I want to put my hands over my ears to block her agonized cries. Because I cannot look at Carol, I train my eyes on Norm. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“How?” she keens. “How?”

“Murdered,” Norm chokes. “The killer got her. Just like the others.”

Carol’s knees hit the floor. She raises her face and hands skyward, screaming, then buries her face in her hands. “Noooo!”

Norm goes to her, tries to help her to her feet, but she fights him off. “Brenda!” she screams. “Oh, my God, Brenda!”

Lois appears in the doorway, her eyes going to me. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Call Reverend Peterson again,” I say. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Nodding, she backs away.

Norm lifts Carol and eases her into the chair, but she doubles over and keens uncontrollably.

Wiping his face, Norm stands opposite my desk, vacillating as if he’s just stepped off a roller coaster. But his eyes are sharp when they land on me. “Was she raped?” he manages.

“We don’t know yet.”

He scrapes a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his eyes. “Why in the name of God hasn’t this maniac been caught?”

“We’re doing everything we can,” I offer.

Carol Johnston raises her head and thrusts a finger at me. “This is your fault!”

The words cut with the proficiency of a blade. I try not to react. But my recoil is physical.

Norm’s face crumples. “Did she suffer?”

“We don’t know.” It’s a lie; Brenda Johnston suffered plenty before she died. But I spare them the truth, if only for a short while. “They’ll need to do an autopsy.”

“Aw . . . God.” Air rushes between Johnston’s teeth. A single sob escapes him before he regains control. “Three people dead. Incomprehensible.” His voice rises. “How could this happen?”

“We’re working around the clock. Investigating this case aggressively—”

“Aggressively? Is that what you call it, you heartless bitch? You couldn’t even be bothered to call in the sheriff’s office. I had to call BCI for you. You call that aggressive?”

This scene has played out in my head a hundred times in the last two days. A worst-case scenario I knew I would face sooner or later. Even so, I don’t know how to respond, and train my eyes on the pad in front of me. “I know this is a bad time, Norm, but I need to ask you some questions.”

“I have some questions for you, too,” he says ominously. “Like why didn’t you call BCI for assistance when you first realized you had a serial killer on your hands? Why haven’t you called the FBI? You’ve mishandled this case from the get-go, you incompetent bitch.”

Something inside me curls, like a bug prodded by a cruel child. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“My daughter is dead,” he snarls. “Evidently, your best isn’t good enough.”

“Don’t go there,” I say.

He doesn’t relent. “Had you done your job, she might still be here!” Choking out a sound of animal rage, Norm lunges at me. I have time to rise before his hands clench my collar. He shoves me against the wall hard. “I’m going to fucking fry you for this. You got that?”