Skid waits until we’re back in the Crown Vic before speaking. “I’ve seen some disturbing shit since I’ve been a cop, Chief, but I swear seeing that Amish dude cut off that calf’s balls takes the cake.”

I slant him a look. “I thought you were looking a little green around the gills.”

“He didn’t use an anesthetic. Seems kind of medieval.”

“I take it you’re not up for Rocky Mountain oysters for lunch? I know a place in Millersburg.…”

He groans.

*   *   *

A few minutes later, I make the turn onto County Road 600. Left and right, row after row of corn stretches as far as the eye can see. We pass an Amish boy walking barefoot along the shoulder, bamboo fishing pole in hand.

“Kind of reminds me of that movie Children of the Corn,” Skid says.

I wave at the kid. He doesn’t wave back. “If I recall, that one doesn’t end well for the two main characters.”

“Probably would have had a happier ending if they’d been packing.”

I turn into the lane of Reuben Kaufman’s farm, park in a spot that’s just out of view from the house, and get out. Birdsong echoes off the treetops. The smells of fresh-cut grass and the faint odor of livestock rides a gentle breeze. A few yards away, half a dozen hens cluck and scratch at the ground. The house is built on a hill with views in all directions. From where I’m standing I can see the cornfields at the front of the property. At the rear, the land dips to a low area overgrown with saplings and brush and, farther, thick woods.

I take a closer look at the two barns as I start toward the house. The one nearest the house is the smaller of the two and not terribly old. The one in the rear is an ancient structure built into the side of the hill. The front sliding door stands open. Inside, I can just make out the silhouette of a wagon heaped with hay.

“You know, Chief, sometimes I swear I think the Amish have it right,” Skid says.

“And then you remember how much you like tequila and realize it’s just a pipe dream.”

I’m smiling when I step onto the porch and knock. I hear footfalls inside. The door opens about a foot and Naomi Kaufman appears. She doesn’t look happy to see me.

“Hi, Mrs. Kaufman,” I begin.

“Hello.” Her eyes slide from me to Skid.

He tips his head at her. “Officer Skidmore, ma’am.”

She shifts her attention back to me without acknowledging him. “What do you want?”

“Do you have a few minutes, Mrs. Kaufman? I’d like to ask you a few more questions about that old case I’m working on.”

“What questions?”

“May we come inside, ma’am?”