“I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that. I can, however, tell you that there are very few feral hogs in this part of Ohio, if any. If this death occurred twenty or thirty years ago, chances are extremely low that feral hogs were involved.”
I’m still trying to make sense of the information in terms of cause and manner of death, but it refuses to settle in my brain. “Doctor Harris, the coroner, believes that the hands and feet of the victim were chewed off. Is that kind of injury common to this type of attack?”
“In the course of my research, I learned that most often feral hogs aren’t even looked at as predators with regard to livestock. But they are omnivores, and they will predate young or injured livestock. Typically when feeding in the wild, unlike other predators such as cougars or even bears, they leave nothing behind.”
“So they would consume even bones?”
“It depends on how hungry they were and how much time they had. The jaw of the feral hog is certainly powerful enough to crush bone.”
An unexpected chill sweeps through me. I can’t think of a more unimaginably horrific manner of death than to be consumed alive by a large creature with jaws strong enough to crush bone.…
“In this instance, it looks like only the hands and feet were … consumed,” I say.
“Of course, we have no way of knowing, but if I were to speculate, perhaps the attack was interrupted. And domestic swine aren’t typically as aggressive as their cousins, the javelinas. That said, if domestic swine are left without food, they will certainly consume whatever food source becomes available in order to survive. In fact, there was a recent case in Oregon in which an elderly farmer went out to feed his hogs. When he didn’t return, his family went out to check on him. The only thing they found was his watch.”
*
The weight of Nelson Woodburn’s words follows me into the station. I’m unduly relieved there are no media present. It’s only when I notice my second-shift dispatcher at her workstation that I realize business hours have long since passed. Apparently, this story isn’t sensational enough for anyone to be setting up tents. Yet.
“Hey, Chief,” Jodie says cheerily.
“Hi.” I cross to her desk. “You up to doing some research for me?”
“Always.”
“Draft an e-mail to the Ohio Department of Agriculture. I need the names and contact information of every farmer in Holmes County who raised hogs from 1982 through 2005. Send it so they have it first thing in the morning. I’ll follow up with a call.”
She plucks a pen from her desk and jots my instructions. “I’ll get right on it.”
“I also need a list and contact info for all large-animal veterinarians in Holmes County who were practicing during that same time frame. Copy Lois and Mona on everything because I’m probably going to get them involved as well.”
“Sure.” Her brows knit, and she gives me a questioning look. “Is this related to those remains, or are you working on something else?”
“I’ll let you know the instant I find out.”
*
Once I’m behind my desk, I call Herb Strackbein, who tells me hogs have never been raised at the old barn on Gellerman Road. His father raised cattle years ago, but never had the proper fencing or facilities for hogs. I’ll double-check his claim in the morning once I’m able to get in contact with the Department of Agriculture. For now, I have no reason to believe he’s lying.
I spend an hour going over the files of the six missing men again, this time looking for any connection to farming or farm animals. Twenty-two-year-old Mark Elliott had just graduated from the College of Wooster and was newly engaged to his high school sweetheart. A young man just starting his life. No criminal record. No warrants. No connection to hogs. Thirty-five-year-old Raymond Stetmeyer, father of two young children, was married to Silvia Stetmeyer, an administrative assistant in Millersburg. Again, no connection to farming or farm animals. Thirty-one-year-old Ricky Maitland, no children, married to Gladys Morrison of Berlin, who remarried just last year. Nothing. Twenty-year-old Leroy Nolt. His is the only family I haven’t yet spoken with, but a glance at the wall clock tells me it’s after 10:00 P.M. Too late to make the call tonight. I’ll need to pull employment records, but as far as I can tell from the information I have, none of the missing have any connection to farming or farm animals.
I’d told Tomasetti I’d try to be home in time for dinner. Not that he believed me; he knows I’m snowed under with this case, and he’s okay with that. But I’m not being completely honest with myself. Or him. The truth of the matter is, I’m avoiding him. Tomasetti is an astute man; he knows I’m preoccupied with something. I’m terrified he’ll look at me and somehow know. I have no idea how he will react to the possibility of my being pregnant.