“Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Amish woman,” Skid mutters.

The statement earns a few chuckles, including one from me, but I don’t discount any theory this stage. “The ER doc ran a tox,” I tell him. “Results will take a week or so, but I’ll stay on top of it and keep you posted.”

I turn my attention to T.J. “You want to give them the rundown on that SO report you found?”

The young officer clears his throat and recounts the details of the thirty-year-old police report from the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department. “According to the report, a deputy was called to the farm of Reuben Kaufman after a neighbor reported witnessing some kind of accident or fall into the hogpen.”

Simultaneously, Glock and Skid sit up straighter.

“The neighbor has passed away now,” I tell them, “but the little girl who witnessed the incident still lives in the area. I talked to her earlier. Name is Sally Burris. She was only nine years old at the time, and apparently she’d sneaked over to the farm without her parent’s knowledge. She didn’t have a clear view of the incident but claims there were three men present and they were arguing.”

“Was Kaufman raising hogs at the time?” Glock asks.

“He’s not on the list, and he’s denied it, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have hogs,” I reply.

Pickles leans forward and puts his elbows on the table. “Now that you mention it, Chief, I swear I remember them having hogs out there. Back in those days, they used those low sheds and kept them out in the pasture.”

I look at Skid. “Lois and Mona and Jodie put together a list of large-animal veterinarians. Take a look at it, see who was practicing back then, and give them a call. Chances are at some point the Kaufmans had a vet come to their farm. For vaccinations. A sick animal. Castrations. A difficult birth. An injury.”

“You got it.”

“Chief,” Glock says. “Any chance we could get a warrant?” he asks. “Get out there and take a look around?”

“Judge Seibenthaler shot it down.”

“That old goat is more interested in tourism than crime solving,” Pickles grouses.

I remind them of Nolt’s broken arm and the missing titanium plate. “To put that into perspective: If Nolt was indeed one of the men Sally Burris saw and there was an argument, it’s possible he was either pushed or fell into the hogpen. It could be that the fall knocked him unconscious or otherwise incapacitated him, and the hogs—if they were hungry or aggressive or both—went after him.”

“Sounds like whoever he was with wasn’t too concerned about his health,” Glock finishes.

“And they let the hogs kill him,” I finish.

“That’s one way to get rid of evidence,” T.J. puts in.