Logansipped his coffee. Jessica noticed a slight shake in his hand. He put the cupdown, rattling it slightly on the worn Masonite surface. 'Little girl, elevenyears old. Father worked for the county in the water department, mother was ateacher at Jefferson Middle School. Only child. Peggy went to school one day,never came home. We put the word out and by that evening we must have had twohundred volunteers for the search. We found her by Iron Lake ten days later.She'd been molested, stabbed to death. Whoever did it cut her pretty bad.'Logan cleared his throat, reached for his coffee, thought better of it. 'Shehad on make-up, and a woman's fancy dress. Not a dress that was for a grownwoman, mind you, but a small one. One that was her size. The folks at the statecrime lab said it looked like it was made for her. State police took the case.'

    Theidea of the killer making a dress for the little girl gave Jessica a chill.'Was the case ever closed?' she asked.

    Loganshook his head. 'There was a man who was questioned in that case. That man'sname was George Archer.'

    'Archer?'Byrne asked.

    'Yes,sir. Tommy Archer's father. George was a state trooper for a few years, but asI understand it he was shown the door,' Logan added. 'Insubordination was theofficial line, but there were rumors.'

    'Rumorsof what?' Jessica asked.

    'Likeyourselves, I try to deal in facts, ma'am. If it's all the same, rumors shouldlive and die just that. Rumors.'

    Jessicanodded. Fair enough.

    'Whydid the state like George Archer in this case?' Byrne asked. 'George had beenseen talking to Peggy a few days before she went missing. In fact, that's wherewe found Tommy Archer's body. Right near Peggy's marker.'

    Jessicalooked at Byrne, then back. 'He was found near her plot at the cemetery?'

    'Yes,ma'am.'

    Loganwent through the photos on the table. He picked one up. In it, the body ofThomas Archer was visible on the right side of the frame. To the left was aclearly marked headstone.

MARGARET VAN TASSEL

APRIL 6 1990 - SEPTEMBER 21 2001

'Our Beloved Peggy'

    'Doyou think any of the girl's family might be involved in this?' Byrne asked.

    Loganshrugged. 'I suppose anything's possible. But as I understand it her familywere travelers. I think they moved on a long time ago.' Logan sat on the edgeof the table. 'A few years later the FBI came around again, questioned Georgein another case, up round your way. It was a cold case.'

    'Thecase was out of Philadelphia?' Byrne asked.

    Logannodded. 'I believe it was.'

    'Do youremember any details about the case?'

    'No.It wasn't ours. But I do remember that they also talked to Tommy, who sworethat George was with him all during the weekend in question, right up at thehouse on the farm. I'm not sure that George was there, but that was Tommy'sstory and he stuck to it.'

    'I'dlike to take a look at the report on that original homicide,' Byrne said. 'Thevan Tassel girl. Can you reach out to the state police and have them fax thatto us?'

    'Considerit done.' Logan glanced at his watch. 'I've got a few things on today. Ifthere's anything else we can do for you, let Helen know and we'll take care ofit.'

    'We'dlike to speak to George Archer,' Byrne said.

    'I'llgive you directions.' Logan scribbled a few things on a legal pad, tore off thesheet, handed it to Jessica.

    'Youcan't miss the sign,' he added. 'Archer Farms.'

    Jessicaand Byrne thanked Logan for his time and consideration. On the way to the parkinglot Jessica turned, asked the chief one last question.

    'Whatdo they grow up there at Archer Farms?'

    'Apples,mostly,' Logan said. 'They have about fifty acres of orchards.'

Chapter 66

    Thehouse was a large, aging Dutch Colonial on a hillside, not so much thearchetypal farmhouse but rather a house built on a farm, remodeled many timesover the years. It was surrounded on three sides by apple trees as far as theeye could see. In addition to a triple garage there were two outbuildings; onesmall, perhaps for lawn and maintenance equipment; one large, perhaps formechanical harvesters, straddle trailers, and the storage of harvest totes.

    Theair was heavy with the sugary-tart smell of the fruit.

    Jessicapulled over on the drive, stopping about fifty yards from the house. Nothingmoved. There were no vehicles in sight.

    'Doesit get quieter than this?' Jessica asked.

    Byrnejust looked at the house, at the acres of trees. There was a porch light on,but no lights were visible through the windows.

    Jessicahad a hard time reconciling the bucolic vision in front of her with what shehad seen in the past four days, or with the story she had heard from RogersLogan. Still, there could be no denying that the murder of Thomas Archer, whoat one time had lived right here, was connected to the brutal homicides inPhiladelphia.

    Shelooked at Byrne. 'Ready?'

    Byrnehesitated for a few moments, then nodded.

    Jessicacrossed the gravel drive, looked in the grimy garage-door window. Inside shesaw a pickup truck on the right-hand side. It looked to be a five-year-oldF-150. The other two bays were empty. There was a thin layer of dust on thetruck. There had been rain in this part of Pennsylvania in the past three days.Chances were good that the truck had not been out.

    Sheand Byrne then walked over to the porch. The place was eerily quiet. They wereabout three hundred yards from Route 68, and it seemed that even the sound ofthe occasional car passing by did not reach them.

    Theright-hand side of the porch had a rick of well-seasoned firewood, stacked in arusted wrought-iron rack. The door was ringed with a grapevine wreath, strungwith autumn mums and small gourds.

    Jessicalooked through the window in the door. She saw no activity. She knocked,listened. Byrne moved across the porch, next to the window that looked into theliving room. There were sheer curtains over the opening.

    Jessicaknocked again, put her ear near the door. Only silence.

    Walkingaround to the back of the house, they found a tilled vegetable garden, turnedfor the season. A small green-water pond sat at the bottom of a gentle hill.The back porch was smaller than the front, but boasted a pair of new Adirondackchairs. They climbed the steps, looked inside. Inside was a mud room of sorts,one that led to a large kitchen. There were no cups or plates on the table,none in the sink.

    Jessicaknocked again, waited. The house appeared to be unoccupied.

    'Let'scheck the garage,' Byrne said.

    Theywalked over to the triple garage, around the side where there was a smallerdoor. It was unlocked.

    Byrnestayed outside while Jessica pushed open the door, stepped in. The garage wasdark and dusty, smelling of axle grease and the ever-pervasive sweetness ofapples. The cloying smell was even stronger in here. One wall was lined withgarden and farm tools - rakes, half- round shovels, hoes, mattocks, pickaxes.The other wall boasted a collage of license plates and street signs.

    Jessicawalked over to the truck. She placed her hand on the hood. The engine was cold.She then took a Kleenex out of her pocket, opened the driver's-side door. Therusty hinge moaned, and she stopped. It had been so quiet that the sound wentthrough the garage like a scream. She eased the door all the way open. Therewere no keys in the ignition, and the cab was relatively clean. A pine-tree-shaped deodorizer dangled from the rearview mirror.