“Shit.” Sighing, he leans past me, twists the knob. The door eases open, and we look at each other. “Reasonable cause,” he says.
“Let’s go.” In an instant, I’m through the door, running past the mudroom and into the kitchen. “Salome!” I shout. “It’s Kate. Are you here?”
Tomasetti takes the steps two at a time to the second level. I clear the downstairs bedrooms, the bathroom, and the basement, but none of the Slabaughs is there.
We meet in the kitchen a few minutes later. Tomasetti looks pissed. “That little fucker lied to us.”
I nod, hating it that I agree with him. “The question is, why?” I sigh. “Where the hell are they?”
“Hiding,” he growls. “Let’s check the barn.”
We move through the mudroom. Before realizing it, I’m running at a steady pace down the sidewalk. Light rain is falling now, cold on my face, but I barely notice.
“Kate.”
I look at Tomasetti and see him motion toward a small outbuilding—a shed. That’s when I realize the overhead door is ajar. We veer left. Bending, he rolls up the door. I duck beneath it before it’s fully up. The first thing I notice is the truck. It’s an old white Chevy with bald front tires and a broken headlight. It looks out of place here.
I glance at Tomasetti and he shakes his head. “Where the fuck did that come from?” he mutters.
“It wasn’t there last time I was here,” I say.
“I bet he’s been planning to run for some time.” Hands on his hips, he crosses to the truck, looks in the window. “Suitcases.”
I think of Salome. A sweet Amish girl. Pregnant at the age of fifteen. She thinks she’s in love. The situation is a disaster waiting to happen. “I bet he talked Salome into running away with him,” I say.
“Probably.” Tomasetti yanks at the truck’s door, but it doesn’t budge. “Locked,” he says. “No keys.”
“Where are Ike and Samuel?” I ask.
“Maybe they’re with the Rabers.”
A thread of worry twists through me, a hot wire melting through flesh, touching nerves. “We need to find them.”
“The Rabers, too.” He starts toward the door. “Let’s check the barn.”
Then we’re outside and running, and I realize we both feel a sense of urgency. Something’s wrong, but we’re not sure what. Tomasetti slides the big door open. The smells of pigs, hay, and the wet ammonia stink of the manure pit wafts out. We enter as a single unit.
“Salome!” I shout. “Mose! It’s Kate!”
“Ike! Samuel!” Tomasetti goes right, toward the steps that will take him to the loft.
I go straight. “Salome!” I check the stalls to my left, but they’re empty. Moving faster now, I duck through the rails. The concrete beneath my feet is slick with manure. The ammonia stench burns my nose, makes my eyes water. “Salome!”
I walk to the manure pit, cast a cursory glance toward the oily bottom. Absently, I note someone has used the hose to partially fill the pit. Several objects float on the oily surface—a red inflatable ball, a length of two-by-four. Shock freezes me in place. I almost can’t get my mind around the sight of two small pale faces in the ooze. Samuel and Ike, I realize with a burgeoning sense of horror.
“Tomasetti!” The panic in my voice shakes me from my momentary stupor. Looking around wildly, I spot the hose coiled on a wood dowel on one of the support beams. I lunge at it, yank it off.
“Kate!” I glance up and see Tomasetti sprinting toward me. “What is it?”
“The kids!” I shout. “They’re in the pit.”
“What?” He rushes to the pit, looks down. “Aw, man.”
I loop the end of the hose around the support beam, tie it in a double knot. The same way I did it the night I found Rachael and Solly in that pit. But all I can think is that I’m going to fail these two little boys the same way I failed their parents.
“I’ve got a cable in the Tahoe,” Tomasetti says.
“No time.” When I turn to Tomasetti, he’s already got the other end looped around his hips. “John, you can’t go down there.”
“And you can?” he snarls. “Fuck that. Get on the horn. Now. Get the fire department out here. Open all the doors.”
Hitting my lapel mike, I put out the code. I rush to the door, throw my weight against it, shove it open. I break two windows for a cross breeze. But there’s not enough wind to help.
When I turn my attention to Tomasetti, he’s yanking off his coat. I watch, feeling helpless and terrified as he tosses it to the floor. Next, he rips off his shirt, tears off a sleeve, then takes the scrap of fabric to the trough and wets it.
I rush to him. “You can’t go down there.”
“No choice, Kate.” He ties the wet fabric around his nose and mouth. We both know it’s not going to help. Methane gas displaces oxygen.
“Damn it.” I choke out the words. “If you pass out, I’m not strong enough to pull you out.”
I can tell by his expression that he’s already thought of that. “Tie the hose to the bumper. I’m going down.”
“John…”