He moves past me and peers into the bedroom. “Holy hell.”

While Glock clears the rest of the house, I struggle to pull myself together. By the time he meets me in the hall, I have my cop’s coat of armor back in place.

“It’s clear,” he says.

I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, as if he thinks I’m going to lose it. “Damn it, Glock, I should have asked Detrick to assist,” I manage. “I should have formed a task force.”

“Even if you had, it wouldn’t have prevented this. She’s been there a while. Fuckin’ hindsight.”

I walk into the living room. Behind me I hear him speaking into his radio. Through the kitchen window, I see Ronnie Stedt and his girlfriend standing where I left them.

Glock comes up beside me. “Pickles and Skid are on the way.”

I nod toward the teenagers. “We need to talk to them. I’ll take the Stedt boy.”

“Chick looks tough.”

“You’re tougher.”

“I’m a Marine,” he says, as if that explains everything.

I go through the back door and approach Ronnie Stedt. The air smells incredibly clean and I gulp it like water. He looks at me, then quickly glances away. “Come here,” I say.

Glock ushers the girl toward his cruiser. Ronnie watches them walk away and gets a scared-little-boy look on his face.

“You okay?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I never seen anything like that in my life.”

I motion toward the Explorer. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

Casting a final glance at his girlfriend, he trails me to the Explorer. I put him in the passenger seat, then climb behind the wheel. “You need a smoke?” I ask.

“I don’t smoke.” He heaves a sigh. “Cigarettes, anyway.”

“I’m going to let you slide on the pot.”

“Thanks.”

I start the engine and turn on the heater. “What were you doing here?”

“Nothin’.”

I make eye contact, but he looks away. “You’re not in any trouble,” I say. “I just need to know how you found that body.”

Looking thoroughly busted, he shakes his head. “We skipped school. We were just going to hang out.” He shrugs. “I can’t believe this happened.”

“Was there anyone here when you arrived?” I ask.

“No.”

“Did you touch anything? Move anything?”

“We just walked in. Drank a beer. Then we saw that . . . thing in the bedroom. Jesus . . .”

Their level of shock and genuine fear indicates these kids had nothing to do with what happened. “Do your folks know you’re here?”

He shakes his head. “My dad’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll leave the explaining up to you.” I see a cell phone clipped to his belt. “You need to call them right now.”

Sighing, he reaches for his phone.

I dial Doc Coblentz’s number from memory. “We need you out at the Huffman place on Thigpen Road,” I say.

“Tell me this is about a car accident or heart attack.”