Four heads bob nearly in unison.

I turn my attention to Glock. “CSU find anything?”

Glock scoots his chair closer. “Tomasetti sent two technicians. They were still working the scene when I left. Found a slew of latents. Some could be from the family. Blood evidence was done. Got a partial off the bloody print on the door.” He looks down at his notes. “They found two slugs so far, including the one in the basement that went through the floor. Looks like the fucker who did it picked up his brass.”

“Of course he did,” I say dryly. “They able to get footwear impressions?”

“They were working on that. Tech thinks they’ll get some decent impressions.”

“Any latents on the instruments found in the barn?” I ask.

“Smears.” Glock frowns. “No prints.”

“That sucks,” Skid says.

“Hair?” I ask, hopeful. “Fibers?”

“Both. They vacuumed the house and the tack room in the barn. Bagged everything and sent it via courier. Won’t know anything until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Keep on the footwear thing. If we can figure out what kind of shoe and match it to someone in town . . .”

“You bet.”

“Have the bodies been transported?” I ask.

“Paramedics were loading up when I left the scene. Doc Coblentz borrowed a resident from Cuyahoga County to assist with the autopsies. They’re going to work through the night.”

“That will speed things up.” In the back of my mind, I wonder if Tomasetti will drive down. I wonder if I should have filed an official petition for assistance. “Were the techs able to give you a caliber from the slugs?”

“Not definitively,” Glock says. “But it was a small caliber. Probably a twenty-two. Could be a thirty-two or nine millimeter. They’re sending the Beretta to the lab for testing.”

I address Glock. “They get a serial number?”

“Filed off,” he says.

“That’s interesting,” says Skid.

“Yeah.” I scan the faces of my team. “What else do we have in terms of evidence?”

“The instruments in the barn,” T.J. begins.

“The speaker wire,” Skid adds.

“Until the lab gets back to us,” I tell Skid, “why don’t you call around, see who sells speaker wire here in town?”

He nods.

“Anyone find any money?” I ask. “Valuables? Was anything grossly out of place or broken?”

The men shake their heads. “Aside from the bodies, there didn’t seem to be a damn thing outta place,” Pickles says. “Nothing looked as if it had been tossed.”

I tell them about my conversation with Bishop Troyer. “Bonnie was evidently concerned about her daughter, but no one knows why.”

“Might be a good idea to talk to her friends,” Glock says.

“Can you follow up on that?” Get me a list? I ask. “I’m going to talk to the owner of the shop where she worked.” I look at my team. “We need a motive.”