I take the folder to my office so I can look at them in privacy. I’m midway there when the bell on the door jangles. I look over my shoulder to see Tomasetti enter, a cardboard tray filled with six biggie coffees in his hands. Glock brings up the rear holding a white paper bag. Despite my resolve to maintain an even keel, a small thrill that has absolutely nothing to do with coffee or doughnuts runs the length of me.

“Brain food,” Glock comments.

Skid enters behind Glock. “Gotta have a brain for that, dude.”

“Can’t you guys ever bring anything even remotely healthy?” Mona usurps the bag from Glock and carries it to the coffee station. “Does an apple fritter count as a fruit serving?”

“We’re cops,” Skid says. “We eat doughnuts.”

I feel Tomasetti’s eyes on me as I head toward my office. I know dodging him is a stupid reaction. We’re working together; more than likely, I’ll be dealing with him every day until the case is closed. But just the sight of him shakes me up a little.

Sliding behind my desk, I open the folder and start flipping through the photos. All depict young women in various stages of undress and engaging in some form of sex. Oral. Anal. Threesomes. All wear Amish clothing. Kapps. Plain dresses. Practical shoes. But all semblance of plain or practical ends there. The photos are triple X and difficult as hell to look at.

I arrange the photos into two piles. T.J. did a good job, but none of the women’s faces is fully visible. Of the twelve images, ten of them could be Mary Plank. All I can do at this point is give them to John and see if the BCI lab can magnify them and find some identifiable mark. A birthmark or scar I can connect to Mary Plank. There’s a chance his technology people will be able to identify the owners of the Web sites. From there, they may be able to locate the person who submitted the image.

My brain is still working that over when I look up to see Tomasetti standing in the doorway to my office. “T.J. said you had some photos.”

My eyes skitter away from his, but I force them back. “He got them off the Internet. Amish fetish stuff. A few could pass for Mary Plank.” I shrug. “Can you have someone at BCI take a look at the domains and IP addresses? Maybe we can find the owner of the site or at the very least find out who posted the pics.”

“We can try. The problem is that a lot of porn sites are based overseas where we have little or no control. Might take a while.”

Sighing, I look down at the two piles of photos. “These are the most promising.”