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the lump,” Ward explained. “The bruise starts on the left side which was the point of impact—I don’t think the attacker reached around to hit his victim. And the cut itself is a tear. Baseball bat or blackjack doesn’t do that.” Ward borrowed Randolph’s flashlight and walked over to the door. “With a wooden club wound, the skin may pop from internal pressure but that’s not what happened here.” He squatted and cast the light across the ground by the door. He found the bloodstains, looked around. “There,” he said, shining the beam. “Narrow drag marks where the perpetrator wiped off the blood. Tire iron for sure.”
    A siren reached them and Ward rose. Moments later a Toyota Camry arrived with a red light spinning on top. A woman in civilian clothes got out. Ward saw the other officer straighten slightly. The woman was nearly two heads shorter than the officer but broad-shouldered and walked with a natural swagger. She looked to be in her early forties. Her long brown hair was held in place with a large plastic clip, done hurriedly when she received word of the attack, Ward surmised. Her eyes were alert.
    â€œChief Brennan,” the officer said.
    â€œOfficer Hawks,” she replied. “Why don’t I hear an ambulance siren?”
    â€œMr. Randolph wouldn’t let me call one,” Hawks informed her.
    She faced Randolph. “Why not?”
    â€œWhen I leave here it’s gonna be upright, lest I’m dead,” he said. “Except for a tomato on the back of my neck I’m fine.” His voice caught as he spoke. He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s my pigs, dammit. They all been throat-cut.”
    The police chief gave his upper arm a reassuring pat. She noted the mud on his shoulder and jawline. She looked at Ward. “Who’s our guest?”
    Ward introduced himself. He stood where he was, instinctively protecting his corner of the crime scene.
    â€œRight—I read about you,” Brennan remarked. There appeared to be caution in her tone. Ward couldn’t be sure; it was all she said to him. She spoke to Hawks over her shoulder. “You get photos?”
    â€œI was just about to take care of that, Chief,” Hawks said.
    She shooed him with a cock of her head then looked at Randolph’s wound. She told Hawks to get pictures of that as well. “You want an ice pack?” she asked Randolph.
    â€œI want the guys who did this,” he snapped.
    â€œWe all do,” she reminded him. That seemed to calm the man a little. “Dispatcher said you told him there were riders up here earlier. Same drill?”
    â€œYeah, except that John here showed up and apparently scared them off.”
    â€œHow’d you do that?” she asked, surveying the ground outside the barn.
    â€œWhite Prius,” he replied.
    The chief’s eyes snapped to him. “I’m sorry?”
    â€œThose engines are quiet. I heard shots and started across the field. Scared them to have company, I think.”
    She nodded. The caution seemed to have acquired a touch of admiration. She took a wide turn around the crime scene, avoiding the places where the perpetrators had stepped. The chief shook her head as she walked. Ward knew why. Not only were there no footprints, the impressions crisscrossed each other so that it was impossible to tell how many individuals had been here.
    â€œI’ll have sanitation come in the morning and take the animals away,” she told Randolph. “I’ll want one or two for the lab.”
    Randolph nodded.
    â€œI’m real sorry, Scott.”
    â€œThanks.” The farmer fell dead silent for a moment, as though the enormity of what had happened was just sinking in. He forced himself out of it. “John had some thoughts about whoever hit me.”
    â€œOh?”
    Ward told her what he had told the others. She took it all in then said,