“It’s in full bloom, Chief. Purple’s not a bad color on you, though.”
A flurry of activity at the door snags my attention. I glance over to see Detrick and two uniformed deputies enter. I motion to the table and chairs. “It’s every man for himself.”
Detrick crosses to me and extends a beefy hand. “ME give you anything on the vic?”
His grip is firm and dry and I find myself wishing I were so calm. “Cause of death is the same as the first vic. I’ll go over everything in the briefing.”
He nods and motions to his two deputies. “I brought some manpower for you. This is Deputy Jerry Hunnaker.”
Hunnaker is slightly overweight with a cocky smirk that rubs me the wrong way. When we shake he grinds my knuckles, and I wonder if Detrick is lending me his dead weight.
The second deputy is tall and angular and looks more like a high school pole-vaulter than a cop. But his eyes are level, his expression natural and though I’ve already pegged him as inexperienced, I know he’ll be more of a help to me than the cocky shit with the grip.
“Deputy Darrel Barton.” Detrick sets his hand on the deputy’s shoulder, a proud papa introducing his favorite son.
In the few minutes I’ve spent with Detrick, the room has filled. I see Steve Ressler standing at the door and cross to him. “The press conference is at six,” I say.
“I’d like to sit in on this to see what the police are doing.”
“This is a task force meeting, Steve. Some of what we’ll be discussing is not for public consumption.”
“Or maybe you don’t want the public to know you don’t have squat on this guy.”
He looks pleased by his own audacity. I wonder how he would feel if I acted on the impulses running through me and coldcocked him. I nod toward the door. “You can voice your concerns at the press conference.”
Turning on his heel, Ressler stalks out.
I take my place at the podium and scan the group. Detrick sits at the table, flanked by his two deputies. Glock and T.J. sit opposite him, segregated by agency and loyalties. Skid and Pickles take chairs at the back of the room. Mayor Auggie Brock sits alone, looking like a new kid on the first day of school. Mona stands near the door, her arms folded at her chest. Behind her, John Tomasetti leans against the doorjamb, his overnight bag at his feet. The gang’s all here.
Pulling in a deep breath, I begin. “We are now a multi-jurisdictional task force set up by the mayor and town council.”
A hushed stir goes around the room, and I know my team is wondering why I didn’t brief them beforehand about the formation of the task force.
I fix my eyes on Auggie and continue. “We will be working in conjunction with the Holmes County Sheriff, Nathan Detrick.”
The sheriff stands briefly, then takes his seat.
“And Agent John Tomasetti with the Bureau of Criminal Identification and Investigation out of Columbus,” I say.
Heads turn. From his place at the door, the agent nods, and I can’t help but think he really does look sort of Mafia-like.
I spend the next ten minutes summarizing the details of both murders. When I finish, I cross to the dry-erase board mounted on the wall. I write the words Persons of Interest and underline it. Everyone is expecting me to write the words Slaughterhouse Killer, but I begin with another name. Scott Brower. “He was at the Brass Rail on Saturday night. A witness reported seeing him with Amanda Horner.” I relay details about his record and his arrest just that morning, then go to my next suspect.
“Patrick Ewell.” I write the name on the board. “T.J.?”
The young officer looks down at his notes. “To recap . . . Ewell bought uh . . . rubbers at the Super Value Grocery in Painters Mill on Friday. Uh, the lubricated kind which is what the perpetrator used. Ewell paid cash, but we were able to identify him using the surveillance camera. He works at the slaughterhouse. Payroll department. I’ve since questioned him. Wife alibied him.”
I break in. “Wives have been known to lie to protect their husbands. He remains a person of interest.” I give T.J. a pointed look. “What about the other two condom guys?”
“They’ve been identified. Willie Stegmeyer and Bo Gibbas.”
“Have you talked to them?”
“Ran out of time, Chief, but they’re next on my list.”
I jot the names on the board. I feel myself hesitate before I write Slaughterhouse Killer. “I don’t like the label, but since most of you are familiar with it, we’ll go with it.” I scan the room. “As all of you know, the killings we’re dealing with now are similar to four murders that occurred in the early nineties. I’m not convinced we’re dealing with the same killer, and I caution you not to make assumptions this early in the game. We could have a copycat. I base that possibility on the hiatus between killings.”