¡Mierda, estamos demasiado delgados!

They were spread far too thin. They needed more people. He’d been stubborn with Tony about who was on his team because he knew what the job entailed and how close they would by necessity need to work. Maybe he’d been too stubborn. As soon as he pulled up in front of Ogdenburg’s sister’s house, he sent Tony a message.

Save this email because you’ll rarely hear this again: You were right. I was being picky about my team. I’m still picky, but you know who we need. You pick the rest, just give me veto power. One of them has to be able to work with the press and locals, but they need to be more than a mouthpiece. I’m already tired of playing middleman. I know we have ultimate authority and jurisdiction, but we’re going to need the help of local law enforcement to effectively run this new unit.

As he walked up to the door, Tony responded.

I knew you would come to your senses. Trust me. I have your back.

Matt got his first break that afternoon.

Talking to Ogdenburg’s sister had been difficult. Death notifications always were. She was unable to help answer any questions.

Jeff hadn’t said anything about being followed or harassed or feeling uncomfortable—not to his sister, and she was certain he wouldn’t have bothered their parents about anything that might worry them. Matt vowed to find the killer and left, his gut twisted, fueled by anger over a senseless death.

He almost didn’t talk to the teacher, Bollinger, that Maddox told him about, because there was so much work to catch up on. The lawsuits were the most likely to point to someone who had a grudge against Anne Banks, and he wanted to help go through the files—the more hands the better.

But Dorothy Bollinger didn’t live too far from the Ogdenburg’s neighborhood. It was an older, well-kept area with tree-lined streets, wide yards and raised porches.

He knocked on the door and introduced himself to the tall, gray-haired grandmother. She invited him into her too-warm house and offered him water or coffee.

Pictures of family of all ages and from all generations took up every inch of wall space.

“Actually, coffee would be great.” He rarely accepted hospitality from witnesses, but he was running on fumes after visiting Ogdenburg’s sister, and he could smell the rich brew filling the quaint home.

She brought a tray into the dining room and motioned for him to sit. “Black? Light?”

“Black, thank you.”

She’d also put out a tray of grandma cookies, as he thought of the small shortbread circles with fruit in the middle. He took one of those, too. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Ms. Bollinger, I’m following up on your conversation with two Spokane PD officers earlier today.”

“Oh yes, they said someone might have additional questions. It’s so awful to hear what happened to Mr. Marston in Missoula. He was a wonderful principal. I was sorry when he left to get his doctorate. Tough, but fair. It was usually the difficult kids who ended up liking him the most because he held them to a high standard. Too often, parents and even teachers don’t expect teenagers to be accountable—to society, to family, to school. They dismiss bad behavior as if it’s something they all will grow out of, when if they’re not corrected, they will generally come to believe their bad behavior is acceptable.”