Page 30 of The Burning

The small room is crowded, ten degrees too warm, and smells of aftershave, body odor, and coffee. Sheriff Mike Rasmussen is sprawled on a chair next to my podium, talking animatedly into his cell. I spot Tomasetti leaning against the wall, doing the same, but his eyes are on me, and we exchange a secret smile. Glock, Pickles, and T.J. are seated across from Skid. I see a detective with the Ohio State Highway Patrol. My second-shift and floater dispatchers, Jodie and Margaret, are embroiled in a head-to-head conversation. No sign of Mona, so I’m assuming she’s finishing up the search of Swanz’s residence.

Taking my place at the half podium, I tap the mike some misguided soul has already turned on. “Heads up.”

The room quiets. “We’ve only got a few minutes, so let’s make them count.” I set down my notebook, glance at my barely legible notes, and flick off the mike. “Here’s what we know so far. Painters Mill resident Milan Swanz was killed last night at approximately three A.M. in the woods due south of Dogleg Road. He was thirty-six years old. Amish, but recently excommunicated. Divorced. Father of four. He had a misdemeanor arrest record, which includes drunk and disorderly. Next of kin have been notified.”

I recite Swanz’s address, the names of his ex-wife and parents, and recap the pertinent segments of my conversations with them. “Swanz was unemployed. He’d been fired from his job about a year ago.” I name the cabinet shop. “I do not know if his termination is related to this case in any way, but there was a fire at the shop, which was ruled accidental by the fire marshal. The owners, Gideon and Noah Stutzman, were suspicious of Swanz.” I look at Rasmussen. “Any chance your department can get with the fire marshal and take a look at that?”

“Consider it done,” the sheriff says.

I nod. “We will not have the cause or manner of death until after the autopsy, but I think it’s safe to assume this was a homicide. Preliminarily, it is believed that Swanz was tied to a post and burned. According to the coroner, preliminarily, the victim suffered severe thermal injuries and possibly asphyxiation caused by strangulation. The victim also suffered a broken wrist, possibly from struggling against the wire binding his wrists, or because he had been dragged.”

“Hell of a way to go,” Pickles mutters.

The door opens and the mayor slinks in. I nod at him as he takes his place in the nearest chair and I continue. “I searched the victim’s residence earlier.” I recite the address. “Officer Kurtz is there now with a warrant and finishing up. There was no sign of a struggle. Nothing amiss. Inside the trailer home, I did find a list of five addresses that may or may not be related to the case.”

“Local?” Glock asks.

I nod. “I’ll get the names of the property owners and take a look at all of them for a connection.” I glance at Tomasetti. “Might be a good idea to get a CSU to the residence to process.”

“You got it,” he says.

“Mike.” I look at the sheriff. “Anything on the canvass?”

“Deputies checked four homes within a three-mile radius of the location where the body was discovered,” he says. “None of the homeowners saw anything unusual as far as vehicles or buggies or pedestrians.”

“What about CCTV cameras?” I ask. “Any game cams in the area?”

“None of the homeowners have security cams. We did look at two game cams. Nothing but white-tailed deer and skunk.”

I turn my attention to Tomasetti. “Any luck on the tire-tread imprints you guys found at the scene?”

“No go,” he says. “Too much snow and too wet to plaster.”

“Lovely.” I look at Pickles. “Did you check with retailers on the pliers found at the scene, posthole digger, and/or shovel?”

The old man is at the ready. “I got seven names from the Walmart in Millersburg. Six more from Tractor Supply. I’m about halfway through my list. So far, I got nothing.”

I turn my attention to T.J. and raise my brows.

“I got three names from the hardware store here in Painters Mill,” he tells me. “Two more from Quality. Two didn’t pan. Still checking the other three.”

“Keep on it.” I scan the faces in the room. All of them have been up most of the night, tromping through snow and cold and wet, and yet I’ve not heard a single complaint. I can tell by the energy in the room, the air of restlessness, that they’re itching to get back to work.

“A couple more items,” I say. “According to Swanz’s parents, he had a cell phone, which was not found on his person or at the scene. Now that we’ve searched his residence, I think it’s safe to assume that cell phone is missing.”

Tomasetti pipes up. “You called the number?”

“Goes directly to voicemail.” I recite the number.

He taps it into his cell. “Carrier?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he says. “Any other devices?”

“Not that we’ve found. Nothing at the house.”

“Vehicle?”