“I remember when this was a showplace,” Pickles says as we go around the side of the building toward the rear. “Old Willis Hochstetler and his pop worked their tails off. Made some damn nice furniture, too. Not the kind of stuff you find today.”

We reach the back of the barn. The door has been torn off its hinges and hangs at a perilous angle. I enter first. The smells of rotting wood and rodent piss greets me. I shine my light along the perimeter of the room. Broken windows—either from hail or vandals or both—allowed the elements to invade. The once-gleaming oak floors are warped and rotting in places. The support beams show signs of termites. Mindless graffiti has been spray-painted on one wall in fluorescent orange. A pile of what looks like coyote shit sits on the seat of a rail chair that has the back rest broken off.

“Hate to see this place go to crap like this,” Pickles mutters.

“Me, too.” I sigh. “I think we’ve struck out. Let’s go.”

We take the same route out of the building and start toward the Explorer. We’re midway there when Pickles calls out, “I’m going to take a quick look-see in all that brush over there, Chief.”

I glance to my left to realize he’s referring to the place where the house once stood, which is little more than a partially caved-in pit now. The once-manicured landscaping is overgrown, some of the bushes jutting twelve feet high. A tangle of vines hang down from the branches of a pear tree.

I’ve got my beam trained on Pickles when I notice the tire ruts in the grass. They’re pounded down by the rain, but I don’t think they’re very old. “Pickles! I’ve got—”

The crack! of a gunshot cuts off my words. It’s not loud, and almost drowned out by the rain. Ducking slightly, I jerk my beam back to Pickles, surprised that he hasn’t moved to take cover. Then I noticed that he’s stooped at an odd angle. The realization that he’s been hit registers like a punch to my forehead. “Pickles!”

His Maglite drops to the ground next to him. He looks down at it, staggers left as if he’s trying to pick it up, then goes to one knee. His right hand reaches out to me. His eyes meet mine. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak. Then he reels sideways and falls into the pit.