“I’m going to make the call.” I sigh, knowing that as bad as this day has been, it’s probably going to get worse.

Pulling out my phone, I leave the tack room. Skid and Pickles are standing outside the door. Both still wear gloves and shoe covers. In an effort to preserve the scene and prevent the contamination of evidence, I’ve limited the number of people allowed in the barn and house to me, Glock, Skid, Pickles and Doc Coblentz. It will be up to us to deal with the dead.

“The doc is going to need some help getting those bodies down,” I say.

The men aren’t happy about the assignment; I recognize their green-around-the-gills expressions. But they’re far too professional to complain.

“I want you fully geared, including hair caps. I want the victims’ hands bagged.”

Without waiting for a response, I walk briskly down the aisle. My boots thud with a little too much force against the packed dirt floor. I’m shaking by the time I reach the door. Once outside, I can breathe again, and I stand there, gulping air. After a moment I’m feeling calmer, and I notice that the eastern horizon is awash with color. Beyond, the leaves of the maple tree rattle in a cool breeze. In the driveway, three ambulances wait to transport the dead. All of these things remind me that I’m still alive, and that even in the face of death, life prevails.

I dial John Tomasetti’s home number from memory. We’ve had an on-again, off-again relationship for about ten months now, but neither of us is very good at the relationship thing. Probably has to do with the amount of baggage we’re toting around. Of course that didn’t keep him from trying to get me into bed. It didn’t keep me from succumbing when I probably shouldn’t have.

To say we both have issues would be an understatement. Most of Tomasetti’s stem from the murders of his wife and two children two and a half years ago in a horrific act of revenge by a career criminal. The parallels to this case don’t elude me, and I realize that’s why I’ve been putting off the call. He’s a strong man, but even the strong have a breaking point.

But I need his help. His expertise. His instincts. His support. If I’ve learned anything in my years in law enforcement, it’s that the living come first. We can always deal with the dead in our nightmares.

He answers on the third ring with a curt utterance of his last name. He’s cranky upon waking. I wish I didn’t know that about him.

“It’s Kate.”