The screen fades to black. The words Death in an Amish Farmhouse appear in red, Gothic-style lettering that reminds me of some high school horror film project. The screen goes scratchy. An instant later the image of Amos Plank lying on the floor flashes in stark black and white. I see a pool of shiny black blood. An open mouth and staring eyes . . . The image lasts for only an instant, but it’s enough to make me queasy.

The camera pans back to the Plank kitchen. No movement. No people. That’s when I realize I’m probably looking at unedited clips that were cut or not used. I think of the title and wonder if I’m seeing snippets of a snuff film. . . .

Staving off a rolling wave of revulsion, I stare at the screen, looking for clues. Doc Coblentz estimated the Planks had died between ten P.M. and midnight. It would have been dark. My eyes go to the back door, but the lighting inside reflects off the darkened window. I hit a couple of keys and zoom in. One hundred and ten percent. One hundred and twenty-five. I squint at the screen. The window is dark. It’s nighttime.

That’s when I notice the pale oval on the other side of the glass. At first I think it’s a reflection. The person behind the camera. I hit the zoom again, taking it up to one hundred and fifty percent. The resolution goes grainy. But I’m almost certain someone is standing outside the back door, looking in. I can see the dark shadows of eyes. The line of a mouth.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

I hit Speaker and speed dial Tomasetti’s cell. He answers on the first ring with his usual growl.

“Do you know someone at BCI who can magnify and improve video?” I ask without preamble.

“I’m still on the road. What’s up?”

I tell him about the face in the window. “When I zoom, I lose resolution, so I’m not getting a clear image.”

He sighs. “I’m about twenty minutes from the lab.” He rattles off an e-mail address. “One of the technicians is a friend of mine. Send the file as an attachment. I’ll swing by and we’ll take a look at it.”

An awkward pause ensues and I realize both of us are thinking about last night. We didn’t get much sleep. Tomasetti breaks the moment and we fall back onto common ground. “You still think there was an accomplice?”

“I don’t know.”

“That would change a lot of things.”

“It would mean there’s a killer running loose in my town.”

The line between us hisses. “I’ll get back to you as soon as we have something.”

“I’ll be waiting.”