was dwarfed by the other cops around her.
“She is right there,” she said with sisterly pride. “Her name is Kat Campbell.”
Nick took a moment to size up the chief. She looked exhausted. Her kind eyes were dimmed by the dark circles sagging beneath them, and she moved in the weary, slump-shouldered way of someone carrying a heavy load on her back. Discovering a murder in your own backyard would do that.
“Are you Chief Campbell?” Nick asked as he approached.
The chief nodded. “Are you in charge of the task force?”
“I am,” he responded, shaking her hand. “Nick Donnelly. BCI, the Bureau of Criminal Investigations.”
She eyed his civilian clothes, hoping in vain to find something that indicated his rank and position. Since there wasn’t, Nick volunteered the information.
“I’m a lieutenant,” he said. “But in rank only. In reality, I’m just part of a team trying to catch bad guys.”
“We thank you for the help.”
“Just so we’re clear, the county sheriff has turned the case over to us. So the state police, specifically the BCI, is in charge of the investigation. I hope that sits well with you.”
Kat responded tersely. “Understood.”
“Good. I heard you were first on the scene.”
The chief briefly described everything she had seen and done that morning. It was all by the book, from finding the box to forming a perimeter around the crime scene. That made Nick happy. Sometimes local cops did more harm than good.
“I was told you knew the victim.”
“Only by sight. Perry Hollow’s a small town. After a while, you know everyone.”
Her voice caught on the last word, and for a second, Nick worried that the chief was going to start crying. But she swallowed hard and kept her emotions in check.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ve never had a murder before. So it’s been a bad day.”
Nick had no doubt. For Chief Campbell, it was probably the mother of all bad days. And she didn’t know the half of it yet. Once she did, her day was going to go from bad to downright miserable.
FOUR
Kat understood the situation perfectly.
She knew the limitations of Perry Hollow’s police force. Between her and Carl, they barely had enough manpower to write speeding tickets, let alone investigate a homicide. She knew the chain of command in such a situation. If the local cops couldn’t handle a case, jurisdiction moved to the county sheriff. And the sheriff, who was busy running for re-election in the fall, didn’t want to get his hands dirty in a homicide that—if unsolved—could sully his reputation. So he had called in the big guns—the state police. They had the manpower and equipment and a special investigative task force led by lieutenant-in-rank-only Nick Donnelly. Most of all, Kat knew that she needed them more than they needed her, which is why she vowed to do anything that was asked of her.
So, when Nick asked if there was a place his team could work out of, she offered her office. When he wondered if they could make full use of her police force, she introduced him to Carl Bauersox, his eager baby face poking out of his too-tight jacket. And when Nick sought a private place where they could talk, she led him to her patrol car.
And there they sat, the heater cranked on high while the slowly fogging windshield painted the action outside a gauzy gray.
“So why do we need to speak in private?” Kat asked.
Nick answered with a question of his own. “Have you ever heard of the Betsy Ross Killer?”
“No. Interesting nickname, though.”
“I hate it,” Nick said. “But you can thank The Philadelphia Inquirer for it.”
“Why do they call him that?”
“Because like Betsy, he’s good with a needle and thread. His victims had their wounds sewn shut postmortem. Then they were dumped in a public place.”
“How many victims are we talking about?”
“Three so far. The first was found in a park in Philadelphia last year. Another washed up on the shore of Lake Erie nine months ago. The third was found up north in November at World’s End State Park.”
“And you and your task force have been leading the investigation?”
“We have. Three murders. All across the state. And now it might be four.”
It was obvious what Nick was implying, and the thought of it made Kat’s spine stiffen.
“This Betsy Ross Killer—you think he’s the one who murdered George?”
“Perhaps.”
A strong, primal fear pinned Kat to her seat. A murder taking place in Perry Hollow was bad enough. But knowing it could be the work of a serial killer made it all the more horrible. What if he was still in her town? Or worse, what if he lived there, blending in with everyone else?
“Will you be able to confirm that?”
“I hope so,” Nick said. “I need to examine the body. See if there’s a similarity in the stitches and the wounds. Maybe my guys will be able to pick up something from the evidence. So far, Betsy Ross hasn’t left a lot of it behind.”
“And what can I do?”
“Just sit tight,” Nick told her. “If we find something, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”
Even as fear held her in place, Kat felt a new emotion tugging her body. It was the urge to protect, and it was stronger than fright.
“That’s not good enough,” she said. “I have to do more than sit tight.”
Perry Hollow was her town. It was where she grew up. It was the town her father swore to protect and serve decades before Kat swore to do the same thing. And while she appreciated all the help she could get, she wasn’t going to just stand by and hope others caught a killer for her.
“I understand your position,” Nick said in a voice that veered perilously close to patronizing. “But you need to let us do what we’re trained to do.”
“This isn’t a turf fight,” Kat said. “Or some jurisdiction bullshit in which I can’t get along with outside cops. Men care about that stuff. Women don’t. We just want to get the job done.”
She watched as Nick considered her policemen are from Mars, policewomen are from Venus argument. Eventually, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“George Winnick’s wife, Alma, reported him missing this morning, at about the same time I found his body. Now, I know that when a married person is murdered, the spouse is automatically the main suspect. But Alma didn’t
