“They put what was left into a garbage bag and buried it in the crawl space of that abandoned barn,” Pickles adds.

Skid shakes his head. “That shit gives me the willies.”

“What’s the setup out at the Kaufman place?” T.J. asks. “I mean, the barn?”

“They have two barns. According to Sally Burris, the incident occurred at the one farthest from the road. It’s a bank-style barn and built on a slope. In front, the door opens to the first level. The argument took place at the rear of the barn, on the second level.” I think about that a moment. “I haven’t seen the interior, but I know that a lot of those old bank barns have a hay door that looks out over the rear, for ease of feeding livestock, tossing hay, whatever.”

“So that back door is ten or twelve feet from the ground?” Skid asks.

I nod. “If someone fell or was pushed, there’s a decent possibility he’d be stunned or injured.”

“Or unconscious,” Glock says.

“If there were hogs below…” T.J. lets the words trail.

“Do pigs do that?” Skid’s voice is incredulous. “I mean, would they attack and consume a human being?”

I tell him about my conversation with wildlife biologist Nelson Woodburn. “Domestic swine aren’t as aggressive as their feral cousins or javelina, but if they’re starved, there’s no doubt they will attack and consume prey in order to survive. In this case, it’s just the hands and the feet that are missing.”

“That’s brutal,” T.J. whispers.

“Might be interesting to get out there with a metal detector,” Glock says.

“Unless someone found that titanium plate in his pork chop,” Skid mutters.

Pickles slurps coffee. “Shame about that warrant.”

“Permission from the owner would probably suffice,” Glock offers.

I give him my full attention. “That would be a best-case scenario.”

“Wouldn’t that be kind of like the fox asking the hens if he can come inside to borrow a cup of sugar?” asks Skid.

“According to Sally Burris,” I say, “there was no female present.”

“Not the kind of thing hubby mentions over shoofly pie,” Glock adds.

“So, if the wife doesn’t know what happened,” T.J. says, “she has nothing to hide from the police.”

I look at him and nod. “If she does and refuses us access to the farm, we’re going to have to find another way.”

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

I arrive at the station early and spend two hours digging up everything I can find on Abram Kaufman. There’s not much; law-abiding citizens tend to lead boring lives, especially when it comes to law-enforcement databases. He’s married, never been arrested, pays his taxes on time, and he’s never been involved in a lawsuit. Aside from a slow-moving-vehicle citation two years ago, he’s kept his nose clean.