Skid looks like a gas pain hit him. “That’s a lot of names.”

“Ask DRC to narrow it down for you. They keep statistical information on parolees. Check males with two or more violent offenses, especially sex crimes and stalking. Start with the five surrounding counties, then expand from there. Include Columbus, Cleveland and Wheeling, West Virginia. I’ll call Sheriff Detrick about getting you some help. In the interim, I’ll okay Mona and Lois for overtime.”

He nods, but looks overwhelmed by the task I’ve put before him.

I scan the room. “The victim’s clothes were not found at the scene. That means he either discarded them, left them at the murder scene or he’s keeping them.”

“You mean like a trophy?” T.J. asks.

“Maybe,” I reply. “Something to keep in mind.”

I glance at my notes, realize I’ve covered everything I wrote down. “Mona and Lois are working on getting the old file room set up as our command center. It might be a while before all of us are here at the same time again. We may have to do most of our communicating via phone. As always, mine will be on 24/7. Until we catch this son of a bitch, I expect the same from you.”

All nod in agreement.

“Does anyone have anything they want to discuss before we adjourn?”

T.J. is the first to speak. “Do you think at some point you’ll call BCI or FBI for help, Chief?” All eyes land on him, and he flushes. “I’m not saying we aren’t capable of doing this on our own, but our resources are limited here in Painters Mill.”

“Yeah, who’s going to round up all those loose fuckin’ cows while we work the case?” Skid offers with a smirk.

T.J. holds his ground. “There are only four of us.”

The last thing I want to do is involve another agency. But law enforcement protocol dictates I do. My team expects it. I must have their respect to be effective. My credibility depends on my doing the smart thing.

But I can’t ask for help at this stage. As much as I despise lying to them, I can’t risk some deputy or field agent figuring out that sixteen years ago I shot and killed a man, that my family hid the crime from the police and swept the entire sordid mess under the rug.

“I’ll make some calls,” I say, being purposefully vague. “In the interim, I’ve activated auxiliary officer Roland Shumaker.”

“Ain’t seen Pickles since he shot that rooster,” Glock says.

“He still dye his hair Cocoa-Puff brown?” Skid wonders aloud.

“I expect you to treat Officer Shumaker with respect,” I say. “We need him.”

The men’s expressions indicate that for now they’re satisfied with the way I’m handling the case. Two years ago that wouldn’t have happened. I’m Painters Mill’s first female chief of police. Initially, not everyone was happy about it. The first few months were tough, but we’ve come a long way since then. I’ve earned their respect.