“Murder for the sake of murder,” Glock says. “It looks like whoever did it went in there to kill.”

“And torture,” Pickles adds. “Seems like that was a big part of it.”

I nod. “I agree.”

“What about robbery?” Skid looks around the room. “Maybe the murders were an afterthought. They went in for money or valuables, saw those two girls . . .” He shrugs. “Acted out some kind of twisted fantasy.”

It’s a stretch, but I’ve had too much experience with the utter senselessness of murder to dismiss it out of hand.

T.J. speaks up for the first time. “Do the Amish use banks?”

“Some do. Some don’t.” The perfect assignment for him comes to me. “See if the Planks had an account at Painters Mill Credit Union or First Third Bank and Trust. If the bean counters balk, get a warrant from Judge Seibenthaler.”

“Will do.”

I look at Pickles; I’m thinking about drugs now, a silent scourge that affects many small towns, no matter how postcard perfect the façade. Back in the 1980s, he worked undercover and singlehandedly busted one of the biggest meth labs in the state. Despite his age, he’s always ready for action, the more the merrier, and if he gets to pull his sidearm, it’s an bonus. “You still on top of our friendly neighborhood meth guys?”

“Some.” Leaning back in his chair, he unwraps a toothpick and sticks it between his lips. “You think this is drug related?”

“Something ugly like this happens, and drugs come to mind.” All eyes swing to me. “It’s a desperate, money-driven business.”

“Amish might be easy pickin’s.” Pickles chews on the toothpick. “Being pacifists and all.”

He’s right; generally speaking, the Amish renounce any kind of violence. “If some crackhead found out the Planks kept money at the house, they might think they could make off with some easy cash.”

Glock pipes up. “How would anyone know the Planks kept cash on hand?”

All eyes turn to me, and I know they’re wondering how the social crevasse that exists between the Amish and English might have been traversed. “Maybe one of the Planks mentioned keeping cash at the house while they were in town. Maybe the wrong person overheard and decided to rob them.”

Skid looks doubtful. “You mean like ‘My grandma keeps ten thousand dollars cash in her broom closet’?”

I shrug, knowing it’s a stretch. But you never know when a stretch might become the real deal.

“Maybe it started out as a burglary,” Glock says.

“Only the family was home and all of a sudden it’s a robbery,” T.J. adds. “Maybe they didn’t want witnesses.”

“That doesn’t explain the torture aspect.” I look from man to man. “If our perp went in for money or valuables, that level of violence just doesn’t fit.”