THE CRAMPED meeting room on the top floor of the police station was freezing, the air-conditioning turned up to max even though it was December. Nate, Lieutenant Dyson, Chief O’Neill, and a handful of cops and detectives sat around a table listening as Mayor Walker spoke in tight, clipped tones. The mayor was a petite, wiry black woman with a Colgate smile, a cropped salt-and-pepper Afro, and eyes of steel. She seemed enraged rather than appeased by the news that Santiago Martinez and Violeta Williams had been killed with the same drug.

“Let me get this clear.” Her icy gaze swept the room. She smoothed her severe navy suit. “We have an unknown quantity of pills and fentanyl missing, likely somewhere in our community, plus a soaring opioid death rate that could be linked to these dealers. We have a known drug dealer turned informant who was murdered a week and a half ago; and now this Violeta Williams died from the same fentanyl approximately one week ago. How do we not have a firmer hold on this case?”

Nate cleared his throat. “We’re trying to find out where the fentanyl is coming from and how it’s being dispersed into the community. When I spoke to the pathologist, she said that overdose deaths from opioids are at an all-time high, and more frequently they’re laced with fentanyl. We found oxy laced with fentanyl at Mr. Martinez’s house, so we’re working on the theory this is all connected.”

“Any hard evidence?”

Nate’s gaze flickered to the chief, who was scowling, then to Lieutenant Dyson, who looked too hopeful for Nate’s liking. “Nothing yet, ma’am.”

Mayor Walker gave him her most withering glare and stood abruptly. “Find out where the drugs came from. And do it fast. The media are having a field day with this. Voters are getting angry.”

Walker was up for reelection next year. A worsening opioid epidemic would cripple her campaign.

“And organize a press conference. People need to be reassured.” Her piercing gaze landed on Nate. “I don’t think I need to explain what it would mean for future funding if we can’t stop the drugs flowing into our town.”

Her meaning was crystal clear: Solve this murder and stop the flow of drugs into my town or that promotion you want is just a pipe dream, bud.

NATE HELD the door for Kia as they headed down the stairs to their desks. They were quiet, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. Nate was already logistically trying to organize the press conference Muriel Walker had foisted on him.

The press conference and the added pressure from the mayor meant more time away from Josh while he was sick, less time helping Emma. But the only other option was to recuse himself. He couldn’t do that.