It was more than a mess. It was a massacre.

Usually, one dead guy isn’t sufficient for a massacre, but this was an exception.

Somehow, he had been splattered all over the inside of his second-story office. His right arm lay almost casually across the desk, while his head sat in a bloody puddle by the door.

The shattered wall across the hallway, the splintered door and large windy hole in the wall behind him told the story of an absurdly well-armed murderer. I gagged and stepped back into the hallway.

“Ahny thaughts, mistah fancy pants?” The Sheriff, in his local drawl. I stared at the gold star pinned to his jacket for a few moments and swallowed, before looking at his face.

“Same M.O. There won’t be any evidence in here. Get forensics into the buildings across the street, and see if someone can sift bullet fragments out of the rubble.”

“Ye’re really new around heah, ain’t’cha, boy?” I nodded. ”’Roun’ heah, we don’ have a forensics team. If yeh wan’ ev’dence, ye’ll have ta’ get it ‘chaself.”

Yay.