I glance out the window. An ambulance idles in the driveway, waiting to transport the body to the morgue. I should be in a hurry to get out of there, where the smell of blood and death hang heavy. I should be anxious to review the evidence we’ve retrieved thus far so I can get the paperwork rolling and close the case. I should be anxious for life to get back to normal. For a reason I can’t readily identify, I’m reluctant to leave. I feel if I walk out, I’ll be closing the door on unfinished business.

Tomasetti picks up on my frame of mind. “Something bothering you?”

“I can’t see Long killing himself like this.”

“He’s been to prison before. Maybe he didn’t want to go back. Took the easy way out.”

I sigh. “Damnit, I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“Could have been worse.” He motions toward Long. “He could have run, gotten away.”

I think of Mary Plank. The shattered hopes and dreams. So many lives cut short. And for what? Money? Sexual gratification? Cruelty for the sake of cruelty?

“I wanted to know why he killed that family,” I tell him.

“Police work isn’t always that neat.” He gestures toward the storage containers. “I think the only answers we’re going to get are in those boxes.”

It’s nearly dusk when Tomasetti and I arrive at the station, lugging the boxes of evidence from Long’s place inside. The reception area smells like nail polish and Obsession perfume. Jodie, the new dispatcher, greets us with a Cosmo smile. She’s wearing snug black slacks and a white body-hugging tunic. Too sexy for a police station. Just what I need. “Hey, guys,” she says perkily.

T.J. and Glock stand upon hearing us enter and peer at us over the tops of their cubes. “Need a hand?” T.J. asks.

Glock lowers his voice. “This is your chance to show Jodie those biceps.”

T.J. smacks the other man on the back of his head with a little too much force. “Shut up, shithead.”

Their mood is jovial. I should be feeling the same now that one of the most violent cases in the history of Painters Mill has come to an end. I should be glad it’s over. But I’m not, and I simply don’t have the energy to pretend.

We carry the boxes to the storage-room-turned-command-center off the hall. Glock and T.J. shuffle out as I turn on my laptop and open the antivirus software. “I’m going to take a look at the drives.”