“Give me a name.” I jab his shoulder with my finger again, harder this time. Vaguely, I’m aware people are staring at us. Happy hour revelers giving us a wide berth. “Give me one name.”

“I don’t know anyone.” He takes another step back. “Not even the hardcore guys would do something like that. Seven people? And for what? Fifty bucks? No way.”

He’s right, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook. I have a particularly strong dislike for drug dealers. “Don’t leave town, Drew.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sooner or later, you will.” I step closer and whisper. “When you do, I’ll be waiting.”

His face darkens. A tick quivers beneath his right cheekbone. In that instant, I catch a glimpse of the man beneath the I’m-just-a-farm-boy façade, and I know that if I didn’t have a badge and a gun he’d wrap his fingers around my neck and kill me with his bare hands.

I smile at him. “See you around.”

His cheek quivers; he doesn’t smile back.

As I walk away, I hear him mutter something nasty about Amish cops behind my back. Pickles starts toward him, but I snag his jacket and keep him with me. “Let it go.”

“I don’t like that son of a bitch’s mouth,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, Pickles. If either of the Krause boys had anything to do with this, they’ll get what’s coming to them even if I have to dish it out myself.”

CHAPTER 9

Neither Painters Mill nor Millersburg have a morgue per se, so when an autopsy is required, bodies are transported to Pomerene Hospital in Millersburg, which has morgue facilities and now receives funding from two neighboring counties.

It’s nearly six P.M. when I pull into the lot and park illegally in the emergency parking area. I’m hyperaware of the passage of time as I stride through the glass doors. The day is nearly gone and I’ve accomplished only a fraction of what I’d intended. I’d planned to speak to the manager at the tourist shop where Mary Plank worked, but I got tied up with other things and now it will have to wait until tomorrow.

A young African-American man waves at me from the information desk as I pass. I return the wave and head directly to the elevator that will take me to the basement. I’ve visited this part of the hospital more times than I want to recall in the last year. I keep hoping I’ll get used to the sights and smells of death, but I don’t think I ever will.