“I don’t know if I’m right, but it fits.” I recall my last conversation with Hoch, and another piece of the puzzle snaps into place. “Hoch told me that a few days before the home invasion, he’d bragged about his datt keeping a lot of money at the house. That’s why he’s always blamed himself for what happened.”

Pickles thinks about that a moment. “It sounds like he wasn’t the only one who blamed himself. Maybe his mama blamed him, too.”

“I can’t fathom how her daughter would know about what happened. Or how a mother could hold her fourteen-year-old son responsible.”

He shrugs. “Maybe one of the men told her. Salt on the wound kind of thing. If you look at what they did to her. Rape is about violence and pain and degradation. What better way to destroy this woman than to tell her that her own son was the one who set everything into motion?”

“Chief!”

I look up at the sound of Mona’s voice to see her standing at the door to my office. “I just took a 911 from a driver out on Township Road 1. She drove through some standing water and her car got swept into the creek. She has a bunch of kids with her, and now they’re on the roof.”

Across from me, Pickles stirs, as if from habit he’s ready to go. “Get Skid out there,” I tell her. “Call the sheriff’s office and fire department, too.”

“Got it.”

Pickles shifts restlessly. “Damn people never learn about driving through water,” he grumbles.

“I’ve got to get out to Yoder’s place.” I start to rise.

“Chief. Wait.” He leans across the desk, and he reaches out, his eyes filled with determination. “Look, I know I’m a little past my prime, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out there by yourself.”

“The sheriff’s department—”

“With all this flooding, every agency between here and Cleveland is going to have their hands full, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“Pickles—”

“I can handle it.” He growls the word with a good bit of attitude, and for a moment I see him as the cocky young police officer he’d once been. The adrenaline-addicted cop who’d spent months working undercover and risked his life to do it.

When I hesitate, he adds, “I’m right about that, and you know it.”

I sigh and give a resolute nod. “Bring your slicker and your vest.”

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Ten minutes later, Pickles and I are in my Explorer, bound for the Yoder apple farm. My police radio crackles with activity as my officers and Holmes County sheriff’s deputies are dispatched to several high-water areas. I call Glock as I pull onto the highway. “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” I begin.