“Strutting around like he just arrested Jack the fuckin’ Ripper. Says he’s going to take all of us on some big hunting excursion if we tie this thing up nice and tight.”

“Nice incentive if you like plugging deer.”

“Most of his guys are into it. I guess Detrick used to be some big shot hunting guide in Alaska.”

“Detrick, the great white hunter.”

Glock doesn’t look impressed. “How are you holding up, Chief?”

Thoughts of Tomasetti flash in my mind, but I quickly ban them. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m absolutely certain Jonas Hershberger is innocent.”

Glock blinks at me, clearly surprised. “He’s a strange bird.”

“So is Terry Bradshaw, but that doesn’t make him a psychopath.”

“We’ve got a shitload of evidence.”

“I know Jonas, Glock. He doesn’t drive. Doesn’t have access to a snowmobile. There’s no way he did those murders.” I think about that a moment. “Did you check to see if he relocated during that sixteen-year period?”

“He’s been in the same house since he was a kid. Inherited it when his parents were killed in a buggy accident eight years ago.” He pauses. “We did find a couple of fifty-gallon drums he used to burn trash. We sent ash samples to the lab to see if he burned the clothes.”

“Did you find any porn or S&M videos? Sex toys? Instruments of torture? Anything like that?”

“No, but he slaughters pigs on site. He’s got knives. Knows how to use them.”

“A lot of the Amish do their own slaughtering for meat. My dad butchered cattle.”

“So how do you explain the evidence?”

“I can’t. I know it’s damning. It just . . . doesn’t feel right. For example, the sixteen-year gap and then three murders within a month. What was the trigger?” I pause. “Have you talked to Jonas?”

He nods. “Detrick and I questioned him for about an hour this morning. At first he wouldn’t speak English, just Pennsylvania Dutch. When he finally did start talking, he denied everything. Gets all offended when we ask him about the women. Detrick came down on him pretty hard, but he didn’t crack.”

“What do you think?”

“He’s so damn stoic and reticent. Hard to figure him out.”

“He have a lawyer?”

“Hasn’t asked for one.”

I nod, troubled by the thought of Jonas alone and at the mercy of Nathan Detrick.

Glock rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Jesus, Chief, we sure miss having you around. I’d feel a hell of a lot better with you in running the show.”

Tears threaten so I take a swig of coffee.

“I heard Detrick had a closed-door meeting with Janine Fourman and Auggie Brock the night before you got the axe,” Glock says.

“How do you know?”

“Secretary over at the city building called after she heard what happened to you. I’m just reading between the lines, but I’ll bet Detrick wasn’t there to talk about the fuckin’ weather.”