Anger fires inside me when I think of all the things that might have been said and everything I stand to lose because of it. “That son of a bitch.”

“You heard from Tomasetti?”

The heat of a blush climbs up my cheeks. It’s a stupid reaction. Glock doesn’t know Tomasetti and I spent the night together. Still, I can’t meet his gaze. “I think he left early this morning.”

“Really?” He laughs outright, obviously surprised by my reaction. “You and Tomasetti, huh? I’ll be damned.”

“Probably best if we don’t go there.”

He clears his throat and focuses his attention on the mess spread out on the kitchen table.

“I’m following up on a couple of things,” I say.

“I didn’t think you were balancing your checkbook.”

“Tomasetti left me with some crime-matching stats. I’m working on the change of locales angle.”

“Anything?”

“Not yet. But there’s a lot of ground to cover.” I pause. “Any word from the Johnstons?”

“Funeral is tomorrow.”

I nod. “How’s LaShonda?”

“Big as a frickin’ house.” A grin splits his face at the mention of his very pregnant wife. “Gonna be any day now.”

“Give her my best, will you?”

“Will do, Chief. I gotta git.” He starts toward the door, opens it and steps outside. “Gonna get slammed with snow.”

“Yeah.”

“Give me a call if you need anything.”

He disappears around the corner, and I’m suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I feel isolated and cut off, as if I’m the only person left on earth. As the snow swirls down from a cast iron sky, I’m reminded of how much my life here in Painters Mill means to me—and how much I stand to lose if I don’t fight for reinstatement.

I go back to the VICAP report. It makes for grim, monotonous reading. Murder. Rape. Serial crimes with all the disturbing details that go along with them. By six o’clock the words begin to blur. My eyes feel as if they’ve been filled with sand. I’ve been on the phone so much my ear aches. Still, I’ve got nothing. Doubt begins to gnaw at my earlier resolve. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Jonas Hershberger is guilty. Twenty years have passed since I knew him. I know firsthand that time and events can change the course of a person’s life. Look at me.

Stymied, I go to the cabinet above the fridge and pull out the bottle of Absolut. I pour too much into a tumbler and take that first dangerous sip. Back at my laptop, I try to log in to OHLEG to check on my earlier inquiries only to find my account has been disabled.

“Damn it.” My last law enforcement tool is gone. I stare at the screen, frustrated and angry, with no idea where to go from here.

On impulse, I pull up a popular search engine and type “carving,” “abdomen” and “exsanguination” and hit enter. I don’t expect much in the way of useful information. Too much weird crap on the Internet. I get links to excerpts from novels, some bizarre short story, a college thesis on the media and violence. I’m shocked when I see a link to the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner. I click and read.