Page 54 of Breaking Silence

I think about it a moment. “When I saw the rifle in the closet, I got this strange feeling that I’d seen it before.”

“You mean recently?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” I reach for the memory, but it’s not there, like a hand grasping at smoke. “I was hoping to tie up the Slabaugh case with Coulter, but I don’t think he’s our guy.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t like him for this or the hate crimes.”

“Where’s all that hard-nosed cynicism, Tomasetti?”

“At the risk of ruining whatever image of me you’ve drawn in your head, I don’t think a cop should let cynicism override good old-fashioned instinct.”

“Now there’s a novel concept.”

“Chief?”

I glance toward the door to see Glock standing there, looking excited. “Please tell me you have good news,” I say.

“A guy out on Township Road 2 remembered seeing a dark-colored pickup truck hauling ass last night near where you found Lambright. Says he noticed because the driver blew a stop sign, just about hit him.”

“Anyone get a plate number?”

He shakes his head. “Witness says he was moving too fast.”

“What about a description of the driver?”

“Don’t know. T. J.’s talking to the guy now.”

“Any word on Lambright’s condition?” Tomasetti asks.

“Broken ribs. Broken nose. Hypothermia. Emergency doc says someone worked him over good.”

“Just for being Amish,” I mutter. “Sons of bitches.”

“Maybe the truck will pan out,” Glock says.

I’m not as optimistic. “Run all blue and black pickup trucks, Ford and Chevy, registered in Holmes and Coshocton counties,” I say to Glock. “Run the drivers through LEADS, see if we get anything interesting.”

“I’m on it,” he says, and disappears down the hall.

I feel like breaking something, but there’s nothing handy, so I look at my computer screen to see if anything has come back on the rifle. Of course, there’s nothing there yet. The database is huge and queries take time. Something about the rifle niggles at me. Some insignificant memory on the edge of my brain. Something I thought wasn’t important but is. I know I’ve seen that stock before. But where?

I’m in the process of retracing my every step from the day before when it hits me. “Holy shit.” I jump to my feet fast enough to startle Tomasetti. “I think I just remembered where I saw the rifle.”

He arches a brow. “Lay it on me.”

I look at him, my heart pounding. “The Slabaugh place. Yesterday afternoon. In the mudroom.”

“Yesterday? Are you sure?”

“No.” But I am. The more I think about it, the more certain I become. I grab my parka. “Only one way to find out.”

Standing, he reaches for his own coat and sighs. “Cynicism outstrips faith in mankind once again.”

CHAPTER 11

Rain slashes down in sheets when we step out of the station. We hightail it to the Explorer, but we’re dripping by the time we buckle in.

“If you saw the rifle at the Slabaugh place yesterday, how the hell did it get to Coulter’s house?” Tomasetti asks.