“If he can’t get it open, I guess he can always shoot it.” She gives the window a final whack, then gives me a sage look. “You guys have any idea who killed that poor family?”

“The devil himself, more than likely,” I say and head toward my office.

An hour later, I’m sitting behind my desk thinking about murder. Ten months ago, I faced my first truly unfathomable case. The Slaughterhouse Killer investigation tested me to my limits, both professionally and personally. But while the case was a tough one, the fact that we were dealing with a serial murderer made him predictable to a degree. I knew his motive. His modus operandi. I knew he couldn’t stop. And I knew that eventually his dark compulsion would lead him to make a mistake. The case nearly cost me my life, but in the end, I got him.

This case promises to be different. I don’t have any parameters to guide me. No motive. No suspect. All I have to work with is a slaughtered family, a crime scene that has been stingy with evidence, and a jumble of unanswered questions.

“You look like you could use this.”

I start at the sound of Glock’s voice and look up to see him standing just inside my office, holding a brown paper bag from the diner. “If you’re angling for a raise, you’re on the right track,” I say.

“Being married has taught me two things, Chief.”

I smile. “Just two?”

He smiles back. “Understanding a woman begins with knowing what she wants even before she asks.”

“Not bad.” I take the bag from him. “What’s the second thing?”

“When in doubt, bring food.”

“You’re a wise man, Glock.”

“My wife thinks so.” He takes one of two visitor chairs. “Some of the time, anyway.”

I smell chili as I unpack the Styrofoam bowl, paper napkin and plastic spoon. The rest of my team shuffles in. Skid looks like he hasn’t slept for two days. I know third shift has been hard on him. It was the only way I could think of to discipline him for mishandling a drunk-and-disorderly case a couple of months back. Pickles smells like cigarette smoke and looks as content as a sixth grader at recess as he drags in a chair. T.J. brings up the rear. He’s my youngest officer and the only one of us who’s had any decent sleep.

I address him first. “You up to speed on this?”

“Skid filled me in.” He whistles. “Unbelievable.”

I speak to all of them now. “On the chance the killer is an outsider, someone passing through town, I contacted the State Highway Patrol.”

“You think that’s the case?” Glock asks. “Or do you think he’s local?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh, frustrated by the lack of leads. “We have to assume he’s local for now.”