It’s the kind of thing most people wouldn’t notice. Not even a cop. Nothing more than a piece of litter. But I’ve seen these scraps of paper before. My datt was an avid hunter and put venison on our table twice a year. His rifle of choice was a muzzle-loader.
I hit my shoulder mike. “Glock, I got something.”
“On my way.”
I stand, shine my beam in a circle. I find a freshly broken branch on a sapling. A tuft of grass that’s been crushed beneath a shoe or boot. Six feet away, there’s a narrow patch of earth where rain has washed away most of the leaves. Sure enough, the faint mark of a shoe imprint with a waffled sole. It’s a partial, the rear half set in an inch or so of rotting leaves.
Brush rustles as Glock approaches. “Brass?”
“Partial shoe imprint.” I shift my beam to the scrap of paper.
“What the hell is that?” he asks. “Wrapper of some sort?”
“Wadding from a muzzle-loader,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Damn good find, Chief.”
We kneel for a closer look. “My dad had a muzzle-loader,” I tell him. “I saw plenty of those little scraps of paper when I was a kid. Or else I wouldn’t have recognized it.”
His eyes meet mine. “So our shooter is probably Amish.”
“We figured as much, but this is one more indication that we’re right.” I stand, look around, and sigh. “It isn’t much, but more than what we had.”
“I wonder if there’s any way we can use that wadding to ID the weapon,” he says.
“Firearms guy at BCI might know.”
He pulls an orange cone from his coat and sets it on the ground next to the scrap of paper. “Hopefully, it’ll help us stop this motherfucker.”
* * *
It’s ten P.M. and the Painters Mill Police Department bustles with frenetic activity. Everyone except Skid and my off-duty dispatcher is here, including Tomasetti, Sheriff Mike Rasmussen, and a trooper with the Ohio State Highway Patrol. The task force is meeting and I’m five minutes late, so I snag my legal pad off my desk and head that way.
“Any word on the bishop?” I call out as I pass the dispatch station.
“They won’t tell me much, Chief, since I’m not family,” says Jodie. “All she could say is that he made it through surgery, he’s on a respirator, and is in the intensive care unit in critical condition.”
I proceed toward the meeting room, think better of it, and go back out to the reception area. “Thanks for pulling a double shift,” I tell her. “I appreciate it.”
She beams a grin at me and I’m reminded how young she is. That she probably has better things to do. “Happy to fill in, Chief.”
I enter the war room to find John Tomasetti standing at the head of the table, the half podium shoved aside, the mike tucked out of the way. He nods at me when I enter, his eyes lingering an instant too long.
“The technician was able to lift a plaster of the shoe imprint out at the intersection where we believe the shooting took place,” he says. “Preliminarily, we got a men’s size thirteen. Tread matches the plaster taken at the scene of the Yoder murder and the abduction of the Helmuth girl. Lab is running a comp now, which is forthcoming, but I think it’s safe to assume we are dealing with the same individual. We believe he is a white male. He may be Amish or presenting himself as an Amish person. Judging from the shoe size, well over six feet tall.” He looks at me again. “I believe Chief Burkholder will be giving you a more detailed description.”
He flips a page and frowns. “We did not get DNA from the killer at the Schattenbaum farm. Both sets belong to Yoder and the Helmuth girl. The tire tread was identified, as most of you know. We believe this individual drives or has access to a pickup truck or SUV.”
He looks at me again. “Chief Burkholder, you want to talk about that wadding you found at the scene of the Troyer shooting?”
I speak from my place at the door. “We believe David Troyer was traveling north on Township Road 104 when he was shot. The wadding was in the woods east of the road, about ten yards in. That’s where we think the shooter stood and took his shot. The wadding is consistent with a muzzle-loader or black-powder-type rifle. For those of you not familiar with that kind of weapon,