I can breathe again as I zip down the lane at a too-fast clip. Only then does the breadth and width of the situation grip me. I’m frightened of my secrets and the lengths I’ll go to keep them. I’m afraid of what my brother and I will or will not find in the grain elevator tonight. But, it is the thought that I won’t be able to stop this killer before he strikes again that fills me with terror.

I call T.J. on my way to Connie Spencer’s apartment. He answers with a rough. “ ’Lo?”

“It’s me,” I say, realizing I woke him. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. What’s up?”

“Doc Coblentz says our killer wore a condom. Lubricated. I want you to hit the grocery stores, pharmacies and that carryout on Highway 82 and see if the clerks remember anyone buying lubricated condoms.”

“Why do I get all the fun assignments?” T.J. sounds less than thrilled.

It surprises me that I can smile. But it reminds me I’m a cop, not a helpless fourteen-year-old. “See if the person used a credit card.” There are two grocery stores, two pharmacies and one carryout in and around Painters Mill. “I think the carryout has a security camera. If they sold any condoms in the past week, get a copy of the video.”

“I’m on it, Chief.”

“I’ll see you at the station,” I say and disconnect.

Connie Spencer lives in an apartment above a furniture store on Main Street. My boots thud dully against the ancient steps as I ascend to the second floor. I knock, but no one answers. I stand in the dank hall, the smell of old wood and stale air filling my nostrils, and I realize she’s probably at work.

Back at the Explorer, I dial Glock. “Any luck at the bar?”

“I found Amanda Horner’s Mustang in the parking lot.”

My heart jigs. “You take a look inside?”

“Yup, but we got nada.”

“Shit.” Frustrated, I rap the steering wheel with the heel of my palm. “Process the car. See if you can get some latents.”

“Okay.”

“You talk to the bartender?”

“He remembers serving her cosmos.”

“Does he remember if she was with someone?”

“Says they were busy.” Glock sighs. “Any luck with the friend?”

“I’m at her place now, but she’s not home.”

“You might try the diner. Last time I was there she burned my hash browns.”

I call the station as I head toward LaDonna’s Diner. My first shift dispatcher, Lois, answers on the second ring and puts me on hold before I can stop her. When she finally comes back on, I’m steamed.

“Sorry, Chief, but the phones have been nuts.” She sounds rattled.

Nothing burns up the phone lines like a murder, I think darkly. “Any messages?”

“Lots of folks calling about the murder.”

I remember I was supposed to type a statement this afternoon. I’m running out of time. I wish I could stop the clock. “Tell anyone who asks I’ll have a statement later today.”