“Yup.” It’s a lie. It’s disturbing as hell to walk into something like this. By the time I go through the door I’m shaking so violently I can barely hold the cell. “I hear sirens.”

“Look, this is kind of an unusual situation. I mean with your cover and all. I don’t know what the protocol is, but it might be a good idea for you to get out of there. I’ll get an official statement from you later.”

“I’ve left tracks. Contaminated the scene.”

“I’ll take care of it. Just get out of there. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

“All right.”

I flee the scene and don’t look back.

*   *   *

Two hours pass before Suggs calls with an update. I’ve been pacing the living room relentlessly since arriving back, a dozen scenarios running through my mind. None of them are good. By the time my cell rings, my patience has grown thin.

“I got Frank on the line with us,” Suggs begins. “You there, Frank?”

“I’m here.”

I don’t bother with a greeting. “What happened to them?”

“I just left the scene,” Suggs tells me. “Medical examiner is there. It looks like both suffered fatal gunshot wounds. My undersheriff is overseeing things.”

“I got an investigator with the state police out there, too, Chief Burkholder,” Betancourt adds. “Along with a crime scene unit.”

“What’s your take on this?” I ask.

“It has all the hallmarks of a murder-suicide,” Suggs tells me. “Looks like the husband accosted his wife in the living room and shot her once in the chest at close range. He then went to the kitchen, put the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.”

I think of Rebecca and I can’t believe something like this would happen to her. “Have you notified next of kin?” I ask. “Talked to family members?”

“We’re still trying to find them.” Suggs sighs. “No luck yet.”

“Last I heard, their son, Andy Beiler, his wife, and their two teenage girls moved to Shipshewana, Indiana,” I tell them. “The grandson went to Missouri to live with an elderly couple.”

“We got that,” Betancourt says. “We’re looking. Nothing yet.”

“What were you doing out at the Beiler farm, anyway?” Betancourt asks.

“I went to talk to Rebecca.” Quickly, I summarize my conversation with Laura Hershberger. “She told me Rebecca’s three grandchildren were taken in and ‘counseled’ by Schrock. Laura wouldn’t go into detail, but intimated that some kind of abuse occurred while the kids were at Schrock’s farm.”

“Dan briefed me on that,” Betancourt says. “Did she mean sexual abuse?”

“I don’t know.” I tell him about my encounter with Schrock. “That would be my guess.”

“I ran the grandson’s name through every database I could think of and I got nada.”

“Not even an ID card?” I ask.