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performance lately. Or if you’d noticed changes in his behavior. Cops face a lot of stress. They don’t always deal with it well.”
    Weik shrugged. “If Percy had something on his mind, he didn’t tell me about it. This is a rural county, Lieutenant. My officers don’t have easy jobs, but they don’t face the extremes you’d find in an urban environment.”
    “Percy killed a man,” Stride pointed out. “That’s always traumatic for a cop.”
    “It was four years ago. He was doing his job. It put his face on the cover of national magazines, and he wound up with a pretty young wife as a result. He became our local hero and celebrity rolled into one. All in all, I’d say he came through the experience unscathed.”
    “There can still be guilt under the surface.”
    “If there was, I didn’t see it.”
    “What was Percy working on recently?” Stride asked. “Kelli mentioned a disappearance.”
    “Greg Hamlin,” Weik told him. His mustache twitched into something approximating a smile. “That was his wife in my office just now. Hope Hamlin. She figures if you have enough money, and you screech loudly enough, you can get whatever you want.”
    “Is there anything unusual about the case?”
    “A wealthy man in his late fifties vanishes in a small town. That’s uncommon, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say unusual. He’s gone. His car’s gone. His credit cards and accounts haven’t been touched. Percy had two theories. Either Greg drove into a lake one night, in which case we’ll find him sooner or later. Or he got tired of listening to Hope jabber into his ear, and he ran away for good. In which case he’s probably on some beach in Mexico, where he never wants to be found. Either way, our hero didn’t make headway solving the case, but I don’t imagine that’s enough to make a cop decide to kill himself.”
    “Did Percy have close friends on the force?” Stride asked.
    “Not that I know of. His best friend was Tom Bruin, but Tom’s dead.”
    “Bruin was the last coroner?”
    “That’s right. You could talk to his wife Anna. Percy spent a lot of time with her after Tom died. A lot of time.”
    Stride heard something in the sheriff’s voice. “Do you think there was something more between them?”
    “I’m the sheriff, not the gossip columnist,” Weik replied dismissively. “People talk in small towns. Rumors spread. Who knows whether any of it is true?”
    Stride knew all about small towns. If there was a businessman with dirty laundry, or a marriage on the rocks, the local police were typically the first to hear about it. And if it involved a potential rival, he was sure that a shrewd politician like Weik would find a way to make sure that tongues kept wagging.
    He stood up and extended a hand. “Well, I appreciate your time, Sheriff.”
    Weik shook his hand, and his grip was like a bear’s. “Remember the boundaries, Lieutenant. This is personal, not professional. Wrap it up fast and go home. Nothing good comes from a tragedy like this.”
    “You’re right about that,” Stride replied.
    He didn’t make it back to his Ford Expedition, which was parked on Main Street, before Hope Hamlin pounced on him. The feisty blond woman got between him and his truck and jabbed a ruby-nailed finger at his chest. It was like having a hawk plummet from the sky with claws extended.
    “I know who you are!” she snapped.
    “Do you?”
    “I asked around. You’re Richard Heling’s nephew. You’re an investigator from Duluth.”
    “That’s true,” Stride replied. “I know who you are, too, Mrs. Hamlin. I’m very sorry about your husband.”
    Hope unfolded a newspaper article and shoved it in his face. The cold breeze caught it and made the paper flap. “See? This is Greg. He’s been missing for weeks, but the police here couldn’t care less.”
    “I’m sure that’s not true.”
    “Like hell it’s not! I want to hire you. I need somebody to do something. You investigate things.