“Logging in now.”

I disconnect and hit the speed dial for T.J. to see how he’s doing on the condom front. “How’s the search going?”

“I feel like a frickin’ pervert.” He sounds as if his day is shaping up like mine.

“You’re a cop with a badge working a murder case.”

Assuaged, he gets down to business. “The cash register at Super Value Grocery uses SKU numbers for inventory. Manager went through the tape. They sold two boxes of lubricated condoms on Friday. Another on Saturday.”

“Do they have the customers’ names?”

“One guy paid with cash. The other two with checks, so I have two names. I’m on my way to talk to one of them now.”

“Nice work.” I think about the guy who paid with cash. “Did any of the clerks recognize the cash guy?”

“Nope.”

“Does the store have security cameras?”

“Grocery has two cams. One above the office inside and one in the parking lot. The one inside isn’t positioned to capture customer faces, but the one in the parking lot is worth a shot.”

“Do we know when the cash guy bought the condoms?”

Paper rustles through the line. “Eight P.M. Friday.”

The timing is right; the murder happened Sunday. “Get the film. Let’s see if we can ID him.”

“You got it.”

“I’m on my way to the station. Can you swing by for a quick meeting?”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

“See you then.” I hit End and toss the phone onto the passenger seat. The clock on my dash flicks to four P.M. The passage of time taunts me. Fourteen hours have passed since Amanda Horner’s body was found and I’m no closer to knowing who did it than I was at the start.

As I speed toward the station, I try not to think about my brother and our plans for tonight. I honestly don’t know whether to hope that we find a body buried in that old grain elevator. Or pray that we don’t.

CHAPTER 7

John Tomasetti knew he was in serious shit the instant he walked into Special Agent Supervisor Denny McNinch’s office and saw Deputy Superintendent Jason Rummel standing at the window. The last time he’d seen Rummel was when Field Agent Bryan Gant was shot and killed while executing a search warrant in Toledo six months ago. Word among the agents was that Rummel only ventured from his corner office for hirings, firings or deaths. John didn’t have to wonder which of the three had warranted this personal visit.

Seated at the conference table with her requisite Kasper suit and Starbucks mug, Human Resources Director Ruth Bogart paged through a brown expandable file. A file that was too thick from too many forms being shoved into it, and worn from too many bureaucratic fingers paging through. A file John was pretty sure had his name printed on the label.

He should have been worried for his job. At the very least he should have been concerned that he was about to lose his salary and health insurance. Not to mention bear witness to the end of a law enforcement career that had taken him twenty years to build.