“What kind of note?”

“Well, it’s about Chief Burkholder. And it’s quite troubling.” Paper rattled on the other end of the line. “I have it right here. It says: ‘Chief Katie Burkholder knows who the murderer is.’ ”

John let the words run through his head a couple of times. “That certainly qualifies as troubling. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I’m not sure. I thought I should tell someone in law enforcement.” He paused. “Why would someone send a note like this?”

“Maybe it’s a hoax.”

“Maybe.” The mayor paused. “I was wondering if you could look into it. You know, anonymously.”

Tomasetti considered that, felt his cop’s curiosity stir. “I’m not exactly on her list of favorite people. She’s not going to talk to me.”

“Perhaps you could just . . . observe, make an assessment over the next few days.”

“Have you discussed the note with anyone else?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way. I’ll see what I can do.” John glanced at the clock. After two A.M. Too late to do anything tonight. “How many people have handled the note?”

“Bishop Troyer. Me.”

“Put it in a brown paper bag and seal it. I’ll check it for prints.”

“I’ll get it to you first thing tomorrow.”

They said their good-byes and John hung up, troubled by this new development. The case was complicated enough without the cops keeping secrets. Who would send a note like that and why? Did Burkholder know more about the case than she was letting on? Or had some idiot decided it might be fun to play head games with the cops?

What bothered Tomasetti about the latter scenario was that the note had been sent to an Amish bishop. The Amish weren’t known for their practical jokes. Painters Mill was a small town where everyone knew everyone else. Was it possible Kate Burkholder knew the killer? Was he Amish? Was she protecting him because of that? John couldn’t see her risking lives to protect some psycho. But he knew from experience some loyalties supplanted even the most fundamental ethics.

That was when he realized that wasn’t the only thing bothering him about Kate Burkholder. Faced with a difficult, high-profile case, she should have turned to outside resources right off the bat. Initially, he’d assumed she didn’t want some outsider encroaching on her case. But after meeting her, he’d realized she wasn’t the territorial type. Why hadn’t she asked for help? The question niggled at him like a migraine digging into his brain.

The mayor had dropped this in his lap. John figured he didn’t have a choice but to look into it. This case was his last chance. He didn’t need some cop with loyalty issues sabotaging it. If Burkholder was keeping secrets, he was going to make damn sure he knew what they were.

The trill of a phone jolts me awake. I bolt upright and an ice pick jab of pain shoots down my neck. For a second, I don’t know where I am, then realize I’m in my office at the police station. I fell asleep at my desk. . . .