BCI is the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Apprehension and Identification out of Columbus, which is about a hundred miles west of here. It’s a state agency run by the attorney general’s office that offers a multitude of resources to local law enforcement, including a state-of-the-art lab, computer databases, crime scene technicians and field agents. The town council called the agency for assistance last year when a serial murderer stalked Painters Mill.

That’s how I met field agent John Tomasetti. He was instrumental in helping me close the Slaughterhouse Murders investigation ten months ago. The case was a nightmare, especially for me because of my personal connection to the killer. Tomasetti got me through it. He’s a good cop and an even better friend, and it’s him I think of this morning.

“I’m going to request a CSU to help process the scene.” I pull my cell phone from my pocket. “Maybe they’ll be able to pick up hair or fibers.”

The three cops nod in approval. But I know they’re feeling territorial about this case. The atrocities committed against this Amish family have angered and outraged them. While they appreciate any help, they don’t want some other agency encroaching on their turf.

“Chief Burkholder?”

I glance over to see Doc Coblentz standing next to one of the corpses. He looks grim and shaken, and I acknowledge that there is a small, selfish part of me that doesn’t want to go over there. Some crimes are simply too terrible for the eyes to behold, the mind to comprehend. But the part of me that is a cop knows information is my most powerful tool.

Dropping my cell back in my pocket, I force my legs to take me to him. “What do you have?”

For a moment the doctor stares down at the floor, his expression troubled. And I realize with some surprise this veteran man of medicine is so upset by what he’s seen that he can’t speak.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says after a moment.

I’m aware of my team watching us from the doorway. It’s an uncomfortable moment. I’m not very good at offering comfort. I’m not even very good at receiving it. I give the doc a minute, and then I ask the question that’s been eating at me since I saw the bodies. “Do you know the cause of death?”

My question snaps him back. “I can’t be positive until I get them on the table, but I have a theory.” He glances toward Glock. “Have you photographed and documented everything?”

Glock gives a nod.

The doctor turns his attention back to me. “These two girls suffered long, horrific deaths, Katie. Look at this.”