Snagging his briefcase, he set it on his lap and snapped it open. He dug into the side pocket. Relief swept through him when his fingers closed around the prescription bottle. John hated what he’d become. A sick parody of the man he’d once been. A fucking junkie. Everything he despised. Weak. Dependent. Pathetic. He wanted to blame it on the doctors. After all, it was they who’d so eagerly prescribed. But two years ago, John had been a basket case. A man truly at the end of his rope. Flirting with thoughts of suicide. Going so far as to put the gun in his mouth. He’d tasted the gun oil and his own fear, felt the cold steel rattle against his teeth.
Popping the cap, he tapped out two Xanax and one Valium. He wasn’t supposed to take them together, but he’d experimented and discovered through trial and error a cocktail of pills that provided what he needed to get through the day.
He pulled out the framed photograph and blew off the paper dust and pencil shavings. His late wife, Nancy, and his two little girls, Donna and Kelly, smiled at him as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Looking at them never got any easier. He should have been able to protect them.
Propping the frame on his desk, he tossed the pills into his mouth and raised the flask. “Here’s to you, Nancy,” he whispered and washed them down with eighty-proof whiskey.
CHAPTER 8
I arrive at the station to find all six parking spaces taken, including mine. I’m tempted to ticket the driver, but luckily for them I have other priorities. A Crown Vic with all the trimmings tells me the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department has arrived on the scene. I need all the help I can get, but I don’t want to get into a pissing contest over jurisdiction because Sheriff Nathan Detrick has his mind set on winning reelection next fall.
I park next to a fire hydrant and start for the front door. The noise level inside rivals a high school cafeteria at lunchtime. At the dispatch station, Lois looks as frazzled as her overprocessed hair. Hovering over her is a middle-aged woman in a pink parka and big pearl earrings. I silently groan when, upon closer scrutiny, I realize the woman is Janine Fourman.
Janine is the president of the Painters Mill Ladies Club, owner of Carriage Stop Country Store on the traffic circle and the Tea and Candle Shop on Sixth Street. She’s a member of the town council, a founding member of the Historical Society, a professional busybody and instigator of all that is rumor.
Glock and a muscle-bound Holmes County Sheriff’s deputy glance up from their conversation. Glock gives me a covert wink, and I know he’s relayed the message I want to the deputy: Help us, but don’t try to steal the show.
The deputy gives me a once-over—as if expecting a plain woman in a kapp and practical shoes—and extends his hand as I approach. “I’m Deputy Hicks.”
He’s a stout chap with beefy arms and a neck as thick as a telephone pole. I’ve met him at some point, but for the life of me I can’t remember the circumstance. I shake his hand, noticing the sweaty palm and overtight grip. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sheriff Detrick wanted me to let you know we’re here to assist if you need us.”
“I appreciate the offer.”
He looks at Glock as if they’re best buds. “Officer Rupert was just filling me in on the case. Hell of a damn thing.”
I think of Belinda Horner. “Tough on the family.”
“You got a suspect yet?”
“We’re running some background checks. Waiting for the autopsy and the lab results.”
“Do you think it’s the same guy as before?”
I look around, aware that the reception area has fallen silent. People are listening, watching, their eyes alight with the anticipation of news. Details to titillate the dark side of their imaginations. Reassurances to calm their fears so they can get on with their lives without worrying about a madman running amok in their town.
I shake my head. “We don’t have anything concrete to substantiate that.”
“Has to be, though, don’t it?” He looks genuinely curious, a cop who likes a good murder mystery with a twist. “I mean, what are the odds of two killers with the same MO in a town this size?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I look him square in the eye, the way I might a suspect who’d ventured too close. Hicks gets my message and backs off.
Not wanting to ruffle feathers just yet, I tell him about the briefing I’m about to hold. “You’re welcome to sit in on it.”
His expression tells me this pleases him. He’s in the loop. One of the guys. “I gotta get back. Sheriff just wanted you to know we’re available if you need manpower.”
If this had been any other case, I would have jumped on the offer. I would have formed a multi-jurisdictional task force and included not only the sheriff’s office, but the State Highway Patrol and the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Identification and Investigation. I can’t do that with this case. The last thing I need is a half dozen overzealous cops breathing down my neck.
I make a mental note to call Detrick later to thank him personally and stave off any questions about my lack of action. “Let me see where we’re at on this thing and I’ll give you guys a call. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Good enough.” He jerks his head, then heads toward the door.
I smile at Glock. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Briefing in two minutes.” I start toward dispatch to collect my messages. “My office. Let everyone know about it, will you?”