On the drive, Norm calms down enough to talk to me. I learn that the last time he saw Brenda was around nine P.M. the night before. He called her earlier today and left a message, but she didn’t return his call. Brenda lived alone and worked as an office manager for a doctor in Millersburg. A call to the office tells me she didn’t show up for work this morning, which is unusual for the responsible young woman. That tells me the killer may have gotten his hands on her last night. This is the first step in establishing a timeline.

Lois looks up from the switchboard when we enter the police station. Her eyes widen at the sight of the Norm. Tossing me a concerned look, she mouths, What happened?

I shake my head and she doesn’t press. “Call Reverend Peterson and tell him I need him here. Mrs. Johnston is on her way. Send her right in. We’ll be in my office.”

She never takes her eyes off Norm. “Sure thing.”

Norm heads toward my office without speaking. He’s no longer crying, but his agony is palpable. I need a few minutes to gather my composure, but I don’t want to leave him alone. I follow him into my office to see him drop into the visitor’s chair adjacent to my desk.

Last night’s coffee sits like sludge in the pot. I pour a cup, but I wish for something stronger. Sliding behind my desk, I pull out a fresh pad, an incident report form and a witness statement form. “I need to ask you a few questions, Norm.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” His eyes fall on mine. “She was everything to me. The best thing I ever did.”

I have no words to console him. Feeling inept, I pick up my pen and look down at the form. Dread curdles in my gut when the bell on the front door jingles, telling me his wife, Carol, has arrived. I sit there, listening, my heart pounding.

I hear heels against tile and then Carol Johnston appears in the doorway. Her eyes flick from me to Norm, then back to me. She wears a green swing coat with a faux fur collar. She’s a petite woman well into her fifties, but she looks a decade younger.

“What happened?” she asks.

I think of their once-lovely daughter, the way she looked lying in the snow, her body cut to pieces, and I feel like crying.

I rise. “I’m afraid I have terrible news.”

“What news?” I see the initial rush of fear in her eyes. She looks at her husband. “What is she talking about?”

“Brenda is dead,” I say.

“What?” The woman looks at me as if I punched her in the solar plexus. “That’s crazy.”

Norm rises, like a stooped old man crippled with arthritis. “Carol.”

“No!” She puts both hands against her face so quickly, I hear the slap of her palms against her cheeks. She spins, doubles over, and an elongated “Nooooo!” rips from her mouth. “Nooooo!”