Page 29 of The Burning

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I photograph the page. Then I pluck an evidence bag from my duty belt, drop the notebook into it, and start toward the door.

The police station hums with barely contained chaos when I arrive. A NewsCenter 7 van idles in my spot, forcing me to park across the street. On the sidewalk in front of the station, a young woman in a snazzy yellow coat faces a bearded cameraman, sleek microphone in hand as if they’re about to go live.

Spotting me, she catches the eye of her cameraman and charges. “Chief Burkholder! Can you tell us anything about the murder? Have you IDed the victim? Is it true that he was burned at the stake?”

I offer her a tight smile, but I don’t stop walking. “Press release in a few minutes. Stay tuned, okay?”

I push through the door to find a dozen people jammed into the small reception area. My team has already arrived for the briefing I was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.

“Chief Burkholder!” I spot Tom Skanks from the Butterhorn Bakery pushing through the crowd, his eyes on me. Joe Neely from Mocha Joe’s is gesturing animatedly to a reporter I recognize from a Dover radio station. Lois stands at the reception desk, a headset clamped over her head, a landline pressed to one ear, a cell phone to the other. She looks at me wild-eyed, so I head her way first.

“Chief! Kate! Hold up!”

I turn to see Mayor Auggie Brock rush toward me. He’s breathless, his hair mussed, tie askew. The urge to keep going is strong, but I stop and turn to him. “Auggie.”

He doesn’t bother with niceties. “A man burned at the stake?” He whispers the words with the drama of a high school girl, as if everyone in the entire room doesn’t already know. “Are you shitting me? Did that seriously happen?”

“Unfortunately, that’s what it looks like,” I tell him.

“Do you know who the victim is?”

I tell him.

“Holy shit, Kate.”

“Auggie, I’m about to brief my officers now. I’m late. Look, you should probably come to the briefing.”

“Aw, hell.” He looks around. “What about all this press?”

“They can wait.” I glance toward Lois, notice the blush of stress in her cheeks. My officers are gathered in the hall outside the meeting room. “You should probably say a few words.”

He makes a sound of incredulity. “I have no clue what’s going on.”

“Welcome to the club.”

He frowns at me. “Kate, people are freaked out about this. People are talking about frickin’ witches. Could this be the work of that devil-worshipping cult that’s down in McConnelsville? Do you have a suspect?”

“We’re working on it.” Over the top of his head, I make eye contact with Lois.

“My phone has been ringing off the hook since six A.M.,” he hisses. “Janine Fourman called and said tourists are canceling B and B reservations left and right—”

“Nothing I can do about that,” I cut in.

“You called in BCI?”

“You know I did. Sheriff’s department, too.”

Someone shouts Auggie’s name. When he turns, I make my escape and head directly for Lois. “Hey,” I say.

Mouthing a curse, she glances my way, gives a tight smile as she speaks into her mouthpiece. “Ma’am, if you see a prowler, call 911,” she tells her caller.

I try not to notice the sweat beaded on her forehead as she shoves a handful of pink message slips at me. “Sorry,” she mouths, and makes a hand signal for crazy.

I page through messages as I stride toward my office. Quickly, I unlock the door, slip inside, and take the drastic measure of locking it. I spend two minutes pounding out a press release and an abbreviated version of what we know so far. It’s a rough draft, scant on details, and filled with poor grammar and abbreviations because I’m rushed. Lois has enough experience to edit before broadcasting it. I make a few notes at the bottom of the document, asking her to set up a tip hotline, and I hit Send. Then I’m out of my chair, through the door, and striding down the hall toward the “war room.”

Through the doorway, I see Skid sitting at the table, nursing a grande-size coffee from Mocha Joe’s.

“Hey, Chief,” he says as I enter.