“My initial assessment”—the ME stood, his pants caked in mud—“you have your first murder. Congratulations.” The smirk on his face was wiped clean by Sheriff Huggins’s disapproving glare.

The ME returned to his work as the sheriff dragged a hand down his face. Even beneath the shadows of the tall oaks, the effects of the caustic comment were visible. Charlie knew his uncle took great pride in protecting his city—a small town with a reputation as one of America’s safest cities to raise a family—and someone had violated his mission.

“If the victim’s ready, I can begin photographing the entry and exit wounds.” It seemed important for Charlie to stay sensitive to the situation. “I’ll help bag her body for transport.”

“Thank you.” Appreciation glistened in the sheriff’s eyes. “Deputies Hodges and Wilson will be here to assist.”

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

Sheriff Huggins took a long look at the young woman lying in the dirt. “Someone somewhere has a daughter who didn’t come home.”

The sky was black when Charlie and the other deputies walked into the station damp, muddy, and in his opinion, smelly. Clearing the scene had taken more out of him than he had expected—both physically and mentally.

Bagging a soldier was different from bagging a civilian. In war, the playing field was even, or it was supposed to be. Soldiers train to fight their enemy. But who was Jane Doe’s enemy?

“Everything okay?”

Charlie’s focus returned to the present. His gaze collided with Deputy Wilson’s. “Yes, sir. About to drop the crime scene log on the sheriff’s desk before heading home.”

“Don’t forget, we’ll need a statement from Lane Kent. The sooner the better.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t think this day could feel any longer, but the idea of talking with her seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders a little. “I can stop by her house and check on her. Set up a time for her to come in.”

A curious look passed over the big man’s face. “A phone call will accomplish the same result. Number’s on the sheet in your hand.”

“Yes, sir.” Charlie dropped off the report before picking up the phone and dialing Lane Kent’s number. He let out a sigh. Why was he feeling nervous? This was his job. Procedure. His breathing became easier with each unanswered ring until at last a machine picked up. A robotic voice asked for his number and message.