I laugh. “Where’s Glock?”

She glances down at the switchboard where a single red light stands out.

“On the phone.”

“When he gets off, tell him to call me.” I walk to the coffee station and fill the biggest mug I can find. In my office I turn on my computer, then drape my coat over the back of my chair. I’m anxious to see if OHLEG came back with a hit on Daniel Lapp.

My hopes are dashed when I log in. If he’s alive, he’s being careful. Probably using an alias. Maybe even a stolen identity or false social security number. Under normal circumstances, I’d start flashing his photo around town. But I can’t risk raising questions. People will want to know why I’m asking about a man who hasn’t been seen for sixteen years. They’ll put two and two together, and Daniel Lapp will rise out of obscurity like some Amish version of Jack the Ripper.

I dial Norm Johnston’s number. Miller’s pond would do the job. It’s a good size body of water with a muddy bottom.

Johnston answers on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost two days, Chief Burkholder.”

“I’m tied up with this murder, Norm. What can I do for you?”

“The town council and mayor want to meet with you. Today.”

“Norm, look, I need to work—”

“With all due respect, Kate, you are obligated to keep us informed. We want an update on how the investigation is progressing.”

“We’re working on a couple of leads.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“I put out a press release—”

“That doesn’t say squat.”

I sigh. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know much.”

“Then a meeting won’t take long. I’ll have everyone in the city room at noon. We’ll have you out of there in twenty minutes.”

He hangs up without waiting for a response and without thanking me. He’s still pissed about that DUI. Self-serving bastard.

“Chief?” I’m so immersed in my thoughts I didn’t hear Mona approach.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Something in her eyes puts me on alert. Now what? I think. A moment later my sister appears in my doorway. I’ve been the chief of police for over two years. In all that time, neither Sarah nor my brother have visited me here. For a moment I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. Then I remember my conversation with Jacob the night before.

“Hello, Katie.” Sarah wears a navy dress with a black apron and a heavy winter cape. Her blonde hair is parted severely at the center and drawn into a bun at her nape, all of which is covered by the traditional Amish kapp. She’s two years older than me, pretty and expecting her first child in just over a month.

Rising, I round my desk, pull out the visitor chair for her and close the door.

“Have a seat.” After an awkward moment, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

It’s an uncomfortable question. This isn’t the first time Sarah has been pregnant. There have been three times that I know of. Each time she’s miscarried late in the second trimester.