Chapter One

The knife sliced cleanly through the tomato, its skin splitting with a soft pop. A bead of juice pooled on the wooden cutting board, slow, viscous. Jo wiped the blade against the damp cloth draped over the sink, then set it down next to the half-dressed sandwich. She wasn’t hungry.

The kitchen was quiet except for the occasional rustling outside, the restless cluck of her hens, the wind shifting through the garden. The scent of damp earth filtered in through the open window, fresh from last night’s rain. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbled down the road, its tires kicking up loose gravel.

Jo sat at the small kitchen table, her fingers resting lightly on its surface. The wood was smooth and worn, the same way her father had kept their old dining table, free of clutter, of sentimentality. A single book lay beside her, Die Bibel, Martin Luther’s translation, its black leather spine cracked with time. She didn’t read it much, but she liked knowing it was there.

The phone sat at the edge of the table, dark and silent. She inhaled slowly, pressing her fingertips against the back of her neck. The call would come. It wasn’t a matter of if, only when. Chief Hardey wasn’t the type to leave people waiting longer than necessary.

She had no doubt he’d offer her the job. Detective, Heimstadt Borough Police Department. She was overqualified. She knew it, he knew it. The kind of education she had, Criminology, Social Data Analytics, top of her class at Penn State, could have taken her anywhere. D.C., Chicago, New York.

But she’d applied in Heimstadt. The thought was a weight she didn’t name, heavy in her chest.

The phone rang.

Jo didn’t startle. She reached for it, her grip firm, thumb brushing the smooth plastic before pressing the button.

“Bennett.”

“Jo,” Hardey’s voice came through, warm, steady. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

She glanced at the half-made sandwich. “No.”

She could hear the low murmur of voices behind him, the faint hum of an office.

“Well,” Hardey continued, “I won’t drag it out. We’d be lucky to have you in Heimstadt. The job’s yours if you want it.”

She let the words settle in the space between them. Her reflection stared back at her from the window, sharp eyes, sharp angles, a face that had long since learned to give nothing away.

“When do you need me?”

Hardey chuckled. “I figured you’d skip the pleasantries.”

She stayed silent.

“Yeah, well. Official start date is in two weeks, but I’d like you here sooner if you can swing it. We’ve got a couple of cases I’d like you to start getting familiar with.”

Two weeks. Less, if she wanted. The weight pressed heavier now.

“All right,” she said.

“You sure about this?” Hardey asked, voice quieter now. Not soft, not hesitant, just aware. He was a good cop, a good man. He didn’t ask questions he didn’t already have a sense of the answer to.

Jo’s grip on the phone tightened. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, and hung up.

She sat there for a long moment, the quiet settling back in around her. Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves. The chickens murmured in their coop. Jo reached for the sandwich, then changed her mind. Instead, she stood, crossed the kitchen and stared at the note on the bench. HEIMSTADT is all it said.

She folded it, placing it in the box with the others, and stared out the window. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.

***