Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) Read Online Free PDF Page B

that trip.”
     
    The sun was doing a slow bleed across the rose and black horizon by the time Maxwell’s county-issued Jeep made its way down the rutted lane leading to Price’s house. A large dog of indeterminate breed raced down the gravel drive toward the vehicle, barking a warning. Beckett pulled to a stop in front of a two-story clapboard farmhouse, next to a newer model black Dodge Ram pickup.
    Cam scanned the area. Across a graveled expanse, a large machine shed situated at the back corner of the property nestled close to a hulking rustic barn. A small metal corn bin that looked as if it hadn’t seen use for decades sat like a sentinel next to the barn. Part of the sheet metal on the bin had come loose and gaped open on one side. There were two other smaller framed wooden buildings on the opposite side of the property. Both were gray and weathered, each leaning crazily, as if goading the next straight line wind to flatten them.
    “Pretty isolated out here,” Cam observed. The dog had stopped a dozen yards away from their vehicle, still heralding their arrival. “The last farmhouse we passed was five miles back.”
    “Price bought just the building site and five acres. The farmland surrounding the property was sold separately,” the sheriff answered, putting the Jeep in park.
    Cam squinted into the distance. A fully-grown windbreak of fir trees provided privacy on three sides. An open field of six-inch corn faced the property across the gravel road to the front. Then he looked at the Ram. “That Price’s truck?”
    “Fits the description I got from the Department of Motor Vehicles.” Turning off the ignition Beckett peered out the window toward the dog that gave no signs of tiring. “Let’s hope that animal is all bark, no bite.”
    “I’ll do better than hope,” Cam gibed, opening his car door. “I’ll let you lead the way.”
    He rounded the car and joined the sheriff to walk through the open wire gate and up to the house. Keeping a wary eye on the dog, he noticed the kitchen door was open. Light spilled through the screen door onto the paint worn wooden porch. “Looks like someone’s home.”
    “Did I mention this guy’s former parole officer in Missouri said he was given to fits of rage and had anger management issues?”
    “Sort of picked up on that.” The dog behind them drowned out the sound of their ascent up the four porch steps.
    “Boone County sheriff, Mr. Price,” Beckett called out as he pounded on the screen. There was no sign of a doorbell. “I’d like to talk to you.”
    Cam peered through the half open door. It led into a kitchen caught in a sixties time warp of avocado green. A light from the adjoining dining room lit that area, showing an overturned chair and a bottle on its side. Beer ran across the scarred table and trickled in a steady stream to the threadbare green carpet below.
    “DCI, Mr. Price.” Cam tried again, pounding hard enough to have the screen door rattling on its hinges. “Come on out here so we can talk.”
    Silence greeted his words.
    Cam nodded toward the lightweight navy jacket hanging on a doorknob inside the kitchen. An unmistakable shape protruded from the pocket of the garment. “That looks like an illegal firearm.”
    “It’s a felony in a con’s possession,” Beckett agreed, his hand on the baton at his waistband. “Our duty to check it out.”
    “My thoughts exactly.” Cam reached out and opened the screen door, stepped inside the kitchen. Beckett was right in back of him. Once inside he stopped, his gaze going to the bottle on the dining room table. Liquid still leaked steadily from it. Whoever had spilt it hadn’t done so long ago.
    “Mr. Price?” Beckett called out.
    Cam did a semi-circle around the adjoining doorway to check for anyone hiding just inside it before stepping into the dining room. A quick scan showed it empty. He could see now that next to the bottle was a paper plate with a mound of bones and a half eaten