“Some things just don’t make sense no matter how you cut it. Maybe this guy’s a psycho. Went berserk.”

I consider asking him for his opinion on the scuff marks in the barn, but realize it’s probably better to sleep on it and brainstorm in the morning when we’re fresh. I sigh. “You heading home?”

“On my way there now.”

“See you in the morning.”

I disconnect and stand there for a moment, listening to the storm. I should be thinking about the case, but as I descend the stairs, it’s John Tomasetti who dominates my thoughts. I should have let Glock call BCI. But I know why I didn’t, and I’m not proud of my motivations.

By the time I reach the living room, I’m dialing his cell phone number. He picks up on the fourth ring, sounding distracted. “It’s Kate.” Pause. “Are you in the middle of something?”

“Nothing you can’t drag me away from. How’s the investigation coming along?”

I recap everything I learned from Doc Coblentz. “One of the neighbors recalls seeing a dark pickup near the Plank farm the night of the murders. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and get me the names of people in Holmes and Coshocton counties who own a dark pickup truck.”

“Worth a shot. Make? Model? Year?”

“I don’t know. I thought we’d start with blue and black.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

I’m crossing the threshold into the kitchen when outside the window a flash of lightning turns night into day. Shock freezes me in place when I see the silhouette of a person standing outside the back door. Snapping the phone closed, I shine my light on the window. At first I think the BCI technician is returning from a late dinner break. But the instant my light hits the glass, the silhouette darts away.

Shoving the phone into my pocket, I lunge toward the door, yank it open. Thunder cracks like a gunshot as I step outside. Rain slashes down. I see the shadow of my Explorer. The silhouette of the buggy. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see movement to my right. I turn, catch a glimpse of a figure running across the yard.

“Stop!” I call out. “Police! Stop!”

The figure doesn’t stop.

In the next instant, I’m bounding off the porch, sprinting toward him. Rain stings my face. Streaming bullets of water blind me as I run across the side yard. A flicker of lightning illuminates a white rail fence ahead and a cornfield beyond. I see the person go over the fence. In the back of my mind I wonder if the killer has returned to the scene. But why would he do that when my Explorer is parked in plain sight?