I look down at the copies of the notes in front of me, and I reach each aloud. “‘Dale sends his regards from hell.’ ‘I know you were there.’ ‘You could have stopped them.’ ‘Murderer.’” I turn my attention to Johnston. “‘You knew.’ ‘You looked the other way.’ ‘You’re next.’ Any idea what they mean?” I ask.

I hear the sticky sound of a dry mouth when he licks his lips. “I don’t know.”

“I think these notes tell a story,” I say. “They certainly raise some questions.”

Thornsberry all but rolls his eyes. “Chief Burkholder, you have no proof that these notes are anything but threats sent by a seriously delusional and dangerous individual.”

I ignore him, zero in on Johnston. “I can’t get into specifics because there are certain details about the case that we’re not releasing to the public. But I have evidence that may link the murders of Dale Michaels, Julia Rutledge, and Jerrold McCullough to the Hochstetler case.” I hold up my copy of the notes and shake it at him. “These notes connect those cases to you.”

“That’s crazy. I had nothing to do with any of those crimes.” Johnston chokes out the words, jerks his attention to his attorney, prompting him to jump to his aid. “Can you stop this?”

I speak before Thornsberry can reply. “You want to know what’s crazy, Norm? I believe you. But I think you know something that, for whatever reason, you feel you can’t tell me.”

Johnston’s eyes slide from Thornsberry to me. “Something about what?”

“Maybe you know something about the Hochstetler case.” I’m casting a long line into deep water, and Thornsberry knows it. But I can tell by Johnston’s response, he hasn’t yet realized it.

“That’s outrageous,” he says. “That happened ages ago. I was a kid, for God’s sake!”

Thornsberry steps in. “Chief Burkholder, unless you’ve got proof of that, I suggest you curtail that particular line of questioning.”

I don’t take my eyes from Johnston. “Maybe it’s something innocent. Some piece of information that you haven’t realized is important.” I pause. “Were you there that night? Do you know who was?”

“Who told you that?” Johnston demands.

“Norm,” the attorney warns.

“What happened, Norm? Did you get in over your head? Did you somehow find out about something you shouldn’t have?”

“For God’s sake, no! I was sixteen years old. A minor!”

“You keep reminding me of your age as if it somehow excuses some bad decision you made.”

“Chief Burkholder, that’s quite enough,” Thornsberry says.

“All right.” I nod at the attorney and take a chance, stretching boundaries, choosing my words carefully. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I talked to some people who hinted that you might know something about that case.”