“Holy God almighty,” he says, his gaze fastened to the corpse.

I met him once, briefly, in the two years I’ve been chief. He’s a beefy man of about fifty years. A weight lifter, I’m sure. Maybe a runner. But his age is beginning to take a toll on a body that was once the envy of every over-forty male in some testosterone-laden gym. His head is bald, but it suits him. I find myself wondering if he shaves his scalp to hide male pattern baldness or if it’s a natural state.

He doesn’t give me time to ponder. “Looks like you got one hell of a mess on your hands.”

I snap off my latex gloves as he crosses to me. He sticks out his hand. Though the task I’d been doing is macabre, he doesn’t hesitate when we shake. “Nathan Detrick at your service.”

His grip is firm, but not bone-crunching and I give him points for that. His eyes are electric blue, his stare level and direct. His presence is surprisingly reassuring, and for the first time I realize I don’t want to shoulder the weight of this case alone.

“Thanks for coming.” I see intelligence in his eyes, and I know he’s summing me up, making judgments. Touché.

“We’ve met.” He stops pumping, but doesn’t let go of my hand.

“The Fairlawn Retirement Home benefit, last Christmas,” I say.

“Of course. I remember now. Prime rib. Tough as hell.”

“And Santa got juiced.”

He counters with a belly laugh. “We raised some money for a good cause, though, didn’t we?”

I nod, but our small talk is minimized by what we face at this moment.

He releases my hand and turns his attention to the body. “I read your press release. I can’t believe that slaughterhouse son of a bitch is back.”

“It’s been a tough couple of days.”

“We’re glad you called us.” He lowers his voice. “Just so you know, I’m not big on jurisdictional bullshit. This is your baby.”

I wonder if he means it. I wonder if the suit from BCI will feel the same way. “I appreciate that.”

It’s evident why this man won his bid for office by a landslide. Straightforward and charismatic, he possesses leadership qualities I admire. A big teddy bear here to save all of us from our own incompetence. But I’ve known a lot of law enforcement types over the years. And I know the teddy bear could easily transform into a man-eating grizzly if someone rubs him the wrong way. T.J. told me just last week that Detrick is in the midst of an ugly divorce. Rumor has it he’s got a nasty temper.

“I’m going to need help getting her down,” the doc says.

To avoid excessive contamination of the scene, I’ve limited the number of people inside the house to Glock, myself, the coroner, and now Detrick. It’s up to us to help the doctor lower and bag the body.

Doc Coblentz steps away from the body, leaving thick, oil-like tracks on the floor. I pick up the three-rung aluminum stepladder Glock brought in earlier. Though the booties will protect my shoes from biohazard, I cringe as I step into the pool to set up the ladder.