Page 85 of Rage

“Odd that both the house and strip club are owned by LLCs,” I put in.

“We’re waiting to hear back from both states.” Tomasetti growls low in his throat. “We’re going to do our best to light a fire today.”

I’m still considering the local angle. “Do we know who at The Cheetah Lounge does the hiring?” I ask.

Tomasetti flips a page. “Carl Monaghans. Get this: He’s on vacation in Cancún.”

“That’s convenient as hell,” Rasmussen mutters.

“We’ll pull him in the day he gets back,” Tomasetti says.

I’ve just glanced at the clock when my cell erupts. I look down to see Glock’s name pop up on the screen. Simultaneously, Rasmussen’s cell goes off. Pounding sounds on the door.

It swings open. “Chief?” Margaret looks at me wide-eyed. “Just took a call from Glock. Amish boys out on Township Road 122 found a body.”

I get to my feet, my mind revving. “What’s the address?”

“The boy who called said it’s right there on the south side of the cutoff with County Road 407. Says there’s a lady on the ground just past the ditch in the trees.”

“I’m on my way.”

It takes me six minutes to reach the scene. Glock’s cruiser is parked at the mouth of Township Road 122, blocking the road in both directions. The emergency lights on his vehicle are flashing, but Glock is nowhere in sight. He’s set out flares and cones to block the northbound lane of CR 407. An Amish boy is leaning against the front fender, looking shaken up and out of place.

“Ten-twenty-three,” I say, letting Dispatch know I arrived on scene.

I park behind Glock’s cruiser, grab a bottle of water, and get out. Heat and humidity slap me in the face like a wet palm. A chorus of cicadas and birds sound from the woods.

I speak into my shoulder mike. “Glock,” I say, “what’s your twenty?”

“I’m about ten yards into the woods, Chief. I think you need to see this.”

“Be right there.” I start toward the boy. “Guder mariye.” Good morning.

I guess him to be about fourteen years of age. Skinny and blond with a summer straw hat and a work shirt that’s torn at the sleeve.

He gives me a nod, his expression grim and scared.

I hand him the water bottle. “You okay?”

“Ja.” He jabs a thumb toward the woods behind him. “That girl … she ain’t okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Levi Miller.”

“What are you doing out here?”

He ducks his head. “My friend and I were out in the woods, trying out my new BB gun.”

“What happened?”

“We found a girl. At first, I thought it was a … I don’t know, one of them store mannequins. Then I saw all that blood…” He shudders. “I think she’s dead.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“He went to call you guys. Ain’t back yet.”

“He on his bike?”