Carrie lets that pass. She has to admit, Carl looks the part of a police chief. From across a room or on a TV screen, he would appear to be solid and reassuring, a blue wall standing against chaos and crime.

Up close, however, you can see that time at a desk has caught up with him. His gut bulges over his belt, and a there’s a quiver in his jowls when he speaks, as if he’s carved out of pudding.

But he’s all she’s got. So she figures she had better try to get him on her side.

“Carl,” she says, “have you noticed anything unusual around town lately?”

He looks like he’s doing math. Then he shakes his head. “Nah. DUIs, a couple burglaries, stolen bikes.” He smiles. “Hey, remember when you found that old guy’s counterfeiting operation in the print shop?”

She wants to smack him with a rolled-up newspaper, like a puppy. Instead, she takes out her phone. “Have you seen anything like this?”

She shows him the photo of the Followers’ sigil drawn in blood on the carpet. The circle with the slash through it.

“Huh,” he says. “Now that looks familiar…”

She does not roll her eyes or make a rude noise, as much as she wants to. “You’re right,” she says. “Good memory. That’s the symbol of the Followers.”

Blank look, but only for a split-second. Then realization. “Oh. Them.”

“Yeah. Them.”

“But they’re gone. All of them. They’re dead.”

“That’s why this is so disturbing. I came across it in a completely unrelated case. Which leads me to believe that they might be active again. That could be incredibly dangerous.”

Carl shrugs. “Hey. You know. Kids. I see graffiti all the time with stuff like anarchy symbols, or the homicide code, or Helter Skelter, or 666. They’re all just little punks trying to be badasses.”

Carrie sighs, and gives up on the gentle approach. She’s always been more about brute force, overwhelming other people’s ignorance with a barrage of facts. It doesn’t win friends, but it’s always worked for her. More or less.

She flicks a finger across the screen, shows Carl the next photo in the series. The one of Lori Blanchard, nearly decapitated.

“That look like punk kids to you? They killed a woman, Carl. They strung a wire around her neck and cut her throat and let her bleed out all over the carpet.”

Carl goes very pale. He’s supposed to be a tough cop, but she doubts he’s set foot in an actual crime scene since he got this job.