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FORTY-NINE

OPOSSUM TRAIL FARM

With a bad feeling about Larry Modelle in Cord’s gut, he decided to do a little recon mission on his own. The information about Modelle’s violent past and sight of those outbuildings thrust Cord back to his own childhood and the bastard he’d lived with. The physical abuse. The mental abuse. The images of his foster father’s sick obsession and degradation of the dead.

His foster brother’s foray into torturing animals.

Modelle also lived in a secluded heavily wooded area which made it easier to hide criminal activities. The woman they were looking for, Barbara, had reported him for abuse.

Abusers were incited with rage when someone called the police. That would have been motive for Modelle to hurt Barbara.

A hunch told Cord that if he had, he might have left her or buried her in the woods behind his own house. Or even in one of the animal stalls as a statement of what he thought of her.

Cord had been watching the house for a couple of hours now. Earlier, Modelle had grabbed his shotgun and headed into the woods, a hunting knife attached to his belt. Cord had been tempted to go into the barn but Ellie said she and Fox had already searched it so he waited.

Night sounds filled the air; the howl of a coyote, the squawk of a hawk, the grunting of wild boars in the woods. A shot rang out and suddenly vultures squealed. He looked up at the night sky to see them soaring above, then diving down in search of carrion.

Cord remained in the shadows, listening, watching. Soon he heard brush being moved aside, then a growl and another shot. Seconds later, Modelle emerged from the woods dragging a dead boar behind him. The man hauled it toward an outbuilding, his clothing bloody and filthy as he dragged it inside.

A few minutes later, the buzz of a saw rent the air, and he realized the man was butchering the wild animal. Cord had watched the gory process before and had no inclination to observe the show. Knowing Modelle would be occupied for some time, he ducked low into the shadows of the trees and tracked the man’s footsteps. He followed them about three miles to the edge of the river.

Water rushed over the jagged rocks, the wind and current carrying a cold mist in the air that pelted his face. His gaze scanned the area. Weeds had been disturbed. A small mound where the dirt had been repacked drew his eye. It was wedged between two boulders, and a single wildflower poked through the ground as if to mark its existence.

Above it, hanging from a thin scraggly bush he spotted a tiny gold pendant, a child’s necklace, dangling from the tree limb and swaying in the breeze.