“Absolutely,” he replies.
T.J. starts to raise his hand, realizes the gesture is juvenile and quickly lowers it. “Chief, have you thought about bringing in a profiler?”
I look at Tomasetti. His poker face reveals nothing about what he is thinking or feeling. I find myself wishing I could read him.
“I’m working on a profile now,” he responds. “I should have something by the end of the day.”
I glance down at my notes. Throats are cleared and boots shuffle restlessly against the floor as I describe the instrument of torture Doc Coblentz found inside the second victim.
“There’s a photo of it in the file. It looked homemade. Like maybe this guy made it in his garage or shop. He may have some electrical knowledge.”
Detrick leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me intently. “We gotta get this sick son of a bitch, people. I think everyone in this room knows he ain’t going to stop now that he’s got a taste for it.”
I look at Detrick. “We could use extra patrols in the area.”
“You got it.”
I turn my attention back to the group. “I’ve called a press conference for this evening,” I say. “Six o’clock at the school auditorium. You should be there.”
I scan the faces. “One more thing I want to impress upon everyone in this room. We are not releasing the fact that this killer carved Roman numerals onto the abdomens of both victims. Do not discuss anything we’ve talked about today. Not with your wife or girlfriend or boyfriend or your dog. Is everyone clear on that?”
I see vigorous nods from all in the room. Satisfied I got my point across, I step away from the podium. “Let’s go to work.”
CHAPTER 17
I arrive at the high school with two minutes to spare. I’d hoped to avoid the media, but I’m too late. Several news vehicles are camped out in the rear lot near the bus-loading zone. Even in the dim light of the sodium vapor street-lamp, I recognize the ProNews 16 van.
I park in a faculty space and head toward a lesser-used side door. To my relief, it’s unlocked. The hallway is warm and smells of paper dust and some industrial-strength cleaner that’s supposed to smell like pine but doesn’t. The auditorium lies straight ahead. I hear the crowd before I see it. Trepidation presses into me when I spot the television crew from Columbus dragging in reflective lights and camera gear.
I duck into a secondary hall that will take me to the rear of the auditorium. I see Detrick standing outside the stage doors, staring down at a small spiral notebook. An actor memorizing his lines minutes before curtain on opening night.
He spots me and lowers the notebook. “You like cutting it close, don’t you?”
“This is not my cup of tea.” It’s an understatement; I’d rather shoot off my little toe than deal with the media.
“Lots of cameras,” he comments. “Couple of radio stations, too.”
All I can think is, Shit. Detrick, on the other hand, looks like some daytime superstar about to accept an Emmy. I see a sparkle of face powder on his bald head and pin lights of anticipation in his eyes, and I remind myself he is a politician first, a lawman second.
He gives me a sage look. “I’ve been a cop for a long time, and I’m good at it. But I’m a good politician, too, and I’ve never met a camera that didn’t like me.” He smiles in a self-deprecating way. “If you want me to handle the media side of this for you, I’m up to the job. I know you’ve got your hands full, and you can’t be in two places at once.”
It crosses my mind that this is his first step in hijacking my case. I know that sounds paranoid. But in the public eye, perceptions are everything. When it comes to television cameras, Detrick will outshine me like the sun outshining the moon. But he’s right. I need to work the case, not make nice with some twenty-something journalist looking for his big break.
Those thoughts go by the wayside when I see Norm Johnston and Auggie Brock approach. Detrick sticks out his hand and the men shake. Auggie glances in my direction, but his eyes skitter quickly away. Norm doesn’t acknowledge me. Taking off my coat, I drape it over a folding chair and try to settle my nerves.
“We’re on,” Norm says.
We enter the stage as a single, cohesive unit. I blink against the camera flashes and lights, and I wonder how long this fragile sense of accord will last. This is the kind of case that can tear even the most solid of relationships apart. My relationship with the mayor and town council is far from solid.
We stop at a table set up behind the podium. The lights raining down are bright and hot, a stark contrast to the cold outside. Auggie crosses to the podium and taps the mike. “Can everyone hear me?”
Nods and shouts of “yes” emit from the crowd.