The judge is a corpulent man of about fifty with salt-and-pepper hair, a mottled complexion, and a gourdlike nose shot with broken capillaries. He weighs in at about 250, but he’s not much taller than me. He’s got a jovial personality and an appreciation for humor, but I know from experience he’s a tough son of a bitch in his courtroom, and not only with regard to those who break the law. I’ve seen him take more than one cocky young lawyer down a notch. In the years I’ve been chief, he’s denied more warrants than he’s signed, and I have a sinking feeling this one won’t make the cut.

“Thanks for seeing me, Judge.”

“You caught me walking out the door. My granddaughter has a piano recital up in Wooster in an hour.”

“In that case, I’ll make this quick.” I pass him the affidavit. It includes the highlights of the case, the information I gleaned from Sally Burris earlier, the location and reason for the search, and what I’m looking for—in this case the titanium plate missing from the remains of Leroy Nolt. I also give him a copy of the original crime report.

Slipping glasses onto his nose, he looks down at the affidavit, skimming, and then looks at me over the rims of his glasses. “Naomi and Reuben Kaufman, Kate? Seriously?”

Argument prepared, I launch into everything I know about the case. “I have a witness that saw a man fall into the hogpen. I have remains with marks consistent with the tooth marks of domestic swine.”

“The Kaufmans are pillars of the community! The Amish community, which happens to be the bread and butter of this town. For God’s sake, Kate, my wife buys stuff from them all the time.”

“I’m aware they’re Amish.”

Frowning, he turns to the second sheet of paper and then looks at me. “You’re looking for a titanium orthopedic plate? What the hell is that?”

“It’s an orthopedic implant,” I tell him. “The decedent sustained a broken arm in which both the radius and ulna were broken. Two plates were surgically implanted. Only one was found with the remains.”

“So you think this second missing plate is at the Kaufman farm?”

“I do.”

Taking off his glasses, he sets down the paper. His leather chair protests when he leans back. “You don’t have enough here for a warrant. You know that, right?”

“Abigail Kline—Reuben and Naomi’s daughter—made the quilt Leroy Nolt gave his mother. When I asked her about it, she lied to me. She was involved with Leroy Nolt. Judge, I know there’s something there.”

“Have these bones even been confirmed as Nolt’s? I mean, via DNA?”

“Not with DNA yet, but the surgeon who did the surgery on Leroy Nolt matched the serial number with the plate we found.”

“Hmmm.”