Auggie sighs, already moving on to his next immediate problem. “We don’t have the budget for a damn lawsuit.”

I want to believe he’s just venting his frustration, but in some small corner of my mind I know there’s a possibility he won’t back me on this. He’ll be forced to pay for the legal defense for my department, but not me personally. It could wipe me out financially.

“Auggie,” I say firmly, “I expect your support on this.”

“Of course I’ll support you, Kate. I’ll do everything I can, but if the money isn’t there, it isn’t there.”

I curb a rise of anger, even though I know there are already too many emotions tangled up in this mess.

“If you get any media inquiries, send them to my office,” he tells me.

“All right.”

“And for God’s sake, call Hoover before happy hour starts.”

*   *   *

After a brief conversation with Hoover Seitz, I’m feeling marginally better about the lawsuit. He assures me that the legal counsel for the Kester family—a firm out of Columbus known for taking cases like this one pro bono—is on a fishing expedition and using the bereaved parents’ grief to earn a little blood money. Chances are they’ll settle out of court, the cost of which will be covered by the township’s liability insurance. Everyone gets a little money. Happy ending for everyone. Except, of course, Lucy Kester.

I spend an hour poring over every piece of paper and report I’ve amassed so far in my ever-growing John-Doe-aka-Leroy-Nolt file. I still don’t have cause or manner of death, but when I look at all of the information as a whole, I believe it indicates he met with a violent end. The presence of a garbage bag where the bones were found tells me someone moved and/or tried to conceal the body. If Nolt’s death was due to some innocuous farming accident, anyone with the common sense of a toad would have called the police—unless they directly or indirectly caused his death. But who would have a reason to murder a twenty-year-old Mennonite man?

Two possible motives come to mind, the first being drugs. Thirty years ago, methamphetamine was a rising star among dope dealers. Cocaine, marijuana, and an array of bootlegged pharmaceuticals were big business, too, even in rural areas like Painters Mill. If Nolt liked to “live his life on the fast road,” as his parents had asserted, and he was anxious to make money, a drug deal gone bad is a reasonable scenario.