“Poor kid saw it all.” Glock and I are in my Explorer, heading back to the station.

“He’s the one I chased into the cornfield that night.” I sigh. “At least now we know there were two killers.”

“Kid must’ve been scared to death,” he says.

“I might feel better about this if I knew the second guy wasn’t running around loose.”

“We’ll get him, Chief.”

I wish I felt as optimistic. “The Strawberry Man is obviously Long.”

“All we have on the second guy is brown hair. Not a lot to go on.”

My disappointment is keen. I was hoping for a definitive ID on the accomplice. I rap my hand against the wheel as I pull into my usual spot at the station. “Damnit.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Call in a favor.”

Tomasetti isn’t very optimistic, either. “Did the kid ID Long?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want a sketch artist out there in the hope that he’ll be able to give us a decent description of the second guy?”

“He’s all we have. I think it’s worth the time and effort.” I’m sitting at my desk, looking out the window, trying not to feel discouraged. “Do you have someone you can send? Someone good with kids or experienced with the mentally retarded?”

“Do you want the bad news or the good news?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, you can leave out the bad altogether.”

“I wish that was an option.” He sighs. “The suits caught wind of my involvement with this case.”

“Just when you think things can’t get any worse.” Now it’s my turn to sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you for help.”

“I offered.”

“How bad is it?”

“The deputy superintendent is shitting bricks. He wants me in his office first thing in the morning.”

“Doesn’t sound good. You going to be okay?”

“I’m always okay.”

“Tomasetti . . .”

He sighs heavily. “Look, Kate, I hate to say it, but my being involved in this could fuck it up for you.”

I consider the repercussions of that a moment. “I’ll go through official channels.”

“Take too long. Look, I still have a friend or two left. Let me make some calls. When do you want the sketch artist?”

“Yesterday would be good.” I look at the wall clock. It’s nearly noon. “What about this afternoon?”

“Have to be late,” he says. “Let me see who I’ve got.”

“I owe you one, John.”

He disconnects without saying good-bye. I know it’s stupid to let that bother me, but it does. I feel guilty for asking for his help. “Thanks,” I whisper.

CHAPTER 24