Relief flits though me that there was no mention of human remains. “Sounds like you stayed up all night rehearsing, Auggie.”

He has the audacity to blush. “This is not a reflection on you, but your lack of experience and the difficult circumstances of these murders.”

“I’m doing everything humanly possible to solve this case.” I hate the desperation ringing in my voice. “We’re working practically around the clock.”

Janine grimaces, the first show of anything but smug satisfaction. “We know you’ve worked hard. We know you care. That’s not in question here. It’s just that we don’t feel you have the experience to work on a case of this magnitude.”

“Don’t do this,” I say to Auggie.

The mayor averts his gaze. “The decision has been made.”

I look from face to face, but it’s like staring at a brick wall. They’ve made up their minds. I know it’s more political than personal, but that doesn’t keep it from hurting. I have a personal stake in this case. I want to see it through. “You’re making a mistake.”

Auggie nods at Glock. “Officer Maddox, if you could relieve the chief of her badge and sidearm. Kate, you can take a few minutes to pack your things if you want. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the Explorer here, since it’s a city vehicle. Officer Maddox will drop you off at your house.”

Glock gives him the best fuck-you look I’ve ever seen and holds his place at the door.

I look down at my desk. My computer screen still displays the Holmes County Auditor Web site. I can’t imagine packing my things and walking away. This job may be my life. But this case has become an obsession.

Shaking his head, Auggie leaves my office. Janine gives me a wolverine smile and follows him. I glance toward the hall, but Tomasetti is gone. I feel abandoned and betrayed by all of them.

I look at Glock. “Are you going to make sure I don’t steal any paper clips on my way out?”

He holds my gaze. “Fuckers waylaid me with this, Chief.”

The loyalty behind his words should console me, but they don’t. I sink into my chair, trying to put things into perspective.

Glock drops into the visitor chair. “Fuckin’ Johnston.”

I rub my eyes. “Was Tomasetti involved?”

“I don’t know.”

I scan the papers spread out on my desk. My notes and theories and reports. The Slaughterhouse Killer file. The crime scene photos. Dozens of calls that need to be returned. How can I walk away when things are so damn unfinished?

“Chief, if it wasn’t for the baby coming I would have walked,” he says. “Fuckin’ health insurance.”

I can’t imagine never sitting behind this desk again. In some small corner of my mind I think if I do walk out that door, I’ll just keep on going and never come back. But I know better than most that you can’t run from your past.

“I guess I need to pack.”