Chapter 2
There is no warning when the charcoal-gray sky crackles to life with thunder, and a drumbeat of rain thrashes me in the face.
I park in the gravel driveway of the apartment complex, next to the chief’s SUV, and jog up the steep ramp to the front door where I notice a group of college-aged girls standing on the sidewalk crying and hugging each other.
Deputy Alan Hawkins, on the wrong side of fifty, looks cold and tired, his clothes damp from the rain. He is manning the door as I approach the building. He nods at me. He is bulky around the middle, and most of the hair on his head is white, but he dyes his mustache black.
“Prepare yourself before you go in there,” he says, standing statue still like a window-dressed mannequin.
We make brief eye contact, but my vision is hazy an
