy through LEADS,” I tell her, referring to the Law Enforcement Automated Data System. “Check for warrants. I need a background. Last known address. Next of kin.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to write up an affidavit and get it over to Judge Siebenthaler. I need a search warrant for Yutzy’s tree nursery and his residence. Tell the judge I need it yesterday. Send me the doc electronically as soon as you have it.”

A pause and then, “Chief, isn’t Yutzy that nice kid who owns the nursery out there on Sweet Potato Ridge Road?”