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“Morning,” they replied. They were looking at him with curiosity, both breathing hard, both glad of the rest.
Gabe took a good look at those pitchforks. They were solid and sharp. There were three others lined up against the wall, and he wondered if this had made it easy for the killer to find the weapon he'd used last night. Had there originally been four pitchforks there? That was a chilling thought.
"I'm checking out the area, making sure we don't have anyone where they shouldn't be," he said. "You've obviously heard about what happened last night?"
They both nodded respectfully.
"Have the police been here?" Gabe asked, wanting to get some perspective.
Again, they nodded. Then one of them spoke.
"The police have been here from the early morning. Two policemen asked us questions about an hour ago. We didn't know anything, but they asked us about our movements. Where we had been working this morning, and if we knew the victim."
"We did know Tony," the other man explained. "But not well. And we didn’t see him this morning. We arrived very early, but we headed straight out to drop off a delivery of hay."
He noted their accents. One German, one British. This seemed typical from what he’d heard at the ball last night. This foundation attracted a mix of nationalities.
"Okay," Gabe said. "And how about any time in the past few days doing your work around the farm? I wondered if you might have heard or seen anything unusual?"
The two men looked at each other, then back at Gabe with a blank expression. "There’s been nothing wrong. Nothing at all,” the closer one said.
"Okay," Gabe said. "Now, think carefully about what you saw on the way in. When were you walking down here? Notice anything that made you look again?"
The two men exchanged a look, their faces still devoid of emotion. Gabe wasn't sure if they were hiding something they didn't want him to know about or if it was just their way of interacting with each other in this cult; that neutrality was a learned skill. He waited patiently for their response.
He was expecting more of the same, but one of the men, leaning on his pitchfork, nodded.
"I saw something," he said and then hesitated. Gabe realized it felt almost as if he was asking permission to continue speaking. Sighing inwardly, he gave it.
"Please, tell me. Tell me what you know," he said, injecting a note of authority into his voice.
"There won't be any trouble for speaking to you?" he asked. His voice held a hint of a German accent.
"No trouble. Consider this an order," Gabe said, again feeling uncomfortable that this was necessary. But the man seemed reassured by it. He squared his shoulders and took a breath.
"There was someone down by the sheds, down that way." He pointed. "I saw him early this morning when I headed down here after our delivery to start stacking the bales."
"And was he a suspicious-looking person?" Gabe asked.
"I am not sure," the man said, sounding thoughtful. "You see, we do get people here who are not part of our foundation, who are dressed differently, in normal farm working clothes. But almost always, they will greet us and be friendly. What I noticed about this man was that he turned and walked away very quickly. He was gone in a moment, behind the sheds. I didn't see him again."
This was reinforcing to Gabe that they were on the right track.
Someone was prowling around.
"What did he look like?"
The man narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. "He was wearing baggy pants and a loose brown jacket. Boots, I think."
"Hair color?"
A pause. "I think he was wearing a baseball cap."
"Anything else you noticed about him?"
"No." The man shook his head. "I saw him for such a brief time. Afterward, I tried to remember, but I couldn't recall anything obvious or clear."
"Did you tell the police about him?"
