I reach the door and peer inside. The interior is dark and smells faintly of old blood, manure, and stale air. I glance around for something with which to prop open the door, but there’s nothing handy. I turn my attention to the hasp and realize it’s the kind that could have blown open if not properly closed. But did it?

For a full minute, I stand there and listen for any sign of movement. But the only sounds are the moan of the wind, the dry scuttle of leaves across gravel, and the low rumble of thunder.

The urge to step inside and take a look around is powerful, but I know that any impropriety on my part could become an issue if this ever goes to court. I’m miles out of my jurisdiction. Tomasetti is working on a search warrant. All I have to do is wait this out at the sheriff’s office, and by day’s end an army of agents and crime-scene technicians will search this property from top to bottom.

None of that changes the fact that Annie King is dead and that I have a fifteen-year-old missing Amish girl on my hands who may be facing the same fate. I don’t know how or why, but my gut is telling me the Masts are involved. And I can’t help but think that while I’m being herded through this case like an obedient cow being prodded onto a truck, Sadie Miller is somewhere nearby, fighting for her life.

Or she’s already dead.

“To hell with it,” I mutter, and snap open my cell. The 911 dispatcher answers on the second ring. Quickly, I identify myself, letting her know I’m law enforcement. “I’m out at the Mast farm on Township Road 405, and I need for you to send a deputy as soon as possible.”

“What is your emergency, ma’am?”

“I’ve found evidence of a crime that’s related to a case I’m working on.”

I hear the clatter of fingernails against a keyboard. “What’s your location, ma’am?”

I recite the address from memory.

“I’ve got a deputy en route.”

“What’s the ETA on that?”

“Twenty minutes.” She pauses. “Are you in imminent danger, ma’am? Would you like me to stay on the line until he arrives?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” I disconnect and clip the cell to my belt.

Overhead, rain begins to tap on the roof, fat drops hitting the shingles like nails from a nail gun. A gust of wind sends a scatter of dry leaves around my feet. The door slams. The sound is like a shotgun blast, and even though I saw it coming, I jump.