Skid couldn’t look away. The dead man had a horrific wound at the back of his head. Blood oozed from his left ear into his full beard and then trickled down to pool on the floor. His mouth was open and his bloody tongue protruded like a fat slug.

He hoped Zimmerman was wrong about the number of victims. He hoped the other lumps on the floor were piles of clothing in need of mending or maybe feed bags someone had brought in from the barn. That hope was dashed when the beam of his flashlight revealed two more bodies. A teenaged boy wearing dark trousers with suspenders. A little red-haired boy encircled by more blood than could possibly fit into his small body. Both boys had gunshot wounds to the head. Both had their hands bound behind their backs. Skid knew without checking that they were dead.

He’d been a cop for going on ten years, first in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and now here in Painters Mill. He’d seen death before. Traffic accidents. Shootings. Stabbings. None of those things prepared him for this.

“Holy Christ.” He fumbled for his lapel mike, surprised when his hand shook. “Mona, I’m 10-23 at the Plank place. Call the chief. Tell her I’ve got a major fuckin’ crime scene out here. A shooting with multiple vics. Fatalities.” His voice broke. “Shit.”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

He looked down at the staring eyes and the ocean of blood, and he knew he’d be seeing that image for a very long time to come. “Just send the coroner, Mona. It’s too late to save any of these people.”

CHAPTER 2

I’m caught in that weird twilight between wakefulness and slumber when the phone on my night table jangles. The last time I looked at the clock, it was just after three A.M. A glance at those glowing red numbers tells me it’s now four-thirty. I feel lucky to have gotten a full hour and a half of sleep.

“Burkholder,” I rasp.

“Chief, it’s Mona. Skid says there’s been a shooting out at the Plank farm.”

The words jolt me upright. “Anyone hurt?” I envision an accidental shooting; someone putting a bullet in his foot while cleaning his .30-06.

“He said it was a major crime scene with multiple fatalities.”

Multiple fatalities.

For an instant I think I’ve misunderstood. Then my brain clicks into place, and I get to my feet. “He get the shooter?”

“I don’t know. Skid sounded pretty shook up.”

Four full-time officers comprise my small police force; Skid is one of my most experienced. He’s not the sensitive type nor is he easily rattled, so I know it’s got to be bad. “Get an ambulance out there, will you?”

“Sure. And I called Doc Coblentz.”