The Dead Will Tell Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Check for casings, too.”
    The men are already on their feet, their eyes seeking.
    I stare at the blood, the pattern of the spread. “Looks like he was upright when he was shot.”
    “That’s my thought, too,” the doc says. “Blood traveled down with gravity.”
    I risk a look at the dead man’s face and try not to shudder. That’s when I notice something in his mouth. “Doc, is there something in his mouth?”
    The coroner leans closer. “Tongue is pretty swollen, but it looks like there may be a foreign object in the back of his throat.” He glances at the technician. “Hand me the large needle-nose pliers.”
    The tech removes a stainless steel instrument that looks like a combination pliers and tweezers. The doc sets his hand against the victim’s face, turning the head slightly so that the mouth opens wider. After inserting the tip of the pliers, he gently tugs out an oblong object about three and a half inches in length.
    I set the beam of my flashlight on it. “What is it?”
    “Looks like some kind of … figurine,” the doc murmurs.
    Recognition sparks when he turns it over. “It’s an Amish peg doll,” I say.
    The doc gives me a questioning look over the tops of his bifocals. “Come again?”
    “A wooden doll.” I move my flashlight closer for better illumination. “It’s faceless, which tells me it’s Amish.”
    With a turn of his wrist, he flips it upside down. I can just make out the faded and bloodied letters on the underside of the base: HOCHSTETLER .
    “I know that name,” I say.
    The doc looks at me over his bifocals. “Used to be a business here in town. Amish family made furniture. Place closed when they were murdered back in the late 1970s.”
    I was only a year old at the time, but now that he’s mentioned it, I remember the stories from when I was a kid, most of which were of the ghostly variety. “Interesting that this would show up at a murder scene thirty-five years later,” I say.
    The doc nods. “I’ll say.”
    I look down at the bloody peg doll clamped within the pincers of the pliers, and I wonder why someone saw fit to shove it down Dale Michaels’s throat. I start to reach for an evidence bag, but realize I’m not in uniform and look around for Glock. “Do you have an evidence bag?”
    “Right here, Chief.” He crosses back to us, working a bag from a compartment on his belt. He opens it, holds it out, and the doc drops the figurine inside.
    “We’re going to need to courier that to the BCI lab ASAP,” I tell him.
    “Sure thing.”
    The technician and coroner roll the victim slightly, and the doc checks the trouser pockets. “I’ve got a wallet here.” He hands the beat-up leather wallet to Glock, who checks the driver’s license and slides it into a second evidence bag. “Jacket is torn. No weapon on him.”
    I rise quickly, look around, aware that I’m seeing the scene in a completely different light. I address Maloney, who’s standing a few yards away. “Frank, can you get everyone out?”
    He’s already motioning the two paramedics through the door.
    “I want all vehicles except the coroner’s van parked away from the house and barn, too.” But I know the rain has more than likely eradicated any tire tread or footwear imprints.
    I hit my lapel mike. “Jodie?”
    “Go ahead, Chief.”
    “Call T.J. and get him out here.”
    “Ten four.”
    “And run Dale Michaels through LEADS.” I spell the name. “And while you’re at it, pull everything you can find on the Hochstetler case from 1979, will you?”
    “Got it.”
    Watching the scene apprehensively, Belinda Harrington approaches me. “What’s going on? Did someone shoot my dad?”
    I give her a hard look, noticing the boat-size purse at her side, the bulky jacket, and I realize she has plenty of places in which to secrete a weapon. I don’t think she shot her father or wrapped a rope around his neck and strung him up. But I learned a long time ago that taking things at face