“Put the boy down,” Hoffman said. “And your gun.”
Gary did as he was told, and backed away a few paces.
Hoffman was a middle-aged man, red of face and weather-beaten from his profession. His eyes were clear and sharp, cautious and distrustful. He approached the body and sank to his knees, keeping the gun on Gary.
“Be careful,” Gary said then. “Something happened to the boy.”
Hoffman shot him an angry glance. “What do you mean?”
“I didn't find the boy until it was too late — until the little girl led me back to him. You'll see what I mean when you unwrap him — but be careful! Don't let your wife see it.”
Puzzled but still brimming with anger, the farmer shifted his position to block the view from the doorway and reached out a quivering hand to pull away the coat from the body. He stared at his son's lifeless face and then slowly let his eyes drift along the body.
“God Almighty!” His head jerked up to ask a question but when his lips formed the words no sound came. He knew the answer. Finally—“Who did this?”
“A couple of no-good bastards,” Gary told him without emotion. “They were after the girl when I caught them.”
Tears had formed in the man's eyes. “So help me God, when I get my hands on them…!”