He flashed his badge at the cop directing traffic and radioed in to dispatch that he had arrived. The he drove halfway onto the grass, parked behind one of the patrol cars, got out and took a good look at where he was.It was a nice area, houses were older but not in too bad of repair, corn fields surrounding three of them into a tiny oasis. Across the road was a church, one of the smaller ones that just seemed to sprout up in any area that had names that no one could pronounce much less remember. Down the road about a quarter of a mile was a huge farm house and barn. Horses were grazing peacefully in a large pasture. Over the sounds of police radios and men's voices, he could hear the distant blare of a train whistle. Not the kind of area that you would figure for a murder scene. He turned to look at the property and quickly changed that opinion.The house was deserted, listing drunkenly on its foundation. The front porch was crumbling with shoots of wild grass pushing through the. He arrived in good time, parking his car and checking into a room at the inexpensive motel. There were butterflies in his belly and he had sweaty palms. Peter splashed his face in the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He was 52, shortish and stocky, with thin brown hair. His eyes were brown and they were grainy. His nose was large for his face, pointing slightly to the left as you look at him. He was dressed casually like a middle aged man might dress, in brown cord trousers, beige shirt and a black pullover.Peter read the motel handbook while he waited until a jingle on his mobile broke the silence. He answered."Hello. It's Joanne." Oh hullo." said Peter, and he gave his room number.A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Peter opened the door and saw before him a small, plump woman. He had met her at the agency with his wife so knew what to expect. Her eyes bulged a little but she was quite attractive, with a well shaped little nose, blue eyes and a clear.
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